#to the point of complete self destruction that drags BOTH down

[sunnykeysmash]

what I wouldn't pay to see mac punch holes into the walls of the suburbs house as he's tasked with fixing something he doesn't know how to fix and meanwhile the only constant in his mind is how much he misses dennis

[cringefailvox]

overlord husk aus are very interesting to me in part because they present such a radically different vision of the huskerdust dynamic that is very compelling to me. present-day husk and angel are exhausted. these are people genuinely at rock bottom, who have been so worn down and chipped away at by the long, dragging stalemate of their circumstances that they have nothing left to give but their bare minimum selves. which is okay, and it's enough for them; a lot of what makes their dynamic so interesting is that it's about two people at their lowest rediscovering what it feels like to not be alone down there, to even begin thinking about the possibility of climbing out of the deep dark hole they've made their peace with now that they won't be doing it by themselves.

in contrast, overlord husk aus imagine a version of husk and angel before they were losers together. they imagine versions of them that haven't been beaten down all the way just yet: husk at the height of his greed and power and reckless addictions, angel riding the high of his stardom while adamantly refusing to peel back the surface and acknowledge the rot. both of them still digging the hole and saying to themselves, "i've got a ladder, i'm not going to get stuck. i can always climb back out."

and having these two meet at this stage in their lives, i think they would really, really not make each other better. husk's consideration for the souls on his chain had to have been close to zero for him to use them as gambling chips the way he did, especially the recklessly self-destructive way he did that ended with his own soul in alastor's pocket. and i imagine that for a long time, angel lived in total willful denial about val's escalating abuse and the toll his increasingly demanding job was taking on him, because acknowledging it would be tantamount to making it real, making it something that could actually hurt him and not just be rationalized away, and so of course he'd put off doing that for as long as he could.

if husk had actually won angel's soul, it wouldn't have been any different from all the other people he traded back and forth across his table just for the illicit thrill of the game. angel probably would've had a whole sunk-cost freakout about it (what was the point of all that pain and suffering and lack of autonomy if all the consequences are coming from a stranger now and not val? when it isn't personal? and now he can't even claim a little bit of power back by saying he chose it, because he didn't.) angel knows full well what it looks like when someone is going to kill themselves with their addictions, but what obligation does he have to the guy who would just as quick give him up to somebody else if it gave him an adrenaline rush? nothing, that's what, and he has enough of his own problems anyway.

crucially, they're both INCREDIBLY self-absorbed. not even in a conceited or vain way, but just in that they're so wrapped up in their own mess that they can't see beyond it, they don't have any space for empathy, and furthermore, they have no reason to even try.

it's why the version of their dynamic we get in canon works so well—they're in the same place now, at just the right time to finally start opening up their worlds to how they affect other people (angel watching charlie interact with val at the studio; husk being forced by alastor to engage with the hotel's residents as the bartender). there's space for empathy in their lives now, because they've finally been brought so low that they can't hide anymore, can't look away, can't deny how completely and totally fucked they are. it's a kind of brutal honesty that can only really come from confronting your absolute worst-case scenario. but for them to even begin connecting with each other in any authentic sense, they needed to have the ladder taken away so they could finally bring themselves to stop digging, look up, and realize there's been someone down here with them all along.

[fancygremlin]

I absolutely adore how the themes in Malevolent are introduced so subtly at the very start of each season. I feel that each season has distinct ones that could foreshadow how Arthur and John's relationship progresses throughout the show.

I will be rambling about it below (sorry if it's a but messy, I wrote it all in one sitting and didn't proof read it very thoroughly).

The first season is introductory, so we are shown right away how the characters struggle to come to terms with their condition and how to make the best of it to actually accomplish their goals.

This theme is introduced when we learn right at the start of episode one that Arthur is a pianist, as well as a private investigator. The piano requires two hands to play a song. The right hand plays the main melody, the one everyone recognises by ear and is more likely to hum when recalling the song. The left hand plays the accompaniment, the melody that is perhaps not as nice to hear on its own, but makes the song being played that much more complete.

It's not a coincidence that Arthur keep the control of his right hand, while John gains control of the left hand. Arthur is the one that has to interact with the world around him, he is the one that people see and hear and talk to, he is the one that ultimately controls where to go and how to move about a space. He is the main melody, the one people recognise and hear and remember. John is instead stuck in the background, unseen and unheard... limited to just relaying visual information to Arthur. However, without John's aid, Arthur would be incapable to do anything at all. John is the accompaniment: the trained ear can't hear it well, but without it, the main melody would not be as complete, or as rich, or pleasant to hear.

In season two we have them transported in the Dreamlands and this is an environment that John is more familiar with. This is not a safe place to stay, anything or anyone could bring harm. We see the characters pushing their boundaries, learning how to survive... but is it fair to respond to a harsh environment with more harshness? In about episode two (I think, I am writing this all from memory, so sorry if I am misremembering), Arthur mentions Aesop's fable of "The Woodcutter and the Trees". The quote that is being repeated multiple times over the course of the season is "at least the handle is one of us".

If we want to apply the fable to Arthur and John, it could be possible to infer that Arthur might be the axe, while John is the handle. Arthur is the one that is foreign to the place, that does not understand it and is more often than not ready to resort to more violent or extreme methods to escape or resolve issues. On the other hand, John mentions that he has faint memories of the Dreamlands, he is part of them and he remembers he had some sort of control/dominance over them when he was part of the King in Yellow. It's because of John that Arthur is even able to access the Dreamlands in the first place, so maybe John did betray in some way his nature and bringing harm to the place that he once called home.

In season three, the main theme was the (1) loss of humanity and (2) identity. In this case, this was communicated, respectively, (1) by removing a thing that was at the core of the characters' personality, and (2) by offering a narrative foil to the characters.

Loss of humanity for Arthur was symbolised by the destruction of Faroe's music box, which sent him down a very dangerous and dark path of self-vendetta fuelled by murderous rage. On the other hand, Arthur's narrative foil was Larson. Both characters experienced a great loss, but the motivations and (in particular) emotional response to the event was what made them become very different people. Arthur's loss of his daughter haunts him constantly, drags him down with the gravitational pull of a black hole. He cannot forgive himself, to the point of considering himself a monster that does not deserve redemption or forgiveness. On the other hand, Larson willingly sacrificed his daughter for power and money and never experiences any remorse or guilt for his deplorable actions.

Loss of humanity for John was shown by having Arthur strike a deal with Kayne: John is back, but with none of the memories or experiences he lived with Arthur. He is back as a manipulative fragment of the King in Yellow. It's interesting how he regains all his memories when Arthur plays Faroe's music box. Of course, John's narrative foil is... another version of himself... Yellow. I could write an entire essay comparing the two and their respective journeys on how they wanted to try so hard to form their own identities... but I'd go off on a very long tangent. This is already long enough and I am blabbering too much.

I've JUST started season four today and I am two episodes in and I am suspecting that this season's theme is fractures... Just in episode one I heard Arthur choosing a story about a broken relationship between two friends, then the multiple mentions between Arthur and his father in law, and then in episode two there was also the broken window in the room they are renting in Mary's apartment... I am honestly so scared that by the end of this season something very big will happen that will push Arthur and John apart and fracture their relationship almost irremediably.

I know John is hiding something very big from Arthur and it's very possibly something regarding Kayne. I also have a sneaky suspicion that Arthur had a real chance to get some answers about Kayne from Yellow, but of course he just decided to NOT DO THAT!

Can't wait to have this show mess me up once more.

[Season 5 theme analysis]

[misedejem]

I hope the game continues to deny Emet-Selch his rest after he died because something new keeps cropping up every time he tries, I think that would be quite funny

Like

You’re one of the last surviving members of your people, and for 12000 years you and the other survivors have been trying to bring them all back. It has been so long and you have considered giving up more than you care to admit. One of the three survivors has died, another has lost himself, and you’re so exhausted. And what is left of one of the people you loved more than anything has just killed you. Your soul returns to the Sea, and you think 'at least now I can rest’.

But no, suddenly you remember all the things from your life you had forgotten, because the aetherial sea really is like that, and you realise that awful work trip you had completely forgotten about? Turns out the memories you lost then told you exactly how the apocalypse that destroyed your people happened and also how to stop it (you couldn’t).

So you can’t rest because you’re processing that, and you should also be on standby because it looks like the Emissary is making his last stand, and you know it’s futile and you’ve lost, so by now you just want his suffering to end. You gain brief respite when he has been defeated, but the person you kind of abandoned as a Sin Eater for a century has now returned to the Sea and likely has a few choice words for you.

Then the last person in existence that you could possibly want to talk to at that point turns up and tells you to join Her on an inter-shard trip back to the Source, and you know you can’t refuse, because those memories you regained told you that you couldn’t. You know what happens for a while from here, and you know there is no point in resting now, so you resign yourself to watching the person who killed you and hoping their journey will be short. 

At which point, your coworker - who you now know kind of caused the apocalypse because of those regained memories of the terrible work trip - kills your God.

And you cannot rest, because killing your God did free the souls who were sacrificed to summon Him, and they are returning to the Star. Coworkers, relatives, acquaintences, all joining you in the Sea. Among them is the other person you love more than anything, and this reunion is more important than any rest you could ever want. But you also know that person was very good at denying you sleep when you were alive, and he surely has not changed so much that he will not do the same now that you are dead. 

You watch the destruction that befell your home so long ago devastate the Source, and the Warrior of Light returns to the First to make a journey you know will lead them to your younger self twelve millenia in the past, bringing the events you recalled full circle. You think, perhaps, you may finally be able to get some sleep. But this tale has not ended yet, and the Warrior of Light is now in the aetherial sea, making a lot of noise in heated battle with their God, and you and your beloved can do nothing else but watch your dear friend’s soul forge ahead to the end of their journey. 

At which point they drag you both out of the aetherial sea to the edge of the bloody universe to help them. And you do, because deep down you know you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you make a very immutable point of saying goodbye because surely, surely this is the end of your role in their story. You will wait and sleep in the aetherial sea until their soul joins you, and the three of you will return to the Star together. Surely this annoyingly undefeatable force of nature won’t die for some time yet, and you’ll have a good few decades of rest. 

And for a time, you do get that. A few months, a year maybe, of nothing of note happening that would concern you beyond perhaps some idle curiosities that Hythlodaeus insists you should see. And you think this is how it will be from now on.

Until the Ancient’s Extremely Dangerous and Fucked Up Monster Facility that should have been destroyed twelve thousand years ago appears on the Dead Person equivalent of your back doorstep, and you realise your suffering is never actually going to end

[bloody-bee-tea]

Beetober 2024 Day 30 - Self-destructive

Hizashi knows that something is wrong when Shouta shows up at home hours before he usually does on training days with Shinsou. It’s curious enough to bring Hizashi out of the kitchen, only to find Shouta angrily tugging his capture weapon off.

“Everything okay?” Hizashi carefully asks, frown firmly fixed on his face and it almost matches Shouta’s.

“No,” Shouta bites out and Hizashi’s eyebrows fly up because Shouta normally isn’t this angry after training with Shinsou.

It’s quite the strange effect Shinsou has on Shouta, because he gets frustrated with all of his students at one point, thinks they are doing too little, are being too cocky, or plain and simple too stupid, but none of that has happened with Shinsou.

Yet.

It’s undeniable that Shouta is beyond irritated and frustrated now, Hizashi would guess that he ventured straight into angry at one point and worry curls in Hizashi’s gut.

“Is Shinsou okay?” Hizashi wants to know because if Shouta is already here and not still training with him then the answer is most likely going to be no.

