#and i legit screamed when i read this part

[lucyshypemaster]

keefe was actually insane for this

[luminousnotmatter]

Listen, as someone who uses the tags both for organization and to talk/yell/ramble/rant/rave/thirst/yearn/gush/etc, etc, etc into the void I gotta say: the 30-tag limit can suck rocks. 😑🙄😠

[woibbelywobbegong]

Me, to my father: I dislike it when you yell at me and treat me with such disrespect, like invading my privacy. My father, yelling, in my bedroom (without my permission) and in my face: I HAVE NEVER YELLED AT YOU OR DISRESPECTED YOU!!! !! !!!!! ! HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST SUCH A THING!!!!!

[bumbleblurr]

(opens google doc file named "stupid gushy garbage") haha I'll make a joke abt how I can't ever post this blur/bee oneshot ever bc its too cheesy and sappy- (dies from cringe)

[ellecdc]

Baaaaabe 😫

Ive been sick for the last couple days, and as always, that first day was horrible. Ive had my brain legit decide it wants to inflate bigger than my skull capacity (long story short, pregnancy 🫡) and i got to re-experience that feeling for the first 12 hours 💀

BUT i came back and i was sooo excited for your updates!! They were soo good (please tell me theres a part 2 to that angst....pls 🥺) And i love our discussions in the comments 🫶

I do have another request though if you have the time love. Another possessive!wolfstar buuuttt..... make reader Jamie's sister (twins?)!! Its troublesome enough for James to keep Sirius' hands to himself, but full moon Rem?? He's a brick wall. Like somethings happening between the 2 and Jamie is chasing reader, then she spots Rem and hides behind him. James tries to reach for her and Rem is just kinda like "???? Excuse me, thats mine. Dont touch. James Fleamont Potter. DONT. TOUCH." without even knowing whats going on. James is incredulous (because thats HIS sister) and Siri is chuckling but it looks like Rem might actually bite Jamie's hand off so he moves between them to seperate them but Rem is also like "ExCuSe YOU??? Also mine. *to siri* dont touch him. *to James* dont touch them or you might not have all your fingers when you wake up!!"

And just the repercussions of this where James isnt allowed alone with either until a couple days passed the 🌕

Hope youre looking after yourself darling 🩵

I love James' sister trope - something about it screams fluff and perhaps a little angst but just in all the best ways. I would imagine his sister to be so much like him: mischievous, funny, and full of love. Thanks for requesting!!!

poly!wolfstar x potter sister!reader

There were quite a few perks that came along with being James Potter's twin sister. One said perk was having a built-in best friend from the moment you came into the world. Another was that whilst you were attending school, you had the benefit of no one being willing to mess with you on account of the company you kept - namely, your brother and his infamous friends who called themselves The Marauders.

What being James Potter's twin sister couldn't protect you from? James Potter.

What could protect you from being James Potter's twin sister? Being the girlfriend of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

You and James were leaving Care of Magical Creatures together, heading to meet up with Remus and Sirius near the Greenhouses when one Lily Evans walked by - graciously bestowing James the time of day for quite possibly the first time ever - when you decided that this was the perfect pranking opportunity.

You really couldn't be blamed for what happened next: it truly was a gift bestowed upon you by the great pranking gods, and who were you to deny it?

"Hello, Potter." Lily said, causing James to gasp dramatically.

"Hello, Lily! Beautiful day out today, innit?"

Lily couldn't help but snicker at the sickeningly wide grin that took over James' face.

"Oi, Jamie. I forgot to tell you: mum sent that rash cream you were asking for. She said to remind you it's only safe to put around your anus, not in it." You proclaimed loudly, pretending to read from a 'letter' your mother had sent.

The courtyard became incredibly quiet before what you recognized to be Barty Crouch Junior's laugh echoed the space, triggering the snickering of all those present.

"You are so dead!" James sneered and you didn't hesitate to take off in a sprint - knowing your brother was a mere few paces behind you.

"You slithering little snake! She finally starts coming around - are you kidding me!?" He shouted as you swerved between bodies standing in your way whilst he just barrelled right through them.

Suddenly, you saw salvation in the form of one Remus John Lupin.

Now, granted, Remus didn't always protect you from your squabbles with James. Part of the reason for that was because half of the time you sort of deserved it (much like today), and the other part was that he claimed he didn't know what proper protocol was in sibling relationships on account of him being an only child. Sirius, a brother himself, had no such qualms and always took your side.

