#thank god its so easy to keep him off Death's

[the-punforgiven]

Is it just me or do flagellants just have no deathblow resist ever

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 2

Part 1, Part 3

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Kissing, Angst, Asexual Angst, Allusions to Past Relationships

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: OMG, thank you to everyone who has read the first part. I was not expecting for it to blow up like it did. Hopefully this next part doesn't disappoint. And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!! (Especially those I've tagged. I'd really like to know if you still like it.)

Word Count: 3.0K

How could ten feet of hallway feel like a death march?  It was a question you never thought to pose to yourself, until you faced the distance between your door and Astarion’s. 

What could you even say to him? An apology was always a good start, but for what? Neither of you made any formal declarations of intentions towards each other. That was the whole point of this game of yours, to keep the other guessing. It wasn’t like you outright lied to him or made promises you didn’t intend to keep. 

So why did you feel so guilty? 

Of course, you could be working yourself up over nothing. He could just as easily laugh in your face. 

With all these thoughts swirling in your mind, you were almost surprised to see the light beneath his door reflecting on your boots.

A lump of panic tightened your throat. From the angle of the light, he wouldn’t be able to tell you were standing there. There was still time to turn around, put it off until morning–.

“The door is open, darling.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his voice. He didn’t sound upset or angry. Hell, he didn’t even sound smug. It was that rare gentleness he only took on when nobody else was looking. There were times it seemed to surprise even him. You didn’t stand a chance. 

With a breath, you opened the door. 

Warm candle light met your eyes, illuminating the room with a soft orange glow. The room itself was nothing special. Similar to yours it really only held the bed, desk and chair. The only noticeable difference was the widow facing due east, its curtains open allowing a view of the rain pittering against the window. 

Astarion had insisted on this room. You understood why now. He always wanted to start the day facing the rising sun. 

For a brief moment, you allowed the stillness of the moment to calm you, before turning your gaze to the man himself. 

Oh thank the Gods, he was still dressed. 

Astarion sat on the edge of the bed, in his most comfortable white ruffled shirt and black pants. Despite his casual appearance he still came off as nothing short of a prince awaiting his court. His lips were posed in a knowing smile as he regarded you, tilting his head to the side. The light of the candles caught his scarlet eyes, making them burn.

“Are you going to keep that open all night?” he asked. 

Blinking, you turned to see your hand was still on the door handle. A little too quickly, you shut it behind you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s quite alright,” he said, his tone only mildly teasing. 

You stood there awkwardly, not really knowing where to put your hands. How in the hells were you meant to start a conversation after everything he saw? You were a bard for Gods’ sake. Talking was supposed to be something you were good at. Still the silence lingered, becoming worse with every second. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “What are you still doing way over there?”

You shrugged, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up your neck. “Is there somewhere else you want me?”

He gave you a playful smirk, offering his hand. “Come on. I’d promise not to bite, but…” He trailed off, widening his smile enough for his fangs to show. 

Of all things, it was that small flash of teeth which put you at ease. He was poking fun at you. Surely that was a good sign. 

Slowly, you walked toward him, taking his outstretched hand. He was cool to the touch. His fingers a mixture of manicured softness and well fought calluses, leaving your skin tingling in its wake. You centered in on sensation letting it the ground you back into the here and now. 

He guided you to sit next to him, never letting his touch slip from yours. 

“That was…quite a performance,” he said. 

You gave a half hearted smile. It was as good a place to start as any, but you couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on the way his hand intertwined with yours. It should have frightened you or at the very least made you suspicious, but it felt too good. You didn’t want to break the spell. 

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you said, honestly. 

He gave a hum of agreement. “I don’t think any of us were.”

His hand trailed further up your arm, allowing his thumb to brush against the scars on your wrist. 

A small shiver went through you. The scars on your neck had long since faded after the first night you let him feed on you. You’d made a point to only let him bite your wrist from that point onward. It was meant to hedge expectations. You’d thought a neck bite would make the act more charged than you intended. What a fool you were. Of course he’d find a way to make even the barest touch feel intimate.

“The melody alone…I’ve never heard its equal,” he continued. 

You nodded, unsure what to do with his praise. You couldn’t dismiss it as easily as before. He sounded too sincere. 

“Thank you,” you said, softly, “but I’m not sure how much credit I can take. It felt more like the song was playing me.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. How else could you explain such radiance?”

You felt now was the time for you to say something clever, but any words that might have formed fell heavy on your tongue as he moved your wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the raised marks of your skin. Your heart began to pound. No doubt he could feel every racing beat of it. 

“Are you hungry?” you said, the words blurting out before you could stop them. 

He laughed, the vibrations running down the length of your arm. 

“Certainly,” he purred, turning his gaze to you. “But not for blood. I was hoping you’d let me indulge in some other parts of you.” 

Panic struck you then, turning in your stomach as your eyes widened. “Astarion…”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he said. He still held your wrist delicately in his hand allowing the other to brush lightly against your cheek. 

Your breath shook and damn you to the hells if you knew exactly the cause. 

“I saw you,” he whispered. “I saw what it is you truly desire. It was beautiful, passionate…starving, and all for me.” He leaned it close, the warmth of his breath dancing against your lips. “Am I wrong?”

Your mouth became dry as sand, forcing you to swallow. “Not entirely.”

“Would it surprise you then, to know I want the same thing?”

The sudden urge to laugh rose within you. Gods was this really happening? “I rather doubt that.”

“Then allow me to show you.” 

Before you could say another word, he closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. 

It was…nice; really nice, if you were being honest. His hand cupped your cheek, as if it were made of the finest porcelain. There was a care to his touch you hadn’t expected, leaving the door open for you to pull away. The assurance was enough to make you want to stay. 

You’d always liked this part. In truth, you craved physical affection; holding hands, hugging, kissing, they had a way of making you feel so much closer to those you cared for. The trouble always came when people expected more.  

He pressed further into you, teasing your mouth to spark a reaction. 

You needed to pull away. If there was a time for you to stop, this was it. But, it did feel so good. Maybe you could indulge a little longer. It was just kissing. 

Your own hand reached out, lacing your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. 

He hummed in approval, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. 

You let yourself get lost in him. It was easy to forget when he held you so reverently. For a moment you could convince yourself this was all there was. 

A slight shift in his body. His hands grasping you just a little tighter and next thing you knew you were on your back with Astarion hovering over you. 

His low moan poured into your mouth as he slotted himself between your legs and pressed his weight against you. 

Fear spiked within you, forcing the air from your lungs. Shit, this was happening.  

His lips left yours trailing kisses across your cheek to the underside of your jaw. 

“Just relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me.” 

His lips met your neck and it was taking everything in your power to breathe normally. 

This wasn’t what you wanted, but it didn’t feel bad. Astarion was being so tender with you. Maybe, if you went through with it, things wouldn’t have to change. You could still flirt and tease. Hell maybe you could convince him to simply hold you now and again. All you’d have to do is let him have something for himself. It was more than a fair trade. Besides, he was experienced in this, certainly more than others you’d been with. You could do this for him. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. 

His hands moved further down your body, teasing the edge of your shirt. 

The memory of that twisted melody came into your heart filling you with dread. The way you had been so willing to morph yourself into what somebody else wanted for the sake of not being alone. Wasn’t this supposed to be different? 

“Wait, stop,” you said, before you had time to question yourself. 

To your relief, Astarion didn’t hesitate pulling his hands away as if they just caught fire. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head, that familiar guilt twisting inside you at his concern. “No. You didn’t do anything, I just…” You swallowed. You weren’t going to cry.  Not now. Gods, you were such an idiot. “Could you…could you move off me? Please.” 

His brow furrowed, but he did not question you as he pulled himself away. 

Cool air rushed over you, pulling a sigh of relief from your lips. For a long time you just laid there, calming the rush of adrenaline pumping through your blood. It was over. It was all over.

With an effort, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position. Out of the corner of your eye Astarion watched you, his expression unreadable. You’d expect nothing less from him.  

“I’m sorry,” you managed. 

“I don’t need an apology,” he said, firmly, “but I would like an explanation.” 

Slowly, as if to keep from frightening an cornered animal, he turned his body to face yours, making a point to keep a respectable distance. He really wasn’t going to make this easier for you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. 

You shook your head fervently. “No. No, you were perfect. That’s rather the problem.”

His lips turned into a hard line, clearly unsure how to take your statement. His eyes then narrowed, leaning closer to more carefully examine your features. 

“You’re not cursed, are you?” he asked, suddenly. 

The question caught you off guard, forcing a laugh. “What?”

“You know, something something, any man who touches you below the belt is smited. That kind of thing.” 

You shook your head, baffled as to where this conversation was headed. “No.” 

He nodded, in consideration “Alright then, any diseases you neglected to inform me about?”

“No.”

“Hells, don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

“Gods no!” you snapped, feeling your whole body go flush. 

“Then what is it? One second you were there and the next…” he trailed off, before forcing a deep breath. “Look, I’m not angry, but if there is something wrong, I’d prefer to know.” 

“Nothing is wrong,” you insisted. 

“So why the hesitation?” he pressed. “You find me desirable. I’ve made clear I find you desirable. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks and even have a proper mattress for the occasion. The only conclusion I can come to is there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

You opened your mouth only to close it again, wracking your brain on how to start this.

To your shock, Astarion remained silent. It wasn’t the quiet entitled anger you had received in the past or even idle confusion. He looked like he truly wanted to know. 

You let out a long sigh. There was no getting around it now. 

“I do find you desirable,” you said. “The trouble is, physically speaking…I don’t really.”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t think I’m pretty?”

You had to laugh, shaking your head. “Astarion, I promise, you are possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t factor into why I desire you.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” you said plainly. “It never has. Not with anyone.”

He cocked his head, his eyes caught between his natural suspicion and genuine surprise. “Never?”

You shrugged. 

“Above such things are you?” he said, dryly. 

“It’s not as if I’ve taken a vow of chastity,” you snapped. “I’m not trying to achieve some arbitrary moral purity. I just never felt attracted to anyone in that way. I can look at someone and know objectively they’re beautiful or handsome or any number of other descriptors, but that need, that hunger so many people describe, it just never clicked.”

He continued to stare at you blankly before his mouth turned into a hard line. 

“So when I was kissing you, just now. You didn’t feel anything?”

“Not especially,” you said, a little guilty. “Don’t get me wrong, it was pleasant. I do like being close to you. It’s just the things kissing leads to I’m not a fan of.”

You didn’t know what to make of the look that shot across his face. He seemed lost, somewhere far away, before blinking back to the present. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked. 

“I meant to,” you assured. “I should have. I just…sometimes forget I don’t need a reason to say no.” 

You took a breath, willing yourself to calm. 

“I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking some part of me was broken. That if I waited long enough or tried hard enough, I’d feel the things I’m supposed to feel. I’ve come to terms with the fact I never will. I’m not upset about it. It just means that what I want, what I desire from another person, it’s different than most.” 

He took that in, his red eyes peering deep into yours as if truly looking at you for the first time. 

“So, if it’s not my body you desire, what else could you possibly want?” 

You stared at him as his expression suddenly hardened. His whole body turned on edge as if waiting for you to cast the ending blow. 

“What?” he prompted, sharply. 

You shook your head. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

He gave you an incredulous look. 

Keeping your movements slow and obvious, leaned closer to him. You reached out, moving towards his hand. 

He didn’t pull away, but the guarded expression never faded. 

You took that as a good sign, allowing your hand to rest on top of his as you looked him straight in the eyes. 

“Astarion, when I say I desire you, I mean all of you,” you said, keeping your tone as clear and open so there could be no doubt of the truth of your words. “I want your attentions. I want your adoration. I want your petty jealousies and loud annoyances. I want your teasing. I want your promises and your secrets. I want nights filled with your laughter and mornings in your arms. I want to feel your heart in my chest. I want to know it beats for me. And in return, I want to give you mine. So no, I’m not especially interested in your body. But for the rest? I’m insatiable.”

He only stared at you. You supposed you should take it as a triumph. You’d found an effective way to shut him up at least; declare your overwhelming love for him.

“I know,” you said, softly. “It’s a lot. I’m a lot. But, you don’t have to worry. I don’t expect anything.”

“You don’t?”

You gave a self deprecating smile.“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not an idiot. I know whatever…favor you gave me, it wasn’t real.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

You gave him a doubtful look. 

He grimaced. “Alright, maybe some of it was, but–.”

“It’s fine,” you cut off. “I know what game I was playing. I’m just not very good at it.” 

You pulled your hand away, letting your eyes fall from his. Despite the coolness of his touch, somehow your hand felt even colder at the loss of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unnaturally unsure of itself. 

You tried to smile. “Don’t be. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

Something in his eyes flicked in the firelight. His expression turned contemplative as he looked deeply into your eyes. 

“I rather doubt that,” he murmured.

A sharp pain buried its way into your chest at his words, not because they were cruel or came from a place of arrogance, but because they were undeniably true. 

You pushed yourself off the bed, forcing down the well of emotion threatening to burst from your eyes at any moment. 

“I should go,” you said. “Goodnight.” 

You made your way towards the door only to stop at the sound of your name. It was said so gently, like a desperate prayer. 

You didn’t reach for it, not this time.  It already burned too much. 

Without another word, you stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you leaving nothing but dark and silence.

Tag List:

@yaimlight, @hallowedandhungry, @bluestuesday, @meggsssart, @murmoruno, @prophetszendo, @cabbit17, @sunset-sunrise-sunshine, @isharaneith, @thisisew, @easy-there-leftovers, @ohhnoimbisexual, @dolceaspidenera, @dork-of-the-universe, @righteous-scamp, @ambrolyer, @our-little-shared-infinity, @baldursgateslittlestar, @pkail, @nanaoise08squad, @becksynthetic, @deliriumcrow, @badgerstorms-art, @taraiel, @writingmysanity

[drchucktingle]

queer horror memory lane

i know this screenshot above is just way of some algorithm but seeing these books together i am so honored youve allowed me to open my heart and trot out my art in this unique way. having two well received queer horror books (and third on way) is amazing given where i started my trot. thank you

easy to talk on 'death of unique art' these days but if you look at my story it is powerful example that buckaroos have a taste for challenging or untraditional figures in art. this is NOT to my credit, this is to YOUR credit. YOU have supported queer autistic art. i am so moved

i am already a pretty optimistic bud but still BLOWN AWAY by way my trot has been embraced over time. i recognize my perspective is 'strange' to many but to see the way this unique way was once treated with irony and now sincerity has bloomed in its place. it brings tears of joy

as i trot down my QUEER HORROR memory lane i am going to repost TRAILER for each book just because i have been basking in these memories and recalling the slow embrace of this timeline around me. thank you for allowing me this space i am so humbled and honored. LOVE IS REAL

STRAIGHT

When a strange tear in the cosmos appears within Earth’s annual path, the consequences are disastrous. For one night a year, the vast majority of humans now undergo a frightening mental change, transforming into hateful, rage-fueled zombies who will stop at nothing to satiate their desire for brutality.

