#that repressed controlled man falling apart

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, I’m looking for fics where Aziraphale has religious trauma specifically around sex. I wanna see him and Crowley working through it to have a healthy sexual relationship. Preferably on the shorter side like 20k ish or less but not super picky about that part. Thanks!

Hi. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale has religious trauma and explores sex with Crowley. Most of them are on the longer side, sorry...

Snake Lessons by chamyl (E)

“That’s the point, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped. “I’ve never done this before. I couldn’t. They kept track of what we did with our corporations, and I’m sure Hell doesn’t care, but Heaven was very much clear that angels are not supposed to indulge in sex.” Crowley didn’t know how to respond to that. He tried to start several sentences at once, producing an array of incoherent sounds that made no sense at all. When he finally regained control over his tongue, he asked, “Not once? In six thousand years?”

in your own time by ineffabildaddy (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley grew up together as next-door neighbours on Hogback Lane, classmates at the local Catholic school, and inseparable best friends. By the age of eighteen, both were hopelessly in love with the other, despite the knowledge that they were doomed to live apart, as Crowley aimed to pursue university study in London and Aziraphale committed himself to remaining in Tadfield, dedicating his life to the Church. After almost twenty years spent away from his hometown, renowned botanist Crowley decides to come and visit Tadfield again at a moment's notice; the purpose of his visit is to speak at a Careers Day for the school he and Aziraphale, now a beloved priest and a frequent helper at the school, attended. The twenty-four hours that follow will change both of their lives for ever.

Night and Day by wyrmy (E)

Aziraphale Engel, black sheep of his strictly religious family, lives a quiet and monkish existence in the middle of London, trying to avoid the many temptations of the flesh and do his bit for the church that his father founded. But his quiet, untroubled, and unhappily narrow existence is about to come to an end, and he will be faced with the choice to give up even more of who he is or to survive in the real world.

Ink Stained Bleeding Hearts by WillowTea (E)

Ready for a fresh start, Anthony J. Crowley opens shop across the road from a lovely tattooist, Aziraphale Fell. After everything he's been through, Crowley is not ready to fall head over heels for Aziraphale, but he can't stop himself. The two navigate their new friendship and budding romance while addressing past hurts.

Out of Suffering Into Love by Slow_Burn_Sally (E)

Aziraphale is a sexually repressed man who grew up in a religious household. Crowley is an artist with a sordid past. Both of them are afraid to love and be loved.

Hired Heart by GayDemonicDisaster (E)

As a result of his sheltered upbringing, Aziraphale made it to 50 without exploring his sexuality or coming out. After 50, all that changed - he's gay, he's out, and wants to find love. He also wants to have sex. He's a tad nervous about that. His friend Agnes suggests he consult a professional and get some no-strings practice and advice, and build some confidence. And her friend Tracy runs an agency… Crowley has quite the breadth of sexual experience: he’s a high class escort. He’s been in his line of work for a long time, though in this industry, that’s not exactly an advantage. He likes his work, but the more he’s reminded that he’s not as young as he once was, the more he contemplates his exit strategy. When his bookings manager and friend Tracy gives him a new, nervous client, Crowley finds him unexpectedly captivating. In fact, Crowley can’t seem to get him out of his head. A Smitten Crowley is also a very silly Crowley, so prepare for giggles and fluff along with your love story and smut... This fic is sex worker positive, disability positive, & a variety of genders and sexual preferences are referred to in back story.

- Mod D

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part XVIII): Trial by Fire and Trust Falls

Mulder and Doggett finally become a team as the Galpex-Orpheus crew turns mutinous... and Mulder must decide what kind of father, and man, he will become in the wake of these events.

WHAT YOU GONNA DO WHEN IT ALL BURNS DOWN?

Racing into the radio room to find the place ablaze, Mulder freezes briefly, mouth open in fear, before Agent Doggett sweeps in and pulls at his arm. Both rush outside, looking around for something to stop the fire as they reemerge.

Doggett's gesture here is important: on the heels of Mulder's willingness to play ball, it introduces another layer of communication between them-- touch. Now established, Mulder-- a naturally physical person-- will extend his modus operandi to include Scully's new partner.

There's only one extinguisher on hand, prompting Agent Doggett's hunt-and-retrieve mission… which, in turn, hurries him right into the ambush of a very frightened, very paranoid Diego Garza. 

It’s a neat little role reversal: the replaced is now put in position to rescue the replacer-- payback for Doggett storming the DOD and helping the gang escape-- and the first of two x-files related cases where Mulder must save his rival-turned-damsel-in-distress. (All things considered, it’s rare that he's not only placed in the hero’s role, but successful at it.)

Mulder heads back into the control room, alone, giving the audience a clearer glimpse of his stress and repressed terror (as the script notes here.)

Puzzling over the saboteurs' obsession with this room, Mulder's spider senses suddenly kick on when Doggett doesn't reappear an undetermined amount of time later. Those suspicions-- and perhaps a growing awareness of his own lack of reciprocative communication-- are confirmed when the personal radios also go unanswered.

THE TRUTH, FATHERS, AND SONS

Doggett comes to in Diego's hideout, held back from escape at shivering knife point. Looking about the den for means of rapport, he notices a picture taped up to a wire mesh-- Diego's wife, son, and daughter.

It's no mere coincidence, either: Vienen seeks to unpack Mulder's priorities as Scully's due date approaches. We know he has thawed from his distancing (post here), and we know that he has fully accepted his role as the baby's father (posts here, here, here, and here.) But we also know he still jockeys for his right to the X-Files, and that he still believes "the truth" is out there.

However, that's the trick he keeps falling for: "the truth" will always be out there, will always tantalize with answers-- but one must never sacrifice their lives to chase it or they run the risk of looking back at the road not traveled with regret. Like Mulder, Bill Mulder had the same heart and thirst for the truth; but he never turned back, and "the truth" sucked him dry, snatching away his daughter, tearing apart his family, and destroying the man he once was (posts here and here)-- the ultimate price of dedication.

Diego's son and daughter look up at the camera in a mirror image of Mulder and Samantha's happy faces in Dreamland II-- a mirror image, perhaps, of the picture his son will take in the future if he, too, loses a father to "the truth."

Mulder must learn what Frank Spotnitz, The X-Files co-writer, once wisely stated: "You can't get the truth. You can't. There's a larger truth, though: that you can't harness the forces of the cosmos, but you may find somebody else. ...Love is the only truth we can hope to know, as human beings." That's what Mulder and Scully found after nine years. And that's a lot."

We shall see what he decides during Vienen's close.

Bartering his way into freedom, Doggett convinces Diego Garza to let him go… and walks into a second trap. 

The man from his and Mulder’s interrogation (post here) “finds” him, intent on locating Garza-- with purely altruistic motives, of course. Not able to hide his malintent completely, Bo attacks instead, gaining the upper hand and pinning John Doggett down by the throat.

Right before the infection is spread, Mulder materializes, pipe in hand; and beats Bo Taylor over the head--

one, two, three times--

--as Doggett watches on in shock.

(The below set is staggeringly easy to map onto the ideas David Duchovny had for exploring his character's abduction and torture: what ferocity did Mulder's nature resort to-- ineffectively-- in the slim hopes of beating off another round of tests? Not ferocious enough to lose touch with his humanity, as we're shown; but if that be the case, his measures were probably largely ineffectual.)

Doggett is paralyzed at the sudden influx and immediate recession of chaos; but snaps out of it with Mulder’s helping hand and wheezy, no-nonsense, “Get up, Agent Doggett-- there’s more where that came from." 

Here, then, is the first time Mulder reaches out to Doggett. Empedocles marked his initial efforts of grace and emotional honesty (post here); however, he withdrew those efforts in the beginning of Vienen, stung by perceived rejection (post here.) But the oil rig's forced containment and the other man's up-front, straightforward overtures of respect and honesty have convinced him wholly. (So wholly, in fact, that John Doggett becomes his only hope for the files after he resigns.)

Mulder guides him out this time-- a quick gesture of familiarity.

A few important things to discuss:

This is possibly the second time in canon we’ve seen such blunt, personal, intent-to-kill brutality from Mulder. The first was Duane Barry, whom he let go when rage switched to realization. Here, he beats a man over the head, one-two-three-- totally focused; and rolls off the incident immediately to escape with Doggett. Why?

We’ve seen Mulder completely disregard evil or supernatural entities without remorse. He’s even killed a few monsters in his day-- the Flukeman, for example. This, then, points to his unspoken perspective: to him, Bo Taylor was no longer a man, merely an inhuman vessel for the Oil.

And that presents us with something interesting: the ruthless lengths that Mulder will go to protect himself or others from these creatures is concurrent with his current mental stability. Remorse and pity, empathy and second chances are unique to his nature-- he can’t hold onto vengeance for long. But creatures who offer no pity, who feel nothing other than the desire to hollow out other humanity for an alien purpose, surface the darker aspects of his traits.

Further, this incident reveals how on-edge Mulder still is after his abduction: he may be suppressing his PTSD, he may even be in therapy to treat it, but finding himself trapped in quarantine with alien technology has him on savage pins and needles. He doesn’t just beat the man once, doesn’t just hit him twice, just in case-- he batters him thrice without flinching. 

I wonder what could have been showcased during Mulder’s captivity-- what psychological depths the character would have had to plunder in order to remain mentally intact. Since that was not to be, we are left with mere glimpses to intuit his present state: a tendency towards avoidance that erupts into agitated bursts of violence in the name of self-preservation. 

Lastly, one can draw a parallel between Mulder and his father here, as well: in Travelers, we're shown that Bill wants to expose the Consortium's secrets but is too afraid to buck the system outright. When he solicits Arthur Dales's curiosity, Dales is put in danger and nearly fed to a monster while Bill cows under the gaze of his supervisor. His son, however, will rip apart any power structure or hunt down any predator, no matter the costs to his reputation. Mulder's instincts, therefore, are more self-sacrificing and altruistic than his father's-- one who will act as well as react.

Disturbed, Doggett gazes back at the body for a second longer before following Mulder’s exiting steps. 

The men sprinting back to the radio room; and Mulder hurriedly locks the door while plainly suggesting, “You know anything about radio, Agent Doggett?”

“Yeah, I know a little.” 

“Let’s see what little you know and get that ship-to-shore working.” 

Confused but catching up, Doggett asks, “Call who?” 

“Anybody who can get us off here--”

Heavy bangs and thuds knock against the door-- monsters determined to get in. 

“Get to work!” Mulder snarls, aggressive with panic.

Grabbing a long, metal rod, he prepares for the invading forces, slipping naturally into a practiced baseball stance-- one more life lesson he learned from his father and the aliens; one more little touch of humanity he might not be able to pass onto his own child.

GOING DOWN SWINGING

Night falls, and the men are still banging down the door. 

Maneuvering the last of the heavy furniture as a barricade, Mulder shouts, “Agent Doggett!” over his shoulder. 

“I’m working on it!”

“I don’t think this door is going to hold much longer!” His litany is interrupted by an unexpected burst of music; and he angrily turns around to yell, “Wagner?” above the chaos. 

Raising his hands, Doggett says, “What do you want?” 

An idea rupturing forth, Mulder dashes close, excited. “I take it back, it’s perfect.” 

“Hold this--” the other man warns, handing over a wire as he slowly traces another line to find the microphone. 

The two are shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bent above this shared piece of salvation-- finally, a nearly functioning team-- as they hope against hope their transmission will get through. And this time, Mulder doesn't lock eyes with Doggett over the phone (post here.)

Fortunately for them, Scully picks up the transfer. “Agent Doggett?”

“Agent Scully,” Doggett tries to assure, “yeah, I’m right here.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes!” Mulder yells as the bangs get louder and louder. 

“What was that?” she asks, hand to her other ear as the noises filter through the receiver. 

“That’s someone knocking on the door--” Mulder hollers, running back to bolster his barricade. 