However, you knew that the full moon was in a mere two more sleeps, meaning Remus was at his most protective (read: possessive) which did not distinguish James Potter as friend, sibling, nor pack.

Right now: James Potter was only a threat.

And, let's be honest, being James Potter's twin sister, and a girlfriend to Remus Lupin and Sirius black also meant you were mischievous as hell. So you had no trouble using this to your utmost advantage.

You squeaked in terror as you slid behind Remus' lanky frame a moment before James - the bastard - slammed into his form and all but bounced off of Remus. James was admittedly more muscular that Remus, but Remus' height and werewolf strength left him towering above James as the dumb sod picked himself up off the ground.

"What in the buggering hell is going on?" He spat at James as one of his arms wrapped behind him, shielding you from your fuming brother.

"That sneaky little witch just embarrassed me in front of Lily!" James barked, looking like he was still trying to figure out how to get around Remus in order to strangle you.

"Please," Sirius drawled as he walked over casually, "like you need any help in that department Prongs."

You tried to hide your snicker, but from Remus' glance at you through the corner of his eye, you knew he caught it.

"She told the entire courtyard I needed cream for a rash on my anus!"

Sirius doubled over in laughter and you preened when you noticed Remus let out a soft chuckle himself.

"It's not sodding funny you wanker! Lily spoke to me first today! I'm going to kill you!" James snarled, moving his attention from Sirius to you.

As James stepped forward menacingly, Remus grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Prongs, enough." He barked.

Sirius was still laughing when he moved to stand between Remus and James, releasing James' shirt from Remus' fist.

"Okay, down boy." Sirius snarked, patting James' shoulder consolingly.

"Oh, sod off." James muttered, elbowing Sirius as he moved to step away.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and tried to even out your breathing; lungs still burning from your run.

"You okay, dove?" Remus asked you so gently as he bent down to make eye contact with you. His face screamed love, attentiveness, and care, making you feel slightly guilty for having shoved him in the middle of your tom foolery.

"I'm fine, Moons. Sorry for causing trouble." You answered solemnly.

His face picked up slightly at your words as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't causing trouble, love."

Your tender moment was interrupted by a yelp, causing the two of you to turn only to notice James and Sirius wrestling. James seemed to have gotten Sirius into a headlock, and the sod wasn't willing to tap out - still kicking and clawing at James in anyway he could.

"Oi!" Remus shouted as he plucked Sirius out of James' grasp and shoved him in the direction of the castle. James used his momentary distraction as an opportunity to set his sights back on you as he lunged, tackling you to the ground.

"Fuckin' hell Jamie! You weight a tonne!" You shouted, kneeing him in the gut. James doubled over and rolled onto his side in the fetal position.

You didn't even get a chance to right yourself before you were thrown over Remus' shoulder who was still shouting at Sirius to "get back to the dorm. The both of you are staying within my sights for the next foreseeable future" as you all left James with the wind knocked out of him, keeled over on the castle grounds.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi! Can i ask for a self aware twst when the reader surprises adopted Silver as their son. Like just pointing at him and saying 'you are my child now' with Silver, Lilia and Sebek. Hope you have a good day!

Hehe. Anon, you know what you are doing. In fact, I would say you even want the chaos. And for that I love you come here so I can hug you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Diasomnia chapter spoilers (Lilias part, maybe Sebek), religion, violence, isolation, kidnapping, obsessive behavior

Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Silver/Sebek Zigvolt-Adopting Silver

Oh ok. Cool cool coolcoolcoolcoolcool

Well, at least that one room dedicated to you in the form of an altar can now be used for more practical uses (finally)

When Lilia heard you say those words and point at his son, he fell from the chandelier he was dangling from

Not only did he have to navigate through not accidentally telling his son that he was the blood related son of an enemy general and that exactly this general killed Malleus mom

But also that he had now a second parent that also happened to be god

Mhm totally normal

Conversations to strangers about his family were already playing out like this in his head:

Hi, I am Lilia Vanrouge, yes the one in your history book, this is my son Silver, yes he looks like a certain knight, and my lovely partner and also parent of this lovely human, yes, FU**ING GOD THEMSELVES

Ah yes, sitting in church will totally not be awkward after this

Bro legit sits you down with a pen and paper, asking you to sign the marriage certificate

Asks you what flowers you want to have on your wedding. Doesn't matter if you are a woman, man or identify as something else, he is planning that

Also has already planned out how to get you into the Valley of Thorns without anyone noticing

Because no matter how devoted he is to you, he will always be too greedy to share your attention with someone else

You could have said this as a joke or some other protective instinct towards the silver-haired male but all that man's father hears is a marriage proposal

Lilia is just happy that you feel some sort of positive way to his family member (makes things easier when you are stuck in that cabin)

I mean, he did see Silver as a present from you, a child meant to bring him back to the light after being so long in the shadow of war

And now the three of you were together! How lovely!

