#i keep telling him it's not his fault these things happen
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The batfam is sitting around the cave for patrol routes on the 24th (crime doesn't stop for Christmas Eve), when Batman breaks the news towards the end,
Batman: And, finally, there has been an intel breach at the North Pole, so the Justice League has decided to assign Orphan as Father Christmas' bodyguard for the night.
A beat of silence.
Nightwing, unimpressed: Is this a joke for the holidays?
Batman: I am serious. We would assign a flying hero to escort him throughout the night, but we believe a silent and skillful bodyguard would be better, so we moved for Cassandra.
Red Robin: I'm gonna give it to you, B, it's the first time I've seen you commit so hard to a prank, but nobody believes you.
Batman, dropping the Justice League approved files on Father Christmas in front of Cassandra:
Robin, raising from his seat in alarm: So all of those times you said you were gonna call Santa Claus to tell him I was being rude to my siblings-!
Batman: It was true. Everybody knows all the parents have Father Christmas' phone number. *Spoiler raises a hand.* Not your parents, I have been given the responsibility of informing him of your actions even though you're not my legal child. I speak of you better than you think I do.
Orphan, still a bit surprised: Why me?
Batman: He asked for you, ask him yourself, and cheer up. Even if it's for a mission, you're gonna meet Father Christmas.
Highlights of the Christmas Mission:
Father Christmas apologizes to Cass when he sees her, and tells her he has been trying to reach her to give her presents for years. He tells her none of what happened to her was her fault and that she has never been on the naughty list. Not a single year.
Cassandra gets to hug Santa.
Tim and Steph go to the Toys Factory in the North Pole to find the breach.
The North Pole's privage intranet is codified on the soundtrack of Christmas Walmart movies. Tim takes three gulps from spiked egg nog and begins a holiday-theme musical hack battle against the mole.
Steph keeps trying to unionize the elves as a joke but halfway through the night she starts finding actual issues created by some mean-spirited middle-manager and slowly gets more and more serious about the union.
Robin keeps talking to Nightwing about Santa in front of criminals and they all look at Nightwing like "does the kid not know" and Robin keeps insisting that Santa is real and his father talks with him on the phone but nobody believes him.
Red Hood hears about everything and now that he knows Santa is real keeps trying to speak politely to people and doing nice things in efforts to get back on the nice list before Christmas.
He gets Charcoal anyway.
Babs gets a message towards the end of the night. Cass has managed to get a selfie with Santa and her nineteen late Christmas presents after beating the bad guy.
Signal finds out that all the Christmas lights through the street illuminate the street to the degree he can pull all of his day shift shenanigans at night.
Every time he has to fight someone throughout the night he just yells "Holiday Attack!" and flashes them in the face with industrial levels of festive red and green light.
#dc comics#batfam#batman#bruce wayne#batkids#nightwing#red hood#red robin#spoiler dc#orphan dc#dc robin#signal dc#christmas#I just want my girl Cassandra to experience whimsy instead of the horrors for once#also batman keeps trying to be emo on the background#but it's Christmas so it never works#i also know there's some stuff with young justice and Father Christmas but we're ignoring that for this
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DIVINE FRAGILITY — gojo satoru
outline— the one time you make satoru feel less like a god and more like a human.
contains— gojo satoru x reader, fluff, reverse comfort (?) suggestive ( mentions of sex, not very detailed tho ) established relationship, anxious satoru ( pls give him a hug ) i think that's it...
wc— 1.7k
a/n— i had the vision, not sure if i did it justice. not very proud of this (T^T) anyways, im sorry for any typos ! enjoy <333
gojo satoru.
the prodigy, the honoured one, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.
it's everything that he is known as.
these titles seem like a luxury to anyone else, but for satoru, they are far from that.
it's not his fault, though, not when you've been revered, put on a pedestal from day one. pushed onto the throne even before you've had the chance to learn and write your own name.
satoru's declared untouchable, protected by the infinity that runs all over him nonstop. a god of its own kind, that not everyone has the mercy of.
that's what his life has become.
well, until you happened.
because right now, at this very moment, he feels the farthest from that.
so restless and so much on edge.
in the soft glow of sunrise, he lies right beside you, well more precisely under you, cocooned in the cozy haven of your fluffy blankets and tangled limbs. you always had this 'weird' habit of rolling over to his side, laying right on top of him, presumably mistaking him for your teddy bear.
usually, it does not matter to him. rather, he finds it adorable how you squeeze him from time to time like he’s your personal plushy. he wouldn't mind being one if it meant you'd hold him, kiss him, and use him to your heart's content.
and he wants to do the same to you, too. things that are reserved only for you, that he does only to you. like every other time, he would've set an alarm at the crack of dawn — waking up hours earlier than you just so he could see and admire your sleeping glory, laid bare in front of him — only for him.
however, not this morning.
today, satoru's still as a rock. unmoving. all the cells in his brain are working overdrive, gravely focused on the feeling of your skin on his. the subtle pumps of warmth permeating through his skin right where the flesh meets, orchestrates his heartbeat.
you feel so soft and plump, reminiscent of the cotton candies he devoured yesterday. shivers run down his body as your natural scent hits his nose every time he inhales. your gentle breathing is barely audible to him. his mind is all fuzzy, and it's too much for him.
there is not a single layer blocking you from him, nothing to shield you from his prying eyes. the reddish marks littering your neck tells of an intense story. heat rises up his neck as the events from last night flash vividly in his mind.
everything remains clear, the painting still fresh in his mind. from the moment you both stepped inside the apartment, unable to keep your hands off each other to both of you, shrugging your clothes off before finally surrendering to each other.
he can still feel the subtle undulating beats of pleasure pumping in his body the moment he pushed into you, chills erupting at the base of his spine. the melodious sounds that left you, the sweat, the breathing. everything.
it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. so intimate and vulnerable.
connected — souls intertwined.
satoru shakes his head. it is way too early for sprouting a problem he's sure will be a major trouble to get rid of. his blue eyes trace the ridges and hicks of the wooden ceiling before they are flickering to your naked sleeping form.
all curled up on his chest like a small kitten, nuzzling into his skin, seeking his warmth on a cold december morning.
it's a bit of trouble to see past your nest of hair, but he can make out a line of drool connecting your lips to his chest. so adorable, his baby. you look so much at peace, without any care in the world (his favourite version of you).
worried and afraid, he dreads the moment you wake up, not wanting to make you feel scared.
are there any bed etiquette you are supposed to follow after a whole night of passionate lovemaking?
god, he is so lost.
where is he supposed to put his hands? should he just curl his arms around your frame, holding you for a few minutes? or should he poke you here and there so the both of you can get ready for the day? maybe a few kisses along your neck and jaw will ease you a bit.
really, satoru would have no trouble going through the little morning ritual on any other today, and he could commit to it if he wanted to, but today is different.
why is he feeling like this all of a sudden?
aren't the two of you way past this stage now?
right on time, he feels you stir against him slowly, resurfacing back to consciousness. he hears the little happy sigh you always do, and he can picture how your face breaks into a little smile. he has all of this memorized, burned in his mind.
your hand slither across his arms, searching for his own, and he gladly lets you intertwine your fingers together.
“are you awake?”
your words are sluggish, still coming to the realization of the waking world. you breathe against his collar, not daring to look at him right now, which upsets him a little.
satoru hums, voice unusually low and a bit croaky and eyes closed now. his hand itches with an urge to slide across your back, but he holds back.
“morning…” he hears you yawn loudly before you settle beside him once again.
you think you're being sneaky, trailing your hands up his chest, brushing against the hair on his chiselled muscles, but he feels everything, your touch arousing goosebumps in its wake.
“how are you?” you ask him, properly looking at him now still propped up on your arms, leaning over him (he tries not to think of the way your weight is pressing on him, your chest on his).
you poke his face, trying to get him to look at you, “what's going on, toru?” but he doesn't yield.
“baby?”
softly kissing the corner of his mouth, you whisper words directly onto his skin, urging him to look at you
he opens his eyes, granting you with the bluest of blues, heaven skies unfolding to reveal the adoration and love written all over the stars. before he is quickly averting his eyes away from you, deep red running from his neck all the way to his chest.
“it's nothing…”
it doesn't seem like it, though.
before you can say anything, he speaks up first.
“i just feel so…” satoru trails off, not knowing how to continue. what should he even say? he stills beneath you once again.
“whatever it is,” you shift on top of him, so you're straddling his lap, “you’re fine, m'kay?” you take his hand and press a gentle kiss on his knuckles.
he nods slightly, his gaze still avoiding yours.
“look at me,” he feels you squeeze his hand, “please?”
and he does because he can never deny you of something that you deserve.
“i am here always.”
this little assurance has satoru opening up. it's so easy with you, always have been. everything flows like water rushing down a cliff. he can't hide it, his true feelings from the one closest to his heart.
satoru tells of everything. the burden of being the strongest. always expected to be the best of the best — perfect. the weight has been heavy on his shoulders since his birth. it's lonely, unfair to be only seen for the power; the person beneath all the luxury, attention, forever lost to the shadows.
“but you…” he inhales sharply, “being with you, i realized that i don't have to keep up with this act.
i realized that there's much more than all of this.
that i can be just me, ya know.”
you do, and you know how beautiful he is both inside out.
all these years, you have slowly peeled away the many layers of glory and lavish to find a simple man tucked away from the world, his soul so beautiful. he longs for the most mundane things. he's grateful for the tiniest of things, and most importantly, he longs to be a human. just a human.
still to this day, many things about satoru remain unknown to others. that he's not this demi god that most claim him to be, that he's not some untouchable being.
touch him because he's not going to burn your skin. cuddle him because all he wants is just someone to hold him close to his chest after a long, tiring day. let him fall asleep to the rhythmic beats and praise him because he strives off of the littlest of attention.
love him because he deserves it.
tell him, show him that he is, in fact, very much in need of the love. that he is deserving of this — of being a human.
and that's what you do.
when satoru gazes at you, he finds solace in your smile. your eyes shimmer with love and adoration, mirroring the same emotions he holds within. he returns the gesture with a small albeit genuine smile of his own, which makes yours grow even bigger.
“there's my sweet boy,” you giggle, leaping into his embrace, and he catches you effortlessly, wrapping you in his warmth.
“okay, now you're just teasing me,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, trying to divert your attention from the blush spreading across his cheeks and the rapid beating of his heart.
“i love you so much, my whole world,” his voice is raspy with emotion as he adjusts you on his lap, holding you close.
“i love you too,” you reply, leaning down to kiss him softly.
satoru thinks he was being overly dramatic. he now realizes that with you by his side, life doesn't seem so frightening or lonely.
he has never felt this content before.
many new years have come and gone since the happiest times of his life — his blue spring, but it seems like he doesn't have to worry anymore. with you being the very essence of his happiness, he feels like a young boy in love once again.
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo x gn!reader#jjk gojo#jjk gojo satoru#gojo fluff#gojo comfort#gojo#gojo satoru#—my works.#i miss him.. :(#going to sleep now#<33
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more medieval fantasy au time! reader whose life sucks and wont be missed by anyone in the present life suddenly finds herself back in time after blacking out and being mistaken for the assassin who was given orders to kill any of the cod boys (or price becos he's my hubby). cod boys/price decides to keep her under their watch closely in case she makes any more attempts to kill them. love myself some slowburn enemy to lover shite <3
Fun fact about me. I enjoy that shite, played out isekai manga/manwha trope where a girl gets reborn into the story of her favorite dating simulator except she’s reborn as the villainess and has to try to use her knowledge of the game to change the story and avoid dying to the heroine or one of her many devoted love interests. But often her sudden change in personality piques the interest of one of those love interests…. Here’s a very dark hentai with a somewhat similar plot to this trope, if you’re interested! Ghost coded, imo. Noncon warning.
Anyways
Prince!Gaz doesn’t believe you when you say you weren’t trying to kill him, but he does believe you when you say it isn’t your fault. Poor thing. Must’ve been forced into it! You don’t have to worry about that anymore, he’ll keep you safe from whatever criminal underbelly manipulated you into doing this. He turns you into a bit of a pet project. A perfect rehabilitation of a criminal. It’ll be a brilliant morale boost. Maybe even more so if he takes you as his wife? Controversial, yet romantic— the bards will eat it up for sure.
Knight!Soap thinks it’s a bit fishy. Why go after him? Why not the captain of the guard? He’s kind of a dickhead, but he doesn’t make any personal enemies. He’s just gonna have to keep you until you fess up and tell him who hired you and what the motive was. And how lucky he is that the assassin they sent was so cute and squeezable, too! He doesn’t mind having to keep you.
Warlord!Ghost considers this an open proposal for marriage. He’s very much attracted to your gall and open animosity towards him. Both excellent qualities in a wife and a mother. Very well— he accepts!
Lord!Price can see that you’re not a natural born killer. This must have been your first time. Your attempt failed— so he won’t have you killed… he takes a look at you and decides that humiliation is a more fitting punishment. So he’ll be keeping you collared and on a leash for the foreseeable future.
Artificer!Nikolai can see what’s happened right away. You have the smell of otherworld clinging to you. You’re not from around here. But he’ll play along as if he doesn’t know that. As for your punishment… he’s been wanting an apprentice. Some cute little thing to help him around his workshop. Looks like you fit the bill on that.
#writing#cod fanfic#cod#medieval au#fantasy au#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#simon riley x reader#john price#john soap mctavish x reader#john price x reader#könig#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#Nikolai#Nikolai x reader#cod Nikolai#Nikolai cod#soap x reader#ghost x reader
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Part One ThirtyNine
prompt from @mugloversonly @after-the-end-times @spectrum-spectre
It’s a little odd having a birthday banner hanging across the Christmas Tree, but everyone was pretty determined that this is Eddie’s birthday, and that’s a totally different thing to Christmas Eve. So everyone is here; Joyce even baked a proper birthday cake, and now they’re doing the thing where they bring out the cake and everyone sings.
It feels bittersweet to Steve; Eddie’s first birthday. It was a year ago today that Steve pulled Eddie out of the pool. A year ago today Eddie came back to him. He remembers vividly struggling to get Eddie up the stairs. Cleaning all the filth off him. How he’d looked, with no hair at all, all skin and bones, wobbling his way down the stairs. The noise he’d made the first time he ever tried bacon; the startled look on his face the first time he’d ever hiccuped.
Eddie stays where he’s been put, sitting at the head of dining room table, proudly wearing a Birthday party hat. Eddie’s been to a couple of birthdays this year, mainly for the kids, so he knows what’s coming. He looks fucking delighted at the sight of the cake, but he still checks, “I can blow out the candles?”
“Yeap,” Steve tells him.
“Make a wish first!” Joyce calls.
“I wish-”
“Nooooooo!” probably half a dozen people yell, “keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Robin adds. Eddie stares hard at the candles for a long second, and then he looks up, finding Steve. Steve can see the moment Eddie settles on his wish.