While not much is understood about this horrific mass hysteria, the demographic it effects is very specific: cisgender straight people. 

A few years after the first of these tragic events, four friends from across the queer spectrum look for safety in solitude, hunkering down in a remote desert cabin for what is now known as Saturation Day. With a vaccine available for straight people to curb their violent episodes, some predict the worst is over. Others aren’t so sure.

As night falls, it becomes clear that survival isn’t guaranteed this Saturation Day.

GET STRAIGHT HERE

CAMP DAMASCUS

From beloved internet icon Chuck Tingle, Camp Damascus is a searing and earnest horror debut about the demons the queer community faces in America, the price of keeping secrets, and finding the courage to burn it all down. Welcome to Neverton, Montana: home to a God-fearing community with a heart of gold. Nestled high up in the mountains is Camp Damascus, the self-proclaimed “most effective” gay conversion camp in the country. Here, a life free from sin awaits. But the secret behind that success is anything but holy. And they’ll scare you straight to hell.

GET CAMP DAMASCUS HERE

BURY YOUR GAYS

Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell.

But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming series know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, "for the algorithm," in the upcoming season finale.

Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles.

Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future―before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

PREORDER BURY YOUR GAYS HERE

i am blessed by your support, your love, and your kindness. cannot believe how lucky i am to trot with you in all in this way and i cant WAIT to see what the future of this timeline holds for us. thank you for proving love with me from the past to the future

[grippingbeskar]

duality

: ̗̀➛ joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: explicit content 18+ (mxf, f receiving, dirty talk, joel being a king as per usual) swearing, mentions of death, mentions of canon typical violence!

a/n: hii! this was based on this request right here - oh my god. i am obsessed with this, i really hope i did this justice! i kind of just started writing and went where it took me lmao. its all just smut at this point so like don't look to hard. also thank you to @everybirdfellsilent for the title name and answering my question "how do i write this?" with a simple "why not write both?!" you are a queen.

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩

“Joel… what time is it?” You keep your eyes screwed shut when you begin to fight the muddiness of deep sleep away, but the early morning sunlight in Jackson always sneaks it’s way through. You stretch out, reaching for him in a natural reflex, and instead of answering you he just presses closer. You keep your eyes shut, letting your other senses guide your hands to his shoulders, enjoying the feeling of him under your palms.

You could hardly open your eyes right now, but you could do this. Lay here with him— you could do that easily. You and Joel had a string of long days recently, and you’d hoped, or at the very least expected that he’d be so tired he’d sleep up until the last possible second.

Apparently you were wrong, as you feel him shift under your hands to the point you lose your hold on him. He kisses you once on the lips, light and feather soft, and you smile sleepily, toes curling at the gentle touch.

“Mornin’.” His voice rumbles through you, low and brassy, waking your bones before your brain could catch up. As his hair tickles the skin of your neck, you can feel him moving lower, the warmth of his body leaving your chest and hovering over your stomach.

You reach for him blindly, and he guides you back even when you sit up on your elbows and peak one eye at him. You watch him move, his own eyes still half lidded, but his hands more awake than ever. They slowly slide over your hips, drawing faint patterns with his fingertips. The warmth of his rough palms move further up over your tummy, pawing at you to lay down on your back. ‘Relax’, he whispers, and your chest tightens. He moves you languidly, using your half conscious state to mould you where he wants to put you, and you let him, no resistance in your muscles.

With a hand still sliding up and down your bare skin, he leans down close enough you can feel the touch of his nose on your cheek. Before you can move to take control, he dips his head. First down to your jaw, the heat of his mouth making you shiver when he kisses along all the sensitive spots. He’s light and quick, your delayed reactions making it easy for him to move without interruption. You wonder how long he’d been awake. Waiting for you to stir, just so he could see you squirm.

His tongue licks indulgent lines further down your body, teasing your skin with his lips following suit. He starts at your collarbone, then tucks the fabric of your shirt higher so he can see you bare below him. The blanket covers over his head, but the light is strong enough that you can see his eyes watching your reaction as he plants soft kisses down your chest. You swear he smirks when you arch your back, nearly groaning at the light but not nearly enough pressure.

Your hands finally wake themselves when he mouths at the skin of your lower stomach, brushing through the soft curls on the top of his head. He hums against you, eyes flicking up with warmth lining them, and smiles slightly. The sight tugs at a string of your racing heart, and you keep your voice low when you manage to speak.

“Joel, let me…” You fade off, eyes fluttering as you attempt to bring him back up to you. You want him to feel good too— so as much as you love where this is going, you know the two of you can’t have very long this morning, and you want to make the most of it. “C’mere.”

He shakes his head, mouth too busy to reply as it dives into the newly exposed skin of your thighs. At some point he’d taken your underwear off— or maybe he’d done it in your sleep, making sure you were ready for him in the morning.

You’d both been exhausted last night, so as badly as you’d wanted him, you knew neither of you could keep your eyes open for more than twenty seconds. Joel had grumbled a few curse words at how he couldn’t even hold himself up, and as soon as your heads hit the pillow, and you curled in on his chest light a weighted blanket, you were both out like a light.

Joel was clearly making up for lost time. Slowly, he spreads your legs, his hot breath fanning against your core. The feeling makes you unconsciously try to close yourself from him— the feeling and the way his eyes were staring so intensely at the most intimate part of you.

“Joel, come here—“ You try again, and his hair brushes the inside of your thighs when his head shakes again. His eyes look to you, and they almost look… pleading.

“Please, baby. I need this. Let me.” He sounds half broken— his voice cracking and hands gripping your hips. His hold wasn’t harsh, still keeping those gentle, sweet touches he’d started with, but it was enough to hold you down and keep you right where he had you. “I’ll make you feel so good, I swear. So… so fuckin’ good. Don’t I always?”

His shoulders press you open wider, leaving no room for insecurity. You just nod your head as he stares up at you, wide eyed, waiting for permission. The lines of concern in his forehead disappear when he sees you agree, chest deflating like he was relieved.

He drags the tip of his nose lightly along your inner thigh, and you can feel your legs already shaking in anticipation. It was one thing Joel did so well; he almost didn’t know he did it. Making you wait. All day, he would work you up so subtly— soft touches, intense stares across the field. Words whispered only to you, so any reaction you had would seem out of line. And then here… indulging his every want and need while you sat patiently, waiting for him to decide when, and where, and how.

You’d do it over and over again, because you knew what came of it. What came when you did exactly what he wanted. Sometimes it was fun to fight him back, be a bit of a brat about it, but right here, when he was working you up so nice and asking so desperately— there wasn’t a damn thing in the world worth that.

“Fuck, baby you’re so pretty.” His teeth replace his nose, tracing the same line along the opposite thigh. His fingers massage circles into your hips as he feels you fidget and shake, the world still spinning slowly above you. “You’re gonna take it so well for me this mornin’, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah. A-anything you want. I just—“ Your breath hitches when he kisses closer to where you’re all but aching for him, right in the join between your leg and pussy. “I need—“

He groans into you, never giving you a chance to finish your sentence as he buries his tongue between your legs. You cry out louder than you mean to, the hand not buried in Joel’s messy hair slapping over your open mouth. Joel smiles against you, tongue swirling around your clit in the way he knows makes you dizzy with pleasure.

Everything was too hot. It was winter in Jackson, snow falling gently onto the windowsill, but the blanket over you mixed with the heat Joel was spreading up your stomach was too much. Your back arched and he took the change in direction with eagerness. Groaning your name, he flattened his tongue and caught your eyes before they rolled back into your head, his eyebrows furrowed and concentrated.

“Oh, god… Joel. Joel, Joel—“ It was all you could think of to say, the pleasure shooting white hot sparks up your spine and sliding you further down the bed into Joel’s onslaught.

He was messy. Joel ate you out with an enthusiasm you never found anywhere else. Maybe it was the fact that there was nothing good outside the four walls you’d both found yourself in, the rest of the world cold compared to the warmth of your bed— or maybe he just fucking loved it as much as he always said.

Whether he did this for you or for himself, Joel knew exactly how to build you up; it was so quick you couldn’t prepare for it. His hands held your hips tight as you squirmed— grinding your hips forward to match his pace as he let you use him to chase your release. The sounds he was making were only spurring you closer— slurred words of praise hardly audible, his voice horse and breaking like he could hardly manage them.

“Good— fuck, you taste good.” Each word is muffled underneath you, but it hits you hard in the chest. Being praised by anyone made your heart flutter, but when it was Joel? Capable, stoic, hard-as-nails Joel? It was entirely different. A whole other ball game. And he fucking knew it. “You close, baby. Fuck, I know you gotta be. So tight…”

“Oh fuck. Fuck, I’m so close…” You whimper and he hums in response, the vibrations pushing you over the edge. Your fingers gripped his hair harshly, his mouth only working harder to keep its lock on you. He wrapped his lips around your clit, eyes fluttering open halfway to watch you, and the sight is what undid you.

“That’s it. Fuck, there’s those eyes…” You hear Joel mutter but you can’t form words to reply. Everything was on fire, your stomach locking tight as the waves of pleasure wrapped you into a ball and burst over every inch of skin. It was cliche, but it felt like fucking fireworks went off in your chest, Joel’s hands an anchor keeping you from taking off with them.

He was halfway up your body when you came back to it, kissing and touching you so gently you could have cried if you had the energy. It was moments like these that he was the most vulnerable— where he couldn’t get enough of you, indulged himself in you, but did it with such sweetness and… well, love, that you knew the man he didn’t think he was anymore was still in there.

“So pretty. Sound so damn pretty when you cum for me.” He whispers against your mouth before kissing you hungrily. It’s teeth and tongue, a mix of you and him on your lips as he pulls away to look at you, catching your bottom lip between his teeth.

Your hands reach down to tug lightly at his boxers, and he huffs, shaking his head against your mouth.

“M’not done, baby.” His voice makes you shiver all over again, pleasure still stirring low and hot in your tummy. “S’fuckin’ good.”

“I can’t, Joel…” You whimper, his hand ever so slightly brushing between your legs. You jolt upwards, your body betraying your words.

“Yeah, you can. You can f’me, yeah?” He was already moving down, ignoring your whines as he made his way back to his favourite spot in this house. He was quicker this time, knowing you’d still be sensitive.

It was addicting. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds you made, the way you tasted— it was like the best game he’d ever played. Joel was an adrenaline junkie— he knew it. He was smart about it, but he longed for that rush of endorphins when he was winning a fight or putting bullets into bodies. Out of all the shit he’d done, though, nothing compared to this. The best adrenaline rush he’d ever felt was right here, hearing you scream his name as he tasted every fucking inch you of he could manage.

He was messier this time. Wrapping his mouth around you and swirling his tongue in quick, mind-numbing movements that had your fingers burying deeper into his hair. He nearly came at the feeling of it— you, trying your hardest not to hurt him but still yanking him into you, hardly giving him an inch to pull away. Not that he’d every fuckin’ dream of being dragged away from you now.

“Joel… too much. Fuck— I’m…I—“ He bucked his hips against the mattress, the way you whine his name is like a stab at his chest every time. His nose brushes against your clit again as he tastes you deeper, your voice broken and tapering off into barely there words.

He knows you’d stop him if it was really too much. He knows if he pulled away right now you’d drag him right back where he wants to be, where he knows he’s fucking good at being. Joel wants you closer— all day, he can’t fucking find it in himself to drag you under his arm or kiss you like he wants in front of all those people.

He was too possessive.

None of them get to see you like this, how your eyes get all soft when he kisses you, and how you sigh his name when your body moulds to his. No one else gets to see this. He’s the only one that can break you like this. So when he has you? He doesn’t stop until you make him.

“Just a little more f’me.” Joel’s low, cracking tone sends a violent wave of pleasure skittering across your stomach, butterflies erupting at the sound of him.

His movements weren’t timed anymore, still just as indulgent, but he was losing his control. His hands were tighter now, fighting against the surges of your body off the mattress. You hoped it would leave marks behind— proof of how badly he’d needed you this morning. How much he wanted you to Stay. Put.

“Baby, I can’t—“ You choke out, a hold on his hair so hard you swear you might rip it out.

“Mmhmm.” Is all he rumbles against you, and you think he speeds up, or does something different, or maybe he just looks at you again— because you drown in the onslaught of whatever it was as you feel the familiar rush of pleasure all over again.

This was something different. Everything tightened and released, and you could feel how wet you were— a damp mess underneath you only present when you could feel your heart begin to slow again. Joel doesn’t move from his spot, arms still wrapped around your thighs, fingers drawing slow circles into the shaking muscles.

“God, baby. Fuckin’… never get tired of seein’ that.” He wasn’t looking at you, at anything really. His eyes were shut, forehead pressed to your inner thigh as he tried and failed to catch his breath. “You feel good? You there?”

“Mm.” You push out, feeling the warmth of his laugh between your legs. “Can’t… can’t feel my legs.”

“S’okay. You’re not goin’ anywhere.” His eyes open again, half lidded, and he begins a slow descent, mouthing the bruises he’s left behind as he sinks down. Your back bends off the bed, but he presses you down with a gentle hand. “Lie back.”

“Joel… wait, I can’t. I—“ You can’t talk between small, shuddering breaths, and he just shakes his head, looking at the mess you’ve left behind.

“Keep sayin’ that, but here you are.” He stops, hovering over your stomach; waiting. Waiting for you to tell him to stop for real.

“Lemme keep goin’, darlin’. Just a little…” He groans at the way your hips shift lower, closer to his mouth despite your words. “Fuck. Little more. Need this.”

His nose brushes against your clit as he looks up, holding your eyes as he spits slowly down your centre.

“You like it, don’t you?” He says, a smile on his face even when his voice wavers. You whine, maybe in protest or impatience, but he coos at you either way. “I know. Shh. I know, baby. Just stay right…here.”

You think you black out when his mouth wraps around you again, sounds and colours all blending together in your mind in a way that nothing makes sense except for the way his tongue feels on you. Minutes or hours could go by— every responsibility you might have drifting to the back burner when he was here. Right here.

“M’right here. Never lettin’ you go.” He groans, his hips grinding into the soft covers, and you give in, knowing he’s got you.

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩

It might of been a good morning, but it was another shitty day.

Winter in Jackson was good and bad. Good, because clickers and runners couldn’t make their way through the thick snow, and froze before they ever got close to the gates. It meant less patrols, less waste of resources, less need for supply runs; it was the closest to normal you got.