Which would mean that you planned this all along. Dear Overseer, if you liked the idea of you being a family you could have just told him so

He will be the best partner to raise a child together you could dream of

And should someone dare to interrupt the perfect, peaceful life you three (plus two more) had, he wouldn't mind swinging that sword again

Wait what?

What do you mean with that?

Are you sure you want him to be your son? Really?

Apparently he was not the only one surprised since he could hear the thud of his father falling to the ground behind him and Seek screaming somewhere behind him

Be prepared for a silver haired knight to look at you with the biggest puppy eyes and ask "Do you really want me as you son?"

Critical hit! Someone call a doctor. I think the Valley of Thorns god can be killed by cuteness

After that he is glued to your side (even though you have to part sooner or later since he is not living in Ramshackle)

One morning you woke up to the guy standing there with some food being like "I made some food."

Like where the Heck did he even get the keys for the dorm? (He broke in through a hole in the ceiling)

Silver always comes running to you whenever he does something and wants praises

Once he was best in one of his classes and he stood there with the report like he could turn into a dog and get headpats from you any second

But, as I am sure you are aware of, this is a blog with yandere themes and we have to say goodbye to the fluff at some point

That sword training comes in handy is all I'm saying

I mean, he has probably enough strength to break someone's leg with his bare hands by simply applying some pressure

And that one Diasomnia student that tried to take his son-status away from him was found again in a not-so-compatible-state-with-life kind of situation

I'm letting you imagine what happened

Like Lilia he is ready to burn everyone who dares to interfere with your little family

The forests of his homeland are pretty though so no need to worry about the appearance of your surroundings once they bring you to your new home (who needs social interaction anyways?)

A second of silence

And then the screaming started

“OH HOW KIND OF OUR OVERSEER! TO SHOW A MORTAL THEIR KINDNESS AND CARING SIDE!”

Seek would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised

You, aka the Overseer, aka some higher being, AKA GOD, were known in the Valley of Thorns to be kind and caring, yet also distant and never approaching others directly

But then you literally adopt someone, making that person someone in your inner cycle?

Well, if Sebek knew one thing then that those Priests were going to have a crisis as soon as they learned about this

Totally not jealous

He would try to get closer to you since, apparently, you did allow others to get close to you

But he was happy as long as you were

After all, he was now the (not-so-official appointed) shield of the Valley of Thorns, something he got passed on by his grandfather

So of course he couldn't be family with you

That didn't mean he couldn't “help” you

Someone intruded on that dinner you had with Lilia and Silver?

Ouch… that punch must have hurt

Whenever Silver or his Father had to interfere because someone else came too close then they were some incredibly slick (looking at you Rook) or lucky person

Don't let his loud mouth fool you

This crocodile has done unmentionables in your name in order to make things easier for your new found family

For what? Oh you know, becoming his neighbor back home… forever

[jksprincess10]

I can sabotage me by myself || Joel Miller x reader

A/N: This is a part two of lucky for me, I run on spite and sweet revenge. Can be read on its own. I wanted to write more of ennemy!yn and violent Joel.

CW: Attempted rape (not graphic), violence, jealous!Joel, Joel being toxic and protective, smut, thigh riding, car sex, angst but comfort, language, rough filthy sex, toxic relationship (seriously if a man talks to you like that, leave his ass).

Read part 3 here

After that night, you said you’d try to work together. Well, sort of. You made some deals that would advantage both of you. But most of the time, you just tried to stay out of his way and him, out of yours. Sometimes, you’d also meet in the darkness of the night to fulfill your desires of violence and lust.

Tonight, you had a huge deal to help out your group and Joel. You were supposed to get a car battery for a vehicle that you found just outside of the QZ. It was in good shape; it just needed a new battery. With a car, you’d be able to cover more distance outside of the QZ.

Joel was supposed to meet you, but you decided to go to the headquarter first. Part of you wanted to show him that you were capable of doing this alone, that he could benefit more from you than you could benefit from him.

You were so wrong.

You met Noah’s assistant, Elijah, at the group’s headquarters. They had a strong hand over most deals inside the walls. They were very powerful, and Noah and Elijah were known to be very dangerous men. But you knew men like them. They all had the same weaknesses.