He’s still staring at Steve when he blows them out.
“So...things with Eddie are good then?”
It’s a little uncomfortable, but all the stuff that happened feels like it was a long time ago now. Nancy has definitely been making an effort to build a fresh friendship, and Steve can’t fault her for it, not really. Steve finds Eddie, he can see him through the doorway into the kitchen, making something with Robin and Chrissy, “yeah everything is...great. Like really great.”
“I was...a little surprised, you know?”
“Yeah that’s...understandable,” and it is. Eddie is literally a creature from The Upside Down; he didn’t even look remotely human to begin with, half of him was literally a fish. Plus Steve’s never really been interested in guys before, but he guesses there must have always been a little something there for him to take to it so easily. Granted the circumstances forced his hand a little, and he’s still had a couple of things to work through but...he feels pretty good about it. Besides, Eddie still isn’t even really human, so it probably doesn’t exactly count. Not with his lack of nipples and his downstairs situation anyway; you can’t exactly try to stick Eddie into a category...he’s Eddie, a unique and perfect thing all his own.
In the kitchen, Robin spills something, Chrissy shrieks and Eddie manically dashes for a cloth, cackling. The chaos of it makes Steve smile at them; everyone is at least a few drinks deep, Steve’s sure.
“You really care about him though?” She presses a little. Nancy’s never been able to just let it go, especially if she doesn’t understand it. She always needs to know, Steve’s pretty sure it’s not a nosiness thing; more an understanding thing.
“Yeah, yeah I love him,” Steve tells her unabashed, it is the truth, “he loves me too.”
“You’re sure it’s not just...I mean you did rescue him, plus, where would he even go if you weren't together-”
“Are you suggesting Eddie has some sort of-of-of Stockholm syndrome?” Steve can’t help but laugh, a little incredulous at the suggestion.
“Well no, I just. Think you should both be sure-”
“How are you and Jon then?” Steve cuts her off. He chooses to lean into the spirit of Christmas and assume that Nancy’s concerns all come from a good place. Even so, it’s not a good intention Steve has to tolerate if he doesn’t want to. He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.
Nancy draws breath, like she’s not done, but then clearly rethinks it and chooses her battle, Steve can see the moment when she decides not to pursue it, sipping her drink before she replies, “yeah, really good,” over her shoulder, Eddie, Chrissy, and Robs have their heads together, the conversation clearly turned serious.
“That’s good Nance,” Steve chooses to be the bigger man, “I’m just really glad you’re both happy,” he tells her pointedly. In the kitchen, Eddie’s turned to find Steve, watching him back. Steve can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but Robin’s clutching his arm, on her toes, speaking urgently to Eddie. She looks kind of panicked, which immediately worries Steve.
“Well, I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, I mean I’m glad, really glad it all worked out for you.”
Eddie has a look on his face that Steve’s pretty certain he’s never seen before. He can’t quite work out what it means other than...Eddie’s pissed. Like, really fucking angry. And he’s marching closer, shaking off both Robin and Chrissy in the process.
Steve has no clue what’s happening as Eddie approaches, pushing Steve away from Nancy to press him against the wall and then...kisses him. Steve has his eyes open, not sure what to make of Eddie’s rage, but he soon lets them slide closed. He melts against the wall. Eddie’s kissing him like he’s got something to prove. He’s almost bitey as he sucks at Steve’s lips, leaving little scrapes that don’t quite break the skin. The passion is surprising, but so fucking hot Steve leans into it fast, matching Eddie’s energy and he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, curling his fingers around Eddie’s hips to pull him closer, no longer wanting to stop to question Eddie’s motives.
Eddie pulls back, pink and flushed, an inch of space between them, panting for breath Eddie asks, “you and Nancy used to be together?”
“I-” Steve can’t help his gaze flicking side wards to Nancy, and then back to Eddie, Eddie’s eyes narrowing at the sight, something flashing in the depths, “yeah?” Steve confirms weakly.
Eddie presses closer, his claws pricking Steve’s skin through his clothes; Eddie’s never been possessive like this before, and Steve is...well they’ve had a lot of sex, and Eddie pressing himself against Steve like this, kissing him like that...Steve’s body is only reacting the way it always does, which is a little mortifying in a room full of people.
Eddie leans his face closer again, his hair brushing Steve’s forehead, his breath warm as he growls, “you had sex with her?”
“Eddie!” Steve splutters, but apparently even that is too much, Eddie has him by the wrist, not quite painful, but very harsh compared to Eddie’s usually gentle nature. Eddie turns, pulling Steve along and he...bares his teeth at Nancy, actually hissing at her on the way past.
“Eddie!” Steve starts again, shocked, this time a reprimand, “be nice!” That’s no way to behave, and Nancy is unnerved enough that she takes a big step back. Steve is dragged along behind Eddie, ending up locked into the downstairs bathroom together. Eddie pins him against the door with his body, kissing Steve soundly.
“Baby,” Steve starts, his words broken by kisses, “what’s gotten into you?”
Eddie just growls. It’s not a sound Steve’s ever heard before, and he can feel it, rumbling in Eddie’s body where their chests are pressed together, “need you.”
Eddie starts nipping at Steve’s throat, stinging kisses that makes Steve’s hips roll, looking for friction against Eddie’s thigh. His brain feels like it’s going a little mushy, Eddie’s being unusually forceful, and Steve’s vaguely aware that everyone is still out there and, probably, are now very aware that they’re shut in here together but...as Eddie’s questing fingers find the button on Steve’s jeans, he’s struggling to care about that stuff.
“We’ve got to be quiet,” Steve breathes out, a final token protest, giving in to what's about to happen. Eddie huffs dismissively, tugging down Steve’s jeans and underwear together, Steve angling his hips away from the door to help. Eddie abandons them there, bunched around Steve’s thighs, surging up for another possessive kiss. Eddie grabs Steve’s bare ass with both hands, his claws digging into the meat a little as he squeezes, pulling Steve against him.
“She not touch you again,” Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, words choppy, “promise.”
“I...I promise baby, of course,” Eddie stares into Steve’s face, their warm breaths mingling as Eddie inspects him from inches away, like he’s searching for any hint of a lie, “no one else ever again, I swear it.”
Eddie nods once, sharply, before spitting into his palm and grabbing Steve's now, very hard cock. He had no idea he’d be into this, but possessive, bossy Eddie is lighting him up in a way he didn’t know he’d like, his brain turning to mush a little as Eddie touches him. He feels too warm, flushed and sweaty already, the world narrowed down to Eddie’s touch on him, hard and fast, intent on getting him off.
“And you,” Steve’s mouth is insisting before his brain catches up, he needs it, needs to make Eddie feel good too. Eddie doesn’t stop jerking him, but he does slow it down, leaning back a tiny bit, giving Steve space to reach past the bend of Eddie’s own arm to get to the button on his jeans.
Steve sees the fabric move. He can see Eddie’s cock desperately wriggling for freedom beneath his zipper. Eddie’s told him before that it gets real uncomfortable real fast, and Steve tuts quietly, “baby.”
Eddie’s cock forces it's way free before Steve even has the zipper half down, already having found it’s way through the slit in Eddie’s boxers, it rushes into Steve’s fingers, greeting him eagerly and tangling itself firmly there. Eddie groans, shuffling close again. The head of Eddie’s cock opens, setting sucking kisses on every part of Steve’s hand and fingers it can reach. They arrange themselves as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, “fuck, baby, yeah.” Steve’s cock is leaking, making Eddie’s hand slick, but Eddie still stops to spit again, landing the glob on the exposed head of Steve’s cock. It’s red already, and Eddie squeezes, forcing Steve’s foreskin up to roll back up and partially cover the swollen head.
Steve’s guts are tight already, the muscles in his ass and legs tensing, he can’t stop the shift of his own hips as he works his thumb in circles across the head of Eddie’s own cock. Eddie jacks him again, slow and so firm, forcing a massive dribble of pre come out of the head of Steve’s cock. Steve groans again, “baby, I’m gonna’-”
“Wait,” Eddie uses his free hand to push Steve’s hand off himself, letting his cock to wriggle free between them. It stands tall, searching, the black petals rippling.
Eddie angles Steve’s cock out, pulling the head down and towards himself, and Steve instantly knows what Eddies planning, “oh fuck baby, yes, yes please.” They’ve never done this before, but just the idea of it makes Steve hips shift, his balls going tight, the orgasm bubbling at the base of his cock, “please, now,” Steve vaguely aware that he’s whining, loud and desperate.
People can hear; he doesn’t give a fuck. He wants this.
Eddie’s cock latches to the head of Steve’s, the black petals stark against the dark pink spongy head. The fit is perfect, the slit of Steve’s cock, the head, being suckled and gently rubbed by all those little bumps, the sucking pulse feels like a mouth, the texture incredible. Eddie drags his hand upward, forcing Steve’s skin up again, his foreskin sliding over top of the petals. Eddie makes a choked noise, his free hand scrabbling again at the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve desperately locks his knees to stop himself from falling. The pulsing, sucking, pulling sensation is relentless.
Eddie moves his hand again, dragging Steve's foreskin back down, revealing the filthy sight of those jet black petals cupping the head of Steve's cock, the body of Eddie's cock writhing. Steve’s head thumps back against the door, his hips wriggling now, unable to stop himself moving in tiny little thrusts, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve groans, “baby-”
Eddie leans up for a kiss. It’s messy, uncoordinated, both of them groaning and panting into each others mouths, and Steve cries out against Eddie’s lips as he comes. The pull is sharp, the stimulation on the head of his cock turning frantic as, just like with Steve’s spit on his cock, Steve’s come works to push Eddie into his own orgasm. Eddie accidentally catches Steve’s lip with his teeth, and the sting is delicious. His orgasm seems to go on forever, Eddie's cock suckling fiercely, and Eddie’s hand working him so perfectly.
Eventually, Eddie slumps forward onto Steve, Steve using his back to the door to keep them both up. “That was…” Steve starts, but doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know how to describe what just happened. It was maybe the best orgasm of Steve’s life.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, muffled where his face is smushed into Steve’s shoulder. The head of Steve’s dick is suddenly cold, and he figures Eddie’s dick has gone back in. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve rubbing Eddie’s back, gathering themselves. Eddie clears his throat, lifting his head so he can look Steve in the eye, “I’m sorry.”
Steve frowns, brain still a little flooded with happy chemicals, “what?”
“For before. I just...I found out about you and Nancy and I got...I got so angry. It,” Eddie makes a motion between them, a churning of his insides that he can’t express, “I’ve never felt like that before it was...like I hated her. And I needed you and I don’t understand-”
“You were jealous, baby?”
“I...yeah, it was horrible. And stupid- I didn’t – there’s no-” Eddie huffs, struggling for the words.
“How you feel doesn’t always make sense. There’s no...rules, you know.” Steve frowns, remembering, “should probably say sorry to Nancy though, you like, hissed at her which, kind of funny but still.”
Eddie looks a cross between horrified and mortified, “I don’t even remember.”
“Wow,” Steve can’t help being smug, “got it bad for me, huh?”
Eddie limply slaps at Steve’s chest, sighing through his nose, “shut up.”
Steve hums, “uh huh. We should get cleaned up.”
“Probably.”
They peel themselves apart, Steve leaning to grab for some tissue off the roll as Eddie starts to pull his pants down a little, but as Steve investigates, his finds his cock dry, “huh, where did it go?” He wipes up a little, the skin tacky with spit and precome, but otherwise everything is clean and dry, “uh...is my come on you? I can’t, uhm, find it?” He tucks himself away, pulling everything up so he can help Eddie.
“I don’ t think so?” Eddie replies, touching himself, his slit, the crease of his thighs, when Steve goes to wipe at him with the tissue, since Eddie usually makes a lot of come, there’s nothing, “I’m clean,” Eddie tells him.
Steve frowns, “did you come?”
“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “I definitely, definitely did. That was…”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “but you’re dry?”
“Yeah,” Eddie scissors his thighs together, something he normally does when he’s spreading all the jelly like come about, “nothing there.”
“This is weird, where'd it all go? And why haven’t you, you know?” Steve feels for himself, running two fingers gently along Eddie’s slit, pushing in to part him the tiniest bit, Eddie makes a breathy little noise as Steve pulls away, “you sure you came?”
“Steve,” Eddie replies flatly, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.
“Right right it’s just...weird, right?”
Eddie shrugs, “makes it easy?”
“Yeah...don’t look a gift horse in the mouth I guess, considering we now have to go out there and face everyone.”
Eddie grins, “I like that they know.”
“Of course you do,” Steve sighs, fixes his hair in the mirror, and opens the door.
It’s after midnight; Eddie’s birthday is officially over. All the kids have gone home with Hopper and Joyce, and before everyone else heads home, since it’s Christmas, they’re going to exchange gifts now.
Steve had been, mildly mortified after they came out of the bathroom, not really wanting to face Joyce's raised eyebrows or the girls giggling...Eddie however, has been strutting around like a proud peacock, so Steve hasn't been feeling too ashamed about the whole thing. He is however, glad of the distraction of the gifts.
All the gifts are stacked under the tree, and Steve has been voted to distribute. A lot of the labels have been made from cut up magazine letters so that the hand writing won’t be recognized; to Steve they vaguely look like ransom threats.
They go around the room, opening their gifts one at a time, trying to guess who got them. They mostly work it out. Steve isn’t that interested in his own; he’s more interested in what Eddie got. The box is actually kind of heavy, and it’s pretty big.
Eddie opens it happily, pulling out a record that Steve knows he’s wanted for ages. And then...a denim jacket with no sleeves that Steve knows he was eyeing at the thrift store. Steve watches with mounting suspicion as Eddie pulls out a book he's talked about. The box, now Steve’s thinking about it, is wrapped with very familiar wrapping paper.
“Eddie, you got loads, they definitely didn’t stay on budget. Who got Eddie? Steve, was it you?”
“No, no it wasn’t me,” Steve quietly chuckles to himself. He half listens as Robin goes around the room, and every single person denies getting Eddie.
“Whoever pulled your name must know you pretty well, huh Baby? They got you exactly what you wanted.”
“Yup,” Eddie grins happily.
“Steve, come on, it must have been you, it wasn’t any of us.”
Steve just shakes his head in denial before turning back to Eddie, “baby...it’s kind of against the rules to pull your own name.”
Eddie frowns, “no it isn’t,” the whole room erupts into laughter around them.
Steve tries to clear up some of the aftermath, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he can’t be fucked really. He collapses on the couch, finishing his now warm flat soda. He can hear Eddie pottering, “we should go to bed!” Steve calls. He’s not loud, not much above speaking volume really, but he knows Eddie will hear him.
“Can we do our gifts now?” Eddie asks from the doorway.
“Sure Baby, if you want to. We’re going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway,” they’re spending Christmas with the Hopper-Byers brigade, and Steve is kind of looking forward to it. Eddie’s second ever Christmas.