“Mulder, listen to me--” Scully begins, unaware that her lecture is not only untimely but also fruitless; unaware that her two partners are hanging by a thread from death, and that the one she is addressing is already across the room. Despite everything, her first partner turns, a smile of stress and intimacy swiping upward. “--I think I know why they killed this man, if not how they killed him.” 

“Right now we got bigger problems,” Doggett insists. “We need a chopper.”   

“We’ve got choppers on the way,” Scully assures, nodding-- and aren’t they lucky to have her thinking alongside them, preparing one step ahead in case everything goes wrong? 

Shoved up against the furniture, Mulder hollers out instructions. “Tell her all the men are infected-- she’s got to get word to the choppers not to land on the platform!” 

“Well, how they supposed to get us?” the other man points out, worry beginning to wear down his stoic mask. 

A hinge cracks through as glass breaks-- the door is giving, and fast. 

“Well that issue--” Mulder screams, “--is rapidly becoming moot!” 

Agent Doggett hops back on the radio, doing his best to relay over the static-- and is rudely and abruptly interrupted by Agent Mulder, weapon in hand, knocking the radio box aside, stealthily and without warning. “What are you doing?” he exclaims as the other man continues to kick the box to death. 

“Destroying their ability to transmit-- just like Diego and Simon.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about contact.”  

“Contact with who? The Mothership?” Doggett chides, eyeing Mulder with keyed-up concern-- Bo Taylor's odd behavior and Mulder's beat-down not far from his thoughts.

Mulder pauses, noticing the abrupt quiet; and places a hand on the other man’s chest (yet another comfortable gesture of familiarity.) “Agent Doggett, listen--”

“No, you just back off.”

“No, no, no. Listen,” he repeats, ignoring the other’s arm swipe, head turned as his body tilts towards the door. 

Complete silence. 

Mulder immediately undoes the latch and peeks through, fellow agent right behind. Advancing into the hallway, he answers Doggett’s “Where’d they go?” with a mumbling, leery, “I don’t know, and I don’t want to stick around to find out. Let’s go, Agent Doggett.” 

He’s on the move, leaping up the nearest ladder when his teammate bolts past-- “I can’t leave him-- Diego Garza”-- without waiting for him to follow. 

“Agent Doggett!” Mulder bellows, stress and fear and concern writ large as he doubles back. 

Reaching Doggett, he finds the man slumped over Garza’s body; and calls out, "Is he coming?" When the other agent straightens, Mulder looks past him and recognizes the posture of death-- but waits, eyes locked on his new friend in concern.

"No," is the reply. Mulder nods understandingly. Man down.

The moment, like many others, must be shoved aside: the choppers’ rotors whirl overhead-- they must keep going. He grabs Doggett's arm and propels them back into the bowels of the rig, taking one last look at the body behind. 

“Agent Doggett, I think I know why they let us go,” he concludes, catching up and passing Doggett with ease while puffing out a theory. (Note: another touch as he flies by.)

“What? Agent Mulder, what are you talking about-- what’s going on?”

Pipes begin to give way, bending and bursting in puffs of heady steam. 

“They’re going to blow the rig!”

“Who?”

Mulder nods at the men appearing from the shadows-- a mixture of "of course" and "right on time" and "do you understand now?"-- before Doggett grabs his attention elsewhere. 

Leading the charge down another hallway, he almost runs straight into a plume of orange fire; and Mulder, forced to follow the other agent back the way they came, presses as close as possible, escaping the vicinity as fast as he can. 

Now covered in oil and fleeing firebombs, both plunge through the wreck, halted here and there by various Black Oiled men blocking their paths before being consumed by the falling rubble and flames. The same pattern holds true: Doggett begins in the lead, Mulder swiftly catches up, Doggett lets him pass without a word, and Mulder brushes his arm as he slides by-- silent acknowledgment of each other's capabilities and sacrifices.

When they scramble to an opening, a helicopter floats down nearby, directing them to dive into the night sea for a (hopefully) safe recovery. 

"What's he saying?" Agent Doggett asks, relying on Mulder this time.

Making out the pilot's hand motions-- in the dark, yards away (that's good eye sight)-- he replies, "I guess he wants us to jump!"

Former soldier Doggett takes this as a matter of course. As the choppers scoot off, he rapidly channels his adrenaline into action, directing, “Now wait a minute, Agent Mulder-- I’m in charge here. On a two count.”

Mulder looks over, baffled at the other man's teasing bravado. Eyebrows scrunched and mouth parted in fear, he's too anxious to feel humored; but tries to quip past these concerns with a wry, “How about a twenty count?” 

Exchanging another glance in commiserative silence, the new X-Files agent pops off, “One… TWO!”, and leads the charge.

Both men barely escape the last series of all-consuming blasts from the floor above--

-- but the horror of being that close while no longer on solid footing sets Mulder off, and he screams all the way down to the gulf below.

They are, we must assume, rescued by the flying machinery taking off into the night. 

CONCLUSION

The last part of Vienen is the trickiest: Mulder's resignation. We shall see what he decides, next time.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter 10 of Lonely Remnants, “Wildfires have been eating you inside my head, Trying to smoke you out or burn you alive in it”, is here! Strap in, folks. I can’t tell you how excited I am to share this one with you all.

PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS ATTACHED TO THIS CHAPTER AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION. THIS CHAPTER IS PARTICULARLY ROUGH. I KNOW I SAW THAT A LOT, BUT IT IS VERY TRUE HERE.

Extras! :)

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “Please Just Stay Dead” by Nichole Dollanganger! They are meant to reflect how Lydia’s image of her bold, strong brother is being irreparably altered, maybe even ruined.

- “Like a doomed man trudging towards the gallows, sure but unsteady. Like a dead girl walking.” - Heheh, foreshadowing.

- “The trail led into the road. It ended on the other side, next to the memorial. Not before it was… smeared on the road. Splattered all about, like the cause of it had been… impacted. Her fears were confirmed when she found one of those strange paw / feet among the large, dark smudge of blood and goop in the road.” - Yep, they got hit by a car! Karma, I guess.

- “It was… feasting on some festering roadkill with a terribly feral and manic fervor.” - That was Lawrence’s last ditch effort to try and regain control and heal their body.

- “The side of his face the ear had fallen off of seemed to be following suit. It was starting to turn to the goop and slough off, part of the flesh hanging limply off the cheek and exposing his blackened, cracked jawbone.” - While the whole rejection idea is based on the ending of “Bride of Re-Animator”, this particularly horrific mental image is based on an effect from “Smile 2” that really stuck with me!

- “His dad and twin loved him, but it… it weren’t enough to counter the hatred of his mother.” - Lawrence’s accent fades away as the Shoggoth talks more and gains more control as he gets weaker.

- “Lousy bum’s been drinkin’ since he were ten years old.” - Not by choice! But the Shoggoth is being really judgy regardless.

- “Joined a band, saw the country, got his wrist broken by a boyfriend.” - Band mention! There’s a whole bunch of fun lore surrounding them that lives in my head. Also, the rotten boyfriend who broke his wrist was Cyrus! Can’t escape that fella.

- “It suddenly reached up, placing a hand over the left side of it’s face, covering up the exposed bone and one of it’s eyes.” - This was it trying to stop it’s face from falling apart more. It didn’t work.

- “Mrs. D helped him fix himself. Clean up all the broken pieces ‘n make somethin’ outta them.” - A reference to “Dead Mom”!

- “Of all of the moments in his long drive, of all of the cars he passed, he had to hit the one containing two of the people he loved most.” - This bit was inspired by a similar moment in the movie “Signs”.

- “She remained still as the grave.” - heheh, more foreshadowing.

- “No, Scarecrow. You died too.” - Woof. There’s been hints throughout. Hell, even in the start of the first chapter! - “She was the lucky one. By some miracle, she made it out with only some minor head trauma and the loss of a substantial amount of her hearing.” - I even put “Living Dead Girl” on the Lonely Remnants playlist for this purpose, lol.

- “ “I haven’t been very truthful at all.” It’s fingers brushed over the scales dotting it’s nose.” - Every time it lied, it gained a snake scale, since snakes represent deceit.

- “We are… human suffering, given form. Anguish and agony, writhing deep below the earth. I am of Lawrence’s. Of all the pain and hurt he felt.” - Yeah sorry it was a metaphor for trauma and self repression this whole time. Mostly. Also, this is what Otho meant when he said “… always were the most… potent out of all of us, little brother.”

- “No more watchin’, no more peepin’, and…” - This is a reference to “Bigtop Burger”. I couldn’t help myself. Cesare was my main inspiration for the Shoggoth.

- “… I could always feel him, faintly, in the back of my mind. Breathing in the dark.” - GOTCHA WITH ANOTHER “Asteroid City” REFERENCE!

- “I… I am just a beast of the stony soil.” - This is inspired by a famous line from “Pet Sematary”, which inspired Lonely Remnants! It’s the first horror story I read at eight years old, lol.

Tag list: @raineisinkless @c0zmo-writes @musical-fiend @katslitterbox

(Want to be tagged in future updates for CorpseJuice / LoopJuice? Let me know!)

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Summary “you come crawling back to me

but I’m already on the ground”

Pairing- Hobie Brown x f!reader

cw- smut, oral (f!receiving), sex, toxic relationship thats not a relationship undertones, not proofread/edited

»»————-　★　————-««

What you and Hobie had wasn’t normal. Barely even right. Spending nights together, bodies joined, minds collided, seeking everything but nothing all at once.

You become surrounded with nothing but each other, balls of erratic energy burning and burning until you combust and break into nothing, slipping away from each other. But it never lasts long does it?

1AM Wednesday

Laying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, Hobie clouding your mind as the dulling ache between your thighs rises. Sliding your hand down your body, under your panties.

Slowly, teasingly you rub your clit just how Hobie did, remembering how his hands felt against you, squeezing you, pleasuring you, you get closer to the edge. Thighs tightening around your hand your body releases a mediocre orgasm.

Pulling your hand away and letting it fall back on the bed you continue staring at the ceiling, thinking of only one thing; Hobie.

You wondered if he thought of you, if he touched himself to you as you just did. Steadily sitting up from the bed you slip a random pair of pants and shoes. Grabbing your coat you open the door, and to your surprise Hobie stood in front of you.

Looking him in the eye you try to hide the excitement he brought out in you, a quiet moment was shared between the two of you, so many unspoken things floating in the air.

Dropping your coat you smile at the man, grabbing hold of his vest pulling him into a rough kiss. The familiar cool metal of his piercing makes you smile against his lips. Pulling from the kiss he has a matching smirk, “I knew you’d be back.” You say pulling him through the door closing it behind him

“Says the one who just snogged me.” He replies, shrugging his vest off before taking his shirt up, discarding it somewhere on the apartment floor.

“Last time I checked the one who was standing outside my door like a lost puppy.” You retaliate. He rolls his eyes before grabbing the side of your neck and kisses you again, your hands fumble to the hem of your shirt pulling it off. Your bodies mold together as the kiss deepens as if hand carved to fit. When he pulls away you can feel yourself falling back to him just like every time before, and just like all those times you couldn’t give two shits.

Picking you up by the thighs Hobie heads to your bedroom, laying his slender body over yours he places kisses all over your naked chest, all the way to your stomach leaving bite marks that sting your skin all over you.

His cold hands come to the side of your pants, pulling them down, throwing them as he’d done all the others. Hooking your legs over his shoulder, kneading your thighs with his large hands, kissing your inner. “you’ve got no idea how much I’ve missed yeh’.” He barely whispers against your skin.

“Show me how much.” You say voice just like his barely over a whisper. Licking his lips he moves your underwear to the side, letting him admire you.

His tongue circles around your clit, the warmth of the muscle making you gasp a little. Flicking the rosebud over and over again your mind unwillingly turning to mush as he pushes two digits into you. Your hips mindlessly grind against his face. Obscene noise penetrates the air, from the squelch of your pussy as he stretches you, to the repressed moans that are fighting their way out.