“Hizashi,” Shouta warningly says as if that has ever deterred Hizashi in all of their years together and it most certainly won’t start now.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Shinsou is being—” Shouta cuts himself off, working his jaw, clearly trying to stop himself from saying something unkind, before he ends with “I cancelled training.”

“Cancelled? You’ve never cancelled training with Shinsou. Is something else going on? Did something come up?”

“I’m not training with Shinsou anymore.”

“You dropped him?!”

Shouta glares at him, and Hizashi grins sheepishly at him when he realises that his quirk slipped into his outburst.

“Not this week, no,” Shouta tells him and that, at least, is a little bit better than dropping Shinsou entirely.

“What happened, Shou? You like Shinsou.” Hizashi just barely stops himself from saying ‘love’ even though he’s pretty sure that’s what it is at this point, because Shouta has all but adopted the kid and so this is more than concerning to hear, coming from him.

“I like him but I can’t train him, not like this,” Shouta mutters and lets out a harsh breath. “He’s being self-destructive,” he then admits and drags a tired hand over his face.

“Self-destructive how?” Hizashi asks, more gently now because he sees how underneath all this anger this stresses Shouta out.

“He’s not sticking to the meal plan I gave him. He’s losing weight, instead of gaining and it’s only going to damage him if we continue like we have. And he doesn’t rest, not properly; there are sparring injuries on him even though I told him to take it easy between training sessions but he’s not listening to me and I can’t train someone like that.”

The worry in Hizashi’s gut turns into something heavier, something that almost makes him sick and Shouta must read something on his face, because worry replaces the lingering frustration.

“Hizashi?”

“Did you tell him?” Hizashi whispers out, suddenly unable to raise his voice beyond that, the lump in his throat making it hard to even breathe and Shouta steps close, threading their fingers together.

“Did I tell him what exactly?”

“That it’s only for the week? That you didn’t drop him completely?”

“I—said we’re stopping training for now and that I’ll get back to him when we start it back up again,” Shouta admits and Hizashi almost painfully tightens his grip on Shouta’s hand.

“You can’t do that, Shou. You can’t, you can’t, he’s going to panic,” Hizashi mutters out, panicking himself, but it only lasts for a second before suddenly all of that sickening worry is being replaced with anger. “Why do you never think?” he suddenly yells right into Shouta’s face and he takes a step back in surprise.

“Hizashi, we need to calm down, both of us,” Shouta then decides, way too calm for Hizashi’s liking but he realises that yelling at Shouta will achieve nothing.

He has to explain or otherwise Shouta won’t understand.

Hizashi takes several deep breaths, while Shouta clearly does the same, trying not to let his own mounting frustration take the better of him and it both takes them a few minutes to regain a certain level of calmness.

“Now explain,” Shouta finally says and Hizashi still wants to take him and shake some sense into him, but he keeps his free hand to himself, keeps a steadying grip on Shouta’s hand and forces himself to talk in a calm and organised manner.

“You get so caught up in pushing your students to be the very best they can be that you forget their circumstances,” Hizashi opens with and it immediately makes Shouta frown.

“What is that supposed to mean? What circumstances?”

“Shinsou is in foster care. You forgot, right?”

“I—did. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“You drive me insane, Shou, seriously,” Hizashi groans out. “Not all students have a happy life, with supporting people in their corners. I know you forget, especially with all your hand-picked bunch of hellions, but not every student has a family to fall back on. You gave him a meal plan. Did you ask him if he could stick to it?”

“No,” Shouta admits because of course he didn’t. He just expected him to, because that’s what he does with his normal students; students who have been training to get into the hero course for almost all their lives, who have been training before classes even started and have therefore already made a meal plan for themselves, students who have support and teachers who encourage them and who help them.

Shinsou is so different from Shouta’s normal students that Hizashi chides himself for not pointing it out before.

“Did you tell him Lunch Rush would accommodate the plan? Did you give Lunch Rush the plan, so they could adapt to that?”

“I did not,” Shouta says. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“Gen Ed doesn’t know the Hero Course gets special meals. If you didn’t tell Shinsou then he’d have no way of knowing. He wouldn’t even know to ask.”

“But his family—”

“His foster family,” Hizashi interrupts him. “foster families are not always nice, Shou, you know that. Hell, you see how horrible it can go when you go on patrol. How many kids have you pulled out of families that were hurting them?”

“You think they are hurting Shinsou?”

Hizashi can tell that it’s finally sinking in, that Shouta is finally starting to realise what he has overlooked all this time and going by how the colour drains out of his face, he’s coming to the same concerning conclusions Hizashi had.

“You said he has injuries.”

“Bruises, mostly. I thought they were from sparring with someone.”

“Or they could be from being beaten by his family,” Hizashi quietly fills in and Shouta’s quirk briefly flares up.

“Why didn’t he say something?” Shouta desperately asks and Hizashi bitterly laughs.

“Shou, the kid is terrified of authority figures. Remember how you complained about him not keeping eye contact, shying away, flinching when you moved too fast? He was the same during his lessons with me. We’re adults and if the system treated him even close to how it treated me adults have done nothing for him but hurt him.”

“And I have just shown him that I can’t be trusted,” Shouta whispers out, clearly horrified by what he did and Hizashi hates it, but he nods.

“You need to call him,” Hizashi urges him. “You have his number, right? You need to call him right now.”

“Shouldn’t I do this in person tomorrow?”

“Shou, you just crushed the kid’s dream. I doubt he’s holding out any hope that you’ll get back to him on training again; he thinks you dropped him completely. You need to call him right now.”

If Shouta is not going to do it, then Hizashi will, because the kid needs to know right now that not all hope is lost.

“You’re probably right,” Shouta mutters and gets his phone out.

Hizashi watches him dial a number but a cheerful voice tells them that the number they are trying to reach is currently out of commission and now the worry is back full force.

Shouta seems to have finally understood just what is going on with this entire situation, because he raises worried eyes at Hizashi.

“That’s not good.”

“It’s not,” Hizashi agrees. “You have his home address?”

“Nezu will sent it to us,” Shouta decides, already typing away at his phone and just moments later it dings with an answer. “Got it, let’s go.”

Hizashi simply nods, following behind Shouta as he marches over to their car and the drive to Shinsou’s home is filled with a tense silence, and Hizashi finds himself tapping his finger against the wheel, unable to sit still with his nerves.

The address Nezu sent them leads them to the outer area of Musutafu and Hizashi eyes the run down houses they pass warily.

“I didn’t know he was living here,” Shouta mumbles when they come to a stop in front of a house that has certainly seen better days and Hizashi lets out a long breath.

“Yeah, me neither,” he gives back and then gets out of the car. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Shouta decidedly says and Hizashi believes him too, because he’s treating this as a mission right now, Hizashi knows, and he’s going to face this head-on.

They make their way up to the door and share a glance when yelling reaches them long before they reach it.

Hizashi stops Shouta moments before he knocks and Shouta questioningly looks over at him.

“Is your foster license up to date?” Hizashi asks, because with what they are hearing now, there is no way they are going to leave Shinsou here. Not with everything else Shouta has mentioned today, what they have both noticed.

“It is. You think we have to—” Shouta is interrupted by something crashing in the house, followed by a sharp, pained yell and every further discussion is tabled for now, as Shouta insistently knocks on the door.

Everything falls silent in the house and that’s almost more worrying than the yelling before but before Hizashi can comment on that, heavy footsteps make their way towards the door.

It gets yanked open and a huge, burley man stands in front of them and Hizashi can feel Shouta tense next to him. Hizashi watches him from the corner of his eyes and he sees how Shouta fixates on something so Hizashi tries to follow his line of sight and he feels his quirk rise in his throat almost violently when he spots the split knuckles of the man.

He gets almost stuck on the single drop of blood falling to the ground and it’s only the man’s voice jolts him out of it.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“We’re Shinsou’s teachers,” Shouta says and Hizashi is glad for it, because he’s not sure he can open his mouth without harming the man in front of him.

The man freezes for a moment before rage overtakes his features.

“That little bastard,” the man spits out and then he does the single most stupid thing a civilian could ever do and aims his fist at Shouta.

Hizashi is glad for it, because it gives them something to do with their rage and worry and it allows Hizashi to push past the man into the house in search of Shinsou, fully justified in his action now. He’s absolutely certain that Shouta can more than handle the guy.

“Shinsou?” Hizashi calls out, venturing deeper into the house and he almost gags when he’s assaulted by the smell in the house.

It’s dirty, plain and simple, and it smells like it too and they are so going to take Shinsou out of here as fast as they can.

“Shinsou!” Hizashi yells again when he gets no answer and this time his voice is met with a groan from a room two doors down the hallway.

Hizashi doesn’t waste any time and runs over to the room, trying to brace himself for what he might find but he doesn’t let that stop him or even slow him down.

He only freezes when he spots Shinsou on the ground, curled up as small as he can and a growing pool of blood underneath him. Hizashi doesn't have to wonder what could have possibly caused the injury because a blood-coated knife lies right next to Shinsou.

“Hitoshi!” Hizashi cries out and sprints to his side, dropping down to his knees and trying to figure out where he’s hurt. “Kiddo, can you hear me?” he frantically asks, fluttering his hands over his body until he remembers that he’s a pro, that he knows how to do first-aid and he tries to push all of his worry away.

Hizashi slides his hand under Shinsou’s body, and he shudders when he’s immediately met with wet fabric. A groan from Shinsou lets him know that he’s at the right place, too and he simply presses down as hard as he can.

“Kiddo, are you with me?” Hizashi asks again, hoping that the pain might have brought some awareness to Shinsou and he’s rewarded with fluttering lashes.

“Mic?” Shinsou breathes out and Hizashi gives him a shaky smile.

“Got it in one, listener. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Shinsou’s only answer is a pained groan which Hizashi takes to mean “Everywhere” and that’s not good at all.

Hizashi itches to press the emergency button in his costume, but he’s too scared to take his hands back from the injury in Shinsou’s side, so he does the only thing he can think to do.

“Shou, get an ambulance here!” he yells out, puts just enough of his quirk in his voice to make sure Shouta will hear him and of course a second later Shouta bursts into the room.

“Done, how is—” he falls silent in shock when his eyes fall on Shinsou and the blood underneath him and Hizashi sees his knees buckle briefly before he catches himself. “Fuck, is he—”

“Barely conscious,” Hizashi presses out. “Ambulance?”

“On their way, ETA five minutes.”

Hizashi is not quite sure if Shinsou has five minutes, but they will just have to make sure that he does. He’s not going to let this kid slip right through his fingers and he knows Shouta is thinking the same when he drops to his knees next to Hizashi, the small first aid kit he usually carries around already out.

They will keep Shinsou alive until the ambulance arrives.

~*~*~

Hizashi’s pants are uncomfortably sticking to his legs and he feels sick thinking about the blood that soaked into the fabric but there hasn’t been a chance to change yet and Hizashi doubts that there’s going to be one in the near future.

Shinsou is still unconscious in the hospital bed after having been rushed to the operation room and neither Shouta nor Hizashi feel comfortable leaving before they have seen the kid awake again.

“We should tell Nezu we’re not coming in tomorrow,” Hizashi mumbles eventually and Shouta’s eyes slide over to him.

“Already done. We’re excused for the rest of the week.”

Hizashi only nods, too emotionally drained to verbally reply to that and he keeps his eyes on Shinsou’s hand in his. It’s still slack, but warm and that’s the only thing Hizashi clings to.

Shinsou didn’t die. The doctors said he’d make a full recovery and with Recovery Girl on hand that will happen sooner rather than later, Hizashi knows that, but as long as Shinsou isn’t awake, Hizashi will worry.

And then he’ll probably also worry for many, many more months to come, too.