Steve heads off to his hiding place in one of the spare rooms to get Eddie’s gifts, Eddie does the same; Steve knows his are stashed out in the utility.
He’s been pretending not to know.
“Okay, me first,” Eddie says, sitting and pulling out what Steve knows is the record. Steve eyes the gift he has from Eddie; just the one, but it’s fairly big looking. Square. Steve has no idea what it could be.
Eddie likes the record; he absolutely loves the book of Metallica tabs and almost leaves to get his guitar right there and then, but Steve stops him, “tomorrow baby. We really need to sleep after this.”
Eddie laughs at himself and his own excitement, agreeing. When he opens his final gift, the guitar pick necklace, he puts it on immediately and swears he loves it so much he’s never going to take if off. Steve’s glad to hear it, even if it makes him feel, momentarily, a little weirdly possessive.
“Okay, this first,” Eddie pulls over the box, “Chrissy helped me,” he admits as Steve unwraps it, carefully pulling out the frame inside. It’s wrapped in soft packing paper, and Steve pulls that away to reveal his crown. It’s been artfully arranged behind the glass, all dried now, the tufts of grasses stand tall, still twined up with all the little flowers that Eddie had included. Clearly someone spent a very long time carefully setting it out, and it looks beautiful. Steve had carefully stored it away in a shoebox, so he hadn't even noticed it was gone. He’s...touched, by the memory of them in the woods around Hopper’s cabin. Eddie had told Steve he loved him for the first time not long after.
“Thank you...it’s so thoughtful. Thank you. I can hang this up and remember it forever, I love it.” Eddie smiles, slipping off the couch to kneel in front of Steve. Steve sets the frame down.
Eddie pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket, “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he starts slowly, “when you put this on me,” he lifts his left hand, rubbing at the ring with his thumb. “I didn’t know what being engaged was, or weddings or...any of it. I didn’t know, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never taken it off,” Steve swallows thickly, he knows, he knows in his bones where this is going, but he lets Eddie speak. If Eddie’s saying so may words in one go, it means he’s really thought about, and Steve won’t interrupt him. “But I know now. I understand all of it, and I know I’m a guy, and...we can’t get married, but I...wanted to show you that I know. I know now, and I love you too.”
Eddie opens the box, it’s a simple silver band, thicker than Eddie’s but still, it matches. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to speak, his eyes already feel wet, so he silently holds his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on; it fits perfectly.
Steve feels like he’ll crack open if he tries to talk about what he feels right now, it’s too big, too much, “you measured my finger didn’t you. Before the mall? So sneaky.”
Eddie nods, his own eyes looking suspiciously misty, smiling and biting at his lip, clearly nervous, “do you like it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I love it, thank you. I love you.”
Eddie smiles, sitting up for a kiss, “love you, too.”
#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#steddie#ficlet#ao3 author#upside down creature eddie#Fish Guy Eddie#creature eddie munson#robin buckly#chrissy cunningham#eddie and chrissy#fish guy#platonic stobin
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Have some more NSFW Emmrich
I just couldn’t keep my hands off of Emmrich’s breeding kink. Honestly? What a thought. So here’s my own little twist.
The first time, Rook very much accidentally triggers him. They’re still in their honeymoon phase, still at the lighthouse. Everyone sits at the kitchen table. Manfred’S latest shenanigans are discussed. Rook, not for the first time, calls him their “skeleton son”.
“Do you have any children, Emmrich?”, asks Davrin. “Other than Manfred, of course.”
“Ah.” It’s said with a smile, but there’s a buried sadness there. “I’m afraid it wasn’t to be, no.”
“Not yet, anyway”, Davrin chuckles.
There’s a flash of concern on Emmrich’s face. His eyes meet Rook’s, who has already come to suspect this is a sensitive subject. They swoop in to save him.
“Oh, he knows he’s welcome to try and get me pregnant whenever he wants”, they say, their voice dripping with innuendo. They take potions regularly to make sure it doesn’t happen, which Emmrich knows. Their intention is to gross the others out so much the subject gets dropped.
Lucanis chokes on his coffee. Taash boos. Davrin tells them to get a room. The conversation moves on. But Rook catches Emmrich’s glance, his face blank, eyes dark. As soon as the topic is well and truly forgotten he leans in, whispers: “A word, dearest”, his voice tense in a way that gives Rook anxiety. They excuse themselves from the table and Rook earnestly worries that they’ve offended him. They barely make it through the door to Emmrich’s library before he has Rook pinned against the nearest wall. Rook knows Emmrich as an attentive lover, giving to a fault. More often than not, Rook has to do a bit of sweet-talking before Emmrich lets his own pleasure be the focus, and wringing little sighs from him has become one of Rook’s favourite games. Right now, Emmrich is whimpering into Rook’s mouth, groping them with a neediness that renders him clumsy. Rook is more than willing to help. They are undressed within moments, and Emmrich in on them again immediately, taking just enough time to position them both against the desk for support.
It doesn’t take long before they are soaking wet, mainly because this new side of Emmrich turns them on so much they think they might just black out. Usually, Emmrich tends to lavish them with praise, and the way his voice falters in between declarations of affection when he’s losing control is the hottest thing Rook has ever heard - until tonight. Because right now, Emmrich, who usually doesn’t shut up right until the very end, is unmistakably too horny to form words. He enters them with a cry that is equal parts need and relief, as if every second leading up to their union had him in agony. Rook wraps themselves around him, cooing into his ear that yes, Maker, he feels good, this is so right, they want him so much. The one word that makes it over Emmrich’s lips is Rook’s name, uttered over and over, a moan, a whisper, a plea. Emmrich doesn’t last long, and he comes with a groan from so deep within his soul it seems entirely removed from his speaking voice.
Rook wraps their arms tight around Emmrich as he catches his breath against their neck. They can sense his mind kicking back into gear, ever overthinking.
“That”, they whisper into his ear before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about what just happened, “was amazing.”
Emmrich huffs a laugh that is muffled by Rook’s skin. He sounds incredulous. They untangle from each other, just enough for Emmrich to rest his forehead against Rook’s. His smile is somewhat sheepish, but his eyes glow with adoration.
“I truly wish I could explain”, he says.
“Oh, I think I got the gist of it”, Rook says with a grin.
The way he spoils Rook after feels almost like an apology. Rook wishes he left them with enough breath to say there’s nothing to be sorry for. Then again: They’ll have time enough to talk later.
#emmrich x rook#emmrook#emmrich volkarin#dragon age emmrich#da4 emmrich#dragon age the veilguard#emmrich the necromancer
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cw: arguing, mc has this red flag, inaccurate, rushed, I don't know what I was writing, not proofread
Sometimes, you're also the one at fault when it comes to arguments, the one who bursts out the most.
Whenever that happens, you two are not on good terms, obviously. You two won't speak to each other for hours and hours, days, maybe even weeks if the fight was really that serious. Funny thing is, you're the one who avoids him and refuses to be in the same room alone with him.
Belphie who scoffs whenever he sees you and notices how you're doing everything you can to avoid him as if he's the one at fault. This demon right here waits until you come up to him with an apology, he won't ask for it, he will wait until it comes out of your lips. He tells himself that he's going to play along with you, but deep down, he misses you so fucking much and just wants to cuddle. He knows you feel the same way and you're just being stubborn. Neither of you will approach each other unless you do it first. You're the one at fault after all, he thinks.
He acts pretty nonchalant and just eats all he wants as usual, but Beel is actually feeling sad that you two haven't made up yet. Unless the fight was really REALLY serious, he'll be the sweetheart he is and try to talk to you after a few days. Otherwise, neither of you will even bat an eye to look at each other and it's unusually awkward between you two.
Asmo is very verbal or sassy about it. He will yell it out loud even in public if he's feeling shameless enough. Something like "I'm waiting!!!" and he means he's waiting for an apology. Most of the time, it fuels the fire and you just hate being with him even more so more avoidance happens. One time, he came home drunk with Solomon assisting him home while he vents and rants about how you won't apologize to him, but he doesn't care about that now and just wants to be with you.
Gets so angry, Satan just wants to thrash everything around but stops himself because he convinces himself that he didn't do anything wrong. He keeps telling himself how he tried to stay calm this time, but it didn't work out with you. Once he notices you avoiding him, he's doing the same thing. He acts like nothing happened even though he feels mixed emotions about feeling so distant to you.
Levi goes to his room and tries not to cry while the heated exchange replays nonstop in his head. He plays his video games or watches anime while being next to one of his favourite plushies or body pillows. He starts talking to Henry, venting and all that. Then he starts missing you, but he will also avoid you and refuse to look at you. He just wants to hear "sorry" and starts self-sabotaging.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it" says Mammon while he paces around his room. He doesn't know why he's the one feeling anxious, but he also kinda knows why. I mean, it's you sooo... And Mammon can't sit still for the rest of the day and the following. He's also pissed that you're the one avoiding him when he just wanna talk about it but he wants you to initiate the conversation. This man can't sleep. He won't sleep.
There was this shocked, disappointed, upset, angry, and low-key sad expression all mixed in Lucifer's face the moment you walked out of the room. He doesn't stop you, but his pride is so hurt especially when you barely show up to him the following days after the argument. He doesn't send you a message, letter, gifts, or anything. He's just there, upset with you but wouldn't say anything. So he's basically doing the same thing Satan is doing. Acting like nothing happened.
Eventually, once you gain the courage to approach him and talk things out, these men are down bad for you and would pretend to consider your apology even though they're beyond happy that you've finally talked to them.
Once you two are on good terms again, expect a bunch of cuddles, dates, clinginess, etcetera etcetera.
a/n: the reason why I have not posted for so long is because of writer's block, as you can probably tell. I'm sorry for this poor quality of work, I promise you that I can do better than this😭 I'm looking for some fics that I've written and are finished or semi finished. I'll try posting those. As for the requests I've received (that I have not yet answered or started doing, please forgive me), I'll get to it soon and I'll do my very best to give you guys what you're asking for.
Also, the Obey Me! announcement and ending has taken a huge toll on me, so bear with me while I continue grieving please lmao hahaha (I'm not ok)
#and i mean this is me#im guilty im sorry#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me nightbringer#obey me x reader#obey me fic#obey me lucifer#mammon obey me#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me beel#obey me belphie#babi.writes
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alright.
cw: price x trans!reader. no gendered terms used so you can be trans in any direction you want. attempted deadnaming.
he knows something's amiss the second he opens the door to the pungent, chemical scent of too much cleaning product.
it's not that you don't keep a tidy house. some clutter, maybe, but only enough to feel homey, and he's never once found fault in the level of dust or dirt build up, even with his heightened standards after so many years in the service. but this level of cleanliness, the pristine shine of counters, and the cheery scent of orange peel and anise in the simmer pot on the stove. it could only mean one thing.
you're nowhere on the ground floor, though his search reveals more bleached grout, shampooed carpets. john calls up the stairs for you sweetly, a warning of his approach just a much as a barometer by which to gauge your response. he's never shied away from conflict, but he's only made it this far in life by being smart, never going in half-cocked, or with bad intel. he curses silently when you don't play along, either not having heard him or just outright ignoring him.
it's not looking good for him, that's for sure.
"sweetheart?" he tries again, beginning the ascent to your shared room. abject fear doesn't set in until he hears you banging around, taking out whatever pent up aggression you still haven't worked out on his things, by the sound of it. he scrubs a palm over his whiskers, checks the calendar on his phone to ensure he hasn't missed an important date by mistake. he doesn't truly start to panic until he hears you mutter an honest to god 'lousy good for nothin'.'
whatever he's done, there's nothing for it but to take your anger on the chin and start groveling.
you don't even give him time to greet you when he opens the door, spinning around to level him with that same look you use on the boys when they're being insufferable. it transforms you into some wild thing, fiery and tempestuous with sweat caking your hair to your temples and your breath puffing your chest up. he's half a mind to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he's a little afraid you'll make him swallow that swiffer duster if he does.
"dove -?" he tries and you huff before he can even finish, turning away to continue your tirade, mumbling incoherently all the while and he must have a death wish cause he follows after you, hands gentling on your shoulders even as you try to shrug him off. "love, look at me, please. what's wrong? hm? have i done something?"
cagey and stiff, you fight him even as he envelops you, hissin' and spittin' the whole way.
"it's nothing, john. can you -?"
his eyebrows nearly escape the confines of his forehead. "nothin'? that why you damn near polished a hole through the dining table?"
a sputtering sound, somewhere between a cough and laugh. it's all he needs to breathe a bit easier. if it had been something he'd done, you'd have mouthed off about putting a hole in him next time. he guides you to the bed, shoves the wadded up pile of dirty linens you'd clearly intended on laundering up the mattress to clear a spot for you. the smell of febreze wafts around you as you sink into it, not an inch of the house having eluded your wrath. "alright. it's alright now. c'mere, look at me," he coos, waits for you to abide before giving you an overly sweet smile. "now, what's happened?"
you sag, cut strings, the tension in your spine leaving you entirely the second he guides you through one long breath. unexpectedly easy, as if you wanted to be settled and soothed. "got a holiday card from my dad," you grumble, voice muffled somewhere in the pocket of his neck and shoulder.
he hums, the nature of your frustration starting to take shape. your father - absent the entire time he's known you, at least, though from what he gathers that hadn't been a recent development even back then. you exchange texts sometimes, often laugh when he forgets your birthday. chew john's ear off when the man has the nerve to say you're absent from his life when you fail to wish him a happy easter. he waits for you to elucidate. offers some semblance of a truce when he waits too long. "that was nice of him?"
a scoff, some wriggling. you produce a folded up drug store card with a chicken in a santa hat printed on the front. "misspoke," you croak, shoving the card into his hands. "he wrote someone a holiday card."
john sighs, presses a kiss to your scalp as he drops the card right back onto his lap. he doesn't need to open it to know what he'll find, though he's honestly surprised you'd even bothered to tell your father, not when you speak with him infrequently enough that him knowing your preferred name even seemed to matter. but it was your call and if you'd done so, only to have your wishes ignored, he'd half a mind to find this man and unload some built up issues he'd been collecting and ignoring ever since you'd first asked him to leave it.
"oh sweetheart," he murmurs, follows it with your preferred name because he wants you to know how much he likes it. "i'm so sorry. but you know who you are, even if he doesn't accept you, and -."
he stalls out when you squirm away from him, pluck the card right back up from the floor where it had fallen to press it, open, into his face. you're angry again, stalking around the room before he even realizes you've stood.
"you're sweet, but too optimistic, john." the accusation nearly levels him, not one that's ever been laid at his feet. it's a shock that only festers, bottom giving way when you continue, "that motherfucker wishes he'd deadnamed me."
well. doesn't that just pique the curiosity. he's not sure what he expects to find when he uncrumples the card. a medical bill, maybe - your father deciding that all these years of separation ought to be repaid literally. maybe the fool had gone and had another kid, sent you the ultrasound like you were all still one big happy family. he's decidedly not expecting to see the damn thing addressed to someone else entirely. so much so that he nearly asks who it's for before taking a second look, reading it over again.
wrong name. wrong deadname. a slight variant of your legal, christian name. and not even a matter of getting you confused with another family member because as far as he can remember, no one in your extended shares this name. and he can certainly remember more of your family than your damn father can. no, the man had simply forgotten what was on the birth certificate he'd signed. close, though.