Hobie sucks harder, loving the way you wither against him, groaning at every noise that successfully breaks free from you. The vibrations from him shot through you, electrifying every nerve ending within you. A wave of pleasure that you couldn’t control fills your body, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your thighs lock around his head keeping him there. Not that he complained as he moaned against your pussy, his hips pushing into the mattress as he watched you.

Once you release his head he crawls over you kissing you, you taste your cum and arousal on his mouth as he pulls you can feel how hard he was, looking into his wide eyes, his chest going up and down, “Can I?” He looks down and you nod your head urgently.

Slipping his black pants and boxers down he leans down and places a sweet kiss on your lips, it felt different from all the other rough ones, it felt…genuine. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.” He whispers his cock limes up with your entrance. Wrapping your arms around his neck, “I could say the same thing.” You inhale sharply as his tip slides in. Your walls suck him in deeper until his balls rest snuggly against your ass.

“Can I move?” He asks breath shaky. Shaking your head fast, holding onto his shoulder now. Slowly retracting out of you, he leaves only the tip in before diving back in. His thrust, slow and hard hitting all of the places he knew you loved. Digging your nails into his shoulders with every harsh brush against your g-spot. Hobie looks down at you, his brown eyes big and full of something you couldn’t place. “Y/N,” he says you look up at him, his wild hair surrounding him, his black eyeliner smudged, he looks so beautiful. “Hobie.” You reply, the coil tightening in your stomach. “I- I” before he could finish a string of curses fall from him as he pumps you full of him. Those last few thrust give you what you need, mind numbing euphoria rushes through you.

Settling down on your bed you watch him get dressed before he sits next to you, admiring you. “See you tomorrow?” You ask and he nods before getting up and leaving.

He knew that he couldn’t tell you he loves you but he couldn’t never really let you go could he?

.

A/N- bad bitch wrote this in a bad writers block and in one sitting 😍 but this has been on my mind for a while, also I have to wait to see barbie till my birthday I’m so upset 😞 anyways love you and stay safe

[triviallytrue]

Korean War just seems so…unmythologizable? like obviously people do. Pro-American liberals and capitalists see it as the defense of an anticommunist free republic, mls see it as the defence of a proletariat state against the encroachment of empire. but really it was just senseless bloodshed. sad, broken hopes of democracy; soldiers fed on the dream of unbridled freedom after a horrendous occupation used as nothing more than cannon fodder by heroes turned rivalling petty despots. i dunno, i’m sorry for drunk ask-ing in ur in box. but like. history sucks. not the academic study. just the knowledge that all these people just like me. and i think my life so big so beautiful. but their lives were too. and they ended, unimportant, unmythologizable. in the cold uncaring mud. and for what? for dfucking what???

Yeah, I think the mythologizing on both sides hits a wall when you dig deeper into the historical realities of the time, which has left me in the somewhat unenviable position of disagreeing with what feels like basically everyone on this

The pro-American liberal idea of the Korean War as a just war in defense of a sovereign nation falls apart pretty easily - the split between North and South Korea was recent and done by imperial powers (the US and USSR) as a means of demarcating their respective zones of control, not a true split in any sense. The US went out of its way to sabotage any attempt at reconciliation in the years following the split, and the guy they put in charge arguably had a lot less popular legitimacy than his communist counterpart (and embarked on a campaign of right wing political violence to shore up his incredibly weak position)

So if you squint and ignore the context, you can say that the US was defending a sovereign nation, but it's one they created with no popular legitimacy at all, with a leader that brutalized his people. And none of it was necessary! The thing about the overwhelming power of the United States and its massive fucking military is that the whole "we need a right wing dictator to shore up this country against communism" routine is so transparently because the US wanted to support right wing dictators, not because it was in any sense necessary to ensure that the country wasn't communist. If anything, doing the whole sham democracy thing where you force everyone to vote for the asshole you put in charge massively benefits the communists! No wonder there was a massive insurgency going on

This is without even getting into the horrifying details of how exactly the war was prosecuted

And then there's the ML narrative, which correctly identifies the mass of popular support behind Kim Il-sung due to his time fighting against the Japanese occupation and conveniently elides historical details like "which side actually invaded the other, starting the full blown war" and other such unimportant details, like the subsequent structure of the North Korean government making it virtually impossible for anything resembling democratic influence on the political process to occur

If there's something to be said for Syngman Rhee, it's that his grandson is not currently ruling SK. He was deposed in 1960, and then after decades of political turmoil and various deeply shitty leaders (again, much of which probably could've been avoided if the US hadn't insisted on Rhee as their man in the 1940s) SK eventually became a place where you could vote and were a lot less likely to be the victim of political violence.

As for Democratic People's Republic of Korea, well. If your take on the Korean War is "I wish that instead of just the people of North Korea, everyone in Korea would have to live under the current North Korean government" I don't really know what to say about that. North Korea is repressive and isolated in the extreme - if you think that is the result of "people's committees" and the North Korean population's natural devotion to the Kim family spanning three generations now, you are at best a mark.

So yeah, it's a tragedy - the Japanese occupation of Korea was fucking horrifying, then the US and USSR arrived to artificially split the country with no serious attempt at reunification while putting two real bastards in charge, and then it escalated into a shooting war where millions of people died just for the 38th parallel to still be the dividing line.

So who benefited? Everyone but the Koreans, I suppose. The US gained a client state, managed to use the UN to do whatever it wanted, and demonstrated its commitment to suppressing communism via military force. The USSR gained a client state and saw the US spend a bunch of its military capacity on a war that cost the USSR very little and wasn't even won by the US. China got a buffer zone between it and the US empire and solidified their victory over the KMT, albeit at tremendous cost.

Hopefully someday the Korean War will end.

[alkaysani]

i know we're tired of the lawsuit arc because it was beat to death by the uwu buck stans but c'mon it was actually so good especially if you, i don't know, actually watch it and take in the fact that it was all about eddie and how he's starting to fall apart after repressing so much of his hurt and anger about shannon wanting to divorce him, he doesn't get to feel anything about that because she dies, and before he can grieve him, he's surrounded by family that's wanting to take his kid, and so he focuses on that

and he gets back to work as some sort of reprieve but no, this guy he met a few months ago who has now become one of his closest friend gets crushed by a firetruck, and i know we don't see what happens between s2 and s3 but s3 really starts with eddie having enough access in buck's life to be able to come into his apartment and pull him out of his bed, so they got close. they're best friends, and he knows his best friend is going through it, and he had a moment of 'maybe he should just suck it up' and was corrected and he tried to correct himself by giving said friend his heart because nothing lightens his day more than chris, and a tsunami hits them, and he thinks everything is okay because they're in the movies but no, suddenly, he's living in a world where his kid is dead, even for just a few seconds, eddie lived in a world where chris was gone, atop of everything else

and we know he feels a lot about it, feels so much about it, that he gives his best friend his heart again, because there is no one else in the world he trusts more than him, and there's that lightness, that reprieve for a little bit you know, but then the nightmares start. the nightmares start and his kid is suffering and hiding things from him and suddenly he feels like he is dragging his kid down, and he wants to help him, and he needs help to, but at this point there is still so much pride in him, he never want to see weak, so he turns it all in, and leaves it there and he doesn't ask for help, he wants to ask for help, but at this point he can't because he can't talk to his best friend because he sued, so when he sees him again, he's just so sad and he's so angry, and there's so much pain in that, and it's easy to just ignore it, and be angry because at least that hurt he can control. but he's only angry at himself for never being good enough, but never angry towards his friend, never his friend, who he forgives the moment they talk again, because even after all of that, he is still loving and he is still kind despite of all the pain and the anger

eddie goes through so much and he works through so much during the lawsuit and i hate that it's shadowed by how a lot of folks in fandom just made it all about buck when it had some of eddie's best character development full of hurt and angst and hope and life, and just, it's so good, but nah, majority don't see that. they just see this angry man being mean to their boy that can do no wrong and it's just unfair

[happyk44]

Jason who comes back to life but he's not quite right. The Lazarus pit - something went wrong. He's crazed as they all are when they reemerge, angry, and raging, but there's a difference, a change.

He bites down on the nearest person, some low-level assassin, and tears their throat out with his teeth. They fall to the ground, limp and choking for air they cannot receive. The others ready themselves. Their weapons are poised for attack.

But it doesn't happen.

Jason swallows flesh and blood and sinks to his knees, tearing and ripping at the dying below him. He hungers, he thirsts, and he consumes every bit of what is available. Blood, guts, flesh and heart.

Oh, does he savour that heart.

It becomes a threat to trainees. Fail, and you'll be offered up to the man that flanks Talia's side, that carries her young son, as protective as a bear. The man with teeth so sharp, and nails like claws.

Fail, and he will consume you whole, devour you while you still breathe, and feast on your screams.

It never quite goes away, but as time passes, it becomes controlled, a loud itch at the back of his mind, but nothing he can't adjust around. How many years on the street did he itch for things he couldn't have? Countless. Even homed and housed, he itched.

He knows how to repress the itch, to let it sit, angry and demanding at the back of his head. So strong, sometimes he fears only a drill to his skull will scratch it out.

He leaves the League behind. Becomes a fearsome creature. Hides his teeth behind a red mask, and his claws behind warm leather gloves. But as he slashes and shoots and decapitates, the itch burns. Blood flows, flesh sits limp. The still pumping organs, working and moving with the last words of a dying brain.

What a waste to leave it all behind, the itch whispers.

He agrees.

What a waste.

He doesn't eat in Gotham. His acts are a message, and there's no message if there's no body. But he ventures outside it, for bounties, for treats. Never too often. If he feeds the itch too much, it'll overpower him. But just enough. A birthday present to himself. A new years celebration.

Small tastes scattered sparsely through the year.

Damian emerges, young and feisty like his mother, and Jason remembers a toddler sucking on a pacifier as he organizes knives by size. How much the boy has changed since then. How little he has. Growth and personality.

The biggest change is the kill. Blood doesn't drip down his hands. Doesn't freckle his face with meaningless splatter. Swords have been discarded. He doesn't touch Jason's guns as they're disassembled to be cleans. He knows how. He's used them.

Jason remembers holding tiny hands around a pistol, a small frame against his chest, steadied, before the deadly shot. He remembers the sound. How Damian didn't flinch. Remembers the blood. The curious eyes staring down at a gasping body.

He remembers eating. Digging in, more civilized than eating a person should be, and remembers wide young eyes watching. Watching. Then tucking a tissue to the blood soaking his chin and wiping it away.

Unbothered and uncaring to the person below. But mimicking kindness he was taught to the beast in front of him.

No wonder Goliath followed him home.

Damian has always had more love for monsters than humans.

Love that shows in the late night of Jason's birthday. When he emerges through the window into the tiny apartment he's hidden himself in this month, and finds a helpless woman sitting, naked and gagged, in the middle of the floor. She is kept near motionless with strong rope. There's a note taped to her face.

Happy birthday. Enjoy your gift.

The delicate handwriting needs no signature.

There's a folder beside her. Jason ignores her gagged cries to pick it up. There are many papers inside it - police reports of domestic violence, a CPS report that ends with a reluctant acceptance of no actionable strategies, x-rays of small broken bones and pictures of bruises on young faces. There are tiny notations written in delicate handwriting - all fact, no opinions.

Jason reads and seethes. Some people forget that mothers can be terrible to their children too. Jason doesn't.

He can't.

So he eats.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Rocket is pretty intersex and GNC coded to me, maybe enby or demiboy or agender, just not cis at least even though he's presumably male and uses he/him. He was forcibly changed to fit a system that would never accept him, that despite being torn apart and sewn into something 'normal' people still consider him a freak. He was led to believe it he just did what was expected of him that he'd be accepted by his tormentors. But after a while he took control of his own identity, he knows he's a freak and he owns it, don't you ever call him one though. It's his label, his reclaimed word.