“We should get the guest room ready,” Shouta says out of the blue and Hizashi jolts in surprise, thinking back to their interrupted talk before Shinsou’s foster father was there.

“You’re on board with that?”

“We’re not going to let him out of our sight. I already fucked up once; I’m not going to do that again. He’s going to come home with us.”

“Okay.”

There’s not much else to say to that, because there’s no doubt about it and Hizashi fills the time with mentally compiling a list of all the things they’ll have to do in the next few days.

He’s only halfway through when Shinsou groans and his hand twitches and immediately, Hizashi and Shouta move even closer to the bed.

“Kiddo?” Hizashi carefully asks, unwilling to make Shinsou panic right upon waking up, but Shinsou’s eyes flutter open at hearing his voice.

“Mic?” he asks, eerily similar to mere hours ago and Hizashi feels his eyes go wet.

“Right here, kiddo.”

“How are you feeling?” Shouta asks from the other side and Shinsou sluggishly turns his head to look at him and Hizashi spots the moment he recognises him because tears immediately run down Shinsou’s cheeks.

“’m sorry,” Shinsou mutters out and Shouta is quick to take his other hand in his.

“There’s no reason for you to be, kid. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But you’re safe now, I promise you. Just sleep for now, alright? We’ll be here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Shinsou continues to mutter under his breath and then, absolutely heartbreakingly adds, “please don’t throw me away, too.”

“We’re not, kiddo,” Hizashi says when he sees Shouta swallow heavily. “We’re right here. We’ve got you, don’t you even worry about that. You’re not alone.”

“Promise?” Shinsou weakly asks and looks over at Shouta again.

“Promise, kid. I promise.” Shouta reaches out to card his fingers carefully through Shinsou's hair and Hizashi is reminded of a cat when Shinsou pushes into the contact.

Shouta's words seem to be enough for Shinsou, at least for now, because his eyes close again and seconds later he’s asleep once more. Hizashi wonders just how much of this he’ll remember, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll say it as often as Shinsou needs to hear it.

“I fucked up, Hizashi,” Shouta mutters when he’s sure Shinsou is asleep again and Hizashi forces himself to look away from the kid.

“Yeah, I did too” he admits freely, because they both kind of did and who knows if any of this would have happened if Shouta had kept to their usual training sessions, if he had been just a little bit more perceptive, if Hizashi had mentioned any of this sonner but it’s futile to wreck your head over something like that, so Hizashi carefully leans over Shinsou and puts his hand on Shouta’s. “And now we get to make it up. Just—we have to be there for him now.”

It might be too little, too late, Hizashi is desperately aware of that, but it might also not be.

They still might be exactly what Shinsou needs and until he tells them to fuck off, they are going to be there for him, no matter what.

But for now, they’ll stay right here and wait until their kid wakes up again.

[thedwarventradesman]

Hollow — Tech x GN!Reader Batcher

Description: Tech x GN!Reader Batcher, established relationship; POV is 1st person so there's no use of gendered pronouns (: Warnings: Angst, major character death, grief, very vague allusion to suicidal thoughts and self-destructive tendencies Word Count: 916

A/N: This is the first time I've really written any fandom content since high school. Or at least, with the intention of letting others read it. Tried to balance the mix of recounting the past while also shifting to how reader/oc is in the present which can be tricky so I hope it reads well.

Image Credit: @ilcuoreardendo-fic

Everything happened so fast.

It was like any other mission gone bad — shots from grounded enemies, shots from the sky, and having to problem-solve on the fly amidst the chaos. Then… it was very different.

There was a violent shake as the rail cars were hit and then I was looking down at my husband hanging far below the car. Momentarily, all sound became an indistinguishable noise, garbled voices of distress mixed with ringing and roaring in my ears, as you struggled to climb up to the car.

As I moved to help you, the car creaked and, snapping back to reality, I heard you shout up, “Whoa! Don't! Any shift in weight could send both of these cars over. You must sever the connection hinge. Now!” Wrecker and I immediately exclaimed our rejection of that idea. I could feel my panic rising, my desperation increasing. There must be something. There HAS to be something. Anything to fix this mess and save you.

Your next words, spoken so calmly and matter-of-fact, slammed into me. “There is no time, cyare. Plan 99.” “Don’t. You. Dare, Tech.” My voice cracked on your name. Gently, desperately, I repeated my words, punctuating them with “please”. Your eyes locked with mine — soft, sad, and full of love. “I love you, cyar’ika, but when have we ever followed orders?”

When you shot the connection and began to fall, a deafening scream ripped out of me. “NO!” My body automatically lunged for the side with my hand outstretched before Wrecker grabbed me and held me firmly. Thrashing to escape his grasp as the car began to move, I screamed, “TECH! No! No no no! Go back!”

As the car got further and further away, the shock of the situation overtook me — numb, unseeing, unmoving with that same mix of indistinguishable sounds in my ears. My body went into a survival autopilot – moving as prompted but I wasn’t there – and the team had to help drag me back to the Marauder through the attacks.

Once aboard the Marauder, standing in the middle of our quarters, my knees gave out as I crumbled. Ripping off my helmet and goggles, my agonized sobs finally broke free and echoed through the ship. So full of grief, my body shaking, I leaned forward on my hands for support, fingers digging into the metal floor. One hand reached up, taking my chained wedding ring from underneath my undershirt and I clutched it so hard a mark was left in my hand.

At some point, I had stopped crying and left my body. I didn’t even know the ship stopped. Feeling a gentle hand on my shoulder, the only acknowledgment of awareness I could give was a hoarse, emotionless mumble, “You should have let me go with him.” 

From there, I don’t truly remember much of anything. There’s a blur of being dragged to my feet and out of the ship, and of having wet hair and clean clothes while AZ checked me over with no memory of cleaning up or changing. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t even truly remember Omega being taken. All I truly remember from the past month and a half is waves of soul-crushing pain surrounded by numbness as I attempted to lose myself in my work. I keep crying and feeling flashes of disbelief and anger. I’ve lost my appetite… and my desire for self-preservation. All this while moving on autopilot to complete my tasks and finish the mission. Find and save Omega. That is all that matters right now.

Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo are concerned for me, often pushing food on me and otherwise fussing. Up until now, there were eyes on me almost all the time, it felt like, and I hated it, but I understood why they hovered. Echo left a couple of weeks after the events to rejoin Rex, but I still hear him comm Hunter every so often to check in on me and find out how the search for Omega is going.

The days are often easier than the nights since I’ve taken on most of Tech’s tasks alongside my own. Hunter and Wrecker have tried to take some of them, wishing to lighten my load, but I adamantly refuse. I need them. I need the memory of helping with and hearing about them from him by doing them. They’ve let the situation be, but still intervene to make me sleep.

That’s when it gets unbearable.

The emptiness beside me screams, his scent got fainter with each passing day until it disappeared, remembering the quiet moments we shared in this space, and hearing his final words on a loop in the silence. Once the exhaustion finally takes me… I often watch Tech fall and wake with tears streaming down my face or stinging eyes and a heavy heart. Some nights, I think Hunter has been slipping me medicine in my food ‘cause those are the only nights I get any decent sleep.

Despite all this, I have, believe it or not, been getting better. Slowly, I began to reengage with the boys and be open with them. They stopped having to watch me as close or force me to take care of myself. Now, it’s reminders and intervention as necessary along with occasional check-ins when I seem particularly off one day. I’m still far from okay and I won’t ever be the same but, thanks to our brothers, I become a little less hollow each day.

[lets-try-some-writing]

⭐️ You got anything cool you wanna share? 👀

Of course!

Pretender AU Ramble:

The Pretender AU is currently my favorite Tumblr AU and let me tell you, I am slow writing for it because the plot THICKENS. The idea came into being when I saw an image of some creepy looking Megatron & Optimus artwork. Then as I sat down with my writing buddy to discuss the AU and go over some of the asks I have gotten for it to create a coherent plot, things got deeper than they originally were.

Literally no one is the good guy in the Pretender AU, despite how it may look. Megatron may seem like the hero, but he is still on his crazy train (which will be showcased later). Optimus may seem like a monster (which he is), but if you look at it, he is simply a being who was born of the wrong host. If ANYONE else had been his host, he would have been fine and the Pretenders could have integrated without issue most likely. Orion Pax would have learned of them, and possibly even gone so far as to create an alliance with these beings considering they operate a great deal like an ant colony and their abilities cannot be overlooked.

Why do I bring this up? Because Megatron is a hypocrite. He wishes to free all sentient beings. Well guess what? The Pretenders are very much sentient. He can't see that, or rather he refuses to due to the trauma of witnessing Orion Pax's slow death. He also does not see many others as sentient in light of his fear of the Pretenders. The Insecticons are on the chopping block just because they share traits with the Pretenders. Beastformers have never been looked on fondly, and in light of the Pretenders, they are also not taken to kindly. By seeing them this way, they have turned to the Pretenders (which will be shown in later writing I have planned).

By refusing to see the Pretenders are sentient beings, many other minor factions are also being thrown under the bus. This has unintentionally given the Pretenders the tools they need to endure. The Pretenders were made for a purpose, and they are really fragging good at doing their job. But Megatron refusing to let go of his personal vendetta was pretty much the only thing dragging out the war. And by doing so, he forced the Pretenders to become less emotive, more calculating, and hyperactive. It is a self destructive cycle and no one is the good guy here. Both factions make things worse for each other and they make the other group more and more fanatical just by existing. There is no victory here.

Well.

That is except for Smokescreen.

He plays the LONG game.

Extra:

Fun fact about the LTSW writing process:

Almost ALL of my fics and AU's are run past my dear friend @spreadwardiard. I come up with the concept and the base for the plot, and then they help me build the idea until we settle on an amazing story. Occasionally I work on something entirely alone, but at this point pretty everything except surprise gifts/small writing projects unworthy of serious note are given to them to think about prior to the actual written work being completed.

My work would not be nearly as interesting without their input. Having a friend to polish up an idea with really is a lifesaver.

You can tell which AU's I didn't run past them because I either don't touch them anymore, the plot/timeline is rather disjointed, or its a goofy thought rather than anything super serious. That's how much I lean on the commentary of others to really get the ball rolling for my work.

[oncasette]

nsfw! first time! fingering!

when eddie finds out you’re a virgin he nearly self destructs. he knew you lacked a little experience, knew he was one of the first guys you’d dated, if not the first, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that you hadn’t done much.

when he finds out you want him to be your first time, however. dead. on the spot. develops tunnel vision and nearly passes out. but he’s so eager. as soon as he regains his ability to breathe, he’s dragging you into his bedroom with his hands glued to your waist. his lips are everywhere that he can get them. your neck, your cheeks, your shoulders, your lips. god he can’t separate himself from you long enough to remove either of your clothes before he’s throwing the both of you on his bed.

“are you sure about this, baby?” he asks. his hands have stayed fairly tame up until this point, but you can feel them ghosting at the waist band of your shorts now.

“i’m sure. i trust you, eddie,” you whisper as he slips his fingers into the elastic of your waistband. his fingers are cold against your skin as they slide down, cold as they skim the cotton fabric of your damp panties.

“you been thinkin’ about me, angel?” he asks as presses small kisses to the seam of your jaw.

the yes that comes out is barely more than a gasp as he slides your panties to the side just enough to swipe his middle finder through your arousal.

“more, eddie. please,” you whimper. he’s sliding his finger through your folds just fast enough to have your hips bucking into him, but you think you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t do just a little bit more.

“more?” you feel his finger notch at your entrance. “with this tight little hole?”

“please,” you whimper again, sending eddie’s hips into your thigh. you can feel his cock, then, pulsing and rock hard through his pants.

you hear his breath hitch as he pushes the tip of his middle finger in. you’re wet enough that it slides in easily, but it doesn’t stop the pinching feeling that has you wincing slightly.