"well, he's got the first syllable right," john hedges, folding the card carefully closed along the same seams you'd pressed into it. you don't find him funny, barely even acknowledge he's spoken as you continue to pace. he tries again, casting desperately for an excuse he knows the man doesn't deserve. "is he... unwell?"
"he's fucking fine, john. he's just an ass."
"he's getting up there," john counters, standing, creaky kneed, to trap you in his arms again. "you haven't seen him for years, right? maybe he's -."
"he's fine. called him to thank him for the card," you scoff, take a minute to resettle yourself before speaking again. "i was thinking maybe the same thing, you know? not unreasonable. but he's completely fine. even asked to speak with his girlfriend, just to be sure she hadn't noticed anything either. fit as a fucking fiddle. just forgot what he fucking named me."
without the distraction of cleaning, or pacing, or cursing, your frustration has nowhere to go except tears. he holds you, presses kisses to your crown. calls you by your name - your real one, the one you chose - just to make sure you know someone remembers it, he supposes. honestly, he's at a bit of a loss. not something he's overly used to, people's ability to surprise him having long since worn off. but this is a new one. or, at least not one he's equipped to handle. fathers forgot their kids all the time. forgot to go home after that trip to the store, forgot to call on their birthdays. his own old man had forgotten plenty in his time, too. but he's still fairly certain the man would have been able to recall what he'd named his son right up until the day he'd died.
by the time you've calmed down you're ready for a shower. he'd join you, but he hears the way your stomach growls, food evidently forgotten all day. so he pulls the curtain closed on you after one last kiss and picks his way to the kitchen where he starts first by sifting through the trash, finding the merry red envelope addressed to the wrong person at the bottom, buried under all the waste you'd excised during your cleaning spree. he takes a picture of the corner, tastefully crops out the name that had given you so much grief. sighing, he returns everything to the bin and washes his hands, careful to ensure he won't accidentally scald you.
the rest of the evening moves easier. there's nothing that can be said and you both know it, so you don't. he can let it settle as long as you want, doesn't mean to keep scratching at a fresh wound. so you eat dinner in relative silence, and you sit in relative silence when he lets you use him like a pillow on the couch after, your favorite comfort film playing softly. and that's fine. the next bit he can do alone, anyway. got your father's address tucked safely in his pocket already.
he just thinks someone should make sure the man's okay, is all.
and if i write a comfort fic where your daddy as hell boyfriend takes care of you after you open a card from your flesh and blood father to find it addressed to the wrong fucking name, are y'all gonna be super chill and never ask what inspired it?
#merry christmas eve yall#ran out of steam at the end but i'm done with this so.#price x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x reader
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Explaining this Sans AU of mine b/c he is haunting me 24/7 and I need to tell everyone about it
Funny thing about this guy is that he's not really a Sans, well not the Sans of his world at least. He's a little special. But to explain that we'd have to go ALLLLL the way back. So the story starts off in a world similar to that of Underswap; an Underswap variant if you will.
Backstory
This is actually Sans
(yes I know it's cropped awkwardly. It's purposeful.)
Sans here acts like your typical Swap variant. Confident, upbeat, and that relentless want and motivation to be head of the royal guard.
He lives a pretty standard and normal life in his totally normal and completely safe life in his Underswap. However, it's not really that way on the outside.
Outside of his world the player continuously plays this Underswap, over and over, but over time the player finds this boring. In order to make it less boring they start to add mods and stuff to the game to make the experience more interesting (one of the reasons why Sans looks so different from the typical Swap).
The player started small with smallish mods that mainly changed the appearance of the game, however the mods eventually grew tiring. So they kept adding and kept adding until they decided, they wanted to turn it up a notch...
They were going to delete Sans completely from the game!
When Sans was deleted from the game he didn't completely disappear. His code was just booted from the rest of the game's code, leaving him to just be there, floating... Observing...
This confused Sans immediately since he was once at home, with his wonderful (albeit lazy) brother, his amazing friends and a comfortable home then next he was merely a viewer. Unable to interact with the people he once loved, unable to follow the paths he used to, unable to live. He was only able to watch as his world continues without him.
Because of this Sans became aware quickly that his world was a complete lie. His life continued without trouble and he was forced into a harsh reality of what really happened to him in most timelines.
The world never stopped moving. But that couldn't be possible without Sans? Wrong! The game knew something was wrong when Sans was deleted. The game followed a script and the script was never disobeyed. But how? How is that possible if an entire character was missing?
Simple, the game replaced him! Since the game HAD to continue the script, it had to put something in his place. While the actual Sans walked around his world unable to do anything, the game placed a fraud in his place.
To keep the script continuing without pause or fault the game created a thing to perform the dialogue and actions that kept it going. Nobody in the world can see this thing since it wasn't made to be seen. It was made to trick the world into thinking Sans is there when he's not. It's there to be Sans when he's not Sans.
This thing was made of dark smog and smoke and had no physical form. The reason being is that despite being a replacement for Sans, the game lacked general knowledge of WHO Sans is rather than his role in the game. The game didn't know how Sans acted, how he looked, how he felt, however it knew that he was a skeleton who was a character. So this figure was never complete looking, always disfigured and ghastly.
Sans could see this figure. Sans could see the thing that took his place in this world. Sans could see the creature who's pretending to be him. However Sans couldn't ever do anything about it, since he was deleted.
So Sans would watch, and watch, and watch... Watch how the world repeated... Watch how this figure would pop in when he was meant to say or do something. Watch how his friends and family were dusted or spared plenty a time. It got boring to say the least. It was a shock at first, for sure! But overtime he got tired of relentless murder and runs, he almost wished he didn't ever 'die' then he'd never be forced to remember how it repeats.
Eventually the game started slowing down. With the constant addition of new mods, the player decided to branch to different websites for more. Little did they know this would drag along plenty of viruses and glitches into the game, causing it to constantly crash and pause.
During these pauses Sans found that the world would just stop in place. Everything froze and didn't move until the issue was fixed. It was a little scary at first, but interesting at the same time!
Another thing interesting was that when he was needed during a scene his copy was there and even when the game froze, he never left. Just like the rest of the characters his replacement was frozen, except not really. Since the replacement wasn't actually a part of the game they'd just sit there, waiting for the pause to conclude.
Sans, a little curious decided to get close to them one day. Despite its lack of distinction it was obviously they were a skeleton. This made Sans interested in this creature. Sans tried to communicate with them, which led to very little success.
The replacement didn't respond nor make any gesture of recognition to Sans. Instead they'd stay still until the game was started again and do their business. However, Sans didn't give up. He had a feeling something would change. So every time the game went under pauses or crashes and the replacement was around he'd try to communicate.
It was a struggle, especially since it had barely any good results. Eventually though, one singular timeline he managed to get something, a response even. When talking, not sure of what, Sans received his real first acknowledgement. A head tilt. The replacement tilted his head in the direction that Sans was standing.
It freaked him out at first. This quiet, stoic, scary figure gives no response then all of a sudden is giving their full attention. Even so, it motivated Sans immensely. He knew he was doing the right thing. So he continued, in every timeline afterwards.
Over time the replacement started to show signs of life. He slowly gained movement, however never once was able to gain the ability to talk. This was due to the fact that the figure was never once able to leave the script. They found ways around it though. Eventually Sans grew a little tired of calling his new friend "his replacement," so they agreed on the name Husk for them.
Sans and Husk continued to communicate and genuinely grew close to being actual friends. Sans for one felt grateful that he had someone to talk to during his deletion. And Husk was pretty open to actually meeting someone.
Sans learned quite a few things about Husk in his conversations. One, being that they're kinda in the same boat as Sans. They may look physically alive and okay, but realistically and even in code they are considered 'dead' or not real. Husk didn't have a soul, therefore rendering him as dead as Sans....
However... Sans realized something... Husk lacked a soul however he retained a body in his world... Meanwhile Sans lacked his physical connection to his world, but still has his soul... They knew what they needed to do...
Through some sort of magic (and logic since it's not completely figured how they do it) the two of them agree that they should combine together to make up for what they didn't have. They would complete each other. So that's exactly what they did.
They'd come together, fill in the gaps and create one singular, alive skeleton. With this, their combined selves created a new fresh body for them to share. They controlled this body together and shared it between each other.
Despite being a body made from the two of them, they knew this body was a whole new thing, a whole new person, so they settled on naming the body Ghost.
When they first got the body Husk and Sans agreed on taking turns using the body, so they can experience a sort of freedom on their own. While one was up and rampant the other would rest... However this plan proved faulty quite quickly when the body one day randomly collapsed due to exhaustion, forcing Husk and Sans out of control for a while. From then on, they agreed to control the body together.
Sans was stupid, Ghost was even more stupid. They struggled to hide the fact that they were not Sans at all, that their Sans was gone. Nobody in his world questioned it, but they all knew. Ghost was sure of it! Ghost was never as physically or even mentally healthy as Sans was before. He was completely different.
Before there used to be this confident, radiant being, bringing up everyone's mood and carrying the world on his shoulder. But now that character is hidden under this scared creature, paranoid about what's next, stuttering about everything, and hoarding loads of secrets. People probably noticed and if they did they never said anything.
Ghost was terrified. Being out of the world, unable to interact was definitely one thing. But being back, knowing the world and life you built around you was built on tremendous amounts of code and lies is another. While upset about this Ghost was happy to have her life back, even if she was an entirely new person.
Ghost would never admit to it though. He would never confess that he is more than just that of the blue skeleton before. They would take that lie to the grave and afterlife beyond him.
And so be it.
Remember those viruses? Those things that brought the blossoming relationship between Husk and Sans... Yep... They are also the ones that are slowly breaking the game from its core out.
The pauses and crashes from before slowly started mutating over the course of timelines, becoming far worse to handle. Instead of just the pauses, objects, places, and sometimes even people started to just entirely glitch out of existence. It wasn't too much of a deal at first but it grew surprisingly rapidly. Eventually the world as Ghost knew it, was tearing itself apart.
At this point his world was unlivable. After so many cries and goodbyes his world was gone, glitched out of existence. He lived in a white void for a while, confused and scared at his life just disappearing. Confused why he wasn't gone as well, confused why his world chose him to live, and scared on what he would do with his life. Eventually something, or rather someone showed up.
A grey kid, similar to the Chara of his world, but different. They introduced themselves and offered Ghost a new place to live. Ghost rejected their offer, choosing a different path. The child insisted, but eventually left Ghost alone, as she wished. Ghost sat there for a long time, just trying to wrap their head around the loss they experienced.
However Ghost was a little weird in terms of code. He wasn't really bound anywhere, meaning he was able to travel freely.... Unfortunately he didn't learn about that quickly and low-key kinda sucks at trying to travel to other universes. It's majorly just a flight response he gets from fear.
Relationships
Papyrus:
Of course Papyrus realized something was different about his brother. He's aware of the different universes, the fact their entire world is a game, all that nonsense…. However, he wasn't at all aware of the fact that his brother was replaced completely. When Sans was first deleted he had no clue since the game tricked his system into thinking he was still there. While he didn't see Husk, his code made him believe there was someone there. He was clueless about his brother being gone, since the game followed the script normally. However… when his brother came back as Ghost, he figured something was wrong. While the script has the ability to go a different route it doesn't happen (especially when Husk was there). Somehow, though, when Ghost came in, the script was completely different. This person was not his brother… and it was at the same time. The first thing Papyrus noticed was his brothers confused, hurt, and nervous nature… that was so different from his bro.. Sometimes though, he'd act like his bro, but he refused to get back onto script. He was so different, as if he knew something about his world that Papyrus didn't. Why did he act like this? Papyrus never pressured his brother and instead continued his life as if this change was normal. His brother(?) never cracked either. While they didn't look, act, or even speak like his brother, they still posed as Sans. Since Papyrus never probed for the answer, he never got it.
Error: To put it simply Ghost is an outcode and Error destroys outcodes. To put it deeper, Ghost enjoys Error's company even if he wants to kill him. Error attempted to attack Ghost a few days after his world was destroyed (after Ghost rejected Core Frisk's offer). However Ghost put up a sort of fight. He wasn't as good as Sans when he fought but he was pretty okay. This was the day Ghost learned of his power to travel to completely new worlds. When Ghost managed to get away it fueled Error with a new sense of motivation. Error would find a way to track down the purple skeleton and wreck havoc on the world he occupied. Everytime Error came around Ghost would just teleport away to a new place (typically out of fear). Then it happens all over in a sort of Cat-mouse chase.
Error would view Ghost as a nuisance, an annoyance, something that gets on his nerves. He swore multiple times to destroy Ghost as soon as he'd get his hands on him. He kinda enjoys the chasing, which keeps the destroying entertaining. He'd never admit to that of course.
Ghost was terrified at first at Error. He wasn't ready to die again... However he quickly learned of the other's stubborn and childish nature, even with his position. He found ways to have fun with Error, even if he's being chased to be killed. He finds a kind of comfort in Error's constant drive. He wasn't sure why and sure as hell couldn't explain it.
Star Sanses: Ghost has seen them before while accidentally showing up in random AUs. It was never by purpose that he meets them, but it just happens. He never gets too close to them, always just watching them from the side, watching as they battle or do whatever it is they are doing. Ghost is generally clueless about the entirety of the multiverse so he isn't so sure who these guys are. They're kinda cool looking so he doesn't really care much.
Dream is clueless about Ghost watching them but he can always feel the constant anxiety running in him. It confuses him a lot.
Ink is aware of the constant eyes of the skeleton. He knows who Ghost is exactly, however he just doesn't care. He doesn't think Ghost is a threat so he doesn't impose on the guy.
Swap is unaware.... Ghost doesn't like looking at Swap because it reminds him of what he used to be. What he was supposed to be.
Personality, Behavior and Quirks
Sans, Husk, and Ghost all act so different despite all of them technically being the same person.
Sans: | He/Him | Cis Man | Sexuality: N/A | 4'6ft | After the events of his AU he typically remains the same. He's confident, radiant, vibrant and as Swap as a Swap can be. However he picked up a few traits after being dead for a bit. He likes to make sure he's alive and living even if it's by small actions. He typically does this through senses. Touching, smelling, hearing, all reminds him that he's still alive and he is not gone. When in control of the body he likes to pump it up a level and see what the body can handle. It deems him as a risk taker. Sans constantly tires the body out since it can't even come close to the physical exhaust placed on Sans previously.