“You got what we want?” You asked Elijah without waiting for him to talk first. He was alone, but you knew there was always more men lurking around and waiting for his signal.

“Yeah. Thought you’d come with Miller, though.” He pointed you to the battery to show that it was legit. It had barely any wear to it.

“He was busy.” You justified.

You were satisfied with the battery. You kneeled on the floor to open your bag to get your things to exchange. You had fresh vegetables that you had grown.

“Wait, baby doll, I thought you would give me something else.” He shot with a suggestive look.

You tried to get up to your feet, but he held you there. Catastrophic scenarios ran through your head as he was caressing your shoulders slowly.

“That’s not how I work anymore.” You said coldly.

But he kept going. You waited for him to be distracted, before twisting his wrist. He groaned in pain, which sufficed to alert his other men. Soon, four men, including Elijah, trapped you in a circle of their bodies. You fought how you could; biting and cutting, not wanting to alert more people by using your gun. You knew you couldn’t last long that way though, and soon, you found yourself with your cheek on the cold ground, trying to counter the blows of fists and the kicks to your body. You tried to take everything silently in hopes they would stop, until the world became disappeared before your eyes, replaced by pure darkness.

***

You woke up to grunts and the sound of violent punches. You barely moved not to alert anyone; besides, your whole body was sore.

“What the FUCK have you done to her?!”

You barely turned your head to the sound of the familiar voice. Joel. Three of the men were already dead, their lifeless bodies close to yours. The only left was Elijah, in a struggle with the older man, who was trying to strangle him.

“Since when do you care about this whore, Miller?!”

That was enough to enrage him even more. He saw everything in red. Elijah was thrown to the ground and Joel punched him repeatedly  in the face, teeth, and blood flying to the ground, until he was silenced forever.

Slowly, you sat up, wincing under the pain. The sound of you getting up took Joel out of his violent fit, well, you thought so.

“You fucking careless girl… I said not to fucking go alone.”

He took the battery in one arm, before grabbing you with his hand to force you to get up completely. You bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming in pain.

“I don’t fucking need you Miller.” You spat at his face, before painfully trying to get away from him.

“Well, now since you put us in deep shit, you’re stuck with me. And we have to leave. Far. Before they find us. Can you run?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ll have to try, because I sure can’t carry you with this battery. And we’ll need it to get as far away as possible.”

You nodded and followed him in the dark alleyways to try and outwit the men that would try to follow you as they were alerted with the noise. A few of them did try, yes, but luckily, Joel shot them first as you painfully tried to stick to the older man’s side.

***

You didn’t have a hard time to get out of the QZ, you two had your ways around it. The car battery miraculously worked and you silently jumped to the passenger side, grateful to finally be able to sit down, even though it sent pain down your whole body.

Joel was driving in his silent rage. You took the time to look at him, he had a few cuts on his face and hands, but he was mostly okay.

You, on the other hand… You got scared by your own reflection in the car mirror. You looked like someone had tried to paint parts of your face in blue and purple, but the painting wasn’t pretty, it was grotesque and sad.

“I’m sor-” You tried to articulate.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear a fucking word from your mouth, girl.”

He didn’t have to be so disrespectful. Filled by your hate, you stuck your knife in the old car leather seat, near his face. He barely flinched, knuckles turning white as they were holding the wheel.

“Fuck you, Miller.” You said as you spat blood out of the window.

And that was the last sentence you addressed to him in a while.

The car eventually stopped at a spot that was deemed safe. It looked like an old car dump. Surely, you’d be invisible here. You tried to sleep in the passenger seat to recover slowly, while Joel was trying to find water and a small rabbit to eat.

He opened the door when he was back. You lost the track of time, but he seemed successful. A fire was already started. He helped you sit near the warmth source. He fed you cooked pieces of meat, slowly and patiently. Even though you could tell he was tired from his chocolate eyes. Even though he could tell you wanted to bite his fingers off.

“He tried to force me…” You finally said, before choking on a sob, letting go of your anger for Joel.

He didn’t say anything and took a piece of cloth out of his backpack, before wetting it with the water that was turning lukewarm. He cleaned your face and you leaned into the older man’s touch, like a cat starved for more pets.

“I don’t want to do that again, Joel. I… there must be another way, right?”

He nodded silently. He was still visibly mad.

“Can I see the damage on your legs to clean your wounds?”