I guarantee if you were to ask him "What's your gender?" he'd say something like "I don't flarkin' know. Guy?" as if he goes to he/him but honestly doesn't care either way. I think if he were to think about what specific label he falls into, if someone were to define them all and ask him which one he was, he'd get annoyed at the very least and reject the question. "Ain't no thing like me 'cept me."

hi i am still catching up on asks from the hospital waiting room where I’m camping out this week (there are a few asks that are older I’m still working on sorry!!) but i happened to have time right in this moment to write my gut reaction to this which is

rocket’s gender is absolutely guy, and yeah, he made it up hisself, thankyouverymuch. honestly i don’t even think he’d have a concept of cis. you’d have to explain it to him and he’d be like “wow, another way this mudball flarkin’ sucks.” like, his entire sentient, conscious, self-aware life has been spent traveling to planets with hundreds of genders, no genders, all genders, genders that exist on a sliding scale or a color wheel, genders that aren’t decided until three turns of the multicalendar year into their species-equivalent of emotional maturity, genders that are formally reassessed every twenty-two cycles, genders that are entirely self- and individually-decided, and genders that vary minute to minute (hello cyxlore).

also tbh there isn’t really any sexual dimorphism in raccoons so he could be packing anything. i just happen to enjoy writing him with a dick.

honestly this exchange goes something like this:

random repressed earther: so what pronouns do you use

rocket: mostly he/him these days

earther: so you’d consider yourself a man?

rocket: a what

earther: like, a male

rocket: a what

earther: i mean i assume you have a dick

rocket: wouldn’t you like to know

earther: you’re a man because you have male sex organs and use he/him

rocket:

rocket: no im a guy and i have guy sex organs, ‘cause again, im a guy. not a man or a male or a rabboon or any other weird-ass labels you people wanna put on me. also earthers are fuckin preverts.

[drabbles-mc]

I do not know if you are still during the dirty headcannons (or when they even started because I just ran across the one you did for Gilly and completely blacked out) but I would love to see what your little gremlin brain can some up with for Y for Miguel or EZ. Whomever, really. I know I am not going to be ready, but I will welcome it either way. I love you.

the way that there is never really an end date to any ask game i reblog because i'll always reply no matter how late you send it 😂 plus let's be real @darqchilddaydreamz let that shit sit and collect some interest before she came bursting into my inbox with that so we're all on this journey together now lmao

thoughts under the cut for: Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?)

perhaps someone should take my laptop and entire tumblr account away from me because the actual first thing that popped into my head when i read this in regards to Miguel was that that man should be happy that i call him anything let alone something he prefers 😂😂 but that's a me problem. just because i deem him unfuckable doesn't mean that he is lmao

but! on a more serious note. i do think that Miguel is the kind of guy who is very into the whole "Sir" thing. he's on that power trip constantly and we both know that it won't end just because he's in the bedroom. and while in my head he doesn't use any petnames for his girl that are particularly out of the ordinary, i do think that the tone in which he says those pet names are really what sets the whole mood. i think that a majority of the time they aren't really said with affection as much as they are said like a taunt. that's the game he's looking to play. nine times out of ten he wants someone to stroke his ego and if you want to do that by calling him Sir then he won't say no.

howeverrrrr that one other time out of ten????? i think that the right woman would most definitely be able to flip that dynamic on its head. a man with a complex like the one he's got??? the second someone is able to get him into submission mode it is game over. you could taunt and coo and call him baby as patronizingly as you want but if you had him in the right headspace for it he'd still be falling over himself to do whatever it is that you want. as he should be. 😌

Ezekiel on the other hand??? look. we all know. we all know I'm a mess and I'm biased about this man and i simply cannot be stopped. we all know this. but. in terms of things that i haven't already written or blown your dms up about...i have had....a thought or two in my time...

thoughts like i knooow this man has slipped up and called his girl "mommy" without meaning to before. that man has all that trauma and all those repressed feelings. he is a posterchild for it. and the first time it happens he doesn't mean to but once he says it, it's not like he can just take it back. he doesn't mean to say it and he definitely doesn't expect it to be something that feels good after the initial three seconds of panic after he said it. but he did and it does and then it's something that he now knows about himself.

and it's never an accident after that. it's not a constant though either. it happens when he feels like everything is falling apart or out of control and he needs to feel like he's the one being taken care of for once instead of being the one taking care of people. and he's soft and he's needy and he's never really let go of control like that before.

ANYWAY. if you ever find yourself wondering what's going on in the recesses of my little gremlin brain. there's a tiny little slice of it for you. 😂 we out here sleep-deprived and full of thots 😂😂

Dirty Headcanon Game

[effieandtim]

i don't think hawk jumped at going back home with lucy bc he doesn't love tim enough, i think it's clear that it's in part fear, that he would finally have to confront the reality of his marriage, and his sexuality to an extent, and that his marriage of 30 years is falling apart, even if they didn't love each other like that (or at least hawk didn't love lucy romantically) they still got along well enough and went through a lot together, and he's trying hard to keep his grasp on that life and stop it from changing. and probably with tim dying, he wants subconsciously to hold on to his ~other life as much as he can, to not lose that as well. i think that they decided not to have him say i love you to tim indicates that hawk was still repressing that part of himself in the 80s, even after tim died, until the quilt scene. he was clearly not ready at all to part with that life and embrace the other side of himself.

apologies i wasnt able to answer this earlier

yeah i agree - i think hawk was going through a lot of stuff, he was losing the man he loved and there was clear guilt about everything that happened plus fear of not only losing tim, but also the cracks that were forming in his previous life

one scene that makes it so clear is that shot of marcus saying in ep 8, ‘still bulletproof’ - hawk’s expression was almost said ‘not really’

so yeah there was definitely fear bc he could see and probably knew his life was changing and one thing that we’ve seen throughout the series is that hawk isnt the best at change. i think it scares him bc it’s something he cant control and its unpredictable. and a man like him who has so much to hide, unpredictability in his life is something he probably tries to avoid at all times

i do think that the reason why he didnt say i love you to tim at the gala is bc he wasnt ready - he had just kissed a man in public for the first time, and not just any man - it was the man he loved. but embracing that part of yourself isn’t something that happens at the click of your fingers - it takes time and unfortunately in hawk and tim’s case, it was too late

i think it still ate at him later on - the fact that he didnt tell tim he loved him - the feeling that tim didnt know hawk loved him must have plagued him to no end. but he must have felt all of this not necessarily immediately after leaving the gala, but probably at a time when he was ready to acknowledge the truth himself

and I think thats the real tragedy of hawk, that he has to continue living a truthful life in whatever capacity (and not necessarily as boldly as tim/frankie/marcus do and thats okay) but without tim beside him - kinda similar to how tim did without hawk

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Morgan Lore Time! Under a cut because it got long.

Part 1 | Part 2

Morgan only knew Elven for most of her life; an obscure Feywild dialect that gives her an accent which immediately marks her as outsider to other Baldurians. This was deliberate. Her cult leader didn’t want his followers to be able to communicate with outside humans if they happened to encounter others somehow.

She still speaks with an accent and sometimes slips into elven when flustered or swearing. I don’t know what Elven sounds like in forgotten realms, so I’m not sure what to compare her accent to.

Learning Common and Chondathan took time and for a little bit, the only people she could communicate with were elves or other races that spoke the language.

At 16, Morgan was a newcomer to both human and faerun culture. Her wild magic, recently unleashed, was still volatile. She got kicked out of multiple temples she attempted to receive charity from because of unlucky and dangerous surges. (Maybe one is the temples has a hole in the wall now….the place was falling apart anyway)

She ends up at a brothel, eager to get paid for sex as a repressed teenager dealing with hypersexuality, but to their credit they see a child who barely speaks Common and hire her as a maid instead. She gets adopted by the elven sex workers who become her first friends and help her with her language skills (as well as keeping unsavory patrons away from her).

About a year later, she decides to learn more about controlling her magic better; at this point she’s never cast a spell deliberately, only had them randomly manifest from her wild magic. She takes the little bit of money she earned cleaning rooms and went to Sorcerous Sundries to see if she could find an instructor.

This is where she meets Lorroakan. But he didn’t go by Lorroakan at this time; and he wasn’t the owner of Sorcerous Sundries yet. She found him standing outside hawking potions (snake oil) under the name Alvan. He sees an easily manipulated attractive girl and talks her into hiring him to teach her magic.

(This is all entirely my own head canon in regards to Lorroakan, as in my story he is a fraud who stole a prestigious wizard’s name and title and conned his way into the tower. Also he seems like a creep that would date teenagers as an adult.)

She doesn’t have much money, so he extracts payment in sex. Which is all well and good to her at the time, but she is too young and naive to understand the giant red flag this man is and that he has zero respect for her. She takes him at his word that he’s a powerful wizard.

But Morgan isn’t stupid, and realizes eventually he’s not as powerful as he said he was, and really hadn’t been teaching her anything useful at all. He always seemed to be wheeling and dealing with shady people and took advantage of her willingness to explore her sexuality. While out in the markets together, one of the older merchant women hands her a Detect Thoughts scroll free of charge and tells her to watch out for that man.

Next part - His Mind is a Bad Place

[leofrith]

tagged by: @reiverreturns 🥰

rules: summarize your WIPs badly and let people vote on what they’d most like to read

i'll reblog with a snippet of whichever WIP wins (or you could also just ask me because i have no self control when it comes to sharing 💀)

tagging @aeide @artschoolglasses @findusinaweek @beroyas @orphiceonian and anyone else who might want to do the thing :)

[masterwords]

Yo! I love reading these, you’re putting in the MOST.

1. Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with ‘because I love you!’ ?

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare? (You know I’m eagerly still awaiting that nightmare fic, so I’ll have this as an appetizer)

26. What are their vices? (Specifically in their relationship)

Can’t wait to hear your thoughts !!

Heyyy, I'm happy to put the hotchgan vibes out there! A lot of my regulars have moved on to other fandoms or are taking much needed breaks from these spaces so it's feeling very lonely out here. I need the hotchgan like I need air. lol Thank you for indulging me! And always being there to shove me into a fun story!

1. Who would end a heated argument by defending their actions with ‘because I love you!’?

Man, I could really see it going both ways but god...just imagine it's Hotch. They haven't said I love you yet. There are plenty of things he does that just piss Derek off (and rightly so)...things that they're ready to go to blows over, even. And Hotch makes a decision that Derek doesn't like and finally, in a moment of pure desperation, Derek just says "WHY?!" and Hotch without even thinking says "Because I love you" and that's it. There's no more argument. Because what can Derek say to that? Mr. Repressed just verbal vomited in the sweetest most pathetic way.

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

Okay. That fic needs to happen ASAP. I'll work on it tonight with a glass of wine and see if I can make it happen. I really love it, but my writing has been trash lately. BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT IT. Derek is hands on, he's going to try and soothe Hotch. He's going to hold him or run his hands through his hair, he's going to be physical as long as Hotch wants it. (And he does. I think we've established that this man is touch-starved.) Hotch on the other hand, he's more of an acts of service kind of guy. He's going to ask Derek if he wants to talk about it, he's going to get him a glass of water or a snack or ask if he wants to talk. I don't want to get too much more into detail because I'll dip into the story I'm writing for you. I will say, the direction I took is unexpected I think...which is why I'm struggling. I can't just fall into my usual comfort zone. And that's a good thing but harder to write when words are a challenge.

26. What are their vices? (Specifically in their relationship)

Ohhhh...I love vices. LOVE THEM. First of all, they're both so similar so one thing I think they both do is try to be in control at first. I can see Derek thinking he's helping, Hotch has to be in control at work so much that he feels like he's helping if he plans the date night or takes charge of weekend plans. And it isn't that Hotch minds that, he's totally fine with it, but if they both think the same thing? If they both try to plan the weekend without talking to the other? Things can get a little hairy. Lots of mixed up plans, rescheduling, apologies after hotly debated pros and cons for each plan and a big calendar posted on the freezer to help keep them on the same page.