When they started travelling through AUs, Sans underwent the name Spirit. 1, being that he didn't want confusion amongst other Sanses. And 2, he's not too comfortable with sharing his identity so easily
He has scars all along his arms from when he was alive. He was too motivated to let a few scars from training stop his stride. So often they'd build up and keep building till the bone would chip away. When alive he'd wear compression gloves because the scars would flare up sometimes and hurt
When he was still just a ghost he'd never wear his shoes or gloves to feel closer to his world around him
He loves boots and would prefer to wear them with every outfit
His favorite color is blue and sometimes green
When he was alive he used to make all of his clothes by hand. He was never really good at fashion but he thought he was
Husk: | They/Them (sometimes he) | Agender | Sexuality: N/A | 5'7 | Husk is quiet. They don't speak. It was a habit that was picked up and was never put down. Instead they prefer to find other ways to communicate, ASL being mostly used. Husk, if in control of the body likes to be distant, alone, and blend into the background. Having a way to live and all these very alive things (emotions, thoughts, ability to communicate, etc) has them kinda overwhelmed. They don't like being in control of the body unless Sans is there controlling it as well.
They're pretty clingy and often affectionate
They doesn't like being alone that much
In his ghost form their physical body was able to morph however they felt. They could be as big and as small as they want. They sometimes use this ability to their advantage
Before when they were a puppet to the game they didn't really have any traits. They didn't have things like emotions, thoughts, etc. Since they are so new to these things they don't express much, finding it all so confusing
Their favorite colors are red and white
While quiet they aren't very shy. They like using sarcasm and sometimes come off more rude than need be
Ghost: | He/Them/Hers | Genderfluid | Sexuality: NwlNw | 5'2 | Despite just being a combination of both Husk and Sans, Ghost acts like they are their own being. It even confuses Husk and Spirit why he is so different. They are unnaturally scared all the time and constantly trembling. However underneath the shield of fear they are a jokester. They like getting into trouble and causing chaos. The body itself is unstable. It's falling apart as he walks and picks itself back up when the possibility of death is apparent.
Ghost is a coffee addict. It "calms" his nerves as he'd like to put it
They are very fidgety and often find their body was moving in some sort of way (tapping his heels against the floor, chewing on his fingers, tapping his fingers against things, rocking back and forth, etc)
He was not a pro at wearing heels and first but now he has mastered doing everything in them; from fighting to running (he still however sometimes trips)
Ghost is pretty clumsy, possibly due to the body being unstable and overall Imbalanced
He has a bad habit of passing out when under high stress or fear. He considers it (jokingly) a defense mechanism
Fashion is one of her favorite things ever. She loves always looking her best. His fashion sense is a mix between expensive, comfortable, and rich auntie/mom. However they aren't afraid to try our new styles.
Anyone who dates them is automatically considered poly (as declared by Sans)
Ghost likes to set high expectations for himself however they are scared of failure
His eyes turn blue and red respectively when Husk and Spirit step away from control (either to talk or situate something). In this phase Ghost can't do anything, see, feel, or literally be anything. However they are still conscious in this phase since Husk and Sans still occupy his head
Anatomy and Physical Features
(an official body ref has not been made yet and is still in the works)
Ghost has dark spots all over his bones. This was due to patches of his body being succumbed to Husk's mysterious figure. Along with this the body is unstable. As pictured above pieces of his body break off and float. It does eventually combine back into the rest of the body, but by then another piece of his body would have broken off. His figure repeats this. All the pieces floating off are technically dead but come back to life when they are conjoined again, leaving his anatomy in a constant dying and reviving state.
The worst of this would be his rib cage, where the bone doesn't ever reform. There is just a constant hole in his chest, leaving his soul vulnerable. Ghost, in turn, likes to wear pretty tight fit clothing, hoping it'd keep his body together. He also prefers to cover up, since they find their body both disgusting and creepy.
---
So uh... Yeah.. I think that concludes the explanation. I probably forgot a few details but I can't recall anything else. So if you have any questions don't be afraid to send an ask (I would actually really appreciate it).
#art#fanart#digital art#artists on tumblr#undertale art#alternate universe#undertale#sans au#sans art#sans#sans the skeleton#sans the comic#utmv#sans undertale#undertale sans#artist#spectartale#spectartale ghost#spectartale au#Ghost utmv#utmv Ghost
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Blasphemy
Previous I Masterlist I Next
7.4k words....... my brain is mush but i wanted to finish this so badly so here it is!! i need to stop looking at it, you look at it now i dont want it >:( CWs: blood, referenced torture, broken bones, unconsciousness, self-esteem issues, crying, begging, self-sacrifice, bleeding out, religious themes, angel whumpee, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpees, nonhuman/vampire/deity whumper, bad caretaker, carewhumper, slavery mention, death, psychological whump, emotional whump, power dynamics, Grim's inability to be normal about his little guys, Auden's inability to be normal about anything, nudity (nonsexual)
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
Of course he panicked.
How could he not? He just watched someone slowly bleed out in front of him, now lying in a pool of their own blood on the floor, motionless and gone, — and right before they pass out, all they ask of him is not to panic? What kind of request is that!
He told them to stop, he told them to take a break; why would they not listen? He doesn't need to be a healer to know that blood needs to stay inside a body, mortal or not. Blood means pain, blood means danger, blood means something is wrong. Blood covers every single inch of the floor.
Are they dead? He doesn't know, he doesn't know! They stopped moving, they fell to the ground like a corpse. They look dead, with the darkness under their eyes, and the sickly cold paleness that took hold of their skin. He should know, should be able to tell, he's an angel, how could he not know if a mortal is dead or not?
He has never needed to know. Healing is not a Guardian’s job, it's the sign of a Guardian’s failure. A Guardian protects, a Guardian shields, a Guardian prevents hurt before it could even occur. If their Dependant needs healing, that means they have failed in their duty.
He cannot have let this happen to them. He cannot have failed again. He cannot have failed them again.
All he knows to do is what feels right. The way he scrambles out of the bathtub is akin to a wild thing. He slips onto his knees, cradling Mori's unconscious body, barely feeling the wet tiles under his bony limbs. He holds them close, calling to them, shaking them gently.
They are cold, but mortals are only cold when their bodies die. He looks around frantically. A towel of some sort, large, folded neatly on a dresser near him. He leans over to tear the one he can reach out of the tower, not caring about all the rest falling to the floor after it. He drapes it over the both of them, hoping to achieve some sort of tent to trap the heat under.
Mori doesn't stir. No matter how much he warms them, no matter how many times he calls their name, no matter how much he begs them to remain alive; they show no aspiration to live. He grabs another towel and wraps it around their head, trying to stall the bleeding of their broken antler. That must be key; blood is finite, he has to stop it.
He isn't sure if mortals feel pain in their sleep, so he works carefully around the wound, putting far too little pressure onto it to cease the flow. The towel just keeps languidly swallowing up their blood, but it has to help, it must be better than nothing. Maybe if he holds them closer, if he cleans off all the crimson from their face. He wipes away the curtain of blood from their forehead and eye. He fixes their hair — it was a little dishevelled, but they kept it out of their eyes, carding through it habitually any time they got nervous.
There, they look a little better. That must have helped.
It has to help.
Please, please help.
They aren't moving. He holds them a little closer, shakes them, pleads with them. No response. The tent of towels and black wings aren't warming them at all. The blood still oozes.
He doesn't know what to do; he doesn't know how to help!
They need help.
He shouldn't…
‘They will die if you don't, and it will be all your fault.’
The only healer he knows of here is the Doctor, but he doesn't know how to contact it. He has seen absolutely nobody else in this silent mansion of endless corridors, and he fears leaving Mori's side for even a moment to go look. He wants to help them, but he needs help to do that.
So, in his weeping desperation, he calls to the one person he knows will answer.
Tears of worry pooling in his eyes, scared and helpless like a child, he wails for the Reaper.
Mori told him not to yell when they first met. He hadn't understood yet just how dangerous it could be to draw attention to himself. He was scared, just as scared as he is now, and now here he is, yelling again, listening to his own voice echo back at him, waiting for Death to arrive. This time, he makes noise on purpose, with purpose, and that only scares him more, because then if things go wrong, it won't be an accident anymore. He chose to do this all on his own.
He needs to, he has to. The Reaper has to understand. Mori will understand.
Even if they don't, at least they will still be alive to be angry at him for it.
The Reaper isn't here yet, and Auden tries his best to be patient. He counts the seconds, managing to make it past sixty, up till seventy. At around seventy-two he touches the towel wrapped around Mori's antler. It's heavy with blood.
He decides to try calling again.
It takes him another minute to psych himself up to raise his voice again and scream, his lungs filled with a convoluted mess of desperation to save Mori no matter the cost. The knowledge that he is demanding a deity to hurry up and answer him — his Lord would have erased him just for thinking he was entitled to His time.
But the Reaper isn't his Lord. Calling him a deity feels like sacrilege in itself, but Auden doesn't know what else to refer to him as. Anything lower seems unfitting, but he will absolutely not for even a moment think them coequal in status, power, or any other metric. He is powerful, and terrifying, and vicious and cruel, a force, necessary, but the angel only sees a twisted sanctuary every time he thinks of him. He is all those terrible things, and he saved him. He has to save Mori.
Auden fidgets under Mori. He rustles his wings. Tries to swallow the growing lump in his throat. The quiet fills with the gentle sound of rain droplets landing against the windows. Three large windows, with a double cross of thin black iron running up it to end in a pointed top elegantly. Should he open the window, let in some fresh air? No, it must be cold outside, Mori would get even colder. He holds them a little closer.
Where is he? Last time it barely took a minute for the Reaper to show up, popping up out of thin air like he never even left. It has to have been at least ten minutes, maybe twenty. An hour. A long time. He keeps having to reorder his black-blue legs under him, going numb on his knees with the extra weight.
He shudders out a breath that sounds suspiciously close to a sob, getting dizzy with how much he cranes his head from wall to wall, hoping to catch his black-cloaked saviour leaning up against it. Why is the Reaper not showing? He has to be coming. He looks down at Mori, sniffling. Whines pull at the corners of his lips, wobbling his chin.
Auden yells again, as loud as he can. The end of his cry wanes off into a miserable sound, muffled into Mori's hair.
Maybe he misunderstood. Maybe it wasn't the noise that had caught the Reaper's attention before. Maybe he is just so far away that he cannot hear. Maybe he heard and he doesn't care. Maybe he isn't coming at all. Lord, he isn't coming at all, is he?
Auden is all on his own, and Mori will die, or they are already dead, because Auden is a useless, winged fraud. Just a weak, pathetic nobody, getting people hurt and making fake promises. Mori died because of him. They died because he couldn't do as he was told.
“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry, Mori, I'm sorry,” — he blubbers through his tears. If he wasn't holding them as he does, he would draw blood with how deep he wants to dig his overgrown nails into his palm.
He wonders if Mori's soul can feel the force of his sobs through his chest. If it can hear his pitiful apologies. His ridiculous weeping.
He is so preoccupied with his self-loathing that he fails to notice the change. The candles giving a gentle, warm light flicker with an inexplicable gust of wind. The air cools and thickens with dread, filling his throat with a wicked black fog. The feeling of being watched is ignored. The suffocating terror starting up inside him is not much different than his grief. Past the curtain of his half-washed hair, a pair of heavy boots appear. A cloak of darkness. The smell of rot follows.
Then, a dark, haunting voice.
“Peril finds you good company, doesn't she?”
Auden jerks at the Reaper's insincere lamentation, his gasp loud in the otherwise silent room. His crying quiets immediately, frozen in his throat. He can't decide if he should be relieved or even more scared upon finding the Grim Reaper had heard him. He brought with him his deadly scythe and cloak of shadows. Auden cannot see under the canine skull, and it makes him nervous that he doesn't know what kind of expression it hides. Was that a tone of disappointment or indifference? Boredom? What if he is angry? Angry at him for yelling, for not doing as he said, for letting Mori die; oh, he must be angry…
His mouth opens and closes, suddenly dry of all sound. His eyes switch wildly between the deity and his maybe-dead companion, eventually filling with new tears and looking up pleadingly at his saviour, hoping for a little more mercy. — “I-I’m sorry, I yelled, I sh-shouldn’t, I know, but I-I-I didn't, I didn't know what else to do ah-and — Help, please help them, please help, I-I do not, I do not kn — I am not a healer, please don't let them die like this, I beg you, I beg you…”
The plea is soft, a quiet prayer. He is begging earnestly, deeply and perplexingly distraught at the misfortune of someone he hasn't even known for a day. His grief is raw and true. Kneeling in a pool of blood like this, weeping unendingly, painting the fawn with his sorrow, holding onto the tortured soul in his arms like they are the most precious treasure he has ever known — Grim finds it all such a pleasant surprise to come back to. Far more interesting than whatever the Hell those mortals were bumbling on about at the parley.
He expected Mori to have passed out, naturally; that part doesn't surprise him. But the angel… oh, this angel is surpassing all of his expectations. He is terrified for them, holding their unconscious body as if they will disappear if he lets go. And this beautiful red sheen across the floor, wall to wall; the overwhelming flavor of Mori's blood dancing in the air…
His footfalls remain measured as he approaches the two. He considers them silently, letting the pause eat at the angel, making up his mind on where to go from here. Finally, he sighs.
“The irony of calling me of all people here to save your friend cannot be lost on you,” — the Reaper says as he removes his mask, casually untensing every muscle that was primed to roll heads upon arriving at the angel’s desperate call, — “whatever made you think I would help them? Do you know me to be so merciful?”
The angel seems a little crestfallen at that, a little confused. Can't the Reaper see the person dying in his arms? Why would he not help? He has to help! — “Th — Mori, did — They need help…”
“Do they deserve help?”
“Yes!” — the Fallen cries, manic in his own uselessness, — “they, they did it right. They said you, you told them to help me, and they did, they kept going until they fell, even though I told them not to, and, a-and now you won't help them?”
Death tilts his head at him, brows raised and eyes laying him bare. A look of faux-confusion, like Auden is not making any sense, as well as something a little dangerous underneath peeking through at Auden's last words. — “They did not do it right. They have failed.” — He gestures at their unconscious body, still slowly oozing blood onto the floor, a puddle having been made to halo their head. — “I asked them to feed you, bathe you and get you ready for your new master. You are soaking wet and naked, distressed, kneeling in filth on the floor. Nowhere near ready. They have failed in their task.”
He isn't angry with them; there is no fury in his voice. He is stating this like it's a fact that they deserve to die for not meeting his impossible standards. The chilling conviction in him stalls the angel’s breath.
‘Convince him. Try to convince your saviour that he is wrong. Beg for his favour. He is testing your faith.’
His bare shoulders jerk, the sudden weight of the persistent voice landing on them like a pair of heavy hands, guiding him further into desperation. Grim narrows his eyes.
Any other angel would have taken the straight refusal of help and backed down, bowing their head and apologising for asking for something so untoward. Angels do not argue. They do not plead; they pray and hope, and if their wishes aren't granted, then it is the will of God, and so there must be good reason for it. It's part of their culture, something that most of them do not even notice about themselves as strange or naïve. It's just how they operate in Heaven, and only once removed from their palace of ignorance do they start understanding all the intricate little ways in which they are taught to obey and never question much of anything.