Bad, because while clickers weren’t made for the heavy fall of winter, neither were the fucking fences.

Everything broke down, cracked and froze during winter. There wasn’t a single area that didn’t need repairs, so while you weren’t needed on patrols, it meant you’d be out in the field, dragging plywood or banging nails into something. Even with all the hours you'd spent on your area, it felt like there was still miles to go, your hands aching by the time you found a minute to rest.

You could see Joel the entire day, too, which only made it worse for your wandering mind.

You could see him getting pissed off, ordering the young guys he’d been posted with around and up ladders. You know he’d want to relieve all that built up tension when he got home. Sometimes it was a matter of talking it out, listening in a way Joel wasn’t really used to before you. Other times you sat in silence, pressed up behind him in a steaming bath until you could hear his breath start to slow.

Today, you had a feeling it would be something a little different.

You hadn’t gotten to continue things at all this morning. By the time Joel dragged himself away from between your legs, he was already 45 minutes late to his post. Still, he walked you into the shower, holding you up on wobbly legs, trying his best not to get too distracted with how you kept kissing his jaw and looking up at him all innocent. He managed to get you dressed, too, and with no time to spare he gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and all too suddenly you were standing out in the snow, alone.

So that, and the fact you could see, and sometimes even hear his low voice grumbling orders all day was doing nothing to help your focus.

When you finally saw the sun begin to go down, you didn’t spare a second before you all but sprinted off, bursting through the door of your shared home. You quickly shook off your clothes, the warmth of your house making you strip down to just one of Joel’s old t-shirts. Now, you waited.

When the door burst open a few hours later, you were like a dog hearing a lead. You jumped out of the bed, watching Joel from the top of the stairs as he carefully stepped through the threshold. He’d found the carpets laying on your floor for you a few months ago, and he knows how much you love them, so he balances on one leg as best he can to take his muddy, snow covered shoes off before he called out to you.

“You home, darlin’?” He kept his voice soft in case you were sleeping, but smiled when he caught you basically hanging over the stairs. “There she is.”

“You’re late.” You say, squinting down at him with a smile and your arms crossed.

“Didn’t realise I had a curfew.” He smirked, shaking off his jacket and abandoning it over the couch. Playful Joel was one of your favourites. It made you as warm as the crackling fire behind you.

“Well, you do. And you’re late, so better get moving.” He raises his eyebrows, a bigger smile playing on his face as he walks to the bottom of the stairs.

“You know, I was gonna cook you dinner and everythin'. Do a real nice thing here. How longs it been since we did that?” He walks slow, every step groaning under the weight of him. Your heart swells at the idea, and if you weren’t so hell bent on jumping on him, you’d take him up on it.

"That sounds n-nice." You take a step back as he gets closer, something about him still intimidating you- even when you knew the man underneath. “Plenty of time to eat tomorrow, though."

When he finally clears the stairs, you don’t have time to blink before he’s surging in front of you. His hands find their home on your hips, staying light when they pull you toward him and make up the rest of the small distance between you. He must remember how hard he held you down this morning.

“Is that my shirt?” He mumbles into your hair, already knowing the answer. He nudges your face to his own, smirking confidently. "You miss me that bad?"

“Nope. It’s Mark’s from today. I just got sooo hot lifting all those planks of wood I had to take all my clothes off, so he—“ You’re cut off by your own squeal when he lifts you up, hands gripping your ass tightly.

“Very fuckin’ funny.” Joel growls low in your ear, but you can feel him smiling against your skin as he walks you to your bedroom, kissing you dizzy.

It’s a little embarrassing how easily he drives you to the brink. All he has to do is say your name a few times, whisper it against your skin, and kiss you like this, and you’re gone again. His. You’re his to mould and bend, your arms lifting as he drags the fabric of his old shirt up your stomach and chest.

He watches with an intense stare, goosebumps rising where the fabric brushes lightly over your sensitive skin. When he finally slips the shirt over your head his control snaps and he’s on top of you, and he’s everywhere.

His hands slide up your sides, spanning the entire space of your waist and ribs, coming over your chest and cupping your breasts in his hands. You arch your back, chasing his mouth as it presses hungry, quick kisses between movements, his fingers catching over your nipples making you moan his name.

“Thought about you all day.” You confess, nipping the skin of his jaw. He huffs a breath, your hands tangling once again in his hair. It’s still slightly wet from the cold, curling around your fingers in something like ringlets. “Needed you so bad, Joel.”

“Greedy little thing. Didn’t get enough this morning?” He laughs, and it's almost mean- teasing. You roll your hips into him slowly. It wipes the smirk off his face, turning it into an almost painful scrunch of his brow. “Fuck.”

“You didn’t let me touch you.” You whine, rolling into him again. He drops to hold himself up on his forearms, hands touching you where they can reach. “Always want to touch you, Joel.”

“Shit, you gotta stop talking like that or…” You repeat the slow movement of your hips, and he runs out of words, practically whining into your mouth.

“It’s true.” You bite his bottom lip, a little harder than necessary. “Wanna fuck you all the time. It’s distracting. Always… always think about it.”

Joel moans your name brokenly, and you take your chance. A small push with your leg collapses him on his back next to you, only that easy because he wasn’t expecting it. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, and before he can shuffle down you straddle him, locking him in place underneath you.

One of his hands grabs the back of your neck, hauling you to his mouth, and you let him take control. You might be sitting on top of him, fiddling with his belt and tugging his pants down, but he is still in control. You know he could flip the switch in a second, and he’s just indulging you, but you take what you can get.

It’s so rare he lets you take care of him. You could count on one hand how many times he’s really let you do the work, but when the opportunity comes, you were going to take it and run with it.

He was still searching your body, fanning out his fingers and running them down your spine, leaning you closer. He takes off his shirt so he can feel you against him, his tongue licking into your mouth like he needs to learn you inside and out. When you finally get his pants off, you don’t waste a second, both of you gasping when you feel the thick head of him against your heat.

“H-hold on, you gotta… Jesus Christ.” Joel curses, his forehead pressed to yours. “Let me get you ready for me.”

“Mm-mm. Ready. Please…need it.” You shake your head, angling your hips just right, and he slumps forward in something like defeat when your hand snakes down and presses him inside of you. “Oh, god.”

"Fuck. Slow down, baby. Nice and slow." He stutters out, his hands coming to your hips to try and hold you up. Joel was... big. Big enough to the point where you should of taken your time, worked yourself up a bit more, but you just wanted him so bad-- "Hey, look at me."

Your eyes flutter up to him, and he kisses you quickly, like its an apology. You stay there, feeling the slight sharp pain fade quickly with how desperate you want him, how fucking wet you were already. In a few seconds you try to move again, and Joel's hands tighten around you.

"You can stop, baby. It's okay, you--"

"No! Don't want to. Just... fuck me, Joel." You say a little harsher, shaking your head where its now tucked into the crook of his neck. You sink down further against the push of his hands, and he groans your name lowly as you feel him split you open, taking the last inch of him.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, and where you were rendered speechless, he couldn't seem to shut himself up.

"Fuck. So fuckin' tight, Christ." You feel his palm on your ass, pushing you forward just slightly, creation a friction that has you whining. "Yeah, I know baby. Feels good. Fuck, you feel so good."

When you don't feel that pain anymore, you start to grow desperate for more. Joel was right. You were greedy tonight, and the friction of your hips against his just wasn't enough. You wrap your arms around his neck, shutting up his rambling with a lazy kiss, and use him to rise up just a little, before sinking down again.

He says something into your mouth, but the words are lost when you begin to repeat the same motion over and over again. Heat builds in waves, crashing higher and higher in your stomach until it makes your toes curl, your jaw dropping open to moan a broken version of Joel's name.

Your eyes roll back, head falling to the side, leaving you open to Joel's mouth who sucks harsh marks just below your jaw. You know you'll be covered in them tomorrow, but right now you don't care. You can't seem to care about anything else, except the way Joel is buried so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him everywhere.

"Focus on me. Need to see those pretty eyes, girl." He nudges you straight, your neck no longer able to support the weight of your head as it falls forward to rest on Joel. He groans again, matching your pace with his own movements, and you get louder with the added force. "Fuck, that's it. Let 'em hear you."

Everything turns molten inside of you, liquid heat spreading from the tips of your toes to your heavy head, and if Joel wasn't fucking you back so hard you don't think you'd be upright. As soon as he was inside you, you lost all sense of direction and control, like your body knew to trust him, to give yourself over to him.

His hands wrap tightly around your waist, bodies pressed together as he takes the work out of it for you. You move together— you’re so close you don’t have a choice, and when the hot, tingling feeling ripples up your spine you can only do exactly what he’s telling you.

“Take it, baby. Take it. Good— fuck, good girl.” His head drops from where it was pressed heavy against your forehead, dipping into the crook of your neck. Your palms can feel the release in his back, the way he relaxes as he finally gives himself to you. The noise he makes, and how he almost whines your name is a calling card, hauling you over the edge with him.

He rides it out. Makes it linger, all the pleasure and relief flooding your body in burning waves, and when his hips start to slow, his mouth trails kisses from your neck, all the way up your jaw and to your mouth. He breathes in when you breathe out, both of you wiped from exhaustion, but he can’t pull himself away.

It was like this morning, how even though his back was cramped and he was late as fuck to work, he couldn’t stop. At the expense of himself, he’d starve himself of everything if it meant being here with you.

“Christ, darlin’. Fuck, you’re so good t’me.” He says it like it’s a bad thing— words laced with an anxious wave, like you’d realise it wasn’t right, and leave. Even with him still buried inside of you. “Look at me.”

Your eyes blink open, hands still tangled in the curls of his hair. You can’t tell him all the things you want to— how he deserves this. How much you want to give him, and how if anything, you were the one who didn’t deserve this. Instead, you smile at him, and it seems to say everything all at once.

“You okay?" Joel's muffled voice asks, holding you tightly against him.

"Mhmm." You hum happily, a sleepy smile on your face as his hands cup your face. You feel his thumbs trace the high points of your cheeks, and his lips press to your nose before your eyes open.

You stay right there, his eyes watching you with no real purpose, just taking in the sight of you here with him. When the two of you finally muster the energy to go down stairs, Joel follows through with his promise to cook for you, and for this first time all day, your complete attention is captured.

[igniferrus]

God. So I've been thinking about BBC's Arthur Pendragon. I work a job heavy on the manual labour and light on the mental labour, so I have a lot of Free Brain Space.

But I started off wondering why there are so many fics about Arthur learning how much Merlin does for him, and so few of the reverse. Because there is no way that Merlin isn't in trouble 89.2% of the time, in some way or another. We see Arthur protect Merlin after his dumbass confession to Uther, and also bodily haul him out of the throne room for safety reasons. No body else could get away with stealing the Prince's food, or disappear or days and keep his job!! And Arthur doesn'teven know they're bound by destiny, he just really likes Merlin! He's just some guy Arthur found and chased around a market.

And then I remembered that so many people forget that Arthur Pendragon is fundamentally A Good Man. I know the show refused to give him permanent character development, but even his base character is a good guy! The most assholish thing we see him do is in the first episode, throwing things at the servants. And then, compared to the rest of the series, that feels very out of character!

Yes, Arthur uses Merlin as a training dummy, but I'm sure that's just to get him to quit. And it's only shown early in the first season. Arthur is consistently shown as caring for his people (refusing to enforce Catrina's tax increase, willing to die to fix his unicorn mistake), more fair about magic users despite only seeing it used for evil (saving Mordred and the woman who gave him the Horn of Cathbhadh. He even tries to give Kara an out, for Mordred!), and cares deeply for those around him! He loves Gwen. He loves Morgana. He loves Merlin. He loves his knights. He even loves Uther!

It's not his fault that the people around him refuse to allow him to make his own choices. Gauis, Uther, and Merlin all lie about his mother. Merlin and Morgana don't tell him about their magic. Morgana doesn't see him as any other than an extension of Uther, despite knowing him for years.I t's so easy to judge him as an outsider with all the facts, but we should remember that Arthur's is intentionally left out of the loop and judge him from that perspective. He does the best he can, with what he knows!

Merlin, despite being repeatedly told that he and Arthur are in this together, and need each other, does not tell Arthur anything! Arthur is not allowed to make an informed choice and he shouldn't be punished for that. Even when Merlin finally comes clean, Arthur doesn't rage! He's hurt and upset that his "only friend", the "only one [he] can trust" have been lying to his face for a decade, which, understandable, but he chooses Merlin anyway! He wants to be held by Merlin at the end, thanks him, and asks him to stay they same after Arthur's death!! Because he still cares for Merlin!

Arthur Pendragon's character development is stymied at every turn by the show and its writers, but even then they couldn't stop him from being a good man!!

This was more rambling and less coherent than I wanted, but it's been hot out lately and my brain is cooked.

Anyway, I am first and foremost an Arthur Pendragon apologist.

[2smolbeans]

Ride or Die

The first year of freedom

Orginal post

Tags: There are 2 darlings and yans, reader bonds with other darling, yan ceo, escape, faking deaths, slight stockholm syndrome, failed fake death, yan ceo was an ex from high-school.

__________________________

The moment you escaped Marco, you were light as a feather. With your legs carrying you like the wind, body pumped with adrenaline. You nearly fell on your face as you sprinted towards the road, waiting for April to meet up with you. Anxious was an understatement, you were fucking PARANOID at your tippy toes. Everything could go so wrong. Every whistle of the wind could be Marco pulling up in his car, ready to drag you back to that lovely secluded house. Every sound could be an indicator for Marco showing up behind you. You heard running coming from the tall grass, and you were prepared to sprint. Like a cat with its back arched and its tail frizzled, your senses were heightened and you prepared for the worst. You jumped, almost screaming when you saw the figure lunge out from the shadows. But once you got a good look of the silhouette, you calmed down. Short, weak looking, thank god it was him. You rush towards him, laughing nervously with relief as the two of you began to run to your final destination.

God only knows how much preparation it took for you to escape your kidnapper's clutches. Faking your death and avoiding the security cameras, was no easy feat. Not when your oh so loving captor pestered you 24/7, not giving you a minute to breathe your own air. It took MONTHS, of buttering him up, STRENGTH to not crack under pressure, MENTAL BRUTALITY to kiss and fuck him. But, when he finally thought you came around..It opened that opportunity. To be honest, there were moments when you thought of staying, when you wished to keep that loving domestic life. You couldn't help it. Marco was attractive, everything you've always wanted in a guy. Rich, tall, handsome, muscular, and so loving like a cute golden retriever. He was the whole package that was meant for you to soley open and enjoy. You did love him.. At least you used to when you dated in high-school.

