#sorry i'm experiencing severe brain rot

[saamaton]

if anyone's ever been so julia it's charles leclerc

[lewis-winters]

I know I should be working on other WIPs-- and just working in general-- but I watched The Old Guard again yesterday so here, have the Winnix TOG Canon Divergence AU

tw for: depictions of death, the effects of mustard gas, gore, trauma, and angst!

"Stop touching it."

Dick doesn't. In fact, just to be annoying-- though mostly on reflex-- he brushes past the newly formed scar of Lewis's brow one more time, prodding and poking until finally, fed up, Lew waves his hand away with a weak growl. "You'll open it back up."

Ah. That gets Dick to back off, pulling away abruptly like he'd been scalded. And maybe he has. After all, there's blood on his mind, now. A memory both too fresh to do anything but hurt; but a situation too resolved to feel anything but indignation at his own continued terror.

It's been nearly a millennia since the beginning of their renewed existence, and while they know their lot of second chances are bound to run out one day, surely the familiarity with Death should have settled in their old bones by now. Yet, when She comes, She brings with her all the fanfare that accompanies all finality. Almost immortality does not always warrant camaraderie with pain and grief.

They were luckier this time, at least.

They hadn't been as eager to join this war as they had been the last. Not that he'd been eager to join that war, either. But just like all things, Dick's need for a cause called out to Lewis' need to make sure Dick doesn't lose his goddamn mind fighting until he drops. And so, in the midst of the 1910s, they managed to find themselves spending long nights in the deep, damp French trenches, huddled together in the dark. For two and a half years, they lived like that, shaking apart with fear, both real and imagined, as the rats nibbled on their fingers and infections slowly overtook their lungs and toes. Any warrior worth their salt would know that it's not the fighting that fucks you over, but the waiting in between. The rotting wounds left to fester. The fear that threatened to eat you whole from within, if the bullets about you didn't get to you first. Together, they passed days watching their boys die, either from sickness or bullets or both, their corpses stacked around them so high, in the dark they looked like fortress walls, caging them in as they waited for the moment it would all come toppling down.

Then, the gas came pouring in.

Lewis had taken the brunt of it, in the end, ripping his gas mask off in a desperate attempt to save what was left of Dick's face. Neither of them had enough sense at the time to hear him scream in agony, clawing at his eyes until they were nothing but pulp underneath his fingernails; but the echoes of it would have a chance to ring in Dick's ears anyway. The screaming didn't stop in France.

And it took Lew years to regain his old self, in both nerves and sight; and it took even longer than that for Dick to stop dreaming of scar tissue, gnarled and twisted and angry red, in place of dark brown eyes. The damage healed a lot slower than either of them have ever experienced before, and required more outside help than either of them were comfortable with. By the time the last of Lewis' sight had been restored to him, a whole decade and several new identities had gone by, and Dick had done his best to promise: no more fighting.

They made it through another decade before he broke that one. It barely felt like a blink of an eye.

And now, here they are again. Huddled together, blanketed by dark night, with each other's blood once again under their fingernails, a new scar on Lewis' forehead, and the tangible memory of a crater in the back of his head, where the bullet found its exit and his brains had spattered out of his skull.

"Hey," Lewis breathes, sensing the dark turn Dick's thoughts have gone and reaching out for him, touching his face with cold fingertips. "I'm sorry. That was a bad joke."

Yes. It was. But Dick is not going to reprimand him for it. He's learned that jokes are Lew's best defense against the weight of their prolonged existence. Just like drink. Just like nicotine. Or just like Dick himself, his only lone companion in this casually cruel world. How could Dick ever deny him this?

Tilting their heads together, Dick guides his lips to the new scar, and resolutely tries not to think about how much longer Lew bears the marks of his deaths, and what that might mean for him. "It'll be gone tomorrow," he says, more to himself than Lew. "You'll see. Like brand new."

"Like brand new," Lewis echoes. Resigned. Going boneless as he leans all his (dead) weight into Dick's arms and buries his face in his neck. "Always brand new."

Even against the heat of Dick's skin, Lew stays cold. Dick doesn't think he's ever known a time when he was warm.

--

Dick and Lewis were made immortal sometime between 58 and 50BC, when Rome waged war against Gaul, as explained in this deleted line: "Lewis was not made for warrior-hood like Dick had been, having gone from the luxury afforded to him by his roman senator father's fortune to a miserable roman centurion on the back of a single mistake alone. He'd known almost nothing the first time he'd fallen under Dick's Gaulic blade; that his own sword had pierced Dick's chest at the same time was a mere fluke he's since been unable to replicate."

[amaria-the-soup]

hello, I just wanted to call out someone who sent me an anonymous message about my statement on your post about those immoral fics, and I just hope the person will be able to read this, because first of all, who the fuck do you think you are to tell me whether or not I'm recovered? That's incredibly rude and unnecessary, and I genuinely hope you'll think over your words because dictating my state of mind because of my statement was extremely ignorant?

Second it's not about me (or anyone else) distancing myself from it, as if it were a silly hobby. Pornography is as much addicting as drugs or alcohol. It's not a silly pass time I got burnt out from, it's a serious illness, and you're treating it like some silly little stuff. Third of all, this type of fiction can very much be the reason people start those type of behaviours, so yes consuming this type of media can lead to dangerous outcomes and turn "normal" people into mentally ill (especially as a minor). Your words were literally "well gambling addiction isn't bad, you just couldn't control yourslef lol". Hope this person can reflect on the brain rot they said <3 (I'm really sorry, but I just doubted that if I answered on my page they'd see it bc I don't post, but I really wanted them to see what kind of bullshit they said, sorry if this was bothering you dearie <3)

It’s not a bother at all! I agree with everything you said, and have some things to add in terms of actual studies:

It’s a big problem, and here’s the proof. And it’s not just visual, it is easily in reading too. So to encourage people to make “dark” or “taboo” fictional stories are really just adding to the porn culture and making it harder for people to get out.

It’s a cage, and without any help, it can get out of control easily.

Also, Hon, I just wanted to tell you that even if the asker is anon, they’ll get a notification when you answer them! But I am so honored that you were willing to come for help, and honestly, you’re so fucken’ brave. I hope that all of us can improve ourselves, and hopefully we can overcome our problems.

If you’re suffering from “dark smut” or rather, porn in general, I encourage you to take the steps to overcome it. Here’s some links for everyone, including me.

ALL of us need help, and we are all worthy of redemption. There’s someone out there who loves you, and you deserve to be loved and at your best.