Now, as far as different vices - I think Hotch is an over planner and Derek is very spontaneous, which can cause some friction. Vacations especially could be problematic. At home, I think that Hotch is a little messy and Derek is a bit of a neat freak (though their cars may tell a different story). Hotch is reserved and doesn't speak up when he's sick or hurt or might need to talk, which drives Derek insane. Hotch will suffer in silence until his insomnia kicks in, until he's awake all night, until Derek notices that he hasn't come to bed. "Do you need to talk?" he'll ask when he smells the coffee at 4am. Meanwhile, Derek takes his frustrations out on household projects instead of talking, so Hotch has to find out that Derek is struggling by coming home to the kitchen sink being ripped apart because of an irritating little drip. "Did you have a bad day?" Hotch asks as Derek rips the p-trap out from under the sink...the p-trap that has nothing to do with the little washer that needed replacing in the faucet to stop the drip...because he's moved on to a clog or something else now.

Communication is not a strong suit for either of them, which is a hilarious thing to say about a couple of FBI Agents with law degrees. LOL At work they're masterful, but with one another? Well...it's a learning curve. But the kissing is good and everything else can take its time, they have their whole lives to figure it out.

want me to talk about hotchgan? i will...at length...and hey, if you don't vibe with those questions, ask some of your own. i'll talk about them all day.

[geometricalien]

Between Akashi & Furihata, if one of them died, who do you think is more likely to heal from the pain of loss sooner & moves on with his life?

When has Akashi Seijuurou gotten over anything in his fucking life? This rhetorical jest is an oversimplification of one of Akashi's character flaws which is his need for control. This is all to say, simply based on that, Furihata is the more emotionally intelligent of the two, the one more open and accepting to change. I think they both would require years to fully heal but I think Furihata would be the one to move on sooner.

I've tried to keep it short and direct above for those without brainrot but I AM going to go apeshit below the cut

Oh my god oh my god oh my GOD I'm so glad someone wants to hear me talk about THIS, THIS EXACT CONCEPT- ACCEPTING THE LOVE OF THEIR LIVES DEATH FASCINATES ME ENDLESSLY FUCK

Okay for reference there has been 2 fanfics involving this concept that I read when I first got into akafuri and they have HEAVILY influenced my perception of this question:

- The Truth About Reality; which is literally about Furihata not accepting Akashi's death and through mysticism goes to 4/5 different parallel realities to get him back. It's a favorite of mine and I read it once a year. It has themes of sacrifice and second chances which make it so crucial to the thematic elements of akafuri. Read it please

- Through the Air by Maiokoe; I love the first chapter, literally Kuroko Kagami Takao and Midorima come to Akashi while he is at work and inform him that Furihata's flight just crashed. It is so so so good. The way it plays out, Akashi's mounting fear, his resistance, the way his fear turns to anger then to despair- sometimes I cry when I reread it. And the last lines of the chapter---

What was a world without his lover? What was this life without his easy nature and smiles? What was this life without his affection? What was this world without Furihata Kouki? What did this world mean to him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What was Akashi Seijuuro without him? He didn’t want to find out.

Those lines have colored my opinion of what Akashi would be like if his husband died so fucking much that it really was eventual that I started my Greek fic where Akashi is Achilles and Furihata is Patroclus. So if you know the Iliad then you know how my fic will play out and exactly where I take a stance on Akashi’s terrible all consuming love.

To talk about the dissolution of happily in love akafuri by the cruel hands of death is to examine how their relationship evolved them and what being torn from their other half would do to them. To be haunted by their after image, to look at their favorite mug, to wear their favorite sweater- who would wear grief better. Who would welcome it, accept its presence. Who would repress it.

Please do not mistake what I'm saying to mean Furihata would move on quickly. Where Furihata is Akashi's light, Akashi is his gravity. He would be adrift and untethered without Akashi. The world would turn upside down. He would feel the expanse of their house, the emptiness of their bed. Furihata would be lost. It would take years to come down back to earth by himself.

Furihata would eventually move out of that house/apartment too full of memories, at the prodding of well meaning friends he would download dating apps, eventually he would go on dates and try his best to not compare them to his late husband because how could a man compare to a god. And then years and years down the line, when his heart only half aches when he sees a hair of red, when he only wears that old ratty sweater on the occasion bad day, he can look up into the sky and smile, thankful for the memories. I think he could even fall in love again, begin a new chapter.

A large chunk of Furihata is lost the day Akashi dies but he grows around the pain and walks on. Accepting the scars, accepting the love and pain, accepting it all.

As I said though, Furihata is Akashi's light. His metric on good and bad. The saving grace that redeemed him and inspired him to become worthy of such love.

Imagine if the sun was stolen from the sky and we were pitched into utter darkness. Until our eyes adjust and we can make out some shapes, you are surrounded in black black. Complete emptiness. Alone more than ever before and for a moment you think it will consume you. That is how Akashi feels for the first year until his eyes adjust to the darkness. He would continue in this shadow life indefinitely, watching everyone else patch themselves together and move on, while he.is.stuck. And he won't admit it and only those brave enough would say it to his face, but he is absolutely wallowing, sulking, in this darkness as self-punishment. that in some twisted sense, this is what he deserves. he digs his feet in, refusing to move. And if out of the corner of his eye a flicker of light dances, he would refuse to follow it. The dark is where he belongs.

He would bury himself in work. He would refuse to move out of their house. Refusing to touch any of the things that Kouki last left them, his toothbrush bone dry in the holder, the book he was reading on his bedside table.

And when his friends compare him to his father- he becomes furious, alight with indignation. He is not cold and cruel like his father had been. "No... you're empty."

It would take him so so long to accept that Furihata would want him to be happy even if its not with him. That he deserves to be happy. Only then would he take tiny half steps out of the cave he buried himself in, the cave that he would have made his grave.

As a side note, I mentioned Furihata falling in love with someone else afterwards... my personal interpretation is that Akashi could not. He would try if only just because he knows Furihata wants him to be happy and knew that Akashi is the most happy when he is in love- but The Akashi heart is a fearsome terrible all consuming thing.

Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who celebrated the anniversary of each milestone of their relationship. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who is head over heels in love and worships the ground his beloved walks on. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who calls their partner love- because they are the manifestation of their love. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who would go to the far corners of the world to see if there was some way to still communicate with their partner if said partner was turned into a worm and would build a terrarium of utmost luxury for said partner and talk to the worm as if it was them, take the worm to see the sun meet the ocean, because they have to hope that their partner still has some consciousness. And if not, then he needs to do that for himself. To fool himself. And once that worm passes, he would be extra compassionate to earthworms because they remind him of them.

The Akashi heart is a blessing to the receiver for there is nothing stronger or purer. The Akashi heart is a curse to the creator if only because they have that one single heart and they are physically unable to take it back.

[dreamsofminnie]

“500 years... And not once did I forget you.”

{Dainsleif x Reader} Part 1

Part 2 <(Link will be open once its posted)

Summary-> These centuries, these years apart. Khaenri’ah was cold but your heart felt much colder. The forgivable sin Dainsleif left had left imprinted deeply into your flesh. Then why do you feel this overbearing longing for his pressence once again? Years of therapy, self-reflection, and vividly horrid night terrors; couldn’t stop this ache when you lay eyes upon him once more.

Notes-> This took several months to write and plan </3 Originally for my bestie for her birthday but I thinks it’s too well written to not share. I hope you like this lighthearted, horror+mystery, a lil comfort, then hurt & angst—in that order <3 @wraitingyou

Tags-> DainsleifxReader, Angst, Slow burn, We die in vain, mystery, genocide, Tighnari, Alhaitham, Reader is from Khaenri’ah, Khaenri’ah lore, reader is from Khaenri’ah, repressed memory, the cataclysm | fall of Khaenri’ah, pre-cataclysm Khaenri’ah, mutual pining, childhood friends, hurt no comfort, pain and suffering, angst and humour, slight gore, horror, body horror, decimation, the abyss, abyss order, reader is not traveler, betrayal, Rhinedottir, mentions of alternate universe, comfort, pining, fluff to angst, implied/referenced character death, genshin plot, Royal guard Dainsleif, reader was a royal guard, nostalgia, suffering, harsh language, heartbreak, no love, delusional dreams real, memory lost, regaining memories

Word Count-> 5.6k

✨

“See you later! Have a safe trip, except for you Wanderer. I hope you trip on your way out and get buried under.” Running farther away from your friend and the pest, you had really prayed for your dear friend’s safety with that gremlin of a puppet.

The inn you all were staying at was starting to get less packed with the huge rainstorm passing. Sumeru surely was a rainforest of region, much more comforting out of all the places you have traveled so far.

Faint drips of rain plopped onto the windows. Soothing yet setting for a melancholy atmosphere. Not that it’s needed, you don’t ever get sappy for anything.

“Therapy session for this month check. Controlled anger issues check. Resistance in making crude jokes.. hnn, check i guess.” I should be good for another few months…”

“I must prepare to leave early tomorrow morning.” Diving into bed is the best parts of the day. No need to waste energy on minuscule thoughts.

Except, innsomnia is a tired person's worst literal nightmare.

“Agh, the kitchen would be closed at this time of the night. Snacks are a nope. Fresh air then, stars are always mesmerizing, maybe they can hypnotize me to sleep.” Irritation laced your words, not thinking much of them.

Curse the devil for allowing innsomnia.

Slipping into a coat you walk out your room and onto the large public balcony.

The inn you were staying at was in the main Sumeru city. Twisted into the tree trunk, the rooms carved into the tree while the balcony stuck out with marble flooring. The usual white spiral ramps gave the inn exits either going up or down.

Though to you, Sumeru is one of the nicest places to enjoy scenery. Aesthetic in all ways. The stars this night didn't fall flat of this statement.

Truly

Something to admire

Or

Something forgotten

Leaning on the balcony railings the gentle breeze took some leaves for flight and your eyes followed suit.

Till they landed on a silhouette standing ten feet away looking in the opposite direction. His back was broad and he stood tall. His hair paled much more in the moonlight and clothes rustled with each growing breeze. The breeze acted like it was setting a mood as it grew a bit harsher.

A twinge in your nerves caused you to walk towards him.

Strange emotion pileing up for this unknown man.

Then it dropped.

You couldn’t believe you thought that was someone who would stir such emotions. Your head thought it was a person your heart has longed for. But a person you have no idea of. Who? Who did you think it was?

Thinking now, the breeze wouldn’t be able to set a mood even if someone were to sober it. Not that there needs to be mood setting.

“Don’t you have a home and a broke man to accommodate to.” Snarky remarks at 4am is exactly what a man needs to hear to crawl back home. Except it doen’t work on pricks.

“And what pleasantries do we have here.” He taunted and turned around his face cold as ever.

“I don’t understand your feeble scholar upgraded language. Shut the fuck up. My insomnia can’t handle pricks.” Alhaitham closed his thick study books and used it to tilt your chin up.

You were standing two steps apart. Well, one step for him since long legs and all.

“Tighnari has smelling herbs for insomnia. Did your puny brain not tell you of that prick either.” You huff and push his book straight back into his chest. “Unlike you. He is much more welcome in my bubble of friendship. Dried up cactuses don’t get a say in my life.”

Alhaitham tucks the book under his arms and turns towards the ramp going down. “Then I guess this dried up cactus will fuck off as you said.” He took five steps before slightly turning back at you.

“Insomnia herb. Get it tommorrow.”

Then he disappeared from view.

“What the fuck. He sounded like he ordered one for me already?! I’ll make sure he didn’t tomorrow morning. Hhuu. That exchange made me exhausted.” With groggy eyes you drag your feet back into the inn.

Upon entering your room once again, you hit the sack faster than you took off your bulky coat.