You let him help you take down your pants, discovering a new grotesque and bloody painting. He kept cleaning your wounds silently, and in this moment, you were thankful for him. You put up your jeans when he was done and took a clean piece of the rag to wash the cuts on his face. Your lips placed a kiss on the wound over his bushy eyebrow, collecting a bit of blood there. You licked your lips to feel the pain he was in. He took your hands in his to stop you.

“You should sleep in the car to be more comfortable.” He simply said coolly. “I’ll keep watch.”

Without another word, your disappeared into the backseat of the car with a blanket you had found in one of the vehicles that was dumped here. You fell in a mostly comfortable sleep.

The door opened, and you heard it like you were still in your dreams. A warm body pressed to yours, arms flexing to lift you up to his mouth. You opened your eyes with Joel’s chapped lips still on yours and you leaned into the kiss. You both tasted like remains of blood and meat, but you didn’t care. The kiss stopped only when he held you down by the throat, carefully, barely pressing.

“For the record, I’m still mad at you.”

You nodded with a grin and put your small fingers around his wrist, pressing against his rough skin.

“And I don’t want you to fuck with another man, ever. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll take care of you. If another man tries to touch you, he will end up dead like all of those idiots.”

You nodded again, too numb to talk.

“And I’ll take care of the deals.”

You slapped his hand so he would leave your throat, and he did.

“Nope. You’ll come with me, that’s all.” You argued.

“But-”

“Didn’t know you were such a talker, Miller. I preferred when you would shut the fuck up or just use your mouth to insult me.”

He groaned, before adding: “I’ll think about it.”

“It’s the only way I’ll keep working with you, and you need me. I’m a great distraction.”

“That, you are.” You finally saw him smile.

You left him more space and he sat down beside you, before you slowly straightened up. You found lazily your way to his lap, thighs on each side of his legs. You felt pain everywhere, but you needed to be close to him. His rough hand stroked slowly your cheek while he looked up at you with a hardened gaze.

“Tell me you won’t be with another man.” His voice was stern.

“Can’t promise…” You responded with a shit-eating grin.

His free hand undid your pants and dragged them down to your thighs with your panties, before he slapped your ass harshly. You let out a cry of pain, body falling onto his, before the hand that was stroking your face held your hair. He pulled on your strands to make you look at his face. You hated how this scary side of him turned you on, but your relationship always had been like this.

“Tell. Me.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t what?” He pulled more on your hair.

“Be with another man. I promise. Don’t need anyone else.” Ironic for someone who had told him earlier you didn’t need him.

He finally let go and you could catch your breath again. In your heart, you knew that you were sincere. But softness would wait. Fingers slowly traced your slit as you felt warmth traveling down your body. You fell on him again, too weak to hold yourself up. This time, he accepted it and held you with his other hand as he placed soft kisses on your forehead, the only part of your face that wasn’t bruised. You didn’t know why he still wanted you in that terrible state, but you were thankful for the distraction from the pain.

“I’ll make you cum once. And I want you to ride my thigh. Understood?”

“Talk less.” You simply said with a grin.

One of his fingers found its way to your clit, which he teased too softly. You pressed your hips into his touch, aching for more. He understood, picking up the pace as two other fingers took care of your entrance. He filled you up like this, while his finger was flicking over your sensitive ball of nerves. You Kept moving your hips as you felt your release coming. His free hand slapped your ass a few times, the pain bringing you faster to your edge. You came with a soft moan, his name glued to your lips. His wet fingers came up to your lips and you happily sucked them in your mouth, before biting them. He let go of your mouth, before he lazily took off completely the bottom half of your clothes.

He positioned you over his clothed thigh, where you left a small trail of your juices. With a hand on the small of your back, he helped you move against his leg, the friction stimulating your body again. Your own thigh was pressing into his bulge, pleasuring him with each movement against his thigh. You both looked like desperate teenagers trying to get it on in your first car while your parents thought you had gone to the cinema.

“Hm… not enough, Joel…” You moaned softly against his ear as you grinded on his thigh. “Want you to fill me up. Please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. ” He admitted, brown eyes filled with more concern than lust.

“I don’t care about pain. This pain is better… than the rest. You’re the only man that I’ll let hurt me. Please.”

“Okay.” He responded in a breath, your words going straight to his erection. His experienced hands undid his belt, and he took his member out, leaving the rest of him completely clothed. You both were too desperate to take more time.