“i know, baby. i know. gonna feel real good in just a second,” he says. “you tell me when i need to stop and i stop.”

nodding only stalls his movements.

“i need you to tell me you understand, baby.”

“understand,” you hum, pushing your hips into his hand.

“angel.”

“i understand, eddie.”

your hips shake as he pushes his finger further in. your nerves are practically raw with the new sensation, with how full you feel, even with only one of his digits brushing up against your walls.

his thumb is grazing your clit, circling it in feather light touches as he inches his finger in. it sends your hips shooting forward, trembling.

“that feel good?” he asks, breath hot against your neck.

“yeah,” you exhale. “weird.”

he applies more direct pressure to your clit then. his middle finger stops moving completely, buried to the hilt.

“oh, fuck,” you whine.

“you gonna cum from this, sweetheart? just from having one in of my fingers in your pretty little pussy? don’t even have to move it for ya, huh?” he teases. you think his voice would be enough to get you there on its own. the slow drawl he’s got, the gravel in his tone.

he helps you ride it out when it hits you, hissing at the feel of how tight you squeeze his finger as he slows the movement of his thumb. every nerve in your body is white hot and you feel like a puddle of goo as soon as it dissipates.

“we’ll work you up to fitting my cock, honey,” he says before he pulls his hands away from your sensitive cunt.

[tboyvampire]

Could you save my soul tonight?

A 2004-era Frerard fanfic

—

“I’ve fucking had it with this shit.”

The tensions had been rising on the bus for weeks now. As the band snaked its way across the states, scraping by as they stopped in the smallest towns any of them had ever seen, the energy on the bus grew corrosive. At first it was the sleep and the food, both of which were scarce to come by most days. The boys each hit their own respective tipping points and had to cope in the ways they could manage - Ray dove head first into jamming with other bands, Mikey would disappear for days on end with whatever new boy picked him up that week, and who knows what the fuck Bob was up to most days. Gerard slipped, tripped, fell down his own dark path, sliding closer to oblivion. Frank grew more resentful of the chaos that was threatening to destroy them all.

The wear of the road marked itself differently on each boy. For the Way brothers, it had two distinct manifestations - those dark circles that grew with each passing day (Mikey disguised them with his frames and those long bangs, while Gerard passed them off as a sartorial choice by emphasizing them with makeup), but anyone who was on that bus would tell you it was really all about their smell. It hung like a thick musk in the air on the bus, only emphasized when you drew closer to either of their bunks. It was so pervasive that it almost became imperceptible after a while, but as soon as your nose caught a whiff of fresh air again, the smell would just deepen by comparison. Frank likened it to toxoplasmosis, the cat shit parasite that zombifies a cat owner and calls them to do the cat’s bidding. As weird as it sounds, the smell had a grip on him, and he couldn’t shake it. It stirred up all kinds of feelings within him, not all of which he had words for. Disgust and anger, sure, but also comfort, familiarity, and a deeper feeling somewhere below his stomach. He couldn’t help but notice he missed it when it was gone.

It was impossible for Frank not to notice Gerard’s self destructive spiral. It was cute at first, sure, seeing your friend discover himself. Something blossomed in the kid - he gained a sense of real identity and confidence, and the magnetism was palpable. He knew he had hit something special in his music, his lyrics, and he started to get cocky. The rockstar trope exists for a reason - that kind of street-heretic manic frenzy is a hotbed for creative expression, when it can be channeled properly. But Gee, poor fuck, was slowly spinning out. Bert wasn’t helping.

Something volatile was happening between Gerard and Bert, who had become sort of funhouse-mirror versions of one another, reflecting back the pain and genius in each other in blown-out proportions. Gerard clearly loved Bert’s confidence, his puckish charm, the chaos vortex he created around himself. Bert saw Gerard’s genius clear as day, and from the first moment he met him, he knew that genius would yank him far away from the maze of shitty tour vans and hot asphalt they lost themselves in most nights. But for now, this was their home, their domain. Frank could hear the two of them some nights, when they were too drunk to remember to keep it down. They always denied it in the morning.

The tour had been dragging on for weeks by the time the tension reached a boiling point. There was something in the air that day - Gee had given a fucking abysmal performance and Frank’s stage presence wasn’t enough to overshadow it this time. It was mortifying, really. Gerard could barely sing, he was sweating booze through his skin in the beating sun; his fucking pants fell down. The boys had gotten off that stage and all gone their separate ways, unsure of how to face up to the embarrassment of that experience.

Frank floated through the rest of his day, furious. He knew something had to shift, something major. Gerard had to finally fucking understand he couldn’t keep going on like this. A traditional intervention was completely out of the question. How could he hit Gee where it hurt, while simultaneously showing him how much he cared? Thoughts swarmed his head as he killed time, waiting for it to get dark.

Frank couldn’t say exactly what pushed him over the edge- true death by a thousand cuts. He sat pensive in the bus as the night grew darker, waiting for Gee to show himself. Time ticked by and the pain in Frank’s chest only grew. Then, he heard Gee talking to himself like a goddamn madman outside the tour bus, slamming into the bus as he walked by, gently shaking it. That finally sent Frank over the edge.

“Nah, fuck this, I’m done.” Frank’s vision went red with anger. He was tired of being second best, tired of this man acting like he’s hot shit when he was quickly destroying all they had worked so hard to get.

Something absolutely snapped within Frank, and his impulse to destroy kicks in. His head filled with a stingy hot anger, effervescent at his temples, radiating out down his neck and through his arms. This ends tonight. He grabbed the duct tape that they keep around to repair the tour van, and headed outside into the hot August night.

—

Frank comes around the tour bus to find Gerard, swaying and smoking a cigarette, holding what must be his sixth beer of the evening. “Bitch, you have gotten on my last nerve,” he growls under his breath. Gee looks up, caught off guard by Frank’s sudden appearance. Frank locks his eyes on Gerard, smirks, and steps towards him.

“You have no idea how fucking exhausting you can be sometimes, do you?”

Gerard looks at Frank first with amusement, and then a jolt of fear rushes through his body. Fuck, Frank is MAD. What the fuck did I do?

Frank steps toe-to-toe with Gerard and inhales deeply in a vain attempt to collect himself. Even in the open air, Gerard’s thick smell fills Frank’s nose, lungs, and permeates him deeply. With a quick shove, Frank slams Gerard up against the side of the bus, his head knocking against the metal. Frank reaches his hand for Gee’s thigh, tracing his way up his jeans, over the belt, gently catching on the bottom of his t-shirt and tracing on his stomach before moving up, across his chest, up his neck, and finally, along his jawline. Frank firmly grasps Gerard’s face in his hand, and with that, steps forward and moves their bodies even closer together. The anger and tension mix together in the hot summer air and give Frank a clear message - I’m going to make this fucker listen.. I’m going to make him pay. The power and focus move through Frank’s body, down his chest, filling him with an intoxicating clarity of purpose. Suddenly he begins to feel his cock growing hard, almost filling itself with his rage, and everything seems to click into place. Ah shit, this is what this is about, isn’t it?

Gerard keeps his eyes pinned on Frank’s.. not that he has much of a choice, as their faces are mere inches away from one another’s, and Frank has his head held firmly in place. Gerard suddenly feels a cool rush flow through his body, from his chest down into the deepest reaches of his soul. He’s trembling. It’s an abysmal loss of power, instantly. His eyes widen and devolve into a pathetic pout, begging Frank..what for, he has no idea. Then, Frank pulls his face forward, moving Gee’s ear to touch Frank’s lips.

“Those pretty little puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna get you far tonight. You are a problem I am going to finally take care of. I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.. to understand the fucking mind games you have been playing with me. Act innocent all you want, but I am fucking done. This ends now. Do you understand?”

Gerard has no words, only panicked blinking, his eyelashes batting against his cheeks in a flurry. He doesn’t understand, at all. How could he possibly understand?

Right hand still gripped on Gee’s jaw, Frank pushes Gerard back into the warm metal of the tour bus again, harder this time. With his left hand, Frank grabs Gerard between the legs and squeezes, clamping down on his swollen balls and half-hard cock. “Does that make this any clearer?”

“Yes, Frankie,” Gerard musters through his gripped-shut jaw as a surge of pain moves through his body. As the words escape his mouth, he begins to sink even further.

“You see, Gerard.. you and your behavior lately have been absolutely disgusting, but I don’t think you have actually felt any of it. You’ve deflected it towards us without feeling any of it for yourself. That changes now. I am going to make you feel your full dose of shame so we can move on from this once and for all.” Frank lets go of Gerard’s face, digs his knee between Gerard’s legs, and brandishes the duct tape that has been held around Frank’s left wrist. Frank finds the edge of the tape, picks up the corner and loudly rips off a strip of duct tape. “Put your hands above your head, faggot,” spitting his anger out as that last word escaped his lips. Gerard does as he is told, and is suddenly rock hard under his jeans.

Frank slaps a piece of the silver duct tape to Gerard’s wrists and wraps it around once, twice, three times. He seals the wrist tape off, and holds Gerard’s immobilized wrists to the side of the tour bus. Gee’s breath is quick and shallow, staring at Frank’s face as he focuses intently on restraining him.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Gerard whimpers. He is so shocked that he can barely process the information in front of him and react. “What the hell is this about, man?” He feels like he could cry, if the shock wasn’t paralyzing him.

“Seriously Gee, you have no idea what this could be about? You are a fucking train wreck. You’re wasted all of the time. Dude, your fucking pants fell down on stage the today. You forgot the words to Vampires for fuck’s sake. VAMPIRES!! And worst of all, you fucking reek.”

Gerard averts his eyes, mind racing. He had always been self conscious of his smell, and when he had given up on keeping his life together on tour, his rigorous personal hygiene routine was the first to go. Screaming on a stage for an hour, not sleeping, getting up and doing it again day after day did not leave much room for showers. But even before then, Gerard had a particular acrid bite to his presence. The few girls he had been with had said they liked it in a weird way, but he never quite believed it. It drove Bert wild though, and so Gee didn’t have much motivation for keeping it under control, even though he knew it meant subjecting everyone on the bus to his filth.

“Frankie, dude, I’m okay. I promise. And you know how bad camp showers freak me out. I can’t take my shirt off in front of these guys.”

“And why would that be?”

Gerard falls deep into thought again. He couldn’t find the words to express the fact that taking his shirt off meant reckoning with his physical form and exposing himself to the prying eyes of others. Sure, he sang in front of a crowd every night, but that was a performance. This was different.. this was something intimately him, that he couldn’t bear to show others. Not now.

“Uh, I… don’t want to be seen?” Gerard was searching for the right phrase to get Frank to chill the fuck out and untie him, let him hide in his own private death spiral once again.

“Bullshit, motherfucker. If you didn’t want to be seen, you wouldn’t have holes in your fucking shirt.” Frank grabbed Gerard’s chest, dug a thumb into a small hole in the center of the Motörhead shirt he had been wearing every day for years, and pulled. A loud rip signaled that the shirt had been shredded in half, hanging on by the collar at the top.

“Dude, c’mon, you know I only have like, three shirts.” Gee’s eyes welled up with tears, deeply unsettled and honestly scared. Something was off with Frank tonight, and this was escalating, quickly.

Frank laughs, staring at Gee’s terrified expression. “You’re finally realizing what kind of trouble you’re in, aren’t you?” Frank’s fingerless-glove clad hands reach up to pinch Gerard’s puffy exposed nipples, hard. Gee lets out a sharp yelp, immediately quieting himself down once he catches himself, and quickly moving his duct-taped arms down to cover his chest in a vain attempt to fend off Frank. He looks down to see his body, laid bare through the ripped shirt, his arms stuck to one another with no further range of motion. Frank grips Gerard’s wrists and pins them above his head again.