✨

“AAUUCK!! fak.” You bolted up. These Sumeru bed’s are truly something. Though there were sheets and blankets for comfort, the main part of the bed has grass and leaves atop the wooden base inside. They leave you pretty sore for people who have never slept on a hard surface like these.

You groaned and rubbed your eyes.

“Time to get that medicine i guess. And check out of the Inn.”

“Archons bless you Tighnari. Lifesaverr, your the bestt!!” You placed all the stuff he gave you into your travel bag securely.

“No problem. Those should be able to last you for a month or more. Just as you don’t overdo your state.” He crossed his arms in a knowing stare.

You avoid his eyes, then recalled an annoying swirling voice in your head. “When did you prepare this for me..?”

“I really hope it’s not…-”

“He put in the order.”

“HOW THE FUCK! When did that bastard get the time to message you in that short time I talked to him yesterday night?! What is he watching my every move or something. creepy.”

“Creep sent a messenger bird late at night.” Your bewildered and irritated sigh battled your disgust to fight him right now. So you settled with another direction. Slapping a piece of paper on the floor you scribbled a rushed “thank you” letter.

“Please send this to Alhaitham the creep, as my condolences to his creepy ways.” You mocked his formal speech and handed Tighnari the piece of paper with a drawing.

“What the fuck.” Tighnari stared at the drawing in dumfoundedness and a slight tinge of amusement if this was sent.

“It counts as two things, see? One could represent a middle finger then the other…well, those two spherical structures are the things he doesn't have. He doesn't have those to fight me" (balls to fight me)

“I wish I could see his reaction to this then. I guess I’ll send it to him for you.” You smiled to Tighnari in gratitude. You could always count on your sassy gay friend.

“But anyways, don’t you have to get going, it’s reaching noon soon.” Tighnari looked in the sky and back towards you.

“Ah! Of course of course… Hiking is the most terrible sport…can’t believe people do this for fun.”

Tighnari crosses his arms and moved along with his wight shift, deadpanned. “I do that for a job. Get used to it, hiker.” Pointed his thumb towards the hills.

“Sheesh. Well then I’m heading off. Thank you for the weed, bye bye.”

You could hear a loud bewildered huff merged with a laugh, while you ran off.

✨

By the time you reached the edge of Fontaine the sky grew dark. Good thing Tighnari suggested you take one of his makeshift tents. Inns won't be available on the outskirts of the city so it will take a while to hike further.

Light rain hit the tent in pitter patters. Soothing.

You take the paper package of the medicinal herbs out. “Ah. How did he tell me to make this again? Where’s the ball.” Rummaging through your bag you took out an incense ball. A similar one to what Tighnari has but yours was darker in tone and in dull blue and black.

You hung the ball from a short wire off the ground. Opened the top and sprinkled in half a handful of the herb. It closed shut and you shook it around a few times. A bit of water from your bottle was tossed in this concoction. The incense ball’s scent soon filled the tent.

“So fast and effective..” A yawn already erupted from your mouth.

Droplets of rain. Therapeutic.

✨

The tent folded back and incense packed you headed off once again.

To the heart of Fontaine.

You really were getting tired of inns. The amount of money you have was starting to lack. You pondered if you should just take some simple requests from small villages along the way. You gain money, and they gain help.

You nodded to yourself and paraded to nearby villages.

You followed a pathway toward the houses keeping your eyes aware of anyone that seemed in need of help.

A man standing a few feet away seemed distressed while he paced back and forth anxiously.

Your curiosity peeked as you came closer. “Hello sir. Are you okay? You seemed terribly stressed” You heard that Fontaine was a place of formalities so speaking the part was no problem.

The man hurriedly looked up expectantly. “Are you perhaps a mercenary?! You’ve got to help! Oh, it’s a hell of a mess!! He’s-he might die. Surely will pass away! Theft, murder, moronic fool!!”

You lower his arms from flailing around in erratic movements in his panicked stupor. “Uh. I’m not quite catching up sir..” You would have thought it would take much more just to get a request.

The middle-aged man gulped in large breaths to smooth his emotional turmoil.

“My cousin, Guillaume, has been recently been in debt as a treasure horder. He is quite skilled but truly reckless. He fought a bunch of Abyss mages that seemed to be in a middle of a ritual... Treasure of course was engraved in his skull. So when he picked up a heavy object from the scene, it made him crazed. He became hostile to every person who comes near him. Injured many. Not only that, but the occurrence enraged the abyss and he is getting hunted by the Fontaine police as well as the Abyss. From that, he started kidnapping people into his hideout and they too become crazed… I know I should trust the officials but.. their pride is too high to even adknowledge my input.”

He wasn't fidgety anymore and remained calm. This series of events seemed bothersome to you now. Too much work for you who just wanted some quick task. Intriguing of course, but eh.

“As well as the fact that the Fontaine officials were here moments ago and left as quickly. I was merely aggravated when a gentleman came by to ask questions about this incident. He hurried when I gave all my information on the location. I worry for the gentleman. I can’t help to stress. As well as…I know that Guillaume is deeply in dispair. He has this small window where he is sane and…He sent me a few letters..”

You took some time to ponder all the information. The abyss is after the man who stole something, the thing has changed him and everyone around it. They seem like they became, monstrous—ugh!

Your hand was deeply clenched at your scalp head throbbing so loudly and throat dry.

“Dear me! Are you alright!! Apologizes to the hefty load!” He hurriedly sat you down on a short stone fence and fetched water from the well a few feet away.

The sounds of splashing water seemed much more distant than 5 feet away.

‘It's so dizzy..’

Red fizzled and flashed in your head. Red flags that encouraged you forward. A terrible way to go but who knows. Maybe, just maybe, solving this can make those nightmares that lead to your insomnia go away. Bloodshed. The cause of why you see bloodshed in these nightmares has always bothered you so bad.

“…iel, Iel! Hello?! Are you well?! Drink drink, water” You release your tight hold on your head to take the large cup. The water was cool and slide down as a semblance of relief. The reflection mirrored your pained expression, your frowned. It was not a good look for you. But cracking jokes at this time, wasen’t wise.

“..thank you for the water. I don’t know what happened just now. But. I will help with this, for the gentleman and for your cousin. If he still can be helped…” The man relaxed at your conscious state and nodded.

“I will provide you more details.”

✨

Rest was not an option in this tight knit issue. Anything could formulate in the span of a whole minute. And your dread never faded the whole time you thought about this.

Let’s see, the man said Guillaume would take the villagers at midnight when the stars are high up. In the daytime, he isn’t crazed and sits in solitude in despair. He is responsible for dozens of people he has dragged.

You feel sickened. The letters you got to read by Guillaume were heart-wrenching and explicit. However, it could only be judged on the rule of the scene.

Some crucial details in the letters were his descriptions.

“The crystal shines so luminescently venomous.

It burns as well as attracts……

I can’t take it.

Please please. Hel 𝓹

Your leetrs that say you will save me from this hell is false!

The feel of gasoline ignites my fingers to my core.

Though I feel it welcome me……

The ghastly scars leave residue atop my skin. Horrific.

Black.

All ash

My vision has been narrowly obscured.

How I am able to pick up a pen is beyond my imagination.

Is my brain really intact?

Hah.

I think someone is comi. g into the room. Annoyance……

I think— I shut up their cries……

Do I-know them?

Haha…she is trying to plead with me……

She remi nd.s me of m. y wife..

FUCK. WHA T HAVE I DO Ne. SHE- *incomprehensible scribbles and a slight dried dampness*

The human has given in to the crystal how astounding……

Haha. Her screams have filled the room……

The stars are approaching. It will be time again…….

How thrilling……

A feast is due……

Ps. [___] power lets us fly too. Did you really think I used a carrier pigeon…….

Stars stay alight in farewell…….delight……”

The letter gave you the shivers. This was the third one that was sent. And out of all the three letters, this contained the most insanity inducing mentality. You highly doubt Guillaume will live a normal life after this concludes. Poor guy. Debt changes a person.

On the contrary, this bloodbath piques my interest. It’s not every day you get to investigate manslaughter. You feel like detective Heizou. No wonder he likes to run off towards danger.

Information about the gentleman assisting was only brief since I was to hurry to the site before the next day. “He was tall and built more alike a soldier. He also wore blue and black clothing. He never gave me his name…” Your thoughts had fiddled when he had told you, but a numbing pain seized your brain functions into hyper-focus.

You rub your temples, eyes focused on the route he marked on your map. Leg day has really been your everyday. Super exhausting.

Blood and skin drew icy cold as your breath hitched. This torturous feeling washed across your body so suddenly. Dread paling your face, a strangled cry caused a sharp inhale of breath, hands clawing at your neck and chin to get your throat muscles working. Despair induced your veins as burning heat crawled through those blood passages. A howling scream intensified something inside you. Something triggered your reaction, was it from in the cave? Ah...thinking was much too difficult in this sizure. Airways in the throat barely letting a breath passby, your face purples and twists. Water pools your eyes in distraught and pain. Glued to your spot, the ominous descending cave gurgled back shouts and thumps. Muttered curses escape as you try and hold your ground. Saliva formed in the clogged airways and raining down by your feet. This all felt like you were strangled, punched, and overall scoured all over, in charcoal.

If you had regretted anything in your sad life, it was this. Taking this commission. Talking to the distressed man. Stranger danger real. Regret for ever stopping by that village…and the regrets have only started.

The next thing you saw was pitch black.

************************

The weather these past few days has been horrid. Snow storm after the other piled the streets with 1 foot of snow. The roads and streets are accessible to your relief. How else would you be able to see your sweet boyfriend.

The chime of a café door rang as you entered hurriedly from the biting winds outdoors. You cupped your hands together and attempted to heat them up with your breath. The shop was quiet besides the old love songs and occasional emo rock songs playing from the speakers. Owl city was one of his most liked songs.

You perched on the counter ringing the small bell near the card scanner.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding—

“Okay. Okay, I hear every one of your calls Y/n.” He came out from the break room and leaned in from across the counter where you sat.

You smiled at Dainsleif. “How are you Dain! Was shoveling the snow all by your lonesome hard this morning?~”

He huffed. “It was fine. But next time you're accompanying me.” He grabbed your waist and dragged you over to the worker's side of the counter, swinging your legs around as well so you're still sitting.

“It’s still midday so let me make you a cup of something warm.”

You watch him, your elbow on your knee and chin in your palm. Dainsleif manages this café and is the best drink maker there is. He unintentionally shows off some skills when making them, that’s why many girls come here for the show. Not that he pays attention to.

“Kaeya has told me to indulge you in more romantic lines. Would you like to be humored?” Dainsleif brought the mixing bottle up to the side of his head and shook it thoroughly as a bartender would, while glancing up at you.

When he does that every time it makes you swoon on the inside just a little.

“Kaeya is a terrible influence. Which makes life more bearable.” You shoot Dain a small finger heart in which he stops for a while in confusion but recovers a few seconds after.

“What does it feel like to be the most gorgeous person in this room?” Dainsleif plops toppings into the drink, adding more of your favorite ones.

“Bleh, I’m the ONLY person in this whole building, try again.” You kick your legs a bit, secretly enjoying these terribly cheesy pickup lines he always stores for you.

“Hm. If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.” He achieved a faint breathy laugh from you, you argued that it was just because it was so so old and overused.

He snapped the lid onto the steaming cup and walked back to you handing it over.

He hesitated on his next line as you blew on the liquid through the hole and took a nice warm sip. It melted your insides in warmth.

So did the pickup line.

“Just wondering if your lips taste as good as they look.” Dainsleif’s eyes were awkwardly averted, wondering how you would react.

But you sat there, mouth agape, ears flushed from the pickup line. “Didn’t expect that one.” You mumbled into the cup, eyes unfocused staring at your favorite toppings floating to the top.

Dain carefully placed both hands on either side of your body on the counter, his body subtly leans in. “...it wasn’t answered.”