He spat on his hand to wet you more, before sliding you down his cock. You breathed harshly. Your whole body hurt, but you were hoping that the pleasure would wash away the pain. You didn’t have to move anymore, he held you down as he fucked into you harshly, his hips coming up and down as he pleasured himself with your body. You buried your face into the older man’s neck, sucking on his skin to hide your moans. He let you hide, too concentrated on his own pleasure.

After a while, he slowed down a bit. He was tired and his stamina was running out, his age catching up to him.

“Tired, old man?” You asked, amused.

“Killing… people… does… that… to you.” He responded between thrusts.

Your teasing gave him the strength necessary to fuck you harshly. You hid your moans against his mouth, biting his bottom lip and licking into his mouth as he was approaching his end. He pulled out and cum spilled between you two, marking your thighs. He washed you two up with an old rag and let you fall back into the backseat.

“Joel… I was… I was sincere. Were you?”

“I was.”

“Good. And for the record, I’m… I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I forgive you.”

He massaged softly your sore legs under the blanket as you drifted back to sleep.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Tumblr WILL NOT let me post the fic and this ask at the same time and I've tried legit five times. So THANK YOU anon for the request and I'm sorry for the weirdness in uploading. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this!

My Ghost.

Billy x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: You don't know what happened that night. Things were fine, life was good, then your partner is on the news for all sorts of shit you never would've thought him capable of the day prior. He was dead, he was evil, and you were trying to move on. But what's the proper etiquette when the dead show up on your door unannounced?

Tags: No use of Y/N, hurt/comfort, fake death, mentions of drinking, drug use/dealing, grieving, arguing, cursing, flashbacks, brief suggestive scenes, suicidal thoughts.

Other Works in This Series: 'Repentance' (Prequel to 'My Ghost') • 'Lapses' (Sequel to 'My Ghost')

Notes: The way I've been trying to upload this for two hours. Oh my fucking God. Anyways, everyone say thank you to anon for getting me to write something that doesn't make God cry.

-¤°》◇《°¤-

I'm not hard to please, but I'm not desperate despite what the rumors may say.

People enjoy gossip. People who don't know fuck all about you. And my standards are fine. Were fine. And I don't mean standards such as 'buys me flowers everyday' or 'doesn't deal coke.' I mean standards such as 'is a decent fucking person.'

"That's what I thought you were up until all of this fucking... disappearing for months!" I scream, anger fueling me. I don't let the other emotions win out, don't let them have a say. Because if I do, I'll be too conflicted and overwhelmed and then I'm gonna cry, and that's not fair.

People had warned me he was trouble. Terms such as 'wannabe cowboy,' 'rebel without a cause' were tossed around in warning. But to me, he was just Billy.

Then he was dead.

Now, he was here. He showed up at my door nine months after leaving me with a small little keychain on the kitchen table and a soft kiss on my forehead, saying he had some plans for that evening. But he'll be back soon.

Then he was on the news. And a gas station blew up. Gangs, stolen vehicles. He was probably dead. Things would be easier if he was dead.

Fine. Maybe I initially ignored warning signs. Maybe I was distracted by his handsome side profile, too busy admiring his nose to notice the occasions it was dusted with the trace of a fine powder. Maybe his hands were too beautiful for me to realize they were slipping money to men in dark jackets when we went out to the rougher parts of town. But he was mine and I was his, and overall he was a good person.

He was alive. He was alive and I was mad because if he was dead then at least it would be valid that for nine months I have had to deal with the accusatory stares of our neighbors assuming I knew, the pity from my loved ones, and the betrayel that kept me awake at night. It would mean he hadn't left me to deal with his repercussions, that maybe there was a valid excuse. An undiagnosed brain tumor that finally gave way to insanity, a gun to his head. Something that was not the worst case scenario of just... being an awful person. I could let his things rest around the house undisturbed, hiding from the world and waiting to find the courage to join him one day and living in denial in the meantime. What the fuck was all of this?

"I couldn't tell you," he keeps saying. "It was better if you knew nothing until I was sure I could come get you."

"Why didn't you just take me with you from the start?" I ask. I've been pacing the floor for the past twenty minutes ever since he showed up. It was better than throwing every breakable object in the cheap, worn down shack of a house at him, which was my second instinct. My first was to pull him into my arms, draw the curtains shut and hide him away so that he'll never leave again. Like an idiot.

He laughs bitterly. "You would not be asking that if you knew what the fuck I went through," he says. His words sound like they should be angry, but there's this lightness to them like he can't let himself think too much about it. It just makes me angrier.

"Don't fucking laugh!" I snap. "Do you think any of this is funny?"