If it wasn't for that brutal wake up call from April, you would've stayed. You know you would've. Marco would always spoil you, buying you gifts, practically throwing money at you whenever he got the chance! Who wouldn't want to stay? You wouldn't be loved like that ever again.. Well of no duh. No other person would kidnap you, drug you, man handle you and threaten to beat a poor innocent person's head into a pulp because you looked at them 'the wrong way'. No other person will ever love you so horribly as Marco.

Your first year as a normal citizen was scary. You hadn't been dependent in a while, nor worked in forever ever since Marco fired you from the company to be his stay at home spouse. But luckily you weren't alone. You had April, Marco's older brother's husband. You both had a lot in common, such as escaping crazy men. Man, what a small world! During your first year, you laid low, staying at a hotel and taking unoffical jobs such as dog walking, baby sitting, tutoring, and whatever job that allowed an extremely fluid schedule. It didn't pay a lot, and it was hard even when the two of you combined your money together. But it was worth it. Better to have freedom working your ass off than in that spacious clusterphonic house.

The two of you survived on nothing but Mama instant noodles with eggs and spinach. For the time you were staying in that hotel, the only thing you had in that small fridge was a carton of eggs, bottles of water, and a container of spinach. That was it. God it almost reminded you of college..

It would take another year until you were safe to be a bit more lenient, you could only imagine what Marco was doing..

You put the noodles inside the spoon that has a bit of broth in it. Grabbing a bit of everything- spinach, egg, noodle, and broth- into one spoon, you savour that perfect taste. Eating, you look at April who ate alongside you. "So, brother in law.. Uh.. What's up?" He looked at you, giving you a 'really?' Look. "Good. What about you, my ex husband's brother's spouse?" "Oh my god don't-" you both laughed, enjoying each others solitude. It was weird, you hadn't had normal people food in a while. For years when you were with Marco, he always made sure to give you the best of the best. Oysters, lobster, freshly baked meals and everything! But eating something low key and unhealthy was something you never thought you'd miss.

"So, uh.. If you don't mind me asking. How did you manage to.. Y'know?" You asked, hinting at the question. "Oh..Uh, I was able to get help from someone.. I got someone who looked exactly like me, slit the wrists and left them in the bathroom.. Annd yeah. They were already dead by the way, I just wanna make that clear" you stare at him for a moment, your lips thinning."Damn I just left a note saying I killed myself and fuck you" it was his turn to stare at you impressed as you casually responded. "Damn, thats it?" "That's it" he laughed. "And here I was doing all that oceans 11 shit" you laughed, and then you stopped to think. "Hey uh.. You know he'll check the body right? And the system will say it's someone else right?" He took a moment to think, and slowly he started to worry. "Oh god you're right.." "Goddamn it! Really?!" "Hey if I did what you'd done, I mean both of us going missing at the same time with no trace- I think they would've came to their own conclusions either way!" You were about to snap at him, you were almost angry until you took his words into account. He was right. Either way faking your deaths successfully was beyond convincing, you knew that. Frustrated and stressed, you put a hand on your head. "That means for the next few months they'll be searching.."

You both sit in silence for a while, full of stress with your empty bowls.

"Shit"

"Fuck"

.

.

[cuubism]

I’m BEGGING for more “retired!Dream opens up a weird magic fey bookshop” au. Its so intriguing!

you are in luck. i wrote more

--

"So," Hob says, leaning in the doorway of Dream's study-of-sorts, "much as I love the recommendations, do you mind if I browse?"

He's taken, recently, to meeting Dream on the upper floor of the shop, bringing coffee and watching Dream label and sort his new books in incomprehensible categories. He usually gets some interesting book facts out of it, too, or strange little stories -- "this book washed up on the Sardinian shore some years ago", "this was signed by a long-dead author, I've been curious to see how long it will take for a collector to find it," "an old man bestowed this upon me on the eve of his death, it's the only copy in existence" and so on -- not to mention the pleasure of Dream's company. He is so odd, and so engaging.

Dream looks up at him now with a tiny smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Of course. Find whatever you wish."

Hob has been wondering if Dream's serendipitous knack with books will extend to browsing, to random finds. Only one way to know.

He leaves Dream to his labeling and goes to wander the shop.

This time, he does get swallowed in Oneiromancy, where he finds Sleeping Worlds, a book about dream travel. Then he wanders deeper into the shop, passes categories like, "Cat Training," CLOCKS, "Mathematics: Easy -> Impossible", and, "♾". Of course he goes into Infinity, and picks up The Birth of Numbers, a book whose text starts in the center of the page and spirals outwards, font growing larger as the book goes on, and in another section called "Romance: DIFFICULT LEVEL" -- whatever the hell difficult means -- he picks up a tiny book that's just one line, one syllable on each page.

I

on

ly

want

ed

you

to

see.

God, Dream's shop is weird.

Dream finds him there some time later, deep in Sleeping Worlds. "I see you've had a productive day."

"Yeah, sorry, lost track of time."

Dream keeps looking at him with a little smirk.

Worry darts through Hob's stomach. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Midnight," says Dream, with satisfaction. "I've absorbed you."

Yeah, no kidding. Hob scrambles to his feet. "Jesus, Dream, sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No matter. This is what The Library is for."

Hob goes to hand him the books, and he waves a hand. "Keep them, I will get them back eventually."

Ominous. Great.

"Gonna break into my house and retrieve them?" Hob asks. He probably wouldn't even mind, to be honest.

"Nothing so alarming." He gestures Hob forward, and Hob follows, lets Dream walk him out.

It is, indeed, pitch dark outside on their shared street. Hob's supposed to open the cafe at 6. Whoops.

"Thanks for the books, Dream," he says. "And for. Ten hours of distraction, apparently."

Dream leans in the narrow doorway of his shop. "Of course. Come browse... anytime."

And he melts back into the shadows as Hob steps down onto the street.

--

Hob wonders if he's an idiot for wanting to ask Dream out. Dream is clearly some kind of other thing, and hanging around him did kind of get Hob cursed. But the way he bites his lip when he's making notes in books is so cute. His unerring ability to make perfect book selections is both strange and endearing -- even the books Hob had picked up on his own had been exactly what he hadn't known he was looking for. Hob's heart picks up every time he steps into the cafe.

But if he's to ask out Dream, his own personal weird bookshop creature, he has to do it right.

And he knows how.

The next time Dream comes in for coffee, Hob sits down across from him and hands him a book. Dream looks at it in surprise, and Hob has the sudden thought that as the all-powerful selector of tomes, he probably isn't gifted books himself.

The book is called, Broken Hands. Hob had pulled it off his own shelf. Dream doesn't ask him what it is, instead he flips open the cover and reads, as Hob had hoped he would.

The first page of Broken Hands has the following paragraph:

Kissing her hand, he came to know himself. Kissing her mouth, he came to know them both. When they went onward, for now only in his mind, he kissed more of her, and more, and more, and then, he knew her. He wanted to know her.

Dream reads it, and looks back up at him. Offers a tiny smile. Yes, Hob knew he would get it.

"You have something you would like to ask me, Hob Gadling?" he says softly.

"You have something you want to answer?"

Dream takes a long sip of his coffee, but looks at Hob over the rim of the mug, a smile in his eyes. Then he swipes away the milk foam from his upper lip with his tongue and says, "I'd say that you are very foolish, to still wish to associate with someone who did, in a sense, get you cursed. But that I find myself grateful for this foolishness. People do often come back to the library, once they find it-- but they don't often come back for me."

It makes Hob sad to imagine--Dream the perennial custodian of The Library, shepherd of its patrons, gifting small touches of coincidence and magic, but always in the background, a bridge and not a destination. Meanwhile, Hob likes the strange books, but it's Dream he keeps wanting to hover around, to lure back into his own space.

He dares to take Dream's hand and squeezes. "...So?"

"I'd say that I'd like to get coffee with you, if you know a place."

Cheeky thing. "Yeah, there's a Starbucks a couple blocks down," Hob says, gesturing, and Dream chuckles. Hob's still holding his hand, and brings it to his lips for a light kiss, and gets to watch as Dream's cheeks tint pink. His heart lifts in his chest. So easy and light.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and that blush deepens. "I'd suffer even Starbucks for you."

"You would suffer much, then," says Dream.

"We'll get our Starbucks and wander around WHSmith and have a fabulous date," Hob says, and Dream's face goes through the most exquisite journey of horror.

"You demand too much," he says, faint. "You enjoy my suffering."

"Little bit, yeah." Hob's certainly enjoying the reaction.

Then Dream looks at him in challenge. "Very well," he declares. "You've set the date. Now you must follow through."

Hob can't even spare a thought to the distasteful activities he's now gotten himself into--he has a date with Dream. "So that's a yes?"

Dream smiles again, a tiny, pleased thing. "It is a yes, Hob Gadling."

--

They do go to Starbucks. Hob is treated to the glorious sight of Dream sipping a pink drink out of a long straw, which is so worth dealing with the coffee. Then he indeed drags Dream to WHSmith, where Dream stands in the middle of the brightly-lit store, spins in a circle staring at carefully lined book displays with wide eyes, says, "Hell would be more merciful," and bolts away. Hob follows him, laughing.

Outside, he finds Dream leaning in the shade of a tree, looking vaguely shell-shocked. Hob really shouldn't keep laughing at him, but he can't help it. "Were you traumatized permanently by the big chain store?"

"Yes," says Dream, but, despite the perilous adventure, smiles. "You are a cruel man, Hob Gadling."

"Nah. Just harnessed the fluorescent lighting to chase you back into the safety of my arms."

"Oh?" Dream pushes off the tree and steps closer, until he's standing just before Hob, close enough to touch. "Was that the goal?"

Hob takes the leap that's offered and touches Dream's cheek with a light hand. "Did it work?"

This close, in the midday light, Dream's eyes are almost grey. The shade of the tree dapples his skin. It's still odd to see him out of the contained space of his bookshop, of Hob's cafe, but it does make this feel more real. A part of the world beyond the spun-sugar story of their orbiting binary stars.

Dream rests a feather light hand on Hob's chest. Studies Hob from under his eyelashes. And instead of answering, he leans up and, with that same light touch, presses his lips to Hob's.

Hob revels in the mere touch of him for a moment, but doesn't let it stand at light for long. He takes Dream's face between his hands and deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Dream's mouth, swallowing Dream's hum of pleasure. If only he could put into the kiss what he had felt when Dream had handed him Nightingales. A sudden finding of something long lost that was always meant to be rooted in his heart.

When they part, he makes good on a promise and does pull Dream into his arms. It feels like a great indulgence. It also feels right.

"Make me a solemn promise, Hob Gadling," Dream says against Hob's cheek, arms wrapped around his back.

"Anything."

"Never take me here ever again."

Hob laughs into his hair, squeezing him tight. "What could one possibly want from here when The Library exists?"

This seems to greatly gratify Dream, who preens in Hob's arms. Hob kisses the shell of his ear, then his cheek, then they part again, and he takes Dream's hand. "I'm glad you expanded your horizons with me for a day."

"And now I will shrink them again," says Dream. "Except for one." To which he runs his thumb along Hob's lower lip, a touch Hob sways forward to follow almost drunkenly as Dream smirks. "Come."

He starts leading Hob back in the direction of their quiet street, and far far away from any fluorescent lighting, and Hob follows, touching his lips fondly. And lets himself be cautiously, tentatively hopeful that this will continue spiraling up into something real, because he wants it so bad. Curses and all.

[descendantsramblings]

First of all, take your time with the storys (god i love your writing style, its not rushed and not too cheesy or out of character) And cause my Brain is a full on simp for Morgie and the Boy is just a little good one that wants to fit in, i have another idea

Maybe a story based on the Deleted scene pics of Him sleeping(?) alone in the Hideout from the lagoon in this chair(?) and of him finding the book

-

in the whole thing morgie and reader have this Tension like always and are pretty close (they are in love but both dont know how to make the first step and they know it wouldnt really be good news for uliana which scares morgie off)

Male!reader is another villain kid that is also in Ulianas crew but mostly in the background, he didnt go to the office to steal the cookbook nor did he look out for merlin with morgie (maybe reader is even secretly slightly friends with bridget who knows)

Morgie went to find the cookbook in chloe's and red's room after finding out what happend to uliana and the crew, he hesitates to open it and goes back to the Hideout in the lagoon where he starts to panick a little cause his friends are frozen, he is all alone and it all depends on him now.

On one side he wants to impress uliana and the others and be a good villain like his Mom (cause he has a reputation to hold up and he has mommy issues lmao) but on the other hand he doesnt think that Bridget deserves it and he doesnt wants to really be like his mom, morgie also opens the book which also proves that he is good in his heart

Reader comes into the hideout to see morgie having a complete life crisis and he tries to comfort him, Reader wants Morgie to leave the villain group cause he just isnt a villain and a good soul at heart but Morgie thinks that this will just cause more problems so he sticks with this life now (god bless him)

Morgie ends up not doing the prank and telling Uliana later after she is unfrozen that he just didnt find the cookbook and he couldnt pull through with the pranks and that he and Reader couldnt think of anything just as cruel for Bridget before castlecoming but they totally did still try to.make bridgets day bad (they didnt xD)

You’re so sweet, thank you so much. I really do try, end up reading it like 4 times before I post it and find something I wish I changed a day later. And I love the concept of a secretly good VK being with Morgie (who is also secretly good idc what Disney has to say on the matter)!! I’m so excited about this one

True to Heart

Morgie le Fay X Reader

Pronouns used: He/him/his

Summary: When faced with something that knows the truest part of your heart, it’s bound to see right through you.

Warnings: Uliana sucks, they're very touchy but really this is just fluff with some panicking. Death mention but it’s sorta playful

Word count: 2K

   It had been hours since he heard from Uliana. Surely the sea witch should have come by his room by now , yelling at him about how he needed to be ready for their plan. Convinced he’d do it at the drop of a hat to be part of her main circle. She was a fool of course, that he believed with his whole heart, she was ridiculous to believe he’d hurt Bridget. It would be like asking him to hurt Hades. They weren’t close but he had an obvious care for them, that was easy to see. Uliana was an idiot to believe he would even consider letting go of that part of himself. There were few parts of his morals he could actually hold in the position he’d put himself in. He’d be keeping one, (Y/n) was not the type of guy to betray anyone. Despite that though, he was on his way to go find the dreadful girl and her friends, skipping across the rocks of the black lagoon. Regardless of who he wanted to be, villainy ran in his blood, he had no other options but to be on their beck and call. Well, he assumes he did have one other option, but the idea of being alone by choice wasn’t exactly one that made his chest all warm and fuzzy. And to leave certain people in the crew would kill him. 