“You’re not gonna get very far fending me off like that, bitch. I know you want this, I can feel how hard your fucking cock is for me right now. Turned on being exposed like this, feeling my hands on you, squeezing these perky little tits.” Frank’s hand comes down swiftly on Gerard’s chest, smacking his nipple with a sharp clap. “You like being treated like the filthy little faggot you are, don’t you?”

Gee was fucking done for. With those words, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth involuntarily opening and tongue slightly sticking out past his teeth. Hearing Frank call him a faggot unlocked something that had been living deep within him, begging to get out. Gerard had always fantasized about letting go of control…that was really what the whole death obsession was about, wasn’t it? Surrendering to the unknown, free-falling towards whatever laid in wait, all that shit. In this moment, he realized it wasn’t about wanting to die, but wanting to submit, be controlled, by something so much more powerful than him. And here he was, getting pinned against the tour bus by his sweet Frankie, the boy he had picked out of the scene to come create a new life with him. Gerard had always known Frank was hot, with his brand of fiery volatility that enraptured everyone who came in contact with him, but had always pushed those feelings down to be able to behave like a normal dude, to be able to create the kind of art he wanted to create with him. The desire was likely there all along, the magnetism… to Frank’s energy, the brightness in those big eyes, the way his hands moved so skillfully across the neck of his guitar. Come to think of it, he had had some dreams…

Frank licked Gerard’s ear, sending shock waves through his system. Letting go of his grip on Gerard’s wrists, he grabbed his waist and began pawing at him hungrily. Frank’s mouth kissed his way down Gee’s neck, his clavicle, and then off to the right to Gee’s armpit. Frank breathed deeply, filling his body and mind with this pungent presence. It tugged at something deep within him, made him feel like he was bonded to this person for life, that he would do anything to serve this man that he had tied up to the outside of the bus. Really, this was a service, to try to save Gerard by any means necessary. Why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun with it while he was at it?

Frank opened his mouth and traced a soft tongue from the bottom of Gerard’s pit, around the edges, soaking up the sweet sweat that had been building for the better part of the week. He then stuck out his tongue and licked bottom-to-top once, twice, three times, feeling his soft hairs and sticky sweet skin. He wanted to drink this man up, every last drop there was. He was going to make Gerard his tonight… mark him in some indelible way that will fuel each of them for the rest of their days.

Gerard squirmed, bucked his hips under Frank as he continued to kiss his armpit. He felt so extremely exposed, but also so seen, so held by the way Frank was approaching his flesh. Gerard knew that he was about to give himself over to this man, in ways he could not yet imagine. Gerard’s cock ached under his pants, harder than it had ever been before.

Frank slowly stopped and moved his face to meet Gerard’s again, their noses touching. He ran one hand through Gee’s hair, and the other one reached down to begin unbuckling his belt, getting ready for what was yet to come. Making fierce eye contact and brandishing a condescending smirk, Frank grew ready to really lay into him. “Bitch, you smell awful.” Gerard was confronted with his smell head-on, face to face. It was so pungent on Frank’s nose and mouth that Gerard almost passed out, first from the smell, then from the shame that washed over him like a wave, emptying him of any meaning or feeling that came before.

“Open your mouth, slut.” Gerard obliged immediately, sticking his tongue out eagerly. Frank spat in Gerard’s mouth and Gerard’s eyes rolled back, his hips swirling again. “Mmm, fuck yeah. It’s time for you to show me what else that mouth can do, bitch. Get on your knees.”

Gerard dropped instantly, his knees knocking on the asphalt, his head rested against the bus. Frank’s cock was right in front of his face, bulging out of his pants. Frank quickly unbuckled his belt, flipping open the button and slowly undoing the fly of his tight black jeans. To Gerard’s surprise, Frank was not wearing any underwear, his cock begging to be released as the fly was lowered. His cock sprung out, erect and already dripping pre-cum. Gerard was hungry and immediately launched himself onto Frank’s cock, first licking up the drop on the head of his cock, and then quickly lowering himself down, sucking his way back up and plunging his way down again. Bert had been teaching him a thing or two, and he was excited to get to show Frankie what he had learned.

Frank let out an audible moan as Gerard latched himself onto his cock. Honestly, Frank was caught off guard; he thought he was going to have to force his way into that talented little throat. After realizing his good fortune, he began to gently rock himself back and forth, thrusting himself down deeper each time Gerard came back down. His movements began to quicken as he became aware of the situation around them; holy shit, they were outside at Warped Tour... Gerard was tied up and sucking his cock… anyone could walk over at any point. Fuck, that turned him on. What if another person wanted to join in? What if Bert went looking for his little plaything? Maybe a sneaky fan would come up and take a photo, immortalizing this fucked up moment forever? The possibility sent shivers down his spine.

Gerard was lost in a hazy bliss as he continued to take Frank deeper and deeper in his throat. His mind went fuzzy, drifting into a trance-like state as he centered on his singular purpose- Frank’s rock hard cock in his mouth. The rhythmic pulse was steady and strong, punctuated by some divine moments when Frank would pause his thrusting and sink himself even deeper down Gerard’s throat. Gerard gazed up, his focus blurry, as everything around him slowly drifted away. He had never seen anything as beautiful as Frank’s face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and deep, deep anger. Now, Gerard’s only purpose in this life was to keep this man satisfied. His duct-taped arms hung down by his chest, frustratingly too high to rub against his cock, but that didn’t stop him from futilely rocking his hips in a desperate attempt to give himself some release.

Frank was in a state of frantic ecstasy, gripping fistfuls of Gerard’s long dark hair from the nape of his neck as he used his throat to its full capacity. He closed his eyes tight out of habit, and as soon as he looked down and caught Gerard’s desperate gaze, a wave of relief overtook him. The absolute devotion that shone back up at him was more than he could have ever asked for. He knew instinctively that Gee understood, that he was going to do anything he could to make Frank proud from that point forward. The relief washed over him, and the sensation deep within his cock crested. He bit his lip, gaze still fixed on Gerard’s beautiful eyes, let out a muffled moan, and released his cum into Gerard’s mouth.

The sensation seemed to collapse time; both boys spun slowly in the balance of everything that had come before, and everything that was going to follow. The importance of this moment, this connection, came crashing down on both of them, transcending the barriers of their skin, their physical connection. Their souls were wedded. They each knew instinctively that this intensity was only going to deepen from here.

Gerard knelt before Frank with a mouth full of cum, savoring the taste, the warm stickiness, the volume. Frank didn’t waste a moment before yanking Gerard up by his jaw, and then swiftly smacking him clear across the face. Gerard gagged and spat the mouthful of cum out, letting it slowly drip down his face, desperately turned on and still rendered absolutely helpless. Frank let out a sharp laugh, wiped the cum off Gerard’s face, and then fed it back to him by shoving his fingers deep down his throat. Gerard felt like he was about to cum himself, completely entranced by the power that Frank wielded over him.

Frank took a moment to catch his breath before launching into the next act; harnessing the sexual power he wielded over Gerard in this moment to cement his point deep within him. Frank brandished a smirk and began laughing to himself, silently, as Gerard struggled to compose himself. “You look so pathetic, covered in my cum, shirt ripped in half, arms taped together, hair a goddamn mess. You can’t even pretend to keep your composure. You can’t even hold my eye contact for fuck’s sake. But oh, Gee, you did such a great job. I feel like you’re finally starting to understand what I need from you. I need your devotion, your servitude, from this point forward. Do you understand me?”

Gerard was squirming, eyes rolling back and then trying to focus again on the man in front of him, cock so tense it was about to implode. He nodded his head enthusiastically and attempted to muster a yes, but he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. He just drooled on himself again, releasing a mix of spit and cum down his face.

Frank laughed, audibly this time. “Fuck, we need to take care of you, don’t we, baby?” Gerard didn’t even attempt a response this time; he was completely gone. Frank reached down to feel Gerard’s cock through his pants and was shocked at how violently he quivered under his touch. Frank could not wait to get his hand around his cock and make him beg for his release, to fully surrender into his desire. Frank unbuckled Gerard’s belt, undid the zipper and pulled down his pants, exposing his aching cock.

Frank took Gerard’s cock in his hand and smacked his balls with his other, reveling as Gerard convulsed in pain and pleasure. He rubbed the palm of his hand on the tip, covering it in pre-cum, and used that to stroke him firmly up and down. Gerard’s knees began shaking; he nearly collapsed from sheer overwhelm. Frank wanted to hold his pathetic little slut in this state for as long as humanly possible, but knew deep down that Gerard might literally pass out if he kept this up much longer.

Frank pressed his body against Gerard’s and kept a steady rhythm with one hand as he continued to hold Gerard’s taped arms firmly above his head. He was ready to give Gerard what he needed. “Okay, listen up…I’ll only let you cum if you promise to behave, to leave all that bullshit behind. You’re gonna make me proud, aren’t you, Gee? You promise to be a good little slut for me?” Gerard began nodding furiously, attempting to squeak out a yes but only mustering a series of moans that grew louder and louder. He fell into absolute abandon; it didn’t matter who heard; it didn’t matter what happened from this point forward… Everything was exactly as it needed to be, right now.

“Then cum for me, faggot.” Gerard let out a high-pitched moan and released immediately as the words escaped Frank’s mouth. The cum shot straight up in short and intense bursts, landing across his exposed chest and ripped Motörhead shirt. He bucked wildly, thrusting himself into Frank’s tight grip again and again as every ounce of sexual power drained itself from his body. Gerard’s sexual release lent itself to an emotional release, too. The boy started crying; softly at first, and then sobbing deeply to the rhythm of his already convulsing body.

Frank couldn’t believe what he was seeing; something deep cracked within Gerard. He held him in close, and let out a single tear. “Oh Gee, baby… you did a great job. Come on, let’s get you fixed up.” Frank knelt down, bit the duct tape, and ripped it off swiftly. He embraced Gerard as he stood there, bawling his eyes out, covered in both of their cum. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You know I love you, right?”

Gerard looked up at Frank, calmed his heaving body with a few deep breaths, and softly pronounced, “I love you too, Frankie.”

—

On stage the next day, the energy felt different. Not only was Gerard sober, but there was a newfound electricity in their performance that was palpable for the band and crowd alike. Halfway through the set, something overtook Gerard. In between verses, he moved close to Frank, grabbed his face, his hair, and kissed him for everyone to see. Frank looked at him, shocked, but also so deeply moved by this public display of affection. There was no room for shame anymore.

[synthient]

When Neo ruefully says that his video game self is "maybe a little too much" like him, the moment he flashes back to is his screen-selves yelling at the Architect.

Which implies that the one thing he feels the most retrospective shame about--his most embarrassing piece of self-recognition--is the one time in reloaded+revolutions that he allowed himself anger.

And note that he didn't even really allow it. At most, that was the Architect holding up a mirror to the inner feelings that Neo was outwardly, and successfully, repressing.

In the trilogy, Neo's emotional repression is part of his character-defining selflessness. He's a martyr, he's a monk, and he's completely subsuming his personal feelings into the role of the One.

In resurrections, Neo is still emotionally repressed (despite-slash-because of the Analyst's "adaptive anger" therapy), but it's taken a new form. Instead of stoic immovability, Neo has leaned into meek accommodation. His body language is curled inward, like he's afraid of taking up too much space. He doesn't speak up for his artistic vision. He doesn't stand up to Smith (while flashing back to the version of himself that was still capable of flipping him off). Any genuine thought or feeling he has must be delusional, and something he needs to stamp out.