"I think you're funny when you're mad," he deflects, smiling. "You got this whole routine. Pacing, nose twitching. I like the Shirley Temple stomps, like you're a kid."

I groan loudly, the noise almost sounding like a low scream in my throat.

"You owed money to fucking- who?" I yell.

"The details don't matter-"

"When I have been grieving your death for nine months, they fucking matter!" I snap. His brows furrow, his hands mid air as if to say 'the fuck did I do?'

"You know me, okay? I don't get caught," he says as though it were obvious.

"I know fucking nothing!" I practically scream.

When we met he was just a guy at a bar, handsome, wearing that same ridiculous jacket that I couldn't help but stroke the white fluff on, tequila running through my veins.

"Can I help you?" He asked, smirking.

"Just wanted to see what it felt like," I said.

"Wanna feel something else?" He asked, his chin resting on his head.

"Oh, fucking gross. Fuck o-"

"I was talking about this," he said, whipping out his keys to show off an odd, weirdly shaped keychain with short, stiff fuzz. "Don't call me a pervert just cause you're one."

He was smiling. It was an easy smile. Careless, happy with life. I loved that smile. It meant things were always alright as long as he was smiling.

He was smiling on the photo they used for the manhunt.

We'd danced the whole night. He didn't know hardly any of the songs, causing him to be off beat. I was too drunk to keep time, so I stepped on his leather boots enough times there was a visible scuff on the top of one by the end of the night. I always felt bad, offering to replace or help pay to fix it. He wouldn't let me.

"They're a keepsake," he'd insist. "A living memory." He wore them everyday.

He's wearing sneakers, today.

At the end of the night, I stumbled out of the bar with a note in my coat pocket. It took two weeks for me to wear that coat again, and when I found the slip I'd almost thrown it away, assuming it was something dumb. But when I saw the worst handwriting in the world displaying a number belonging to someone named 'Keychain Guy,' I almost couldn't wait to call.

"Bullshit," Billy snaps. "You know me better than anyone."

"Don't say that," I say, putting a hand out protectively to keep him away. "That's exactly why everyone thinks I was just fine with that whole- fucked up thing!"

A gas station burned. A stolen vehicle. People were dead. People were dead.

Billy was presumed dead.

There was no funeral. He had no family, and none of mine wanted to put money into something that would be protested by the whole town anyways. No body to bury, nothing to do but gather up his things and smoke what remained in his stash until people came to nurse me back to life. By that point there wasn't even relief in drugs. The taste simply reminded me of better times cooking in the kitchen as we blew the smoke into each others faces, or worse. Better. Whatever.

I never questioned when Billy went out of town. I knew his work had details I didn't want nor need to know. Money was tight. But Billy always came home with little things whenever he went on unexpected trips. Knick knacks, snacks, some item I'd seen at the store and picked up to make a comment about. Had he been particularly forthcoming about his dealing when we started dating? No. He said he worked for a local small business, which technically isn't untrue. But about six months in, he was the one who approached me and sat me down at the small, rickty round table to tell me the truth. And that's what mattered to me. The economy is shit and it's not like it was meth, so who am I to judge?

About a year into it, I was begging for him to do something else.

"I don't like you disappearing," I told him. "I'm scared one day you're gonna piss someone off and that'll be the end. Then what am I gonna do?"

"Then you're gonna make sure they don't fuck up my face during the embalming process for the funeral," Billy said around his hand rolled cigarette. I whip the small dish towel at him, making him laugh and protect his small ashtray that I made him for Christmas the year prior. It was shitty, uneven, and I'm 99% sure a fire hazard. But he wouldn't use any other ones unless I was the one who bought them for him, and even then he favored this one. 'When this place goes up in flames,' I thought, 'I'll regret that gift.'

I'd kept it by the kitchen window every day since he'd died. "Died." It was his spot.

He moves to sit there now, looking in his pockets for the small box of prerolled cigarettes.

"People know you weren't involved," he says dismissively.

"Your friends know. What about the old ladies at church? The checkout clerks at the store? How about the fucking mailman?" I shout, convinced I'm still talking to the dead. "You think they know the ins and outs of the local psychos support group?" I ask, gesturing and stepping closer.

I was the local outcast now. Not to be trusted, not worth kindness. Shame was my title, and when Billy appeared on my doorstep at an hour where only I was awake I was sure I'd caught the same awful disease that must have been what sent him spiraling that winter day. It wasn't until he pushed the door open fully, taking me into his arms and pressing a warm kiss to my lips that I knew he was real. It was a feeling I was in the early stages of forgetting, blurry and cold. But here he was, the stubble on his chin a bit longer and his ears missing the small hoops that had glittered in the sunlight when he walked out the door.