Auden never found this particular skill to be so self-evident or natural to weave. Even if he did, his Guardian nature will not allow him to let go so easily when Mori could very well die in his arms any moment, and it's on him to try to plead with the Reaper to save them. —“Please. They do not deserve this. It, it isn't fair.”
The Reaper smiles. It's an empty smile that doesn't reach past his lips. — “Is that so?” — Pretending to be in deep thought, Grim hums, then leans down as if to whisper to the angel about something forbidden, the blade of his heavy scythe floating above him like a crescent moon as his hands move to cross at the small of his back. — “Is it fair, up there?”
The angel pauses, swallowing. — “Whu — What?”
“Was it fair when they deemed you a sinner? When you were cast out? When you landed; burnt, bruised, defenceless on the earth as a mortal? Was it fair?”
His eyes widen. Auden remembers when it all fell apart. He remembers vividly every pair of eyes that turned hateful, the friends he lost, the time he spent praying, begging for another chance. He thought he was invincible back then. He thought that as an angel, a Guardian, no matter how weak or clumsy he was, as long as he kept his faith close, there would be nothing more he could want. He worried about such insignificant things, spending days with worry etched between his brows because of an off-handed comment someone more capable than him made, trying so pathetically to prove himself to people who couldn't care less about him.
He was trying so desperately to fit in, while failing to follow the most simple of instructions given to him by his Seraph.
He thought he knew better. When he was told his human no longer deserved protection, he thought there must have been a mistake. When he kept watching over them despite clear orders, he thought he was doing the right thing. When his human got into trouble, real trouble, and he had to help, he had to, but there was no way to do it lawfully, not without breaking the most unbreakable of rules; — when he locked eyes with his human for the first time like he always dreamed he could, when he saw recognition in theirs… He was arrogant, selfish, unfit to be a holy servant. He was told as much when his sins were tallied by the cold voice of the Council during the ceremony of his banishment.
He wonders if he could visit his human sometime now that he is stuck here. He hopes they are safe. He hopes they don't remember him at all, but he wonders sometimes, — if they do remember him, do they think of him often?
Maybe he shouldn't visit them anyway. He would much rather they keep the image of who he was back then instead of who he is now.
“It w-was…” — His head droops. He tries to consider the Reaper's question, but the more he thinks about it, the more it confuses him. He huffs frustratedly. It should be the easiest answer to give. His Lord is fair and just. Every angel lives by strict rules, orders, responsibilities. His punishment was fair. He takes it to be another failing of his own; just how much it hurts to believe this. — “…It doesn't matter if, if it was. Mori doesn't deserve this.”
‘Your crime was not sin. It, too, was inadequacy. Failure. You were not malicious. You were weak.’
He may have been weak, but Mori isn't. They are stronger than he ever was.
‘They failed their Master like you failed yours.’
That's different, the Lord is not Auden's master — Mori wasn't made to obey —
‘Were they not? They told you what they are. A slave from birth. Made to serve.’
“Mori doesn't deserve any of this, they, they — “
‘They are hellspawn. They deserve everything they are given.’
“They don't! — he nearly shouts, overwhelmed and manic with grief, trying to drain out the malevolent voice inside his head. — “They did everything as well as they possibly could, they made no mistakes, they were kind and brave and helpful and they for-forgave me, even after, after I messed up, over and over again! Just, if,“ — his voice breaks in preparation for what he is about to ask for, — “if they deserve punishment, let me take it! If they failed, it was because of me, and I will, I will take it, no matter what it is. I won't let them — please don't punish them for my mistakes.”
The Reaper's expression hardly changes in reaction to Auden's outburst. The angel's choppy babbling doesn't really phase him, though the corner of Grim's mouth catches on that almost threat; — ‘I won't let them.’ As if the angel had any power over what happens next. The thought is amusing.
It's hilarious how little he knows of pain. He would not be so eager to take it otherwise.
Grim's polite smile quickly vanishes, eyes narrowed to slits. Leaning back in a slow, assertive manner, he straightens his spine to stand tall once more, looking down upon Auden like a judge. His head is haloed by the light of the chandelier behind him, casting an intimidating shadow over the both of them. — “I am not deaf, angel. If I wished to hear your shrill screeching, believe me, I would have plenty of ways to drag it out of you.”
The angel's mouth snaps shut instantly. This sudden change in the deity's tone freezes him to his core. The way he fights himself to speak so he may apologise reminds Grim of a fish out of water, mouth agape and gasping. — “I-I didn't… I am sorry, I didn't realise I was —”
“No, you did not. Perception eludes you like oil does water.”
It's that little righteous incredulity that crawls its way into his tone. That disappointment, but a lack of expectation to begin with, that sears Auden's heart like venom. It's a familiar pain, and so he does what he has learned to do all those other times he felt this same shame — he bows his head and remains silent, letting the self-loathing eat up any stray thoughts that could distract him from his shame.
Truthfully, Grim is not so angry. Maybe a little, — after all, this is the second time he has come to the angel's rescue, only to find him perfectly fine — but it does irk him, this… shadow, behind every word he says. Something bothers him, clearly. Whatever it is, it muffles his true thoughts, distracts him, diverts his attention; and well, Grim has never been very good at sharing with others. He wants to rip open that silly skull and pick at his brain until he finds what he is looking for.
The angel shivers under his gaze. In allowing Auden a moment to steep in his misery, he also allows for the mouthwatering aroma of Mori's spillt blood to overwhelm his focus. With the crimson smeared so thoroughly in this small room, the smell of it is near impossible to ignore. In the angel's arms, Mori is angled just so, their veins supplying drop after drop of crimson for the floor to collect. The sound of wasted nectar could drive him mad. This lovely scene coupled with the angel's pleasant vanilla-scent, and his beautiful sorrow on display is a perfect cocktail mix for all his senses to drink up.
He inhales deeply. Eternal hunger is a hell of a curse.
Eventually, the angel's sobs quieten. Softness carries Death's next words; — “Were you scared for them?”
Auden nods, sniffling sadly. His only friend, perhaps already dead. It devastates him. He loosens his hold on Mori, breaking under the voice telling him over and over that he is holding onto a corpse.
“You have grown so close to them already… a foolish mistake, but you couldn't have known. You know so little.”
A backhandedly sympathetic assurance that only serves to drive the edge of that searing shame deeper into his chest. The tent he holds sinks as his wings do, pooling the towel around himself and uncovering Mori's cold body. They look so small and defenceless. A sea of scars, old and new. Deep bruises that will never have the chance to heal. Tired eyes that will never open. A shattered wrist and a snapped antler, his own contributions to the collage of their suffering.
He is truly the most pathetic being in all of existence.
In the soft candlelight, Grim watches him unravel with great excitement. Though he says nothing, his lips curl and his eyes light up in amusement. This Fallen is a funny one. A large golden heart hidden beneath the thinnest layers of skin and bone. Naïve. Easy to mold, to trick, to scar. Passionate, even now, during a time most would consider too unbearable to be worth holding on for. And the taste of his sorrow; the sweetness of his tears… Such a darling little lamb.
Though the sound of footfalls were not silent, Auden still flinches from the silver claws entering his vision. Dropped to a crouch, Grim had sat aside his scythe and attempted to lower himself to the angel's level, now reaching for Mori.
Numbly, Auden watches those clawed fingers sink beneath the sticky brown locks of the unconscious servant. They massage tenderly, avoiding cutting into the skin underneath. The closeness has Auden’s skin inadvertently crawling, his already cold flesh chilled even deeper from such proximity to Death. Like this, he finds himself paying that much closer attention to every little detail about his saviour.
The Reaper's skin is truly pale, its hue only surpassed by his snow-white hair. Auden's gaze catches on the small dot right under his left eye — do beings like him have such flaws? Mortals have plenty, birthmarks and such, but Auden has never imagined deities could have such mundane imperfections. His left arm is where the void-black markings on his skin begin — downright monstrous with sickening veins popping out of wicked muscles, fully corrupted by the darkness, a gauntlet of silver claws enunciating its role being a weapon of slaughter. From the tips of the fingers, to the wrist, shoulder, then presumably up the chest and crawling all the way up under his chin, drawing confusing, intricate shapes that remind Auden of an all-consuming hellfire.
The hand carding through Mori's hair is jewelled as opposed to armoured, the markings there more… unnatural. Man-made would be a better term to use. They remind Auden of some of the painted pages of his codices in their pattern, as opposed to the fuller, consuming, almost infectious spread running up his neck. Parallel lines, symbols, some sort of language. They run along each finger, disappearing under shining metal rings, ending in sharp black nails. Auden never noticed before, just how marred the flesh under those rings are. It's like they were welded into him. Deep, sickening scarring that is red around the edges under each iron band.
He wonders just how much influence Hell’s infection has had on the Reaper. As far as he is aware, Death has been a neutral, non-conforming being since the beginning of time. Because his job requires him to be a bridge not only between Heaven and Earth, but Hell and Earth as well, and because of his independent nature, angels have grown further and further from conversing with him, and Auden has only really been taught that the Grim Reaper is a necessary evil, and that it's not his place to be inquiring about things that do not pertain to him. But he has to imagine, with how much of Earth has been swallowed up by demonkind, the balance of things changing must have had some sort of effect on him.
His brain feels like there are a thousand ants crawling all over it. His train of thought halts upon contact with those iron claws, holding his chin to direct his wide eyes toward the Reaper's. The claws are sharp, an ornately carved glove of icy blades. His breath halts completely, and the Reaper grins.
“You are fond of them,” — the Reaper states, jerking Auden's head to lead his gaze back to himself when he tries looking away, — “did you get to know each other well?”
Auden finds it hard to care, right now. Even through his fear-indebtedness-adoration for the deity and Death's cursed aura snuffing out any breath of disobedience with a chilling sense of terror, he just cannot bring himself to respond. His eyes are red and empty and tired, similar to Mori's — their gaze is always alert, fearful, but tired, missing their spark. They hold no flame in them anymore; that is, if they ever did. A wilted rose.
He cannot nod, but the fresh tears and a lovely shudder are enough of a response either way.
Grim tuts sympathetically, feeling a great urge to kiss away those beautiful tears. While it is a mere fact that angels are not exactly made to deal with loss, this one is young and so very tenderhearted. It very nearly breaks his heart to watch the darling dove shatter like this.
It is the angel's most endearing quality; how strongly he feels. It's like all rational thought escapes him as soon as his heart fires up. When he is frustrated or sees some sort of injustice, he forgets himself, and becomes foolishly unafraid. When he is sad, he cannot bear to exist at all, shutting down completely. And Grim does not doubt for a moment that he becomes the most bouncy, passionate, energetic critter when he is happy. It almost makes him curious to see just how much joy can fit into this broken-winged-broken-hearted darling. It clearly doesn't matter who witnesses, if the little thing behaves like this even in front of him, someone he is well and truly afraid of.
“Do not weep,” — he settles on, the soothing murmur coupled with a kind expression, — “It will be okay. It will all be okay. I will make sure of it.”
It isn't a lie, depending on a given day. Somedays, okay means content and safe. On others, it will mean just enough mercy to keep his lungs working so he may live. However, it doesn't matter what it means to the angel. Right now, what he hears is what he needs — supporting words, kind words, caring words. He could forget about the blades at his throat for those, like he has already forgotten the godly being comforting him is the same one that wounded his friend so deep and cruel, then forced them to work themself bloodless and unconscious.
A tear slides down his claw, glimmering tantalisingly as it rolls down like a pearl of glass. It's so perfectly silent. His pointed ears twitch at the sound of the drop splattering on the floor.
He cannot resist lifting a hand soaked in Mori's blood to wipe away the rivulets of sweet sorrow from the angel's red cheeks. Hopefully his tears blind him to the condescending expression on the Reaper's face. — “There there. Come, let me help.”
Wiping, petting, caressing, pinching, ruffling, — his hands do not leave him until Auden starts reacting, once he realises he is being teased, weakly pulling back from all the unwanted, giggling attention. It should really not surprise him at all that Death would find the passing of a mortal so uninteresting, but his stomach still flips at just how unbothered he acts. Mori spoke so reverently of him…
With one last pull on his still slippery hair — the conditioner was never rinsed out, it seems, though the strong yet pleasant smell coming off him in waves should have been a dead giveaway — Grim rescinds. Gently, he takes hold of Auden's wrists, pressing his thumbs flush against his pulse there and massaging. He feels so wonderful. — “Let go of them, angel.”
Belatedly, Auden draws back from Mori's body, letting the Reaper cradle them instead. In the tall deity's arms, they look even smaller. As he stands, Auden finds himself reaching after them, watching Mori's legs swing in the air limply, their body held in a bridal carry. The unshakeable urge to protect eats at him relentlessly. He feels like a dog growling at passerby above its owner's corpse.
“Whe-Where are you take-ing them?” — Auden croaks tiredly, cursed with the after-cry hiccups.
The towel the angel had wrapped around Mori's head falls to the ground with a wet splat. The stump where their antler used to be is still weeping, though much slower, demanding attention from the vampyric deity. He may have gone a little overboard with that one, he ponders, humming himself; — but really, it's his little fawn’s fault for making the most adorable sounds when he threatened to rip the antler off by grabbing onto it and slowly twisting their head by it. Their ears pulled back, their eyes turned as large as dinner plates, and they trembled, so small, so sweet against the floor, pinned and vulnerable, squirming under their master to escape, but too scared to actually try. They do so well with threats, so proficient in begging for mercy, so perfect soaked in terror.
There is no wolf that could hold its jaw slack around the throat of its prey once its fangs have drawn blood. It is fun for a while; the squirming, the whining, the pleading and crying; — but it is only a matter of time until those jaws slam down and shatter the vermin's spine.
Gently, with so much care, he presses his lips onto the wound, kissing it closed. His fawn’s delectable blood could send him into a frenzy on the best of days, but unfortunately, they might really not survive if he doesn't concentrate, so he makes sure not to lose himself in his violent thirst.
Miraculously, the bleeding stops. Grim purrs, perfectly content as he licks his teeth clean of the divine crimson.
Auden is… mortified. What did Death just do? Does he do that often? It looked like he enjoyed it, and the very thought of taking pleasure in the taste of someone's blood — someone who is dying of a lack of it! — sends a horrid shiver down Auden's spine. Perhaps it's some sort of ritual, for the Reaper to drink the blood of the deceased? That sounds like some sort of demonic ceremony. He called Mori a demon, before… He can't really make up his mind about this, so he just stares at the deity like an idiot, a somewhat questioning-disgusted look on his face.
Auden is so stunned that Grim cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Those big wet eyes are so perplexed at what they were just witness to; he is reminded of a baby seal. — “What is it? You look positively aghast.”