(If we could read trilogy Neo as a deadening, reflexive performance of masculinity, then resurrections Neo is being just aware enough of your transfemininity to spiral about how it would be unforgivably inappropriate to even speak to the cute woman at the coffee shop)

This is encapsulated in Neo's fight with Morpheus 2.0. Neo has lost all will for self-defense. He's the perfect punching bag.

Which is the point where Morpheus, and the movie, suggests: maybe our Ultimate Martyr could stand to be a little more selfish!

In the trilogy, it was Smith’s selfishness (literally turning the entire world into an extension of the self) that made him Neo's dark mirror. In Resurrections, Smith is still narrowly focused on his own freedom and self-actualization--to which the movie pretty much takes the approach of "and good for him ☕️". Trinity also gets to embrace selfishness, finally prioritizing her own desires over tending the needs of the nuclear family.

What's interesting, I think, is that this doesn't really end up extending to Neo himself.

Morpheus and Smith both try to prod Neo into fighting for himself--for his life, for his freedom, for his pride, for the basic things he deserves as an autonomous person--and they both fail. Ultimately, Neo can only be talked into fighting for Trinity.

There are a few different interpretations of this we could take. If Trinity is in part a symbolic representation of Neo's ideal self, then maybe freeing her is his act of self-actualization and self-love. Or maybe a healthy amount of selfishness is a nice thing to strive for in the long term, but not something Neo's going to Fix about himself within 48 hours.

Or maybe it's something he'll never really "fix" at all. Maybe being Thee Martyr Complex Guy is just too central to who he is as a person. In the best case scenario, the people who love him can talk him down from his most self-destructive/self-abnegating impulses. Bugs can drag him back from the edge. Morpheus can remind him he deserves better. Trinity can get violent revenge for the both of them.

Not an individual bootstrapping of selfhood, but selfhood based in communal support.

[kellterntempest]

OKAY *breaks down door* Time for my sad Boom!Stobotnik au thoughts!!!!!!

@inkbats-writing 's tag killed me in best way and inspired me

Stone is the one who filed the divorce.  

He believed everything they built together was broken, that he felt broken. (Hello internalized ableism) He thought he'd become just like another of Eggman's malfunctioning projects that the Doctor needed to fix. Stone tried to carry on like nothing happened, but Eggman refused to let it go.

"We can't just go back to normal villainy again! You almost died, just look at what's happened to you! You're acting like nothing happened!"

Nearly losing the love of his life had changed something in Eggman and he reacted in extremes. 

Out of guilt, and fear, Eggman forced Stone out a huge part of his life - swearing up and down it was because he was protecting him and also, that he was the supervillain husband and he always knew best. but the trust in each other was crumbling.

Stone kept refusing Eggman's helicopter caretaking, feeling lower than he'd ever felt in his life. Feeling rejected, useless and distrusted. He couldn't sleep, barely eating, and his recovery was hell. 

Pain, jealousy, bitterness, and resentment all winding up in both of them. 

Eventually at one point, Eggman's feelings of self righteous resentment finally slip through. "It wouldn't BE so difficult if you weren't dragging me down so much! After all I'm trying to do for you, you just don't seem to appreciate any of it! It's just mope 24/7 with you!!"

"Me? I don't appreciate you? You've got it the wrong way around!"

Throwing words that cut, out of pain and frustration. Needing to feel seen and heard, without either really thinking about the damage hurled.

"What was I thinking – I should never have given you a part in my plans. You should have stayed where you were, as my accountant!"

"Do you really think you can win anything without me? Without my designs? My ideas? Where would you be without me?"

"You arrogant prick! You think that lowly of me, all this time? I'm the brains, I'm the brawn, I don't need you to be a big bad supervillain!"

Silence. Then, "Sometimes I wish I never met you."

After days upon days of this spiraling and endless fighting, Stone called his lawyer. He decided to leave. They'd be better off apart, he didn't want to hear any more of what Eggman had to say, didn't want to hear apologies, or promises to fix things. He'd take his chances alone. He thought he would finish recovering on his own and be rid of it all. No more powerlessness, no more pain, no more feeling small and smothered. He thought for sure that Eggman didn't want him anymore, not in this state. 

And after the long, arduous and stressful divorce proceedings happening over months and months time, they finally both signed the documents….

And Stone regretted it instantly. Every day, he wished his old life back – he wanted his body back and their relationship back too.

But there was no going back. He had to learn to live with and accept his present life, what he lost, and his injury that would never heal.

And it was a brutal riot. Stone, a usually quiet, polite and composed man, went off the rails like a complete wrecking ball to cope. One can only bury feelings underneath for so long before they explode.

Meaningless destruction, senseless arson, sabotage, all sorts of skullduggery to get back at Eggman.

It's just what supervillains do. 

Stone dove back into the world of villainy headfirst, back into his circle of mafia friends on the mainland and started his own villainous campaign. He'd prove that he would be just as powerful and unstoppable. Chasing his dream for reasons that he told himself were right and justified.

But deep down Stone missed Eggman so, so much. Cried so many tears, angry and heartbroken. He kept his wedding ring on his person, in a locket attached to a silver cord. Half in spite, half in heartbreak, to remind himself what he needed to do. That he couldn't give up, and fail Eggman, again, like Eggman had said he would (at the end of one of their heated fights)

[bluegekk0]

Hi!, hope you have a good day.

My question is if grimm let his body decay more often after fpk dissapeared, i remember you said he became numb after it.

hi! thank you, same to you! ❤️

to answer your question - yeah, most definitely, especially right after fpk's disappearance. he returned to hallownest a few times in hopes he'd find him there, but to no avail, and the realization that his love was most likely gone for good broke him

before he doubled down on drinking and other (arguably self-destructive) activities, he had a long period where he would simply stay in his tent all day long. and during that time, he stopped caring about the state of his body. he had no energy or will to leave, brumm and divine had to pretty much drag him out to prevent his body from completely withering away. after all, the troupe needed its master, without him it would inevitably fall apart

and thanks to the effort on their part, that period passed after some time. he started leaving his tent again, taking the troupe out to enjoy their time, and you'd think everything was back to normal. but looking closely, you'd notice there was still something off about him, like his thoughts weren't exactly all there. he'd stare into the distance, longing for something he thought he had lost forever, and if someone asked him about it, he'd change the topic and pretend like everything is fine. he wouldn't tell anyone about it, not even his most trusted allies, instead he hid behind a mask, lying to himself and everyone else. in his worst moments, he would lash out in anger. he would occasionally raise his voice at the troupe members if something didn't go according to his plan, and whenever he went out to hunt for blood, he'd act a lot more violent towards his victims than ever before

i realize i've gone a bit off topic again, but to bring it back on point: i think after that period i mentioned, he wouldn't let his body decay as often. he was still heartbroken, but his troupe responsibilities eventually got him back on track, at least seemingly, and that included returning to a more regular ritual cycle. i do believe it still happened occasionally, though - he had moments where his numbness would take over, but fortunately they weren't as severe as before. and that continued until he eventually reunited with fpk years later. of course, he wasn't magically fixed - instead, his numbness turned into obsessive worrying, as he's terrified that he may lose fpk again. he's certainly much happier now, that is clear, but he unfortunately hasn't properly recovered after fpk's disappearance all those years ago. safe to say, they both need therapy hahaha

[justanoutlawfic]

I was thinking about Rose lately 🌹such a lovely OC so far! But when I am not thinking about OUAT haha, I wanna talk about season 1 in storybrooke for her (Juliana Stem maybe her cruse name?? Idk yet what do u think?) 💖

Since in season 1 she’s the youngest and a student teacher, I believe she looks up to Mary Margaret while under the curse. They are literally besties and sharing a lot of time together even with Emma (aka her niece) as well. Rose even knows about David cause she helped find him and maybe also encouraging Mary Margaret’s crush finding it adorable 👀 She’s always at the loft hanging out with them and Henry too. Speaking of Henry, I believe he definitely tried telling her who her REAL self is and her story dragging her along on missions with Emma. It was a bit hard for her to believe the ideas Henry gave since it’s mainly stories to her even though she knows what the book contains inside. The hope and dreams!

However she stumbles onto Rumple aka Mr Golds shop discovering items from her past like jewelry that Mr Gold encourages to her take as a gift for her kindness towards him?? 🤔 Maybe her and Rumple had a mini past together since like you said, Rose did end up siding with Regina for a while. But let’s be honest Rumple had a past with almost every character on the show so he could’ve discovered Rose on his own without Regina’s involvement. Just spitballing here but like I can see Rumple saw her as a strong ally or a surrogate daughter for him creating an almost caring father-daughter relationship since they both lost family members.

I really love this idea! Especially her cursed name.

I wouldn't choose to have Rumple act as a surrogate father, however. He wasn't exactly a good influence on Regina and is part of her destruction. They'd definitely have a past but it's tainted by memories of him helping Regina bring down her sister and ruining their relationship. Even cursed, I think she'd be freaked out by him until he started helping Emma and Mary Margaret. In the end, she'd feel equally as played that once again, she was just a means to an end. Used by Regina to cast the curse, used by Rumple to break it. Truly, no one wants her for her. (Snow does, but she doesn't feel like her sister *could* want her after all is said and done) I do think Regina and Rose will make up at one point. Rumple would have a great deal of respect for Rose but she'd never trust him again, similar to Snow and David.

She definitely doesn't believe in Henry's book, but like you said, she wants to. Like everyone, Juliana wouldn't have family. Though in her cursed memories, I do see her knowing she had a falling out with her family and is scared to find them, much like Emma is scared to find her bio parents. Little do either realize they're right near their family.

I have the headcanon that Rose threw away the snowflake necklace Eva gave her when she thought her sister killed her father. Under the curse, both necklaces end up in the shop. Juliana buys the snowflake one to thank MM for being such a great mentor. MM buys the rose one as a gift for her completing her student teaching.

I am so glad you love Rose as much as I do! I hope to write a fic with her soon. Likely not a S1 AU as I've done so many, but maybe a S2 fic once the dust from the curse has settled.

[mothra-mcyt]

☾ MCYT's reaction to a gen z reader ☽

!Warnings: mentions of self deprecating jokes!

》 Dream 《

That guy loves your chaotic energy and always pranks other people with you

Would definitely laugh along with your depressing jokes but after a while would get concerned and ask if you're okay

Immediately puts you into the Dream SMP thinking you're gonna be a good character always on his side

Then you end up just end up annoying him (especially when he's in prison) so he threatens you

You can't keep yourself together and just end up having a laugh flash

You once definitely called him a chad for watching football and a boomer which lead to him getting very defensive

》 George 《

Would honestly just end up annoying and pranking Dream with you

You would definitely call him a bottom on multiple occasions. At one point he just accepts it

Gets very concerned at your jokes

You guys definitely make weird tiktoks together

Will just go along with it when you start ranting about how capitalism is the source of all evil

He will also be a victim of your pranks and he can't do anything about it

》 Sapnap 《

Would definitely make jokes about committing arson with you (sometimes he doesn't know if you're joking or being serious about committing arson)

You two are dnf biggest shippers and no i don't take any criticism

When he finds out how touch starved you are he will definitely ask if you two ca platonically cuddle together

You would also be his biggest enemy though always saying how you're going to fight him when you meet him

Will ask you if you have eaten and how much to make sure you eat enough

Definitely anime marathons on discord together when you both can't sleep

》 Badboyhalo 《

This man would be so concerned

Even if you don't swear he still wants to say language at all the self deprecating things you say

You tell him that you don't care that he has a gun and knows how to throw knifes to which he asks why because people should definitely be afraid of that in his opinion

When you tell him that you don't care if you die he gets so much more concerned

Would be the parent who always stops you from doing stupid and dangerous shit 24/7

You definitely called him a boomer once when he said "Language"

》 Awesamdude 《

That man is taking care of you and making sure you’re okay 24/7

After you told him that you haven’t slept in 2 days with you’re reasoning being “Why not” he always makes sure that you get at least 8 hours of sleep per day

Honestly just dad energy

We know that literally half of gen z have daddy issues and when he finds out you didn’t have a good father figure growing up he’s like “I’m your dad now.”