    “Oh what did I do?” The familiar voice panicked, speaking to himself as he paced the length of the hide out. “Why did I take that? What do I do with it? Why did I?” Morgie is speaking faster than he can make sense, repeatedly looking over at some old book settled on the table. (Y/n) slinks in, carefully making his way up to the boy. Not that he noticed the presence of his, well he can’t actually tell you what Morgie considers him. Arms outstretched, grabbing his biceps from behind, “Morgz, where are your friends? I thought Ulilana would’ve come by to snatch me up by now.” Hazel eyes are panicked and wild, turning and staring into the most comforting face he’s ever seen. “I-” he takes a deep breath, stepping closer for his friend to hold him closer, “I failed at being a good watch and now they’re all frozen and I don’t know what to do because it’s my fault and I don’t want to do this alone.” 

    His right hand slides up Morgie’s arm, resting on his shoulder as his left hand cups his cheek. “Morgie, I will never let you be alone. Now, tell me what we’re doing.” He watches Morgie’s eyes close, rubbing the boy’s cheek with his thumb lovingly. “I can’t ask that of you,” he breathes forcing his eyes open as he pulls away from the boy’s hand, “If pranking Bridget falls on me it has to fall on just me. I know you like her and I couldn’t make you do something like that. It would ruin your chances.” (Y/n) laughs, tapping Morgie’s cheek with his hand and letting go to look at the book on the table, “Morgz, Bridget is a lovely friend but I do not like her. Not like that. Now,” he drags a finger over the cover of the old book, “Is this the book that Uliana wanted?” He pauses, turning around. His back straightens in shock, realizing just how close Morgie had gotten, he could feel the sorcerer’s breath on his face. He was really close, far too close. 

    “Did you say Uliana was frozen?” “They all are,” he steps back ever so slightly, as if he realized how close he’d gotten all of a sudden, “I heard those two girls talking about it. They said there was a spell on the book that keeps people with evil in their heart from being able to use it. Something like that and they opened it and now,” he shakes his head. “Now they’re all frozen,” (Y/n) bites his hand to hold back a laugh, “They didn’t research the book before they went to get it?” He turns back to the book, “So what are you planning to do with it?” Morgie’s hands settle on either side of him, chest pinned to the boy’s back with his breath fanning over (Y/n)’s exposed neck.  

    “I mean, I need to do the prank don’t I? Uliana is going to be fuming if I don’t and it would make my mom happy. Or at least I hope it would. So I need to do the prank, right?” He bites his lips, eyes fluttering closed as he relishes in the closeness. They’d never act like this in the hideout if Uliana had the chance to see them. she had her qualms when it came to them both -one more than the other- no reason to make it worse. “So, you want to prank an innocent girl so that two women who can’t even see you would be proud of you?” He shakes his head, “It’s not that I want to prank her. I just, I need someone to be proud of me. You can understand that, can’t you?” “Morgz,” he shakes his head, turning around and putting them nearly nose to nose. He can hear someone take in a sharp breath, Morgie seeming to hold the gasp in as he stares at his friend. He was almost sure the sound had been him. “You do not need to make Uliana and your mother happy all the time. What would make you happy?” He shakes his head, the motion making their noses brush up against each other. “You know it’s not that simple.” 

    “Okay, then open your magic little book, serpent boy.” He lets out a sound that (Y/n) thinks is supposed to be a laugh. “I can’t, villains can’t open the book. That’s literally how we got in this situation.” He nods, grabbing Morgie’s face in a way that would make most people raise their brows. The display was a touch two cozy for the two boys to just be friends. “Open the book. If you freeze then I will unfreeze you and help with the prank.” He raises a brow, eyes drinking in his best friend’s face, “And if I don’t?” “How about we focus on if you do first, huh?” Morgie lets go of him, stepping to the side so he can look at the book. “What if,” he takes a breath, looking over at his friend’s gentle face, “What if you can’t turn me back?” His hand reaches out, smoothing a strand of Morgie’s hair into place, “Well, then I will fight tooth and nail until I can. I can’t be without you.” He picks up the book with slow shaking hands, eyes flickering back over to the other boy. “I really think you should open this. I mean, we know that you could open it and be just fine. You’re so,” he looks the boy over, licking his lips, “You.” 

    “Morgz, open the book. I promise you, we’ll be okay.” Morgie takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst as the cover of the book gives way to his hand. Sliding open without so much as a shine of a spell coming off of it. His eyes flicker open, slowly looking over the page before looking up to his friend. “I didn’t freeze.” A smile comes across his face, walking over to Morgie’s shell chair and falling into it. “You knew that,” he turns to watch as he speaks. “You knew I would be okay.” (Y/n) looks up at him from his seat, smiling at Morgie, “Of course I did, I know you. You might be a le Fay but you’re also,” he pauses, shaking his head, “You’re you. There’s no need to be Morgie le Fay right now. You can just be, Morgie.” 

    He shakes his head, walking over to his friend and falling to sit between his legs, “I can just be Morgz.”  Without so much as a second of hesitation (Y/n) wraps his arms around Morgie’s waist, lightly pulling him back to lay down on top of him. There’s no hesitation on the other boy’s end either, the sorcerer melting into his arms, his head lulling back to rest on his friend’s shoulder. The two boys become a tangle, the tip of his nose brushing against (Y/n)’s cheek bone as he gets wrapped into his arms. A grossly adoring and gentle display that the other boys of the group would never give into. Words can’t explain how happy he is for the curse on that stupid book. “What am I supposed to do now? I mean, if I’m not evil what am I doing with the villains?” (Y/n)’s hand comes up to scratch at the boy’s scalp as he speaks, Morgie letting out a whine at the contact.

    “That’s a great question, what are you doing with the villains? You and I both know that you deserve better than this.” Each of the other boy’s words fan across his cheek and lips as he speaks, the air of it tickling his cheek,  “You know why.” He was so close, how had he let himself pull the other boy so close? His mind was in overdrive, doing everything he could to think about something, anything, other than the closeness. “You know you don’t have to be her mini me, right? You don’t have to be here just because of her.” He scoffs, nuzzling further against (Y/n)’s cheek, “Why are you with us then? Everyone knows you’re nothing like your dad.” A hum follows the words, stroking the boy’s hair instead of responding. “I mean realistically, Hades and I are the only ones you hang out with one on one. And I think everyone knows you’re not a fan of Maleficent. But you’re still lumped in with us. What’s the point of it?” “You,” he has his eyes closed as he says it, bracing for whatever the response would be. 

      Morgie stills, (Y/n) honestly hadn’t noticed he was still nuzzling against him until he stopped it. Grip loosening so the boy could get up and leave him. But he doesn’t, he can feel Morgie’s eyes burning into the side of his face. “Look at me.” “What?” “Look at me,” he grabs the boy’ chin, tilting him over to look at him, “Open your eyes.” “I’m okay actually.” “Please,” he whines it, cupping the boy’s face. And they both know there’s no way (Y/n) ignores that tone in his voice. Eyes slowly opening. “You’re stuck here because of me?” “I want to be stuck with you.” 

  Morgie sits up, looking over at the book with a sigh, “How are we supposed to get that thing back into Merlin’s office?” (Y/n) shoots up, looking at the boy with bewilderment in his eyes, “What?” Morgie lets out the shell of a laugh, turning to him, “Well, if you’re stuck with them because of me, then while they’re frozen, we can do things your way.” He looks at the sorcerer with the softest eyes, lip caught between his teeth in hopes of stopping the grin that begged to stretch across his face. “You’re not gonna prank her?” He turns, pointing at the other boy, “We’re not. We are however going to have to work together to figure out how to lie to Uliana though. Because we are so, so dead if we don’t figure this out.” “Morgie le Fay! I am so proud of you!” He laughs, pulling him into his lips. It’s soft, short, barely even a kiss but he relished in it all the same. Morgie was kissing him, he got to kiss him. Whatever was set to happen to them didn’t matter, he could roll with the punches. For a while, at least for the next day, the two not-so-villainous Villain kids could live true to their hearts. That could be enough, for now it would be enough.

“So uh,” (Y/n) pulls back nervously, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb, “Since we already have the tickets to castle coming do you want to“ “Please.”

[sempsimps]

doppelgänger Francis x reader

sooo this is totally sfw within the age rating of the actual game, obviously. also might be inspired by the yagami yato of this man, maybe, slight chance, it definitely gave me some fuel to finish at least, i got over this brain rot quickly and well this took more time than i would of liked so yeah. sorry if my writing sucks :)

tags

mentioned death

mentioned cannibalism

two sides of the same one sided love (kinda)

blood (yep shock horror)

hoon man getting the love he needs <3

a bit of inexperienced writing (oh lord the horror)

sexual tension i guess (but not really)

Heather's the musical reference

British language so scary

it was late at night and door duty is slow like usual, the thing about the job was that 12 hour shifts suck, but in this time where the fear of being replaced by man eating monsters having a roof over my head and a job was quite reassuring, and well despite the company not really caring I'm glad that i didn't have to do more work then i could be awake for also my co-worker Emily she is amazing and could make a banging cup of tea, and well she likes the fact there's not nearly that many doubles at day, less work obviously. the night is tougher, way more doppelgängers at this time some were very convincing and did make me want to scream on the inside becuse of the anxiety it caused..... but i did like a challenge. also, i knew that most of the apartmenties were inside as Emily ticks them off the list and added the names who had a reasonable excuse for not being on there, and hey, i haven't died. yet despite my complaints there was a golden reason why i liked this job, and that was the resident tired eyes Francis, but he never really talked that much and it kinda made him ideal mimic bait, so i cant get attached i mean i really shouldn't as they really did try him the most for some reason.

i yawn as i relaxed into my office chair stretching my arms with a stratifying click 'mhhh almost over its 10 45 so 1 more hour and franci-' caught in my thoughts so much but the white uniform snapped my attention 'speak of the devil-! wait...' and as quickly as it came it left, as i seen the deep sunken abyss of "eyes" and a smile 'ah, i see its hoon' he really did try to get in, acting normally handing the papers over with an almost correct ID and entry form but just ya know slightly off on the looks and all he says is hoon is kind of revealing. i smiled and waved in greeting.

"Ah, hello there, nice try hoon, but i can see you. Good try though, almost nailed that ID too."

"hoon hoooon!"

"ill take that a good response"

i politely gave back the ID and smiled, throwing the entry form in the bin with the rest, so it isn't as easy to get in. Also, some of them are funny anyway. back to it i found this particular one almost as enduring as the original i was found of him so to speak, but if he got too good then off he goes and that might be a toxic trait but ill entertain him for now.

"Come on man, you know the drill, i caught you. You walk away. Have a good night though."

"hoon..."

he held his head down in disappointment and trudged away, when i was sure he left i called the D.D.D,the emergency shutters come down and footsteps can be heard by the men, i knew hoon wasn't there but to keep up the appearance to not get me fired, i had to make it seem that he keeps escaping, and not me letting him do so nooooo. the shutters come up, and the hazmat suit explains the situation in that boring tone like always.

"The clean up is complete, but the company will search for that double ganger that got away......"

yep, the same stuff zoning all that out. 'blah blah blah Jesus Christ, so much talking, just leave, please.' i kept smiling with zoned out thoughts as they spoke.

"You can continue your job"

"mh hm thanks"

the clean-up crew left slowly, god so slowly, like today, so slow. i looked over to the clock 'uuuuhhh 11 15 a half an hour till Francis gets here from delivering milk. poor soul to be fair he was half a workaholic' picking at my nails as a distraction from the boring day i seen another white milk man uniform i smile as i seen Francis, immediately going to work as he passed his paper through. but if i looked at the clock, only a few minutes passed.

"hi there"

i politely greeted, giving a small wave like i do for him 'wait it might not be him.' My face turned serious quickly.

"hm hello..."

'Huh, is he tired, or is that voice lower?' Suspicious, but i checked over the entry form, and that looked all good. now the ID 'logo yep date uh huh spelling' with the file i looked back and forth 'okay looking good finally number lets see 2 3 5 5 6' i look at the ID '2 4 5 5 6. wait 4?' Looking back over the file 'that's wrong damn doppelgänger. welp gotta kill this one he's too real.' i passed back the papers roughly, my face turning sour.

"welp, here ya go Francis, any last words?"

i didn't let him finish becuse as soon as i passed the paper through roughly i reached over with my other hand and pressed the emergency button, and speed dialling the D.D.D to get this near replica out of here, the shutter that came down was rattling from the force of the doppelgänger hitting it trying to escape, which was normal. and then silence as the shutter comes up, the now comforting yellow suit began to talk.

"The clean-up is complete. You can continue your-"

The hazmat suit slammed into the glass making a small crack, a gradient green hand with black claws dug into the back of the head, blood seeping out and staining the yellow suit my eyes followed the arm to the doppelganger of Francis i had just delt with 'oh shit this is a fucking problem' the yellow hazmat fell to the ground the hand returning to "normal" and that face comes into view. blood dripping of the perfect features, his voice lower than it should be its unnerving 'and hot- nope nope stop there wrong.' opening the desk draw digging in it for a neatly written number to only be called if the D.D.D fails. 'Where's that post-it note' a loud thud broke my thoughts, and I cautiously looked up to the double of Francis. his hand against the glass smearing some blood on the clean surface some spilling into the small crack made a few seconds earlier.

"Oh darling, how come you didn't let me in? My appearance is flawless. Entry form has nothing wrong with it, I know I'm on the list today."

He looked confused 'cute wait no evil' since I passed the papers through he picked up the slightly crumpled ID and gave an amused smirk flipping it around and pressing it to the glass so I could see it.

"Ah, I see you did read that silly ID number. You're not like the others, you're smart, and that makes me want to devour you even more."

My hand starts to tremble as I kept looking for that stupid note. The doppelganger tuts lightly with a small chuckle.

"Come on~ your phone friends can't help you. and you wouldn't want to create more of a mess~ look honey! all those delicious bodies already here"

He licked his lips cleaning them from the blood giving a satisfied hum 'oh shit that's hot- nope nope not the time' i couldn't bear to look past him at the amount of people dead, opting to keep looking for the number i knew was in this stupid desk 'come on, come on where is this fucking thing' my hand touches the gun at the back of the draw 'I shouldn't have to use this'

"OPEN THE DOOR, please open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please come on, open the door? You're scared i see that, I can set you free come on let me inside open the door open opEN OPEN!"