The big grin on his face is tainted with smudges of red. Auden opens his mouth, but he ends up closing it anyway. He blinks, shakes his head. It's nothing, he signals.
To that, there is no response. A moment stretches between the two, listening to the sounds of rain and Auden's hand rubbing at his face. There is blood under his nails.
“Well, to answer your question, since you won't answer mine — I am helping them,” — he states, bouncing them carefully to get a better grip on their body, — “is that not what you wanted? Would you prefer me to leave them here to rot?”
Auden shakes his head vehemently, though his eyes water and his face falls again at the confirmation of his perceived situation. He is going to dispose of the body. — “No, no, I do not want that, I am sorry, I’m, I-I just…”
Grim can see his throat closing up from where he stands. The angel’s sobs are choking him, barely letting him speak. What comes out is a fragile, quivering breath. — “Could… Could you please tell them that, h-how, that, that I am sorry? I, I am sorry that I could not save them? Please. A-And that I nev-ver, ever meant to hurt them? I-I, need them to know this, please…”
Oh, now that is just precious. He is so scared they won't forgive him. It warms Grim’s heart. — “So I am your messenger pigeon now, am I?”
Auden could never live with the thought that Mori died because of him and that they never even heard him apologise. The crushing guilt he feels will kill him if the last thing Mori was allowed to do was clean his body of filth, a slave from birth ‘till death, as they bled out, and Auden could never let them know how much more he thought of them, how in the short time he spent with them, they have entirely changed how he sees the world. Auden wanted to ask them so many things, he wanted to hear them talk and see them smile and help them and protect them, and he cannot keep living if they will never even know how much they meant to him.
It was only a few hours at best. Half of it was spent in terror, pain and confusion. But, Auden cannot help it; — when he sees an innocent, good soul suffer, he would give up everything he can to preserve their life. If Mori deserved half of what was done to them, then Auden deserves a hundred times worse. It's no wonder in his mind that he feels so strongly for them, even after such a short time; to him his duty is clear as day. That must be why he hurts so much, watching Death take them like he would any other perished mortal.
He sounds like he's demanding again, and he is starting to feel like that might be true. His thoughts vacillate. He goes quiet for a moment.
He's already kneeling. What else does he have to lose?
“Angel…” — the Reaper gasps, scandalised by what he sees.
The boy just keeps on thinking of new, outrageous ways to surprise him. He is bowing in front of him, putting his hands together in humble prayer. At his feet, showing obedience and loyalty, he supplicates to someone other than his Lord. He breaks another rule, disobeys another law, because what does it matter to follow divine law when he will never get to gaze upon his Heaven or be grazed by God's holy light again? What does anything matter, all that he does and thinks and finds right, in this upside down world of torment and perdition? Why was he even created, allowed to live, if he cannot even fulfill the one purpose he was made for? He is a failure, through and through, if he truly would rather hold onto dignity and loyalty to something he will never have the opportunity to be part of again — if he ever was — over what truly matters.
The Fallen closes his eyes, hiding from his own act of sacrilege. Behind his eyelids, he sees Mori, scared and alone, stuck inside their body, in darkness, feeling only the frigid touch of Death nearby. The image provides inspiration to continue what he began. — “I ask you, Grim Reaper, you who governs death, who ferries mortal souls to the beyond, to hear me. I need you as much as I fear you, but more than myself, I fear for the blameless soul in your arms, and ask… beg, that you find it in your endless might to allow my message to be heard, before they leave here and never return.”
This is prayer. He is praying to him. The angel has thrown away everything this very moment, broken down and empty, and prays as he would have — should have — done for no one else but his Lord. The rule, one that cannot be broken, of faith above all else, of belief and reverence and worship for nobody but their one true God, a law engraved so deeply into every angel's soul that even after death they cannot help floating towards light, no matter how far they have fallen; — he would betray his divine nature so easily; for a slave of Hell. For a single, inconceivably small speck of dust he barely knows. Absolutely astounding.
He wouldn't dream of cutting short this beautiful show of veneration. He waits patiently until the angel convinces himself to spit out the Amen, sealing the prayer as is customary, and waits longer still to see if he will say anything more. Temptation drives him to keep waiting until the Fallen crawls forward to kiss his feet or start making other desperate offerings of submission in the hopes that he grants his wish. Alas, time is not infinite.
“I think I may have a supposition about what the reason you were cast out may be,” — he crools belatedly, — “I have to ask, angel; — are you mad?”
He must be, Auden is certain. He hears voices that aren't his own, he cannot understand things that are obvious and clear to anyone but him, he would give up everything for the smallest of rewards and do it all over again if the opportunity arose, he is an outlier and a failure and he is the only angel in existence that would choose to worship a bringer of death over spending all that is left of his life begging the Lord for forgiveness. No sane angel acts like this. No sane angel even thinks of doing this.
It feels impossible to squeeze any sort of a response out of himself. Lacking any other way to proceed, he bows low, all the way to the floor. His forehead touches the cold, sticky layer of Mori's blood below. It surprises even him, how little shame he feels. He doesn't really feel much of anything, unable to see past Mori's teary face in front of him. All he cares about is making sure they know someone will miss them, and remember them.
He is as close as he can physically be without touching the deity. His hair reaches for the toe of Grim's boot. He remembers how similarly Mori bowed before Death when they met, right before their hand was shattered bit by bit. He forces his hands still.
“I cannot tell if you were made too well, or made to fail. Your sense of duty flares so bright, it supersedes your faith. A disloyal angel: how paradoxically peculiar…” — Grim wonders aloud. Despite himself, he is a small bit awestruck at this rather sacrilegious turn of events. An angel that would willingly serve another god — oh, he knew this one would be special, he knew as soon as he had laid eyes on him! His old friend will have plenty to nibble on with this wretched little dove, what with all their mirrorisms. He cannot wait to finally introduce them.
With this, he wonders — what kind of angel would do something like this for someone like Mori? A fierce sense of protection, responsibility and righteousness, enough to rival faith. He does not have to think for long.
“You're a bit small for a Guardian, aren't you?” — he beamed, his tone patronising and wicked. — “A protector of the innocent. Justice is your flesh and self-sacrifice sweetens your veins. Mori is more than a companion to cling to in your darkest time of need, I see now. You chose them as your Dependant. What a brashly unfortunate decision that was.”
It wasn't a decision — he wants to scream those words at Death, for seeing through him so effortlessly, like he knows exactly what goes on in Auden's head. A decision would require conscious thought. It can be abandoned at any point. What he has made is a pact, and while he may have been somewhat conscious of his initial urge to protect, it's become something he cannot let go of, something that drives him crazy every day as long as it lasts, and that haunts him long after it's broken. He cannot help it, he can love no other way.
He wants to scream, but all that makes it out is a sound similar to a miserable choked off sob. The wings on his back are lopsidedly sliding off his back to soak on the floor instead, too exhausted to be kept neatly folded behind him.
The Reaper's laughter is a haunting melody ending in a good-natured sigh. — “Mm, well. I must admit, you have given me a taste of something new. My name is only spoken to pray me away by most. I am so used to ignoring pleas — but one so beautifully spoken I cannot ignore so easily.”
There is a pause, the sound of rain. Then, Death steps closer again, finding grip under the angel's chin with the toe of his blooded boot. He doesn't stop lifting until those gorgeous lavender eyes find his own; wide, frightened, full of life.
They look so alike.
“I will let them know,” — he promises, a fond smile telling of something sinister under his sincerity, — “you need not worry about a thing, little lamb.”
The angel crumbles like a house of cards, gratitude and grief spilling forth from him uncontrollably. Near unresponsive with his pain, he can only nod to show he can hear the Reaper's orders. Finish bathing, dry off, put on some clothes — further teasing about how unangelic it is of him to be bare in front of others so unapologetically — and wait for the Reaper to return.
Backing off, Grim watches the little one reach for the blood-soaked towel to drag close and bury his face in. He keeps the fabric close, reminded of his precarious nakedness so suddenly. He pulls his knees out from under him and up to his chest, shuddering with the force of his weeping, but so quiet, quieter still than Mori’s slowly beating heart.
Sorrow looks beautiful on him. Why else would he have been made this way, to feel so strongly, if not to show off all the beauteous shades of his torment?
The next time Auden lifts his head, he finds himself alone in the crimson bathroom. His cries have died down, his lungs have emptied themselves of anguish, and the Reaper has long disappeared into a black mist, bringing with Mori's body and soul, as if they were never even here to begin with. The water in the tub has gone cold, but he only notices after a couple minutes of numb soaking.
Mori will understand. They will know. The Reaper promised. That is all that matters.
<3
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Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats
@letitbehurt @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees
#whump#my writing#whump writing#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#sadistic whumper#auden's story#auden oc#grim oc#mori oc#blood#nonhuman whumpee#angel whumpee#nonhuman whumper#vampire whumper#tw religious themes#referenced torture#psychological whump#emotional whump#death#not really but auden doesnt know that#self sacrifice#begging#crying#power dynamics#carewhumper#broken bones#ive been staring at it too long and started thinking its bad so it was time to finish it#auden is so so sad he is so pathetic and he wants to help so bad#angst
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just. losing it a bit. but too exhausted to let it happen all the way.
Stressful and long doc appointment. Shit going down with a friend, who's refusing to work with me to make it any better. He's going through some shit, I know. But so have I. there's no communication, he just avoids me. which is really triggering for me. Also, I can offer moral support even while I'm struggling myself, I know what my limits are. I keep trying to get him aware of that. But because it's not something he feels able to do himself, (he hasn't even given me a "that's rough, buddy. just *zero* acknowledgment that my health has been deteriorating), his alternative is to just not tell me *anything* going on with him. And, I know he feels like that's kinder, so I feel mean to tell me that it's not. Like, I don't need support that he can't give, but getting avoided *hurts.* There are many, many alternatives! I grew up with friends who's lives were as fucked as mine. we learnt balance around how to alternate care with taking care of ourselves.
He's the only friend I've had who just *refuses* to work on something like this, at all. Or, he refuses to admit that he's refusing, as the admittance of that feels too stressful for him.
All I'm asking is just a *little* bit of stress, that'll last an hour, tops. Then it'll stop being stressful, for both of us! Trying to figure this out solo with no help, being asked to wait for an indeterminate amount of time (which is autism kryptonite), makes me feel like I'm in a row boat with only one paddle. I'm going in circles and I'm feeling completely out of control. I just need a bit of guidance, some ground rules we work on together so we can circumvent eachother's harm. But he won't even do that!
I know my hormonal issues right now are making this worse than it is. But, that doesn't mean that the pain this situation is creating isn't real. At the *very* least he's been able to acknowledge that.
But therein lies the problem! The real reason he's been avoidant (and having a bunch of shit going wrong in his life rn too gives him a very convenient shield, as i know as well as he does that this would be going down in a very similar way regardless), is that he's been through a very friend situation like this before, but in my position. The more he understands where I'm coming from and the hurt I'm feeling, the more he's emphasizing, which is triggering him.
Esp as, from what I can gather, that friend placed *all* the blame on him, which he took without question as he's genuinely a nice guy who hates hurting his friends. Then he was completely cut off. It didn't get any kind of resolved for over a year, and he was emotionally fucked that whole time. And it sounds like even when it was "resolved," it was just him completely taking the blame so things would be "fixed." And it's like, buddy. I've been there. i've been in that situation, almost word for word, at least twice now.
But, for the third time that happened, it actually worked out. It was fixed in a very genuine way, and compassionately worked out, where we understood eachother's perspectives and realized there was no true person here being the "problem." And because it worked out so well, it's why I'm trying, because I know it's possible and I know how to avoid the usual pitfalls now.
I don't know how to get him to believe that I won't let that repeat, for either of us. My new tactic has been to be as comforting and communicative as I can, reaffirming that it's not his fault and, sometimes these things happen. All that's really going down is that we're going through our own shit and have conflicting social and emotional needs, so we've been exchanging harm and not help.
But he's so. fucking. dense! it's not getting through to him. I even told him that it's absolutely ok to tell me that he rather I not message to a certain date, and i'll respect that as a firm boundary. But i guess because he's never had someone offer that genuinely, he won't even take me up on it. So I message, even just a meme, he gets stressed, and mutes me. Or hides my activity status (which removes my ability to see his). That really stresses me out, as seeing his "seen at [blank]" is comforting for me, as I know he's still out there, but will get back to me when he can. i don't know when i'm muted or achieved, all i'm left with is a sudden, unexplained, drop in communication, which is really triggering for me due to my own past with shitty friends.
He finally managed to tell me what's up, why he's not talking rn. but he was obv freaked out doing so, like he expected me to tear him a new one. But all i gave him was a very genuine "thank you for being clear." As now I know to go out elsewhere, and can work on figuring out how to get my own solace for the situation solo. At the end of the day I'm a realistic person. If I know why something happens, I don't sit with disappointment. But because *he's* not like that, and he relates too hard to my RSD and is implementing things that help his, but fuck mine, thinking it's gonna help me too... god i dunno what to do.
He did confirm when we can do a call, including a back up time incase things are still too stressful. And I really did appreciate that concession to my own social/emotional needs.
But as soon as asked him with a direct question on what he needs from me to alleviate his stress, in terms of the stress I've been contributing too, which could 100% asking me not too message for awhile. He fucking proverbially ran off again. fuck a duck. At *least* because I can fully understand his side now and where he's coming from, I can let go of the self-blame spiral I was shoved into. But now I just feel annoyed at him and tired. Understanding why someone does what they do, and even having true empathy for their life and experiences, doesn't mean you have to take all the hurt they may give me. It's something I've had to learn with my family, and what I'm working through with my trauma therapist.
But it's not my job to force him into different behaviours, even if I think it'll be healthier for him, and us, as that wouldn't be acknowledging that he's a different person with unique experiences. It's why HATE the "I can fix him" meme. Like, what narcissism is that, to think we know someone SO well, and what their life experiences are when we're not there, and what goes on in their heads, and that just because we feel more stable than we see them, it's somehow our "responsibility" to "fix" another person. I know it's a meme, but it's a very real phenomenon among romantic couples especially. And do you know what I see it so often boils down to?? Self avoidance and projection, baby~! Partner one is floundering in their own life but working through it is too hard. They're good at acting that they're on top of everything so people in their life don't question it (or offer needed support). It doesn't change the fact that they're *still* floundering, so they latch on to a person that's also floundering, but is more obvious about it. They throw themselves into "fixing" their partners life, usually doing it irrelevantly because they're actually pushing on them the tools needed to fix *their own* life, and get increasingly frustrated and controlling when it's "for some reason" not "fixing" them. Meanwhile, if they just admitted to their own shitty life, all that time and energy could have been directed where'd it be actually useful and relevant.
rant aside, as that probably could be it's own tumblr post, my point is that, something's gotta give, man.