“Have you drank water today?” “Does energy drink/iced coffee count as-” “No they don’t count as water. Go get a glass of water right now.”

At first he wanted to stop you from saying self deprecating jokes but after a while he just gave up. 

》 Tommyinnit 《 (platonic)

Chaotic energy²

When the two of you have a plan no one will be able to stop you even harder if Tubbo is with you guys

Honestly just laughs about your self deprecating jokes and says “same”

The two of you have never respected authorities in your entire life and you two will not start

As soon as someone talks shit about the other person hell breaks loose and their ego will get completely destroyed

When role playing on the Dream SMP you guys will definitely just laugh at Dream trying to be threatening  

》 Tubbo 《 (platonic)

Depressing jokes. 24/7.You know it’s true. (The people around you will be so concerned for the two of you oh god)

We know very well that Tubbo is not innocent and flirts (makes sex jokes) as a joke with other people his age so he would definitely do that with you if you’re comfortable

The two of you will definitely stay up til the middle of the night playing games (chess, csgo, minecraft etc.)

Whenever someone (probably an authority) is trying to get you guys to do something both of you are just like: No <3

》 Fundy 《

Honestly he completely relates to you

The being touch starved, the loneliness

Difference is he is not used to people joking about those topics to cope

So he's very concerned

"Y/N this is really relatable but are you okay?"

Streams with you two sometimes just end as therapy sessions and both of you desperately need it

He always drags you along to prank people and when the person gets mad he blames it on you and just leaves

》 Wilbur 《

Big brother energy

You are now his little sibling and you cannot stop him

Will definitely cause much chaos with you (poor Philza trying to keep you two under control)

When you two do dangerous stuff he's the one making sure you don't hurt yourself

Whenever someone is mean to you he will definitely destroy them

Will make sure you get enough sleep and will keep you company when you can't sleep

He absolutely loves that you don't give a shit if someone is an authority or not

》 Schlatt 《

He absolutely hates how you not give a shit about what he says to you and how you just roast him

His humor is already broken so he's probably laugh at your jokes and while trying to stop himself from laughing he'll ask if you're okay

Honestly he's just confused on how you're still alive with not taking care of yourself and always getting yourself into dangerous situations

You definitely called him a boomer once

You guys would probably make political jokes constantly

》 Technoblade 《

Anarchy. Lots of it.

Both of you have just random conversation where you start talking about the things you're obsessed with

Both of you are probably gonna have a short attention spam leading to a lot of funny situations

Absolutely loves how you don't give a shit about authorities

Being awkward together in social situations but standing up for eachother

I can just imagine you with the "He asked for no pickles" meme while he doesn't know what to say

》 Philza 《

He is your dad now and he doesn't care if you want him to be.

(He honestly already kinda expected your father figure to be shitty because he knows his audience)

Oh lord when he finds out how you're not able to take care of yourself

When meeting you irl will actually sit down with you and have a talk about you not taking care of yourself

You: "Sometimes i'll just sleep for 14 hours and then i won't sleep for 3 days."

Phil: "...I will punt you into the sun when i meet you irl you idiot."

I could honestly write so much more about Philza basically adopting a young reader

》 Ranboo 《 (platonic)

Constant sassyness

Gen Z x 2

You two would understand eachother so well

Constant zoomer slang and no one except Tubbo and Tommy will be able to understand it

Both of your humor is just so broken and it's so concerning to everyone

Someone is being like "You will do as i say" and you two are just like "No i don't think i will"

Tiktok references. Constantly.

Sending eachother tiktok's about the other's character

》 Eret 《

You two would be good friends honestly

Eret would probably bring out the wholesome part of your personality

Also sending eachother tiktok's and making tiktok references

Arson. Lots of arson. Fire pog.

You will bring out their chaotic side

She loves how you just not give a shit about authorities

Will also make sure that you drink enough water and take care of yourself

》 Quackity 《

He's more random chaos and you're more dangerous and destructive chaos and somehow that works together really well

Definitely invites you to Jack Box streams because you just bring such funny energy into it and chat absolutely loves you

Is very concerned tho when you make self deprecating jokes and when he hears you say one he just looks completely shocked

Completely freaks out whenever you roast someone who's being a bitch (you can just hear the "Where are the askers" playing in the background)

Very dramatic energy from the both of you

Masterlist

[tokoyamisstuff]

metanoia, ch. 1

Sinister! Stephen Strange x Reader

!MoM Spoilers Ahead!

[meh-ta-noy-ah] - Greek (n.) the journey of changing one's mind; heart; self; way of life; spiritual conversion...

...or in other words: A story in which Sinister! Strange gets the Happy Ending he deserves.

Warnings: Slight Choking, Descriptions of Blood and Injury, Mentions of Mental Illness A/N: This Fic is heavily inspired by one of my favourite Strange Authors out there, @strangeprincex-writes! They also wrote a similar Story about Strange Supreme from the What If... Series, which you can read ->here<-

"Goddammit" you silently cursed as you first took in your new surroundings, which seemed to be absent of any life.

This wasn't the first time you had entered a world that had quite literally been erased from existence, and it never failed to both concern and astonish you.

Over the years of your life as an interdimensional traveler, you had witnessed quite a fair share of disasters: Dying planets, whole worlds at war, chaos spreading across the galaxy to an extend that would leave countless in a state of irreparable devastation.

Inversions however were phenomenoms that surpassed human understanding.

They brought about the destruction of every single lifeform in the respective reality, all ceasing to exist with no escape just like that. Natural laws would be nullified, the ceasing remains of this doomed place being the last and only evidence of a once flourishing world.

While many questions about the loosely strung realities remained unanswered, one thing you knew for sure about the so-called Inversions:

They were absolute.

Without even the concept of time preserving, an inversion-strickened world was damned to stay in this state of pure nothingness for all eternity - as a warning testimony of this fragile concept some called the Multiverse.

"So no food here, huh..." you thought, rubbing your belly to soothe an achingly empty stomach.

While you were able to create gateways and travel between the different realities at will, conjuring those pathways put a huge toll on your body.

You had transported yourself here with the last ounce of strenght, now left needing to recharge your power until you could jump on to a more inviting part of the Multiverse.

For now however, you'd need to endure this oppressing environment and pass some time by yourself.

At least nothing was out of the ordinary until now, and even though this world was very much dead and left in disorder it was not hostile - unlike others you had encountered.

Because as much as the possibilities of the Multiverse were temptating, crossing those paths brought forth great dangers for a visitor.

Some civilizations might be completely underwater, others were inhabited by dangerous creatures or even had a poisonous atmosphere. Laws and logic as you knew it meant nothing in some places, having experienced things that you couldn't even describe in words.

So you could proudly call yourself a surviving expert at this point, the little sorcery you've learned always being your one and only steady companion on your ongoing travels.

Ultimately, ending up in an abandoned world wasn't the worst possible option, considering you wouldn't have been able to escape immediately shall the environment not be compatible with your biology.

Some peace and quiet would do you good, you concluded.

Though you knew the city of New York from several other earths you had visited, it currently was like seeing it through a black and white filte as you aimlessly dragged yourself along the empty streets.

Finally you left the ruins of the city behind you, reaching what was once the harbor. Even though you could live without nourishment for several days, water was a essential shall you need to stay here for a while.

You crouched down where the land met water, using what little magic was left in your body to open up your own personal pocket dimension. A basic spell that came in handy more often than not, since you had filled it with all kinds of necessities over the time.

Most of your knowledge in the mystic arts revolved around survival instead of battle, though you knew a trick or two to your own self-defense. Yet sadly, casting healing magic had never been your forté, but a first-aid kit was also part ofyour inventory.

Mentally rummaging within your magical luggage, you pulled out a bottle to fill with the salty liquid. One snap of your finger and great concentration changed it's properties so it would now be harmless to drink, and you poured down the bottle in one go.

Only when the fresh water ran down your throat your body and your body began to relax, you were able to perceive the one and only light source in contrast of the otherwise sombre ambience.

There was a sole building in the middle of the shore, surrounded by the dust of an ever dissolving matter, making it appear as if covered in a thick mist.

You could've sworn to have briefly seen a silhouette behind the huge round window, and sense just the slightest magical aura surrounding the ancient structure - though whether the quality of it's source was of good or vile nature was hard to distinguish.

Nonetheless, with no better options you went forth to still your curiosity.

Never before you had crossed paths with a survivors of an Incursion, but your brief interactions with the Watcher made you learn that only the person responsible for a universe's doom could remain.

Most of the guilty chose to end their lives immediately after the incident however, unable to endure the consequences of their own actions.

So maybe it was another traveler? Yet you had never before met anyone like you, and the possibilities of two so incredibly seldom creatures to appear at the same spot were close to impossible.

Anyways, you had always strived for knowledge and experience, so whoever - or whatever - was waiting up there would be more than enough to quench your addiction for thrills for a while.

The entrance was sealed by a thick wooden door, with several indecipherable runes carved into it. An eldritch magic, you knew that much, most likely to keep out unwanted intruders.

However as soon as you hesistantly reached out for the handle, ignorant of the possible risk, the heavy gateway swung open by itself with an ear-piercing creak.

There was nothing at ground level except for a brittle staircase and the ocean stretching behind it through a collapsed wall. From what little information you could gather around here, you recognized this location as connected to the mystic arts, with relics and tombs scattered everywhere.

A huge crescent moon at the horizon was menacingly following your every step, and you wondered if you had just mistaken it's light for something else.

But then the door behind you slammed shut and undeniable noise from upstairs drang to your ear, the unexpected commotion frightening you to the bones.

There was still the ocean as possible escape route, but unable to saw it's depht you were dreading what would happen if you were to swim in an unknown body of water. Without natural laws applying here it could change it's properties randomly, making you fall or freezing you to death.

So there was no going back now, and with no better options than finding out who your host might be, you began your ascend of those sheer countless stairs.

The upper floor was covered by dust and absent of any light, making you wonder if someone might actually live in here. But then again, this universe doesn't follow any known logic.

Rule no. 1 about interdimensional travels: You know nothing.

With time not being a valid concept anymore, you did not know how to properly greet whoever was waiting for you, so you stuck with a plain. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Stop." The unexpectedly human voice made you jump, and though it sounded just as frightened as you, you froze in your tracks right on spot. "Not a single step further."

The source of this voice was that of a man, who was slowly descending from yet another floor - and he was just as you imagined a survivor of an incursion to be: Pale, ridiculously so. Disheveled, fitting right into this greyish-dark world he had most likely created himself...

...and his expression incredibly forlorn.

Certainly, this was the face of a man broken by fate itself.

Even though you did not know this person, your heart was breaking for him already. Just how many lonely eons had he spent trapped in this pointless eternity, mourning what could never be retrieved?

The thought alone drove you crazy, and bitter tears stung in your eyes as he continued his interrogation.

He was clutching the handrail of the stairs, eyeing you warily as his baritone voice asked "Who are you? What are you?"

"I-I..." You felt ridiculous, really. Weeping for a stranger whose intentions you couldn't be sure of yet. "My name is Y/N. Forgive my intrusion, but I have no ill intends. But i am lost in..."