Your eyes tilt up from the drink sitting on your lips. “It wasn’t a question.”

Your rebuttal made Dain purse his lip, which you intensely stared at. “Then….may I kiss you?”

Your inner thoughts were racing, the reflex of wanting to push him away was itching, but the thought of a kiss sent you into a spiral. It’s not like you haven't kissed before, you have…a rare few times.

“Aha ha, ah uhm. Get out of that ugly sweater first then we’ll talk.” You jab one finger into his chest only pushing him away by a few inches.

Both of you are terrible at this romance thing that's why it's so awkward to initiate. You back out of close contact, and only stick to flirting, and he spews pickup lines he learns from Kaeya because he’s confused about love but also respects your boundaries. All your friends suffer seeing this awkward couple at group gatherings.

“What’s wrong with my sweater?” He pulls the sweater and looks down. He wore a black shirt and over that was a black-green-brown button-up sweater, adorned with pictures of owls, bears, acorns, trees, and bushes. Very nature-y for your star-loving boyfriend. But honestly, it looked like it was made for a grandpa on a chilly evening stroll.

“The nature documentary show would like its background back.” You wheeze at Dain’s blank-faced reaction, so done with you, but he’s never over you.

Dain gently sneaked a kiss on your cheek to satisfy himself with your stunned silence cutting off any jokes lining up your defense.

He backed away from the counter and took his jacket off a hook ready to depart with you. “Our friends are waiting. Let’s head out now, I bet they are frozen solid outside since I was supposed to supply the hot drinks.”

That caused you to snap back as you cackled at Hutao, Heizou, Tighnari, and the rest, chilled to the bone buried in the deep snow. You latch onto Dainsleif’s sleeve slipping your hand into his warm pocket and holding his curled-up thumb and pointer finger. “Let’s go wifey! Onwards to the ice sculptures!!”

*********************

The darkness had enraptured you at every turn, you didn’t know if you were sitting down, laying down or even face down digging into the dark ground. Your senses were so hazed and really failed you more than normal today.

“I always knew this is what hell was like. Dark cold and numbing on my ass.” Your voice was meek and raspy but they held the same sharp tongue you brought.

A breath hitched when you spoke. So you weren’t alone, in relief your body sunk from its tension. “This place would most likely be a hell. But it's all been cleaned up now..” The voice gave you a tingling feel, almost familiar if not for your impaired and dazed hearing.

“Whoes,” Your words have slurred with the throbbing of your head, a light pressure stroking it, not sure if it was your hand or the other persons. “I didn’t want you to see this mess. Also because that thing on your head is a protection of sorts.” Your mind was too out of it to immediately process his information.

“Was I drugged and potato sacked. I still can’t feel my ass.” The voice had an airy chuckle which echoed through the space. It must be a cave, orrr the internal abyss of the hell he called.

“Well that’s because you fell on a large sharp rock when I first saw you near the cave entrance.” Ah. made sense. “Once your senses are back and you start wiggling around, will I free you.” That made you suspect you were tied down somewhere. You just hoped it was spacious and clean enough so you could indeed roll around.

A sound of shuffled occured after a while and the footsteps faded, assuming that the person beside you had left the area. Once he came back it would be war against his, oddly pretty voiced most likely pretty man. How dare he potato sack you.

Fingers twitching to life, you didn’t know how many hours were spent on body recovery. The crackles of your bones that were stiff the entire night bounced off the walls. You could now feel that your body was in fact laying down, fabric carpeting under you.

Footfalls came steadily back in your direction. “I knew you’d come back to me mysterious man” The tugging of the fabric around your head lead to pangs of sensory recovery. You hear much more sensitively after being blocked for so long. The fabric finally coming around to uncover your eyes. Vision still impaired as the lights and darkness desperately tried to balance out. The haze in your eyes remains an issue even when the smell of the fabric was soothing.

A blur of a hand reached out to you, which you took graciously, limp as they were. You were hauled up to him as he held you close to steady your shaky body. “Get used to walking afte your hours of stationary. Then we will scour the rest of the cave.” his voice sent a chill covering your spine, it was very nice...

Head limp on his chest you could see his black and blue fitted outfit. Even knowing you were short, his shoulder was still higher than your whole height. Plus the glimpse of a sword by their belt drew you to a hazy conclusion. He was the gentleman you were looking for.

However, a sense of dread and conflicting longing rang off in your ears from never ever wanting to look up into his face. So you followed just that.

Your head stayed pressed against his chest as you figured out how to move the limbs helplessly called legs. Every time your legs wobbled too much, he would grab onto your waist to steady you. And every time you clutch onto his shirt too tightly in nerves rattling, he would pat your shoulder and let you put your feet on his so he could walk for you. An hour has passed and you got the hang of your body, with a little shake you managed to walk from one wall to the other.

“Pardon me for asking but, why am I so disabled like this in the first place?” Your voice was quiet but steady, unlike the time you talked when just waking up to potential hell.

“And in all fairness, you could’ve left me to disintegrate and die. Would’ve been better instead of nursing me.” You forcefully mumbled that out in a murmur. And you really didn’t have to look up at the man’s face to feel the intensity of a sharp glare for a reason unknown.

He was pacing in large circles and looking down to watch your feet, the man now stood at the doorway. “It was close to the time of midnight. The smell radiating off the cave entrance bewitched you and agitated you. It closed off your nerves. I had prepared something beforehand to help elevate this phenomenon, which was the fabric I wrapped around you, acting as a cocoon. I then brought you inside, took care of the dangers lurking, and.....secured the premise.” He failed to mask his hesitation on hidden information, due to what he knows about this situation than you do. You slowly nodded as you stare at his shoes, intimidatingly facing your lowered head.

“This cave is enormously large. Would you like to venture through the tunnels. If your legs are up for it. I won’t leave your side, case you fall and never get back up.” His words couldn’t help but put a sting in your heart while chasing it faster. And you who inadvertently let his attempted joke pass your head.

You nodded again which you could only do with a swift tilt up to not disclose your obvious concealment of his prominent features.

The gentleman luckily leads you, tailing behind letting you clutch a corner of his cloak. It gave you more leverage to see more since he covered his own face from you since he’s tall.

As you both moved around the dirt-painted halls, the tunneling seemed handmade instead of natural. Claw marks etched into the surfaces, the ones on the wall grow even deeper and bigger the more your trembling legs take you down the hall. Some openings that led to other rooms littered the narrow tunnels, they were all empty and vacant. The only signs of life once in the rooms were the many elemental traces and or scratches from either weapons or nails. A dark murkiness painted the walls and floor—not wanting to ever know what it really is—but the stench that followed was hazy and metallic. The winding tunnels seemed endless. No wonder people came to be insane down here.

As your thoughts subsided, so did the unending tunnel.

A much broader room greeted you ahead. It must have been Guillaume’s place of residence. Half the room was bookshelves, scrawled-up papers, and scrunched-up scrolls, a large desk faced the other side, ink spilled from the table to the opposing wall. The vacant space looked more than inhabited, save for the etchings on every inch of the wall, ceiling, and floor surfaces. Many drew blanks, symbols, and incomprehensible languages. Stars were the most repeated shape. You didn’t know when you had let go of the man’s cloak, since you were too drawn to the walls of Guillaume’s self-asylum.

Your digits brushed some of the symbols, they curved neatly and were well-written. And familiar. One symbol you could read was—Cataclysm.

The jolt of electricity from touching those words provoked you to snap your neck to…

The man who stood in the same spot you left him before you let go to touch the writing on the wall. Him who watched you mindlessly draw your finger against the carved wall trying to work your brain. Him who—walking through the hallway—peered behind a you who refused to meet his height, gauging your reactions. Him who, had to do a double take when he first saw you on the outskirts of the cave. Him whose...heart clenched in anguish.

Dainsleif who,

missed you dearly.

Who always speculated if you were alive or not.

. . .

Traveling to Fontaine was genuinely; the WORST choice you could have ever done.

“Fuck.”

.

.

.

You really didn’t want to do this ontop of every other terrible occurrence this night. Your brain couldn't, hence the deep crease in your brow following your pained expression too well. All your senses weakened from your mentally solely. You knew him. You recognize him. You liked him.

.

No. You hate him.

Many years of your continuous mental and physical health checkups, insomnia plaguing your attempted sleep, unresolved hatred. All to shield yourself against this man. To conceal the centuries with him.

Now all in vain. Crumbling beneath your feet at this very dreaded moment. The way your vision blurs, the shakiness in your foothold, your clammy hands, throat strained, all in response to a simple unimaginable presence.

The one presence your heart missed dearly. But your brain, your legs, told you to run. To a remote place. But he blocked that path. As he did before, once again stuck in this in-between.

One step. Another. Yours back, his foward.

A predicament you had placed yourself in. The wall that soothed your back has never felt as cold as it did now. How you would rather it envelop you into those eerie symbols. Engraving you to the mystery of the universe.

He was one step away now. Galaxy eyes bore into your evading ones. “(Name)…”

You refused his beckoning. But that wouldn’t make him leave. It wouldn’t get him to disappear from your existence. It only hurts more now that you know he is alive and healthy.

“......If we’re done here, then I have things to do somewhere else.” You burned your eyes anywhere else but near him. He couldn’t escape the slight view you had of him at the corners of your sight. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out to you, to find that once solace you gave him.

“Avoiding me won’t get you anywhere. I thought you weren’t one for not returning favors. I saved your life. Don’t you owe me something?” You scoff. It repulsed you on how observant he is of you.

“I had a dream with you in it. It was in a different world where we were….Happy together. I wish I was in that world currently instead of this shit.” The words you spewed were venomous, if not for the slightly fond tone you laced into the poison. Dainsleif’s face contorted, he was now glad you refused his eye contact, for his eyes downturned in remorse.

Remorse; that's all he ever felt towards you for many centuries when you were apart. And the times when remorse wasn't present, he was deeply coated in affection for you. Those, however, were in the early childhood days. Too far gone in the past.

“I’m sorry I can’t live up to those expectations,”

“But now you have to repay me. …And forgive me.” His firm but gentle hold on your chin forced eye contact. His blue eyes shone with the diamond in them; just like how your eyes sparked with that diamond. His words however gave you the will to slap his hand away.

“You think apologies will reconnect us? After all those fucking centuries? Those actions were effectuated by you!! You festered this effect upon me! How could I ever, ever!! forgive your inapt causes?! You’re VILE!” You ended up hitting his chest and shoving him away which sent him 6 feet apart. He took every physical contact from you, the sting was apparent and long-lasting.

Your unquenched fury bubbled to the brim. And you now approached the silent man. Your hand was now tight against his collar, the obvious trembling of his, dismantled your voice in cracks. “What was the reason?! You should’ve kept me in that sword. After you fucking decimated everyone with me. Why the fuck would I ever want to live after all that. Everything and everybody was a mess. You the most.” The intensity of your diamond-shaped eyes never faltered.

You stepped back as the grip on his collar loosened. “Khaenri’ah’s downfall… Couldn’t even be saved by any form of guard..” Your mumble cast your gaze away from his unnerving eyes.

Silence blanketed the room, no thoughts were presented or conjured. You both just allowed the atmosphere to sink in, head empty beside the presence that would have normally set your heart racing. Not this time; nor ever.

“It’s past midnight right? I’ll take a nearby room to rest in.” You didn’t require his answer, so you left just as quickly. Leaving behind the downcasted remorse filled Dainsleif stiff in his spot where you left him.

*********************

Author notes-> Reshare’s and likes appreciated <3 I hope it was heart wrenching—so i can collect tears to my jar >:D

[ask-the-good-creeps]

Vigilante Pasta AU Timeline

PART FOUR

2008

MARCH: Masky has heard of Sally before, but now he actually meets her. He is calm and gentle in speaking with her and introducing himself and starts to gradually build trust with her. He brings her toys and watches funny videos on his phone with her when he's able, so the kid doesn't have to feel so alone all the time.