#what am i supposed to do without knowing anything??? a friendship isn't having one person set boundaries alone and not care when they're#completely conflicting with someone else's boundaries#it's about working out boundaries together so we're not just exchanging harm#i don't know how many times i need to tell him that if he doesn't tell me what isn't working for him i have no idea what to do#all i get is when i do something wrong#and because be won't adjust at all i revert to blaming myself and wallowing because it's the only way i can feel more in control#i keep telling him it's not his fault these things happen#but enough time saying that it just stops being true#i *know* these things happen but it doesn't change the fact that some things need to change#even if making adjustments mild increases his stress#it'll only be temporary#i don't know how to get him to see that I'm not going to be a shitty friend here. i won't repeat that situation for him#but if he won't help me it may because I know there's resentment building#i've trusted him with so many things i haven't been trusting with before and for the most part he's been amazing at helping me expand trust#and i don't know how to tell him that his lack of trust in me is starting to weigh me down#you can't help a discrepancy like this happening between friends it happens#it doesn't me it doesn't hurt tho#doesn't mean i'm losing faith in the friendship becoming any deeper#which i really want that to happen because the kinship i feel and the connection is genuine and good#and i know he feels that too and i know he's not averse to things getting closer#but i cannot get any closer to someone who won't give me a minimum of trust#who won't even *allow* me the chance to prove that I won't break it as long as what he needs from me is clear and outspoken#it just ain't right#i'm quickly losing faith that this will get any better cus i'm starting to not give a shit about all the 'poor timing'#because again! this would be happening the same way even if his life was peachy#because of his trauma in the past#but having other shit going wrong now is giving him a way to hide from that fact itself
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Reread/skimmed my oldest Pharma apologism posts (mainly the ones about Pharma not being a functionist) and it just occurred to me that possibly another reason the fandom saddled Pharma with the "functionist bigot" label is because his introduction by First Aid says that everyone hates Decepticons, but Pharma really really hates Decepticons. Mix that with the portion of the fanbase that lionizes and whitewashes the Decepticons, and I can easily see it entering common fanon that "Pharma hates Decepticons -> the Decepticons are freedom fighters wrongly maligned by the Autobots/the franchise -> Pharma must be a bigoted functionist since he hates Decepticons who represent freedom."
The simpler explanation is just that Pharma is an antagonist and therefore gets the "everything about him must be evil and wrong" black-and-white analysis so common in fandoms in general, but given some of the bizarre Decepticon takes I've seen I can also easily see Pharma's Decepticon hatred being taken as a sign of him being bigoted and evil.
Though AGAIN in this case it would still be singling Pharma out as a bigot for crimes/flaws that multiple other Autobots are guilty of like.
Oh, Pharma hates Decepticons? Well a lot of other Autobots hate Decepticons too, First Aid's narration about Pharma even says "we all hate Decepticons"; for that matter, there are a lot of Decepticons who hate Autobots. It's a massive civil war that's lasted for a lifetime causing two groups of people to be stuck in a near-permanent blood feud, you can't assume that every Autobot who hates Decepticons (and vice versa) hates them because they're a bigot. Maybe there's been a war where both sides have been building an ever-increasing mountain of reasons to hate each other, so hating the opposite faction is a social problem caused by war and politics rather than a sign of individual moral failing.
Pharma worked at the New Institute so that means he must be evil/bigoted? Chromedome and Brainstorm also worked at the New Institute, but there's no widespread fandom shunning of them or headcanoning them as bigots.
Hell, even the very premise of assuming Pharma is a functionist bigot for hating Decepticons is ignoring the very premise of Pharma's motives, which are, uh... being blackmailed by the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division, who represents the ultimate form of Decepticon ideals to the point of literally wearing their symbol as his mask? So how were we jumping straight to "oh Pharma hates Decepticons bc he's a posh bigoted functionist" when there was a far more immediate interpretation/headcanon of "Pharma hates Decepticons because he's being tortured and blackmailed by one."
That's not to say that Pharma couldn't have hated Decepticons before Delphi, and I think you could make interesting headcanons/extrapolations based on either idea. But still. It kinda feels like people saw Pharma and just wanted to make him the Token Evil Autobot who's the opposite of our Good Heroic Autobots regardless of whether evidence from canon supported it or not.
Good riddance to bigoted functionist Pharma fanon, I'm so glad that the majority of Pharma fanon these days actually gives him a chance and puts him on equal footing as other Autobots.
#squiggposting#that and there's that weird thing where people treat(ed) pharma as if he's starscream lite#so like bc they see starscream as posh and elitist and vain (how did that happen btw)#they basically go oh pharma must also be the same way#also how did ppl ever see pharma as posh when he speaks in the same register as everyone else and if anything has a campy flair to him#you can't look me in the eye and tell me this chaotic theatrical gremlin ass freak is a posh elitist like slkfjsldk#not mentioning the flyers=oppressed thing in this meta bc that bit of worldbuilding was established way later#tho i cannot entirely fault ppl for painting pharma as evil and treating him with double standards compared to other autobots#i mean literally in the same issue he was introduced he caught flak for giving in to DJD blackmail#whereas other characters explicitly speak about how scary/scared they are of the djd#so like it's clear pharma WAS meant to be the token evil autobot with compromised morals#who was so selfish as to (gasp) take a blackmail deal to keep him and his facility from painful torturous death#and then when he was already trapped in the deal be forced to eventually kill patients to keep up#how dare he. should've stood up to tarn and instantly been murdered like a good autobot#sorry for being pithy lol the apologism got a little too strong there#pharma apologism#also i think the way JRO writes if pharma was supposed to be bigoted you would like. be able to tell#JRO is not subtle about writing p much every bigoted character as massively flamingly racist/functionist/etc
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how am I going to survive living here for three months I hate it
#love my family but there’s so many unresolved issues here so I’m just constantly on edge and uncomfortable#even when nothings happening because I always feel like something’s about to#there’s something rotting#please I just wanna live at college again with my friends…#I miss them and this is just a miserable town too#sorry for venting#I want to be able to go somewhere and not tell anyone. I want to not be my mother’s therapist#I don’t want to be told I’m the only thing keeping things together!! I don’t want to fix my siblings relationship! That’s not my job!#I don’t want to watch my grandfather die and hurt people I love because his filter is completely gone but we have to interact with him#Since it’s not his fault and watch it destroy my mother and fear that’s me someday!! I want to get out of here!!! I have been home for thre#Days and I am losing my entire fucking mind. I’m dramatic cause I’m sick but I hate it here
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hold on everyone shut up im getting super emotional about jonathan sims
#tma#kara stop blogging#thinking about the web. thinking about how it was his first mark#and how that mark how that unaddressed trauma so deeply affected him.#and how befitting that is for the web too- to tie someone up its strands for YEARS#thinkin about how almost every single decision that man makes is made out of fear#that motherfucker has never felt safe in his god damn life you can tell and im EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT#thinking about how so much of his fear response is CONTROL because of it. His ridiculous skepticism was him trying to control it#if he denies it if he refuses to believe in it it cant hurt him#about his paranoia and desperation for knowledge is so rooted in that fear of losing control#about his entire s4 arc and grappling with becoming inhuman. about not feeling like he has any kind of personal autonomy#and how so often thats written off as him making excuses (and dont get me wrong- he makes excuses too. im not saying he doesnt) but also-#like you look at what happened with his first leitner and its like. he couldnt move. couldnt do anything to escape#and then when the other boy got taken he couldnt do anything to save him either#of course he feels like hes never had any control#of course hes desperate for knowledge- if he had only *known* what couldve happened then he couldve prevented it.#the survivors guilt is so deeply part of his character#and thats what makes jonah targeting him so fucking insidious and scary#he took his man who is already so terrified- put him in a situation where he was so out of his depth#knowing that his fear response would be to desperately try and figure out what was happening- to keep asking questions--#pulling himself deeper into the eyes influence and easily turning it around and making it Jon's fault#as if Jon isn't trapped like everyone else- it's just his fear response is so fucking perfect for the role the eye needs him to play#and then it leads to the ultimate trauma of ripping control away from Jon and forcing him to do something so fucking horrible#something he would never in a million years CHOOSE TO DO#how he's so terrified of being made a pawn and he is. playing a game against elias where he couldn't even see the board#locking him out of his own body...forcing him to open the door. like. FUCK#I MEAN FUCK DUDE. PETER LITERALLY SAYS “HE GOT YOU” WHEN JON ASKED WHAT HIS 'PRIZE' WAS#LIKE SCRATCH THAT!!! FUCKING SCRATCH THAT!! he wasn't even a player he was a fucking PIECE in the game#GOD!!!#GOD!!!! free my boy he did nothing wrong (he did so many things wrong)
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ooooo just got to tell this HUGE asshole at work that he was wrong i am going to be riding this high for a week
#i wish my job didnt require like a thousand layers of explanation to tell ppl abt stuff that happens but basically#someone this guy who is like coworker adjacent but is like at a seperate company that we work with . and would technically outrank me#asked me to do smth and i was like sure but then the system wouldnt let me so i was like oh yeah sorry looks like the system isnt set up to#do that#and he got super pissy and condescending and told me to have my manager show me how. and i even told him i was like i mean i can ask but i#think theyll probably say the same thing. and he was like yeah have them show you bc you can i just had somdone else do it (ya rite..)#so i ask a supervisor.n they spend ten minutes checking to see if like maybe we were wrong bc the guy was so insistent abt it. and then the#were like yeah we cant do that. so this guy waited on hold for over ten minutes for me to come back like. Hi:) yeah so actually I spoke#with a supervisor and looks like we arent able to do that:) sorry about that:)#and the customer we were supposed to be helping together had disconnected bc i had to have them on hold too#and he was like can u transfer the customer to me now and i was like oh so their call disconnected:) sorry about that:) heres their phone#number you can go ahead and call them back:)#which he has to do bc thats his job lmao. what an asshole lol he doesnt even work for my company literally trying to mansplain how shit#works on our system which he definitely has never fucking used bc its specific to my company!#not even to like use mansplain as a buzzword bc i think thats so annoying but i rlly dont think he would have been as rude and condescendin#if i was a guy like i rlly dont. it was actually so condescending he was like telling me 'ok so do you see this button in the bottom left#of the screen? youre going to go ahead and click on that-' like trying to walk me through some shit that he has no clue abt.#anyway. hope the customer yelled at him for keeping them waiting. i doubt it but that would be some good karma since it actually was#his fault
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bad dating stories time: the shoe incident
so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.
at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.
he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?
and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.
but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.
i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?
(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)
and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.
i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.
that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.
i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.
anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.
i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.
we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.
he was okay at it.
eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.
soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.
realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:
"i can't get pregnant"
which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.
still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"
and then i was in my car, and i drove away.
if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.
and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.
WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.
we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.
do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.
and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.
then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.
and then they started making out.
i was close enough to hear it.
i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.
so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.
now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.
so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.
about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.
my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.
my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.
they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?
and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.
#dating stories#anecdotes#long post#funny story#babylon#im really bad at dating#like i can do a lot better than this but also it just was kind of a nightmare for me#shit like this did make the whole thing easier tho#like#every date after this i could go you know ive seen how bad it can get#and i lived#didnt even get shot#writing
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It's giving the...main character syndrome. like who tf does she think she is??? Y/N???
NO OH MY GOSH ANON. LET ME TELL YOU. LET ME FRIGGIN TELL YOU.
#okay so i need to give her a name. we will call her yn bc she is just so different and quirky and not like other girls#so i haven't liked yn since freshman year (am a junior) because she seemed incredibly pretentious. she has like awards n stuff for this#asian advocation group and tons of other stuff which is GOOD. but she has a tendency to brag and be very cocky about it.#AND YOU KNOW WHAT. IT WASNT JUST ME. MY FRIEND FROM SEMINAR who we will call Pie for certain reasons (her name rhymes with it) AGREED WITH#ME ABOUT YN BEING COCKY! and Pie and Yn are in the same group since they are both Asian and ppl at my school typically hang out w their rac#is that racist? like there's an asian boys group and asian girls group. but it's only asians and white people; but it's weird since a large#portion of my school is hispanic. i dunno WEIRD SIDE TANGENT BUT BASICALLY THEY ARE IN THE SAME GROUPS; RIGHT? so Pie was agreeing that Yn#can be very pretencious; and I'm then like#oh i don't really like her for the cheating stuff she did with Mac (fake name) and how she got#him to basically cheat on his girlfriend“ and Pie says ”oh well Mac started it; but Yn lead him on for over a month while he had a gf#and they kept this going until Yn decided to break things off; WHICH MEANS MAC'S NOW EX GIRLFRIEND NEVER KNEW ABOUT ANYTHING W MAC N YN!#also allegedly according to my boyfriend; Yn was doing homework as Mac was yk DOING it to Yn and she just like... LET IT HAPPEN WHILE HE HA#A GIRLFRIEND. HELLO? and when Yn ends it; he's like “omg but yn... i love you...” “no. i'll only hurt you; if you're with me it'll only hur#uh okay 25k words slowburn vibes.... ANYWAYS so she takes screenshots and sends them in a SUPER big groupchat with 20+ people (including Pi#and my boyfriend) and Pie (who was childhood friends with Mac) called her out saying how it was also kind of her fault for being with a guy#who was in a relationship; but she got super defensive about it. and this same thing happened AGAIN 2ish months later with a girl Jas and#her boyfriend Ben; where Yn was friends with both but basically was emotionally cheating with Jas; leading them to break up; and then she#GOT WITH JAS. HELLO???? WHAT??? and they r still together. none of them talk to Ben even though Yn said they were 'all cool and friends'#SUREEEE GIRL SURE. KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT. and Pie called her out on this AGAIN since Pie is friends with Ben and Jas too but Yn got#defensive AGAIN! BC SHE KNOWS ITS A SHITTY THING TO DO! and Pie doesn't really like her because of it and when Pie told me all of that I wa#in shock. because Yn was trying to play the victim in the situation with Mac when she sent the messages to the gc; and tried to do that AGA#N BUT IN THE SITUATION WITH JAS LIKE NO U ARE JUST A CRAPPY PERSON ! and appearently she is SO toxic she was nearly kicked out from a#leadership role at my school's asian pacific islander club or something! like girl WAKE UP! but that's not all; so i didn't know she was#known for going for people who had partners; yet still didn't like her; and last school year (about 4 months ago) my boyfriend got a 'reall#bad haircut' (i thought it was cute; but everyone made fun of him ) and Yn RAN around our campus trying to find him to make fun of him..#like wtf that's so weird and she will post screenshots of their convos on her story and be like 'omg he's bullying me!' when he's being dry#and did that in the gc (this time; i'm in it!) and i crashed out but my bf was apologizing and saying he told her to not post anything but#she didn't listen or something i guess. and sometimes when they are wearing similar outfits she'll post on her story that they are matching#um girl he has a wife and 12 kids. back the FUCK off. and i told him to distance himself from her or set boundries cuz i don't like that n#it makes me uncomfy; so he did which is good! but i still don't like Yn. she is a major pick-me IMO and very two-faced and covers her
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