Teeth beared now sharp and tinted yellow eyes the same shade. His hand slammed down on the glass with an open palm he realised it wasn't working, quickly far too quickly, and he used his fist rattling the pane in its hold the crack getting bigger every thud my movements speed up 'shit shit shit shit shi- ah! there I got it.' I gripped the paper roughly and slammed the emergency button and dialled the never before used number

"DARLING YOULL NEVER KILL ME IVE BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR WEEKS ILL COME BACK"

"Hello you have contacted the-"

"YES I KNOW SEND HELP D.D.D AGENTS DOWN"

"Don't worry .... we have dispatched people to your area" BEEP

The slamming of fists and that sickening sound of flesh tearing. its the noise doppelgangers make when they lose their disguise, it made me nauseous my head dizzying from it I heard the glass smash but the metal kept me safe it was barely dented before I heard the screams of the beast and gun shots my breathing uneven my legs to my chest in the chair arms wrapped around my body in attempt to comfort myself it all went silent my heart drops in my chest but as the shutter came back up a more human looking hazmat suit greeted me rather than the round ones another one putting a new pane of glass replacing the broken one.

"Thank you for contacting us. we will inform the D.D.D of the deceased agents and give you good reference. Unfortunately, the doppelganger got away"

"Wait, what!?"

They left quickly, some carrying black bags, not saying a word 'he got away. How?' I slowly came out of my shell I had built temporarily, taking in some deep breaths. unwrapping my arms and lowering my legs back into my chair. 'I'll have a breakdown when I'm off the clock.... oh speaking of how long till Francis is here 11 55 he's late.... of course just making my day wors- never mind night is better' there he was passing an ID and entry form i already had his folder out and checked it over intensely giving a little sigh.

"mh, hello doorman you seem worked up tonight"

"haha yeah just some difficult doppelgängers, ya know"

"ha yeah uh.... I've been meaning to ask, would you like to get food sometime"

i opened the door for him and smiled wearily giving the correct paper back to the real Francis.

"yeah that would be nice have a goodnight Francis"

okay finally over Jesus Christ this took way longer than i wanted it to take becuse i have got another 3 fics stacked and schoolwork so I'm glad its over but i still don't know how to end this shit sorry if my writing sucks :]

extra note: brownie points if people spotted the heathers reference

[somnolenthour]

𝔾𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕤

This is a gift drabble based on chapter 5 of @makeyoumine69 's fic "Till death do us part". Please check it out! Becca my beloved♡

Content warnings: Drug use and overdose

Loss of control.

His upbringing was specifically tailored to teach him how to always be in control of his situation. His father (the hardass he was) made sure that if anything were to ever happen, he could rest easy knowing that his son knew what to do. But that accounted for things like finances, sudden family emergencies, maybe even the fall of man. But Patrick couldn’t think of any scenario that involved what was happening to him; His body seized at first, muscles knotting themselves tight as he collapsed with a grunt of pain before a flash of heat broke him out into a sweat. The only thing he was thankful for was that he was still on his bed when he collapsed like a stack of cards.

The girl he hired was gone in an instant but it wasn’t like he could ask for her help when his jaw was laced so tight that instead of crying “Christie!” like he swore he had enough strength to, all he could muster was a croak from the back of his throat. That’s when he dipped below the surface, eyes too heavy to keep open anymore. His body was lead and his sheets became an unending abyss of sterility that once brought him comfort even when he was restless. His heart was clawing at the bars of its cage as it beat hard enough to cut off his hearing. He hoped he was still breathing because every intake of air was met with a twist of copper and he was sure his lungs were filled with it.

What a way to fucking go…

Would he be remembered fondly? Would people cry?

Would he be remembered at all?

It seemed so easy to just let go, let death take him. Fuck his eyes suddenly stung… Maybe he should…

“Patrick, Patrick, can you hear me?!”

Light brimmed his eyelids and he wanted to tear his eyes open, move just enough to see her. If he was going to die maybe she could see his eyes and know everything he’s held in his heart. God he felt so fucking cold, beads of sweat crystalizing into painful shards of frost against clammy skin. Something parted his lips and breathed life into his crying lungs, his oxygen starved body begging for more.

Hope.

God, how he forgot that emotion..

He needed to hold onto it, make it his own. With newly found strength he grabbed for it, wrapped his arms around it with what little grip he had. He parted from it when he could breathe again, finally able to fight the current and open his eyes. His angel before him wiping her mouth and saying something but it was hard to hear, parting from his side again like everyone else in his life… No.. Becca wouldn’t leave him.. Would she?

She returned to him, bringing him a shaky sense of comfort as she caressed his cheek. He was still struggling to breathe but he’d be fine, he’s had worse.. Would it always have to get worse? Would she lea- The prick of the needle in his arm distracted him for a moment before his eyes welled and blinded him with tears that seared his skin. He was so fucked up to her and she still found it in her to spare him, save him from a death that others would’ve thought he deserved. “Thank you” were words heavy on his heart and mind but instead he took her hand. “Don’t…Don’t leave me…” His voice cracked as he struggled to find his voice again, another wave of sobs shaking his body. She didn’t know how much he loved her at that moment and she’d never know how much he always did.

Becca talked about medicine and his family’s private doctors.. He couldn’t care less, her life was in his hands and he let her have it for now. He trusted her. God, he was terrified.. “Y-Yes…I understand…” He used what strength he regained to crawl a bit to her, wrapping himself around her, pulling her close because he needed her. He buried his head in her neck, her scent so comforting to him.

Then he remembered.

“I’m doing everything in my power not to break your fucking neck right now!”

The slam of his door, the venom in his voice. His hands shook as he balled up her scrubs in his hands, curling into her. “Oh God…” He was such a piece of shit. How could he do that to her? “I’m sorry… Please don’t go…” His tears stained her shoulder and he promised himself he’d buy her new scrubs later. “Don’t go..”

Her lips were soft..

He loved her so much…

He just didn’t know what to do..

“I love you Patty..” Her words echoed in his head.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side B

John Gaius art cred @exmakina

Propaganda below ⬇️

book quote from the chapters where he's relating how he got necromantic powers and people freaked out!! this is pre-apocalypse and resurrection so it's implied he took a lot of inspiration from this incident . He said, Then we took off. Thread after thread on message board after message board. People wanting proof. People asking what the fuck it meant. People talking about the LUCIFER telescope and saying we were aliens. People calling me the Antichrist, which was a trip. People writing up these long posts on how the trick was done, how I got the meat into the pie. Was I fake? Was I real? If I was real, what did it mean? Suddenly there were hundreds of people, all there at our front door. They came in caravans, they were sleeping in their cars or putting up tents. A hell of a lot of them had flown out internationally. He said, Some of them wanted to see the miracle. Some of them wanted my help, like, Oh, you’re the magical death man, can you do something about my body? Can you fix my fibromyalgia? Thing was, I could. That surprised me. I could take out their tumours. I could fix their macular degeneration. Big damage was easy, unless they’d actually lost the limb or whatever. Couldn’t grow those back. But I spent hours and hours a day playing Jesus. That was nice, those were some of the nicest hours I got to spend. He said, But when you’re doing the whole Go, my child, your knee cartilage is fixed, you’re going to get a lot of visitors. I had to turn people away because I had to eat, I had to sleep, even though I didn’t want to. M— had brought in her best friend, the nun, and I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too, but she was just like: stop doing this! Read your Bible! This was Christ’s whole problem! I was like, What are you talking about, Jesus cured the lepers and everyone was all, Hooray, thanks man. M—’s nun was all, Are you kidding, Christ never said no and never asked anyone to pay and got way too much attention and brought the heat down on everybody. Christ didn’t keep to office hours, she said. Don’t do that. He said, So we limited Jesus stuff to one hour a day, and I always had to eat breakfast. But by then the whole world was on our doorstep.

look this is kind of weird but he is the only survivor after nuclear bombs destroy the earth and he has weird necromancy powers so he revives his friends and a few other people to be his subjects and basically makes himself a god to them. there's a lot of layers since he's literally the only character in the entire series who remembers the world before and has a concept of the religion he's copying for his own. he treats the other characters like toys he can push around for his own amusement and everything is a joke but he does this world-weary act that somehow gets the reader to kind of feel for him even when he's being atrocious. and he's the only one who remembers memes. which is a torture all of its own.

I said "yes" but to be more clear: he was canonically Catholic when he was still mortal, but that was 10,000 years ago and he kind of killed everybody on the planet. Just slightly. Some of them got better. Now he's the Emperor Undying and his empire is very Catholic-coded.

Frank

He was in training to become a priest and! Fun fact! Is second generation immigrant!

[crusherthedoctor]

Top 5 Sonic Final bosses? :)

This is counting "regular" final bosses as well, in the case of those that have a true final boss. Spoiler though: they're all Eggman. :P I swear this wasn't on purpose, it's just that the other villains who make up a final boss often tend to be underwhelming for one reason or another.

5. Nega-Wisp Armor - It may be a bit on the easy side, but since Colours marked the first 3D title where Eggman was the uncontested final boss from all angles, it holds a lot of significance to me as a result. That aside, it's also cool that Eggman gets to use the Wisps against you... even takes the announcer with him. >:|

4. Egg Diablo - I think I've become this boss fight's biggest stan at this point lol. I get why some parts might piss players off, but for the most part, I genuinely enjoy how challenging this one is. Its design provides a neat shogun spin on the Death Egg Robot template, it has a lot in common with the Great Eggman Robo (see below), and I love how Eggman segues into phase 2 by cockblocking your victory.

3. Egg Viper - One of the most famous examples here. Killer design, legendary meme, and an ending that always gets me hyped. I'm not a Michael Bay, but I love that explosion so much.

2. Egg Wizard - A very unique and underrated one. Thanks to the Jeweled Scepter, Eggman (and Nega, but fuck him) shows off a selection of unconventional magic-based attacks. The fight itself is quite fun too.

1. The Death Egg/Doomsday finale - I consider the endgame of S3&K to be one of the best in the series, largely because of how well it incorporates Eggman's absolute refusal to give up. There are gods who get Big Oof'd after one fight, meanwhile this man keeps going again and again. And all this after the rest of S3&K, which of course had many other moments where the doctor gave his 110%.

Honorable mentions: The original Death Egg Robot cause of how iconic it is, SA1 Egg Walker cause of the significance it has for Tails and Eggman's own demeanour in the cutscene leading up to it, Perfect Chaos for being probably the least shit Super Sonic boss in a 3D installment, the Egg Shrimp in Advance 2 for what it says about Eggman and Sonic's characters with how quick they are to kidnap and save a random woman respectively, Emerl in Battle cause of the emotions surrounding it, Egg Salamander in Rush cause ~wrapped in black, wrapped in black~, Alf-Layla-wa-Layla cause Sonic gets to beat the shit out of Erazor "Domestic Abuser" Djinn, the Mega Death Egg Robot in Forces cause of the genius of Eggman storing a second mech inside the first one, and finally - despite its, er, complications - the Black Dragon in Superstars, cause seeing Sonic's friends help him out during it is extremely appreciated by me after years of them standing around like cheerleaders whenever it's final boss time.

[waterfallofspace]

Can I send you three different asks? No obligation to fill any, but if one strikes your fancy by all means go for it. So, um, here are the numbers for S/oukoku. 52/53 and/or 77?

Hello!! Thank you for the ask, and yes ofc, the more the merrier, I'm THRILLED to receive asks, especially requests because it means someone enjoys my writing!!