APRIL: Jack Robinson has lived a fairly uneventful life so far. He graduated high school with honors, got his four-year college degree, and moved on to medical school. He excelled at his studies and was determined to help as many people as he could. After all these years, he was soon to become one of the world's youngest neurosurgeons, and he'd studied other areas of medicine in addition to his main path in hopes of helping even more people. One night, he leaves to take a late walk through the park to clear his mind and relax. He starts to feel watched, but he sees nobody and hears only the wind through the trees. Out of nowhere he's struck in the head from behind and loses consciousness. Neither he nor anyone living know occurred from that point to when he woke in the woods and found himself to no longer be human. His memories from his human life faded fast, and the harder he tried to remember them the foggier they became. Though he still remembered his medical training, and regardless of his inability to work in a hospital he still intended to use his skill to help others wherever he could.

JUNE: Vinny's door is left unlocked one night; his abuser had been entertaining a visiting sister and forgotten about it in his rush. Dollmaker has full control by now and has repressed Vinny. Dollmaker takes a pink glass eye from a doll head on a shelf and forces it into his own socket while smashing the real eye in the process. He needs something beautiful to see in his face. He leaves the room and finds a screwdriver left on the kitchen counter. He creeps upstairs in the dark to his abuser's bedroom and stabs the man to death with the tool. He hears a gasp behind him and sees the man's sister staring at him in horror. Dollmaker follows her as she backs away toward the hall and sets upon her, ending her life as well. He sees such beauty in her face; this woman becomes the first doll he creates, haphazardly using the tools around him to that end.

SEPTEMBER: Helen is mainly left alone when he's painting and has started to work on paintings of himself as a man, like he wants to be. He hides these paintings behind ones of landscapes when he hears footsteps approaching in the hall to keep them secret from his parents. One day he becomes so focused on finishing the details of one of his hidden self-portraits that he doesn't hear his mother approaching. When she sees the painting, she angrily slaps him across the face and her sharp acrylic nails cut his cheek. While she begins fussing over the scar it might leave and begins looking for a first aid kit, Helen stares at the drops of his blood that landed on the painting. The two most noticeable ones are over his eyes, and while they aren't quite even enough for his tastes, he still finds himself wiping more blood from the cut in his face and using it to paint a smile over the portrait's mouth. His mother returns to patch up the injury and he says nothing as she takes a moment to destroy his artwork first.

OCTOBER: Jane succeeds in finding Jeff and begins to attack him. He doesn't remember who she is, partially because of her changed appearance and partially because he tried to block out his memories of that period of his life. Once she reminds him and angrily explains why she's there to kill him, Jeff lets go of his knife and falls to his knees. He apologizes to Jane for what he did, sincerely, and tells her that if she wants to tear him apart, he understands and he won't stop her. They have a brief conversation during which Jane remembers how insane Jeff looked that night, and some part of her sees that Jeff as a different person than the one in front of her. She hesitantly forgives him, but still wants nothing to with him. She leaves and decides to devote her life to vigilante work as well.

NOVEMBER: Helen decides to cut his hair short for the second time in his life in the middle of the night while his parents sleep. He had soaked his light pink painter uniform in blue dye from his art station the night before, and now changed into the dyed navy fabric. He put on a blank white mask that he hadn't used in a former project and picked the lock on his door. He approached his parents' room and stabbed them both to death where they slept. The last thing his mother saw was him using a single finger to draw a smile in her blood on the lower half of his mask. He left that night with a few paintbrushes and other supplies after leaving a bloody mural of himself – his true, male self, on their bedroom wall.

DECEMBER: Jane meets Kate in the woods on accident and takes an instant dislike to her crass and callous attitude. The two argue, but don't fight because they are technically on the same side, and it would be a pain to build bad blood through violence like that. However, they each decide after their first meeting that they dislike each other and do not want to interact any more than they have to.

2009

MARCH: Dina manages to escape her room one evening, with the long sleeves and unfastened straps of the straight jacket trailing behind her in the hall; she's heard her mother is in the hospital recovering from an illness and assumes her father is asleep. She creeps into the study and takes the sword down, marveling at how smooth and lightweight it is in her grip. She plans to leave this place tonight and never return. As she walks toward the side door of the house, she hears a woman's laughter. She peeks into the den to see her father, the supposedly honorable judge, is cheating on her mother while she's sick. Enraged by the hypocrisy, Dina decapitates them both before escaping into the night.

MAY: Jonathan has been alone and depressed for so long. He sees no reason to keep going. He's become numb to the world and decides to surrender himself to the void. He closes his eyes on a noose, and never opens them again. His spirit, however, does not sleep. His wandering soul with glowing eyes of gold can feel every emotion the living around him feel, and for the first time in years he is no longer numb.

SEPTEMBER: Eyeless Jack finds an abandoned medical complex and takes up residence in building 1609. After clearing it out and gathering supplies there, he declares it his MedLab and offers medical assistance to anyone who wanders in needing it. The first to show up are Jane and Clockwork; Clockwork had sustained an injury to her side and met Jane shortly after, and Jane had helped her get to the only medic they were aware of. Clockwork was bedridden there for a while, and she, Jack, and Jane all started getting to know each other well.

DECEMBER: Kagekao has been performing his pranks before his kills, and this catches the interest of Candy Pop. Pop first introduces Kagekao to Cane, then eventually Laughing Jack. Before long, Kagekao has a standing invite to the Carnival and the Candy Circus and is a regular fixture amongst the Carny Pastas.

2010

FEBRUARY: Dina has been travelling and murdering almost indiscriminately. After killing a drug addict in a derelict multi-floor building, the cracked floor gives way and drops her two stories to the ground level. She falls unconscious and wakes up in a bed with her wounds bandaged. She finds her sword on a nightstand next to the bed and struggles painfully to stand and grab it. She leaves the unfamiliar bedroom and finds that she's in an abandoned church that's been stripped of its religious artifacts and décor. She enters the nave and holds on to a pew to steady herself. On the pulpit she sees a man with short hair in a blue uniform. His back is to her as he paints on the canvas in front of him, though the art is blocked from her view by his head. There are finished paintings posted on easels all around him, many depicting beautiful landscapes. She approaches curiously, and the man is alerted to her presence when she stubs her toe on the edge of a pew and swears. He puts down his brush and turns to look at her, and she sees that he's painting a picture of her. She would've called him a creep and chewed him out over it if it weren't for the way he'd painted her eyes. The portrait version of her didn't have pools of ink in her sockets, but small sections of night sky with sparkling stars swirling in their depths like heavenly glitter. Nobody had ever seen beauty in her eyes before. The artist's name was Helen, and he spoke with a calm, soft voice and stoic face. She found his presence acceptable, and they got to talking. Eventually they decided to travel together.

AUGUST: Jeff stumbles across his brother, Liu, after hearing rumors that he is alive and in the vigilante game. He tries to talk to his brother only to be confronted with Liu's split personality, Sully, who despises and attempts to kill him. Jeff cannot die, and Sully is enraged by this. Liu struggles for control to prevent Sully from killing Jeff, and the two part ways to event more bloodshed.

2011

JUNE: Helen meets Jonathan (now going by 'Puppeteer') on his travels, and they have a lot of common ground and get along well. Eventually Helen introduces the Puppeteer and Dina, and while Dina is guarded and suspicious at first they eventually start to get along decently as well.

NOVEMBER: Jason and the Puppeteer cross paths and start to get to know each other. Their first meeting is brief as they are both busy with other things at the time, but other visits follow and their personalities mesh well together.

2012

JANUARY: Helen has found a little house in the woods that's well-isolated and has been abandoned for quite some time. He's spent months secretly fixing it up with assistance from the Puppeteer, and now, while snow gently drifts down from the sky he leads Dina to it. It's their home now, he tells her, and she falls in love with it immediately as its roof protects the delicate white flakes of ice from becoming tainted by the ground. They go inside, and Helen has already done a wonderful job at making it feel like a home. She kisses him then, which takes them both by surprise; but neither dislike or regret it.

MARCH: Lazari is still imprisoned in the cult's little dungeon. She doesn't know why she was put there or what she did wrong to make her mother stop loving her. She's been starved and had her back whipped many times. Her mother came to see her for the first time in months, and Lazari asked her with tear-filled eyes why she didn't want her anymore. Seemingly recovering her humanity for a moment after hearing the pain in her child's voice, her mother looked away unable to meet her gaze. She pulled the key from its hook on the wall and unlocked the chains around Lazari's wrists, then dragged her off into the dark night. They travelled to a well-kept garden with many tall trees and decorative stones, and it was there that Lazari's mother made a noose and hung herself in front of her young daughter. Lazari had little strength and didn't know what to do, and so sat next to the tree where her mother's corpse swung and cried. When the sun came up the next day, an old priest wandering through the graveyard found her there and took her in. His little cottage wasn't the most glamorous space, but it was warm and cozy and had plenty of snacks that Father Daniel gladly shared with the poor girl. When he gave her leftover beef from the night before, he saw the red tinge in her eyes; and her reflection and shadow both had horns. Unlike the cult that had hurt her so, Father Daniel didn't punish her for what she was born as, instead opting to nurture her goodness and human side. He called the authorities to remove her mother's corpse from the tree, but he did not mention child for fear of what may happen to her.

AUGUST: Jeff goes after some targets on his list only to find that someone else took them out first. He encounters the responsible party quickly - a wounded Nathan - and brings him to Jack's MedLab. Nathan has trouble trusting others, even other vigilantes, and is civil but distant while he waits for himself to be healed enough to leave.

2013

APRIL: A man concealed by a tattered black cloak walks along the main street of a small village. He watches a couple of children gather a box from an alleyway and excitedly bring it to their parents; the kids beg them to keep the small litter of whining puppies within the cardboard container. 'The puppies will die alone out here, and dogs are so wonderful and loyal,' they argue. The parents finally agree, and the family moves to get in their car. As they drive off, Hobo Heart hears a small noise from the alley. He steps forward to look, and a small pup waddles right into him. This one was left behind, forgotten. It whines and licks his ankle. Dogs are loyal. He picks up the little thing and holds it inside his cloak to warm it as he moves on.

MAY: The Puppeteer has been spending the day in Jason's company, but he needs to stop by Helen and Dina's home to pick up something from Helen. He lets Jason tag along with what should have been a quick visit, but Jason and Dina get into a brawl and develop strong animosity toward each other. Jason is banned from the couple's home and the Puppeteer is later forgiven so long as he follows that rule.

JUNE: Toby is abducted by the SCP Foundation and brought into their labs. He is freed by the other proxies, but not before Foundation researchers traumatize him so badly he refuses to speak for months after his liberation.

SEPTEMBER: Lazari has returned to full health thanks to Father Daniel's kindness. She has helped him by consuming malicious entities that raised Cain for his congregation and they have become close. However, Lazari has been feeling a strong calling to travel and wander. It takes some convincing, but eventually Father Daniel accepts that she can now take care of herself as her strength has returned. He bids her farewell on her travels and is sure to inform her she's welcome to stop in any time.

2015

JANUARY: Hobo Heart meets Eyeless Jack after hearing about the MedLab. He starts coming to Jack to have his supply of needles and catgut replenished when he's running low, though his cold demeanor offends the medic. Jack still supplies him with what he needs, but their meetings are tense and silent.

2016

AUGUST: Offenderman is hunted down and terminated by the other Slenders to prevent him from harming anyone else. All other vigilantes are happy to hear the news of his demise.

2019

OCTOBER: Zalgo and Lazari finally meet on Hallowe'en night with a little assistance from the Slenderman. Also on this night, Masky leads Sally's parents to her makeshift grave, out of which he'd dug her remains. Her parents get to say goodbye and give her a proper burial. Sally's spirit sticks around after but is no longer bound to that area of the woods. She's glad to be able to travel like everyone else now.