"...the Multiverse?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, wavering and gravely concerned. Well, for him there were obviously soulcrushing memories connected to it. "What brings you to my lair, then?"

You shrugged. "Coincidence, I suppose. Just a humble traveler on my way through."

"To where?" The man came closer now, and your stance stiffened in defense. Better safe than sorry. "I don't know. Just always keeping on to go forwards, I guess."

Behind him was a balconry leading to vast nothingness, like a portal or black hole sucking in everything it touched. If it wasn't for the tragic story behind it, this would actually be a sight to behold.

But then abruptly, his face dropped into something more sinister. He seemed irritated, angry even at dropping his guard like this.

Your appearance had almost raised a naive hope that was still buried deep inside, an ember awaiting patiently to be re-ignited.

In the end however, this was too good to be true.

A vein was pulsating on the top of his head, witness to his intense brooding. He would burying his face into his hands and frantically rubbed his eyes as if to remove a stain, yet when he looked at the spot you initially stood again, you still hadn't moved an inch.

You were just one of his occasional hallucinations, a cruel hoax his own strickened mind used to fill the all-embracing emptiness.

Well, it be like that if you have lost your sanity during an eternal solitude. It was by far not the first time that he had been haunted by ghosts of the past, though over time his episodes became more abstract.

"Get lost" he spat as he approached you with firm steps, thinking that what was left of his soul was simply playing tricks on him again.

"Wha-why?!" You tried to reason with the man that ignored you out of a sudden, walking right past and certain you would soon disappear. "Wait!"

Your initial compassion would immediately dissolve into thin air as you tugged on his sleeve to make him stay, thus startling the overwhelmed man.

A third eye had opened on his forehead, all three of them wide in shock as he found his hand on your throat, black-ditched fingertips boring predatorily into your windpipe.

The immense malefic energy flowing through his body was now visible to you in form of a purple aura, it's origin stemming from the book that was buckled onto his belt.

Because he was physically much stronger as you, there was no other way but to use the little spare magic that you had left inside of you. One punch to his chest and the star-shaped force sent a tremor through out his body. He involuntarily let go off of you as the shockwave separated the two of you, the jolt sent him flying a safe distance away.

"You're not human" A statement, not a question. You panted visibly strained, already regretting using this much force just because you were afraid and didn't concentrate.

"Oh, what a feisty little thing you are. But I guarantee you, I very much am human." A dark chuckle filled the room, echoing against the shadowy walls. Seems as if you had caught his interest. "You however...not entirely."

The man clicked his toung as he pulled himself up from the floor, a few scattered books and a broken table you had thrown him on. Still, he looked at you mystified rather than resentful.

Your lip was pursed into a thin line as he locked eyes with you again, grinning from ear to ear. "Touching someone who hasn't seen a single soul in forever was a bold move, are you aware of that?"

This person right there is nothing more than a homicidal maniac, you thought. And no matter what had happened for him to become this way, he was truly beyond help.

You on the other hand were completely and utterly helpless against this powerful foe, trapped in an unknown universe with no magic and no one coming to your aid.

With entering this building and crossing paths with him, you had most likely conjured your own downfall...

...ultimatively however, instead of attacking you once again the man submissively bend down his head.

"My apologies. Your sudden advance was uncalled for, but my brute reaction was inexcusable."

Your bottom lip was trembling as your jaw dropped, and yet the man seemed sincere in his demeanor. His gaze wandered down to the arm you just punched him with. "...you're bleeding."

"Oh, this?" The shirt you were wearing was practically drenched in blood by now, and you silently cursed yourself for accidentally having reopened it. "That's an old wound."

"It's not an old wound if it never had the time to heal" he spoke as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. Metaphorically spoken, at least.

The sorcerer would only hesistantly dare to approach you, like one would do to gain a hurt animal's trust. It would be for the better if he thought you to be capable of more destruction shall he misbehave, so you balled your fists, small sparks emmitting from them. "What do you know, are you a doctor?"

"I was." Out of everything, that statement caught you by surprise. "Please sit down, I promise upon the little honor I have left that I won't hurt you."

Albeit all of the red flags, you decided that this person right here was still your best option.

If he wanted you dead, then you couldn't do anything against it in your current state. He could do so with a flick of his fingers and at any time he wished.

"How am I supposed to trust you if I don't even know your name?"

"Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange." What an odd name, you thought as he pulled out a chair for you with his telekinesis. But then you looked at him puzzled as the dots in your head connected. "Wait, like the Doctor Strange? Like the Sorcerer?"

"I've left that behind me a long time ago" he answered in an esaggerated sigh, trying to avoid further questioning. Yet you pried on to distract yourself from the pain. "I imagined you differently, to be honest."

"Why that, did you meet a variant of me?" To be perfectly honest, he could very well understand - for he was only a shadow of his former self.

What's left of the former hero was if only just the worst aspects, due to his wrongdoings, failures and the corruption of the darkhold that caught him in a downward spiral.

If anything, his madness was protecting what was left of himself from the crippling loneliness and guilt.

"Nope." You cut yourself off with a hiss, the antiseptic feeling like it would burn a hole into your back. Strange looked almost empathetic to your physical pain, yet coated himself in silence.

Why can't he just fix it with magic? The man seemed almost allmighty in your opinion.

"Just heared a lot about you. Oh, and one of your friends tried to arrest me once. Pong?"

"Wong" he corrected you harshly at the vivid remembrance of his old friend, yet busied himself with working on the huge tear that went from your shoulder down your clavicula. "Who did this to you?"

"I honestly can't tell. I have never before met a creature like this. It was two universes before I ended up here."

"I've studied you travelers long ago, when I still had hope to escape this place." The next sentence he spoke barely audible, facing the ground as if ashamed. "Once, I even absorbed the powers of one of your kind."

As cruel as his words were, as much did you know that he was no threat to you - especially since he already possessed your powers, as it seemed...

...and still, he would never be able to leave to another universe, let alone stay there without causing an inversion. What a farce.

"Travelers are unique across the Multiverse. None of you is alike, neihter do you have any variants." You figured that much already, yet it was nice to have it confirmed for once. "It must be wonderful to just exit one world and enter another. Being able to do whatever you please and just find a similar world without having to face the consequences of your own actions. You could leave behind all of your mistakes and be re-united with your loved ones..."

You quietly heared the absentminded man speak his mind until he was done with his handywork. Letting a hand run over the fresh bandage, you thanked him before sheepishly shying away from the necessary proximity.

There's no such thing as keeping something forever, let alone a happily ever after. That much you wholeheartedly believed, as painful as it may sound.

But you can't be disappointed if you don't expect anything, right?

"It's nothing like that" you snorted almost amused, "Quite the opposite, even."

"How that?"

"When I was young and my powers manifested, my journey involuntary begun. I sent my parents away on accident, where to I don't know. But if they haven't been killed instantly by whatever universe I've sent them to..."

"...then they died through the inevitable inversion that follows their presence." When Strange ended the sentence for you, he gained a frown in return. "Yeah, thanks for clearing that up."

As if you didn't already know. And even if by some miracle they did survive until now, the Multiverse is too excruciatingly huge to ever raise your hopes of reuniting with them.

Still, that was probably what made you keep going.

"Can you visit your origin universe somehow?"

Even though you did not know why, but you answered all of his questions truthfully. Shouldn't he already know, for he had robbed one of your species of their powers and used it for himself?

Maybe asking about your story was just his way of being polite, though obtrusive. Surely this man was just glad to have any real conversation with someone, no matter the topic.

"Well, I don't know about your personal experience, but I can travel back to every universe I have stepped foot into." It was a hard time learning this memorization, but for your survival it was crucial to be able to return to a peaceful environment in case of emergency.

"Using my powers at random uses up less power, though. Creating exactly the portal to a universe of my wish will pretty much eat up all magic inside of me for a long while."

"Thus your arrival here."

"Exactly."

For a while, both of you would exchange awkward looks, waiting until the atmosphere brightened a little so you dared asking him in return.

"So, I've told you about me. What about you? What happened that you ended up like..." you gestured around in the room, pointing at everything at once. "...like this?"

Strange's third eye was now practically piercing you, but you were used to way worse when it came to the supernatural. And just as you expected, his expression softened soon before tearing his gaze away from you.

"Nothing worth speaking about" he nearly whined, and though he was not currently looking at you, anyone could feel the pressure in the air, how the memory was tearing him apart on the inside. "I pushed my loved one away in this universe and selfishly tried to correct this in another universe. Everything else is history. I made a countless lived pay the price for my arrogance."

It was as bright as daylight that he was leaving something out, but you wouldn't push him with the details. You barely knew each other, and he was suffering enough already with telling you this part of the story.

"With no way out, I have decided to spend the rest of eternity to pay for my sins. This accursed world is my prison, and a harsh reminder for every version of me to never fall astray from that path ever again."

If only you knew that while what he spoke was the truth, he withheld the most important information to let you see the whole picture - the one in which he is not just a misguided hero that had fallen astray from his path, but had turned into a literal monster in the process.

This was merely an act, a facade that he'd make sure you would never peek behind. Otherwise you may try to stop him from doing the only thing that was able to shut the voices in his head...

...his noble quest of granting at least the other Strange's a merciful death that would save them from themselves.

"That sounds like a tragic love story to me" you naively declared, drawing his attention away from those vicious thoughts.

The eldritch mage would've expected repulsion, for you to despise him after everything you've heared. If not at least fear, especially after his inconsiderate attack....

...yet here you were, looking at him with an incredible sympathy shimmering behind your teary eyes that made his hypocricial self want to be swallowed by hell itself.

"Spare me your pity" he uttered respectful, his adam apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I am grateful, but undeserving."

However, now the sorcerer saw your unexpected encounter in a whole new light.

Stephen Strange had made a mistake - many mistakes, but at least saving you could give meaning to his otherwise meaningless life.

"Well Y/N, if you are in such desperate need of shelter, I wouldn't mind company for a while."

[pacificwaternymph]

When will you tell us about Pixl having to kill somebody in your pirate au?

I'll be honest, I've been avoiding trying to make that post because I can't really figure out how to work out the details. But here's the basics:

Pixl grew up in a port town. His parents were no one special, just a family of merchants. He was raised to hold a deep respect for life, that it was not something to be taken lightly. Even anything as small as the death of a bird was something to be properly mourned.

Their town was attacked when he was a teenager. Pirates, were the official story, but Pixl always had a sneaking suspicion it might have been the navy, trying to disguise their destruction through fearmongering.

One of the attackers set their home on fire and burned them out, then killed both Pixl's parents right in front of him. They tried to kill him too, but he fought back.

It turned into a fierce struggle for control over the knife, and at one point he was stabbed in the shoulder, and the attacker dragged the knife all the way down his arm to his elbow. But eventually he managed to stab them in the throat.

Profusely bleeding and completely drenched in someone else's blood, standing in front of three corpses while his town burned down around him, left an impact. He promptly threw up, and limped away from the scene as fast as humanly possible.

He felt horrible about what happened for days. He was grappling both with the grief of losing his parents and his home, and with the fact that he had taken someone else's life. No matter how horrible a person they were, they were still human. They still had friends and family and a life, and he took them away from all of that.

He wandered around the ruins of the town in a near catatonic state for days, the wound on his arm festering and getting infected.

He was eventually picked up by a sea captain, who treated his wound and gave him a place on his ship. Said captain became something of a father figure to him, and he eventually grew to be a lot like him.

They parted on good terms a few years later, and that's when Pixl met Jimmy, trying to put together a crew of pirates after splitting from Katherine's.

But... yeah. He still feels horrible about killing someone, even if it was in self defense. It feels like he betrayed his parents, by going against their ideals. The last piece he had of them. Which is why he vowed that he would never take another life again.