I've seen the rest, and I intend to fill them all, but for now I will start with this one and work my way through them! Thank you again, it feels like an honour to receive a request from you, I hope I can do it justice!! 1.9k words, prompts 52, 53, and 77, story under the cut! 52: “Did you just sneeze?” 53: “Bless you?” 77: Pinching the other’s nose before they can sneeze. (References to mild violence and swearing, in case anyone doesn't like those!)

~~~~~~~

The meeting has only been going for about 30 minutes and three death threats have already been thrown around. Chuuya sits with his feet on the table, hat slightly covering his eyes as he attempts to quell the rising headache that being in Dazai’s presence always seems to bring. ‘The idiot has been quieter then normal this meeting, but even just that stupid look on his face- god it drives me insane.’

“-And so, we must work together? I don’t see any reason the Port Mafia should be involved in this, this petty squabble between you and these ‘assassins’ you claim to have annoyed.”

“Don’t be moronic, should this turn into a full fledged war, the Port Mafia would be losing as much as we would. Our organization-”

Chuuya tunes out again, his attention briefly, against his will, slipping back over to Dazai. At first annoyance floods his mind, but it’s quickly replaced by something else as he watches the man shudder. A hand raises to his face, and another shudder runs through him. ‘Well this is certainly an interesting development…’ Keeping his tone low, wanting to ensure his theory before acting on it, Chuuya nudges Dazai.

“What’s wrong with you, bandage waste?”

A cheshire smile meets him, one Chuuya is quite familiar with, and yet… has never lost its disturbing nature.

“Nothing at all, but how sweet of you to worry about me Chuuya~! I can rest easy knowing if something were the matter, you would have my back!”

Letting out a huff, Chuuya starts to turn back to the meeting, almost missing the watery desperation filling Dazai’s whiskey eyes. Almost. At the next cluster of deep shudders, Chuuya acts, ready for a little entertainment to distract from all the arguing of the bosses.

“Did you just sneeze, Dazai?”

The glare he’s met with is instinctual, ‘I’m not even sure he knows he did it.’ and is quickly replaced by the usual carefree mask. All eyes in the room turn to the man, his nose pinched hard between his fingers as he seems to weigh his options in the span of seconds.

“I did actually, seems something’s- heH’YESHHH’oo-! huh’AYYIESSHH’oo-!” 

Chuuya bites his tongue against the yelp that forms, trying in vain to play him almost falling off his chair as intentional. ‘Goddamn shitty Dazai, that was on purpose to scare me, and damn myself for letting it work.’

“Bless you, Dazai!”

Kenji speaks up, Chuuya not missing the way his comment sends chills down Dazai’s spine. ‘Try as you might, you can’t hide this now. What’s your next move gonna be, Dazai?’ Although, just to himself, Chuuya allows his mind to wander, eyes scanning the room. 

‘Something’s making him sneeze, but I don’t think any of the usual culprits are to blame here. If anyone had dog fur on them Mori would be sneezing too, and the pollen count isn’t that high, plus if he was sick he just wouldn’t have shown up. No, he walked into this meeting not knowing this was coming, so it’s something he couldn’t have predicted…’ 

“hEH’TISHHHEWWW-! hahh-! hAH’AIIISHH’uuu-!”

“Bless you again, Dazai!”

The laugh he lets out sounds natural to most, but Chuuya can hear the strangled nature just below the surface. His eyes trace over Dazai’s face, seeing the tint of red forming on his ears, the way his eyes seem narrowed and watery, and finally the twitching nature of his nose. ‘He’s embarrassed, but more than that… he’s far from finished.’ Chuuya’s proven right as Dazai brings a hand to scrub at his nose with just a touch more force then Chuuya feels comfortable with. 

“Forgive me for the interruption, we were talking about how the Port Mafia is to blame for setting the assassins into motion, weren’t we?”

It’s phrased as an innocent continuation, but Chuuya sees it for what it really is. A ploy to get the bosses fighting once more, and it works exactly how Dazai knew it would. Immediately Mori stands up, and Fukuzawa matches him, both staring each other down. Kenji and Gin turn their attention to the bosses, leaving only Chuuya watching the trainwreck sitting across from him. 

“hhH’MMPFFSHH’uhhh-! aHH’MMMSHHH’huhh-!” 

Despite being smothered into his coat, they’re not stifled, and Chuuya can feel the frustration resonating from the man.

“Bless you again, Dazai!”

It’s dripping with sincerity that seems to burn Dazai on impact, a hiss escaping his teeth before he can stop it, which he quickly covers with a laugh and a smile. ‘You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. You’re desperate to get out of here as soon as possible.’

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a hint of fresh air.” 

The excuse isn’t needed, no one but Chuuya is paying attention anymore, Kenji having stood up to hear better as Fukuzawa and Mori raised their voices even louder. Chuuya’s eyes track Dazai’s rapid movements as he attempts to glide out of the room, nearly running into a wall as he whips around to stifle another sneeze into his shoulder.

“KNNGT-!”

‘Just the one, that must be driving him insane. The other will follow soon enough.’ Chuuya hums lightly, using his gravity to make his footsteps practically nonexistent as he follows Dazai out into the hallway. He watches him duck into a door leading to what he can only assume is an empty room. Following suit, he squeezes himself into the- ‘Oh for fucks sake, a damn closet? Damn it Dazai, even unintentionally you’re a pain in my ass.’

“Chu- What a- are- heH-!”

The panic slipping past his mask is enough to get a smirk painted across Chuuya’s face.

“You didn’t see this coming? Wow, you must be out of it if you can’t even manage such simple predi-”

“hEH’AIISHH’OO-! IZZSHHHUEE-! mMTISHHHEEEWW-! hahh’KNNGT’CHOO-!”

“Christ, Dazai, you’re reall-”

“hehh’INGGT’choo-! hePT’KNGT’choo-! EZZZshh’oo-! heH’aiiiZZSHH’uu-!”

“Are- are you gonna stop anytime soo-”

“hEH’NNGT-! enngt-knxxgt-DTNNGT’choo-! heh’eTSH’uee-! tISHH’uiee-!”

Chuuya can’t help but wince, the nasal quality of the sneezes increasing as the space between them decreases. Dazai’s watery eyes meet his for a second before crushing shut as he raises his hand to his face for another bout that leaves even Chuuya breathless.

“iSHH-ZZSHH-AIESHH-DASSSHH’iiee-! heH’IZZSHH’uiee-! knNT’sheew-! AIIYISHH’oo-EHZZSHH’oo-! eHH-! hEDT- guhhh Ch- Chuuya… wh- what are you doi… doing…”

Staring right back at the watery gaze, Chuuya tries to form an answer, but honestly he hadn’t put that much thought into it. All he had known was Dazai needed to stop so he could breathe, and well… his gloved hand just sorta found its way to his face where it now sits, pinching his nose shut.

“I- y- you need to stop.”

“Ch- Chuuya… I have… I- I gotta… it tic- tickles… hehh-!”

“I know, shit-for-brains, but you gotta breathe before you pass out. I don’t want to explain to the bosses the reason I’m carrying you is because you sneezed yourself into a fucking coma.”

Dazai manages to smirk from behind the teary expression, his nose still twitching against Chuuya’s fingers.

“Is Chuuya enjoying the power he holds, along with my nose?”

A yelp escapes before Chuuya can stop it, a growl right on it’s heels, and he drops Dazai’s nose. The blush that dares to start along his cheeks is quickly suppressed as he watches Dazai’s eyes roll back in his head, nose twitching violently.

“Hahh…. Hehhh… heH-! Achhoo-!”

Its the fakest sounding thing Chuuya has ever heard, no volume or desperation at all, too breathy to be an actual sneeze, and yet…

“Bless you?”

“N- No I… I still… I can’t… Chuuyaaa~!”

“Christ Dazai, fine.”

With that, Chuuya raises a gloved finger, and lets the fabric softly run against the bridge of Dazai’s nose, adding a flick at the tip. The result is instant, Dazai only having enough time to bury his face into Chuuya’s chest to muffle the onslaught.

“hH’MMFFSHHH’uu-! nnNNSHHH’oo-! hAH’AIISHH’choo-! hehH’ISHH’chuuu-! ehh… iHH-! iHH’TSHHH’chhuuuuya-! iZZSHH’chhhuuuya-!” 

“Not funny, dumbass.” 

Chuuya growls, raising a fist to hit Dazai’s arm with enough force to get a muffle groan from the man, before he ducks back into Chuuya’s chest for the remainder of the fit.

“uHH’MMMFSSHH’IEE-! NNGSHHH’IEE-! Wheew~ Thank you Chibi, that hitching had me in agony, I couldn’t stand it!” 

“Oh shut up, I just didn’t want to have to watch your pathetic face anymore, that’s all. And you’re having this dry cleaned!”

Dazai’s eyes meet his, venom soaking his words as he lets the raw quality of his voice shine through.

“I think I’m allergic to Mori’s new cologne.”

The words have the intended effect, Chuuya feeling his face pale a touch. Dazai just smirks in response, raising a fist to rub at his nose.

“W- what?”

“A gift from you I assume? It’s too high quality for him to have bought it. While he does dress well, and carry himself quite formally, when it comes to the finer things in life, he doesn’t have such expensive tastes.”

Chuuya growls, letting just a hint of sincerity escape as he offers,

“It’s not like I knew you were so sensitive to it…”

There’s a look in Dazai’s gaze that Chuuya can only classify as hungry as the man lets his form draw nearer to Chuuya’s body. They stand that way for a minute, breath close enough to touch the other’s face, a lust starting to pool in their eyes, before Dazai lets himself slip back, mask dipping back over his face. He smirks, waving a hand casually in the air.

“It’s not that big of a deal. Plus~ I got to see Chuuya jump! My my, I didn’t realize you were so easily startled Chibi! Reminds me of a cat, or rather, a kitten. Much like your size does~!”

He can’t move fast enough to avoid the kick aimed straight for his chest as Chuuya growls, knocking Dazai back into the shelf behind him. It’s only after a cloud of dust raises from where Dazai crouches on the ground does Chuuya realize his mistake. ‘Shit- was that his plan the wh- whoole… t- time… hehh…!’ 

“Uh-uh-uh!”

Chuuya manages to pry his eyes open at the feeling of skin against his face, breath catching in a gasp at the sight before him. Dazai stands, mere inches from his face, fingers firmly pinching his nose.

“Eh?! What the fuck are yo- huhh… you doing?! Le- lehhht…. hAHH-! Let go of me!” 

“Fair is fair, Chuuya. Eye for an eye, nose for a nose~.”

All Chuuya can manage in response is a grunt, hissing as Dazai moves slightly, the tickle elevating to new highs. His eyes flutter shut once more, the hitching threatening to turn into sneezes on every breath, only Dazai’s grip prolongs it.

And yet, Chuuya makes no effort to remove his fingers. They both know he could, and he’s entirely aware that Dazai’s watching him carefully, but he doesn’t make a move. Instead, he lets his head tilt back, tears starting to form in his eyes. 

He manages to get his eyes to flutter open long enough to witness Dazai’s smirk, before the man lets his lips almost brush Chuuya’s ear, whispering two words that get Chuuya’s blood boiling.

“Bless you.” 

With that, Dazai lets go, hand returning to scrub at his own nose as it twitches yet again. He pauses at the doorway, letting his head hang slightly back to witness the results of his little experiment. Chuuya, however, notices none of this, stuck instead in a fit that seems set on revenge for being denied so long.

“kesschh’oo-! eschhh’oo-! asshhh’iew-! dnggt-! heh’iSHH’iew-! hih’tishh’iew-!”

“I was right! Just like a cat. Adorable as ever, Chuuya~.”

He easily dodges the punch Chuuya throws, ‘Damnit, ca- ishh’oo-! Can’t see straight throu- esschh’oo-! Through the sneezing-’ giving a wave over his shoulder as he descends down the stairs. Chuuya can’t help but smile as he hears a “IZZSHH’uuee-! Christ.” echo out from the stairwell.

‘Never a dull moment with you. Until we meet again, partner.’ 

[drainbangle]

wait omg i’m curious about your unpopular thoughts about temenos writing wise.. i love when people discuss octopath writing it’s really enriching to see what we all have to say about certain story elements. plus you’re like a temenos representative to me. your thoughts about temenos make me go “so true!”

Aw, thank you! It took a while for me to decide on what to write here, since honestly I could go on for… frankly any aspect of this guy, especially in regards to treatment in fanon. But for now, I'll focus on my thoughts regarding how people treat tragedy in Temenos' story— namely, Crick's death— and why I personally dislike it as a writing decision and why I disagree with the idea that it is necessary.

Note: Goes without saying, but this is my personal opinion. If you believe otherwise, then that's all good. I'm not writing this to say that any one person is wrong, just to talk about an issue I have with the game's writing itself.

To start, I'll say that my main reason for disliking Crick's death in SH route is a matter of practicality. Killing him off causes Temenos to lose the main person that he had a fantastic relationship and banter with, and in my opinion, Temenos works best when he's bouncing off another person; not unlike most under the Sherlock-archetype.

Also, genuinely? It works wonders to keep Crick alive, if just because it provides a fantastic avenue to explore Temenos' institutional trauma. Having a character that's lived a different experience but within the same harmful institution opens up ways to explore the scope of its harm. And yes, this is for Crick specifically; not Ort, not the travelers, but Crick.

I think it really adds something that Temenos was raised by the church while Crick converted as a teenager during a really difficult time in his life. These two are good for each other. Crick sure as hell makes it a lot easier to write Temenos in fic.

(If you have a different experience, again, that's cool. I'm glad for you. I, however, will never fail to take the easy way out.)

(This is a lie, I'm over here making up fantasy church law for fic stuff but that's not related to this answer.)

I won't pretend that disliking Crick's death is an unpopular opinion. I mean, "Stormhail Fix-it" is an entire genre of fic on the OT2 Ao3 tag. What I do feel tends to go unaddressed though, is the fact that the idea that Crick's death is canon, therefore it is necessary, therefore it is the best decision; an idea that I wholeheartedly disagree with.

Within the text itself, Crick is killed off in order to give Temenos a personal reason to pursue Kaldena, thus putting him at odds with Kaldena's motivations being driven by her ideology and worldview that, "because humans committed the massacre, it was the gods' mistake to put us here". I also won't pretend that Kaldena's writing here isn't fucking awful, because Crick's death is also a device to make the player want Kaldena defeated even though she is just as much as a victim of the church; and that's to say nothing of her portrayal as an indigenous and dark-skinned woman.

These decisions are ones I disagree with. Killing Crick off was unnecessary to give Temenos reason to pursue the culprit, because Temenos already had someone close to him killed; and that's Pontiff Jörg. He raised Temenos from infancy, but due to the lack of focus on him outside of banter conversations, it's never relevant to his motivations outside of the desire for truth because a crime was committed. 

We also didn't need to kill Crick off to show that the church was a terrible institution, because Roi already went missing in action. The Sacred Guard is the main body of law within Eastern Solistia, it's not unreasonable to think that the reason why Temenos dislikes them is because they clearly didn't do shit to investigate his disappearance.

However, one thing I really don't agree with is the idea that Crick's death is necessary because Temenos' story is a tragedy. And if you asked me why, I'd ask this in turn: why is death the only form of tragedy? Furthermore, why must a tragedy contain only tragic events? That in mind, what gives anything value in a tragedy, then?

Pretend we cannot completely rewrite Temenos' story. Even then, changing Crick's death to a permanent injury, a coma, or whatever is still a tragic event; and that's nothing to say of living with the consequences. Isn't losing your faith a tragedy? Isn't losing something you worked for years to do a tragedy?

Similarly, I'd still argue that it's more valuable to make Stormhail a near-death experience because not only does it show Temenos succeeding in making someone question the church but also the terror that is feeling like you're doomed to repeat tragedy. Even if you really aren't, it's hard to dismiss that feeling; especially when it has to do with being victimized by institutions.

And before someone says, "but bad things happen to good people in real life", I'm not treating these characters as living, breathing people who are subject to things like gravity, hunger, and exhaustion. I'm treating them as choices, and choices made that I disagree with. 

It's why I make different choices. I choose to make Crick have to deal with chronic pain onwards. I choose to make Temenos realize change is still possible. I choose to let them both leave Stormhail alive. Are these better choices? I don't know. But I'll never stop questioning the ones made by the writers regardless; much less stop disagreeing with them.

So, in summary: I dislike Crick's death. I dislike Temenos having to spend the rest of the story without someone he can talk to so easily because Crick's absence weakens a lot of his scenes in Temenos 4. But more than that, I dislike the idea that tragedy is necessary on top of the idea that it is superior. Tragedy's good, I adore the genre; but written in mindful doses and all that.

[shootingstarpilot]

Thank you all SO MUCH for the lovely prompts!

Lucky us, AO3 has returned (join me in raising a toast to that most excellent team of volunteers), so most of your prompts will be saved for a rainy day or to hammer away at writer's block the next time such a weapon is necessary--

But.

One of those prompts lodged itself in my brain. So you get this. Thanks very much, @153-centimeters-of-sass, you evil, evil bastard <3

The prompt in question:

Needle or Stitch gets stuck in a time loop, reliving a Bad Day over and over.

(PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS IN THE TAGS.)

Shockingly enough, the Sith temple itself had been surprisingly easy to navigate.

No traps. No ghosts. No vision-induced fainting spells.

Obi-Wan ducks into the (comparative) warmth of the command tent. None of the men have shucked their coats-- it's still Abregado, still well below freezing-- but at least the risk of frostbite is reduced.

Slightly.

They'd recovered the bled kyber crystal easily enough. No pedestal, no case, no honor for it-- they'd found it simply discarded in the corner of a hallway, cracked and bleeding and screaming so loudly that Obi-Wan had known immediately that this is what had called to the Jedi loudly enough that a whole battalion had been sent to investigate.

Gods. Even now, shields raised as high as he can manage, he can feel the tidal wave of its pain battering at him. He spares a thought to be grateful that none of the men are Force-sensitive. To be exposed to something like that-- with no shielding--

Its power is immense, and it is in agony.

That sort of pain doesn't tend to care if it spreads or not.

This is what they are here to discuss now-- how best to contain it, until it can be safely remanded to the Temple for an attempted healing. They may need to break it fully-- kill it, dull it, put it out of its misery, but that is a cruel death and one that no Jedi would wish on a kyber.

Obi-Wan peels off his goggles, nods at Cody, opens his mouth--

And pivots immediately when he senses the bloody smear approaching.

Like a trail of blood left behind after a dragged body, in the Force-- only an echo of life, a memory of it, but somehow still moving-- he lunges at the entrance, tears open the flap-- not knowing what he expects, who he expects--

But he knows he was not expecting Needle.

Needle, who's in his blacks and nothing else-- the blood trickling from his nose freezing to his face in the same instant, bare hands scraped raw from the wind, the skin on his face dry and cracked, and for a moment Obi-Wan can do nothing but stare, because-- he'd seen Needle, just yesterday, whole and firework-bright, what had happened--?

"Sir?" Needle says blearily. He blinks, and Obi-Wan realizes with a slow sort of horror that the tears have nearly frozen his eyes shut. "You need to kill it, sir."

"Kill it--?"

"It's hurting, sir. It's hurting, and it keeps dragging me with it."

The second morning, Needle thinks it's just a nightmare.

He's never had a nightmare before. Any dream at all, really. He guesses it was something during the reconditioning. Something broke. Crossed wires, maybe. He's never mourned it, though, not really, because-- the way Stitch and Helix react, sometimes, the silent tears, the not-so-silent whispered confessions, of warped memories that seem almost foolish in waking--

Needle does what he can. And what he can do is be awake when they wake up shaking, so he can sit with them and remind them of what's real.

He learns their patterns, and stays awake, and doesn't envy them much at all.

He'll take what respite he can get.

And in the morning-- in the morning, when he blinks at the ceiling and promptly vomits over the side of the bed--

He thinks, at first, that his luck has run out at last.

Hands squeeze his shoulders, and he looks up, gasping for breath, ragged inhales, because Helix was--

Here.

In front of him.

Hale and whole.

Alive.

"Nightmare?"

Needle stares at him.

How--?

A gentle shake.

"Needle."

"I-- guess so."

It must have been. It must have been, then, because Helix is here, cupping the back of his neck, gentle and warm and grounding, and not on the ground with gray matter splattered out behind him--

Little fucking gods. Is this what they meet every night?

No wonder he has to keep cleaning the bucket.

"Can you eat?" Helix-- HelixHelixHelix-- asks. "We're heading out in half an hour."

He nods.

He can't stop staring.

A warm bowl of oatmeal is pushed into his hands..

"Eat," Helix orders. "You need it."

Needle picks up the spoon.

Something roils in the pit of his stomach.

"Helix?"

Helix pauses, looks back at him--

"Are you-- feeling okay?"

His expression softens.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he says, and wow, Needle must look really bad--

He nods, wordless, and spoons some oatmeal into his mouth.

It tastes like ash.

He absentmindedly plucks a fly from the top of the bowl.

Funny. He remembers that, too-- from the dream.

Odd.

Later, he yanks Helix down, out of the way of the blaster bolt that had punched through his helmet in what Needle is coming to suspect might not have been entirely a nightmare--

Right before the ice cracks under him.

Helix doesn't even have a chance to scream.

Later.

In the medtent.

Stitch, tucked under his arm.

Dry throat. Burning eyes.

(Helix is--)

"It was only a nightmare," he says, to the empty room. As if the words themselves can do something-- can be something-- can be, in the end, only a nightmare indeed-- as if by saying it, he can go to sleep and wake up and Helix will be--

(Helix is--)

He presses his cheek to the top of Stitch's head.

All hollowed out.

(Helix is--)

"It was only a nightmare."

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

It was only a nightmare.

Helix vanishes under a rockfall.

(Needle is not a stupid man.)

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He signs up with a different squad.

A pale-faced Obi-Wan comes to deliver the news himself.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He sneaks laxatives into Helix's breakfast to keep him off the field.

The cliff gives way under Stitch's feet, and Needle is too slow to grab him.

He has time to scream.

He doesn't.

Needle watches him fall, small and silent, and thinks he can hear the impact.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

This time, he gets dragged under with Helix, and has to watch his brother bleed out.

Half-conscious. Smiling at him.

"N'dle."

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He walks into the 'fresher and shoots himself in the head.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

It's him and Stitch who get trapped, this time.

Stitch does not smile at him.

Stitch is deeply, deeply afraid.

Stitch is gurgling around the blood in his throat, around the branch that's lodged itself in his chest-- Stitch is reaching for him and Needle reaches back only to realize that Stitch wasn't reaching for him at all, he was reaching for his blaster--

Blood-stained lips move--

"Please--"

Needle cradles the back of his head.

"It won't stick," he promises. "It won't."

A choking noise--

"Please--"

Needle obliges.

In the second after, he realizes that was his last shot.

He slumps backwards, against the rock, and waits for the hypothermia to get him.

After a moment, he picks up the corpse's hand, cradling it.

It takes some time for his vision to go dark.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He blinks at it.

"You hurt Stitch," he says, very quietly. "You made him afraid."

He picks up the fly.

Very deliberately, he plucks its wings off before grinding it under his boot.

"Tell me who you are."

(He doesn't know how much more of himself he can afford to lose.)

(He doesn't know if there's anything left.)

The next four times, he doesn't bother to get out of bed before reaching for his blaster.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

There are so many ways to die in war.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He thinks he will witness every single one.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He is getting really fucking sick of oatmeal.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

This will not save them.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He sets his blaster to the side.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He goes hunting.

(Ghost had found something in the Temple.)

(They'd brought it back.)

(They'd had a meeting, in the morning, before Needle usually preferred to wake up.)

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

He finds the case they'd put it in.

It's bleeding.

And he's a medic.

He sinks to his knees. Picks it up--

The call goes out.

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

"How do I fix this?"

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

"How do I fix you?"

He wakes up.

There's a fly in his oatmeal.

"Oh. You don't want fixing, do you?"

He wakes up.

He wakes up.

He wakes up.

He starts laughing, one morning.

He can't change his damn alarm, because it won't stick.

And he keeps missing the meeting.

And then they have to go to war.

And then they die.

Again.

He waits until Helix leaves the room to reach for his blaster.

Even knowing they won't remember-- he won't remember--

He still doesn't want them to see.

It takes a whole week for his body to finally get the message.

He's in his blacks and bare feet, when he wakes up, and it's still dark outside.

It's still dark outside.

A faint flicker of something that's still Needle deep inside him--

RUN--

He does.

(He picks up his blaster, first. Just in case.)

He finds the General.

The General looks at him like he's dying.

The General looks at him like he's already dead.

The General--

Nods.

Turns.

Movement around the box.

Movement around him.

"Did he kill it?" he asks.

He doesn't think he's heard anything but his own breathing for days and days and days.

He's lost count.

Someone says yes.

"Okay," he says, and raises his blaster.

Part 2 will be coming out tomorrow!

[a-stupid-capricorn]

Better than you could aspire to be (Part 2)

So this is gonna follow the reader, and I'm planning on a part 3 lol. Angsty but nothing like death here, gender neutral reader! Part 1 is here!

--

You wake up in a hospital bed, and you look down to see all of your personal items have been taken away. In a hospital dress that had its back distastefully showing, you get up to investigate your surrounding area. You touch a book that you saw, and you open it with the hopes of locating where you are. You furrow your brows when you realise this was where Tighnari was. You see nothing to indicate you were in Teyvat, and you hate the sinking feeling in your gut.

The staff weren't horrible, but when they were talking to you it felt like they took you as a joke. They'd keep making comments about what you were saying the day before, when you weren't lucid, and you were unable to hide your interest in other people possibly finding out about this place. You decide to ask if any of them knew who Tighnari was, and they would give you a weird look before explaining he went missing, gone without a trace.

One night, when everyone else is asleep and resting, someone you hadn't met before hands you a bag. Looking at their ears, you have an idea of who it was. They ask you some questions, and they inform you that the items in the bag were for Tighnari. When you tell them Tighnari was really good at his job, thoroughly enjoying it, you see the massive wave of relief that washes over the person. They tell you that when you next see him, you should give him the bag. You tell them you may not be able to see him again, but they shrug it off and wish you a speedy recovery.

--

You didn't expect to wake up washed up on Port Ormos, and it wasn't in the least bit reassuring that your bare ass was exposed thanks to your hospital gown. Thanking the gods for making sure nobody was there to witness it, you frantically turn to cover your backside, only to make uncomfortable eye contact with a man.

"..."

"..."

"...I think I know who you are." The man breaks the silence. "Follow me."

He doesn't bring up the obvious problem of your clothing, but he gives you some silent support by giving you some paper clips he had handy, aiding you in tying up the gown to cover yourself.

He eventually lets you into his apartment, closing the door and grabbing you some clothes to change into.

"There was a bag that was next to you, before you ask." The man begins, walking you to the bathroom. "Somehow the bag was dry. I haven't checked the contents." He finishes, letting you change.

You don't waste any time, wanting to get your life back on track. The man is sitting, a file in his hand as he reads through it before looking up at you, gesturing for you to take a seat as well.

"Cyno asked for this to be burned, but I managed to take it away without him knowing." The man almost brags. "Are you _? Please confirm your date of birth, your occupation." The man runs through the identifying questions, and he nods as he realises this was, in fact, your file.

"Many people don't remember you, this was not an easy decision to make." The man continues, you growing confused at his words. "'After the successful procedure, this document must be incinerated to remove any and all evidence of this person's existence. As such, those who have memories of the individual will be subjected to various treatments that will render them unable to recall similar memories.'"

You stare silently at the man, who seems to decide it was a lot to process.

"I have a free day today, so if you would like we could get that bag to Tighnari." The man states.

"Sorry, could you tell me who you are?" You ask, hoping you don't offend him.

"Alhaitham." He states. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long to ask me that, but given how we met that's hardly surprising." He stands up, taking the bag in his hands as he looks down. "Let's go."

--

Seeing Tighnari after you last saw him kinda hurt, seeing how much better he was at the role you were in. It felt like you were supposed to be in his ‘original world’, but you didn’t understand why you were back in Teyvat. Alhaitham takes the lead, knowing about your background with Tighnari as he approaches the man.

“How many times do I have to tell you people that I do not intend on joining the Akedemiya?” Tighnari huffs as he spots Alhaitham, and you trailing behind. 

“Here.” Alhaitham states, preferring not to have an argument about Tighnaris current work. “_ told me someone was wanting to give this to you.” He speaks for your behalf, which you are eternally grateful for.

Tighnari opens the bag reluctantly, and he pulls out a botany book from his originating world. Reading the back, he scoffs as he begins to pinpoint how this book would be of any use to him.

“Fictional books are not going to sway me.” Tighnari states coldly, tossing the book at you. You flinch, fearing the speed the book was going, only to hear Alhaitham catch it. “The other items, however, look useful.” He finishes, leaving the both of you without thanking either of you. Alhaitham turns to look at you, clearly struggling to not throw the book back at Tighnari. You nod, silently agreeing that you were done there, and you turn to leave.

“_?” You hear a forest ranger you trained when you were first in charge call out.”I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been ages.” 

How was this person remembering who you were? Did they not receive the same treatment everyone else has had so far? 

“I’m just paying a small visit.” You state, feeling the curious eyes on you that didn’t know who you were. “I trust Tighnari’s been looking after you?” You ask, the forest ranger nodding eagerly. They begin talking about the changes he implemented since you didn’t return, and the feeling of worthlessness builds up violently. 

“Ah, I’ve just remembered I have something I need to complete. Sorry, gotta go!” You say, catching up to Alhaitham. 

The walk back is quiet, and you’re telling Alhaitham about your experience as a forest ranger from your point of view when he puts a hand up, stopping you. The both of you stand in silence, only being disturbed when you hear weapons clashing against each other. Looking over, you see your childhood friend fighting Alhaitham. 

“Cyno!” You call out, causing both people to stop. Cyno looks over, giving you a deadly look as he contemplates your punishment.

“Do I know you?” Cyno asks, his voice piercing you. 

“We’re friends, Cyno. Do you not remember?” You plead, Cyno’s glare growing more intense.

“We have never met before.” Cyno explains, putting away his polearm as he hears people running over. “Watch yourself.” He warns you, leaving you with Alhaitham as some children start to run through the forest to play. 

Alhhaitham doesn’t acknowledge the way you seemed to forget about Cyno subjecting himself to the amnestic treatment, which you are thankful for, but he brings it up when you’re both by yourselves in his room.

You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself as you explain Cyno was close to you before you went over to the other world, explaining you forgot about the fact he didn’t remember you because of what he did after the ritual was completed. You briefly ask him if he knew why the forest ranger who called out for you remembered you when nobody else did. Alhaitham tilts his head, clearly not knowing about the short discussion that happened, and you explain that this person was relatively close to you due to you training them, but adding on the fact you trained other people. Alhaitham takes a mental note of all of this, making sure he would write this all down to document before he forgets. 

Alhaitham turns his attention to the book in his hands, and he gets an idea on how to pass the time.

“Sit with me while I read.” Alhaitham states, you nodding as you sit next to him, him extending his hand so that the both of you could read through the book. 

Neither of you talk, and you weren’t sure if he was going to tell you off for not explaining things to him, but you also knew that he probably didn’t want to be disturbed during his reading. 

--

Over the next week, Alhaitham opts to keep you next to him. Even with his work, he manages to keep you by his side. When you ask him if he had any ideas as to where you would be able to work, Alhaitham responds by saying that you were working as an ‘assistant’. Truth be told, he enjoyed your company. Although you didn’t speak much, you proved yourself by getting the items Alhaitham wanted when he had to finish a paper. 

He asks for you to collect some ingredients for dinner, giving you the mora to do so, and you go out by yourself. Successfully getting the basic components for a nutritious meal, you feel a presence behind you. Turning around, your heart sinks when it’s a member of the Fatui. They try to make you feel guilty for returning to this world, putting a lot of emphasis on Tighnari and even sprinkling in the confusion you must have given Cyno. At one point, they imply that you are simply a very good liar, and thats when they suggest you join their ranks. Your hand clutches your bag, and you try to lose the person by ducking and weaving between buildings. Nothing works, which you partially expected, and you stop in your tracks when you realise your attempts would be in vain. The person starts to close in on you, opening their mouth to continue their attempts at convincing you to join them...

Only for them to fall unconscious. You turn when you hear someone fall to the ground, Alhaitham clearly knocked the person out as they check you haven’t been harmed. After seeing you were alright, he escorts you home closely, turning every once in a while to ensure nobody else was going to harm you. 

“Tomorrow, I have a day off.” Alhaitham states, locking the door behind him. “I think we need to interview the forest ranger that knows about you.”