Then I'd pushed him away. And the fight began.

"I'm not a fucking psycho," he argues. His hands pat around his outfit, searching. "You got a lighter?"

"Fuck off." I kept his favorite in my left pocket. I had to be careful what things of his I wore or kept on my person. People close to me knew I would have never condoned his actions, but even they had glared at me in the early wake of Billy's death when I dared to wear one of his shirts out of the house, or more commonly one of his thick leather jackets. But a lighter can be hidden, and unless you had borrowed it you wouldn't know it had specifically been his. So I kept it with me all the time, just feeling it next to my skin with the only barrier being the fabric of my pocket. Without a thought, I cover the small item as though he can see right through me. Picking up on the hint, he's rises from the table and begins walking over to me.

"Don't be a dick, just let me borrow it," he says, holding out his hand.

"Fuck off," I snap.

"You've said that. I just need it for two seconds," he says as his hands begin to gently grab at me, one on my shoulder and the other dipping into my pocket.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I yell, slapping at him.

"Just let me have-"

He cuts himself off as he pulls out the lighter from my pocket, his thumb grazing over the printed picture. The Statue of David. He'd bought because it made us laugh. One side was the regular statue, the other a close up of its small genitals with cursive writing underneath spelling the art piece's name.

"Oh," Billy says quietly.

We stand for a moment, silent. He doesn't seem sure what to do. My lungs burn with unheaved sobs. I fucking hate this.

"You were gonna come back," I finally say quietly. I hate how my voice sounds when I'm upset. I hate that I'm wearing his dogtag, an item he'd bought at a World War II museum in middle school that he gave me for our first Christmas because we were both too broke to actually buy each other anything, hence the poorly made ashtray. I hate that when I sleep at night it's in his clothes that I rarely wash because the idea of losing his smell makes me want to scream. I hate that his scent is different from the bottle of cologne he kept next to my makeup, one time spilling all over the entire bathroom counter because we'd gotten too wrapped up in each other, dragging our nails down each others backs and watching ourselves in the mirror until one wrong move of my hand revealed he'd been a bit too careless about screwing the lid back on earlier in the day. I'd always warned him about that.

I'd been in the bathroom putting on my permanently scented blush when I got the text.

"I was going to," he said softly. "Then I couldn't."

"So what?" I say, not daring to turn and face him, choosing instead to stare at where the cheap, old wood paneling of the wall meets the shaggy, stained carpet that you have to wear shoes on due to the staples that have begun sticking out of it. "You just propose to someone and then pretend to die?"

Valentines Day was an awfully cheesy day to do it. So it's a good thing it was a technicality.

The day had been lovely. Billy had saved up a little to take me to a local hibachi place, telling me to wear my best outfit and jewelry. It was slightly overkill, but it's the small things in life, isn't it?

We'd come home with a bottle of wine, a low budget movie to ignore and hands searching desperately for each other.

"I love you," he'd said between pants. "You're mine."

"Buy a ring," I'd dared. Our minds were buzzed, the bottle half empty and our clothes thrown away without care. Took me weeks to find his both of his socks.

I hadn't meant for him to take it seriously. But I guess he decided it was time.

Two days later I thought it was odd when he walked into the house with my favorite lunch. It wasn't expensive really, we just usually got it for special occasions or days that had been mentally harder for me. And things were normal that day. I was getting ready for my shift, running around like I always do trying to make sure I've got everything.

"Your coffee's in the cup, will you just sit down?" He laughed, watching me. I quickly collected the take out box, sipping my coffee and wincing over its temperature.

"Fuck, that burns," I cursed. He wrapped his arms around me, trying to get me to sit at the table. "Baby, I can't," I protested softly, but I was laughing. He was peppering me in kisses, giving me those big puppy dog eyes everyone knew were my weakness. He wanted for nothing so long as he looked at me just like that.

"Just this once," he asked, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I couldn't help the blush and giggle that rose from me, but I also couldn't be late.

"I'll make up for it," I promised, slipping away and running into the bedroom to get my shoes. When I ran back in, pulling them on and coming to kiss him goodbye, I nearly fell over when I saw him on one knee, smiling and looking at me like 'I told you so.'

I don't like how itchy the ring feels on my middle finger as I twirl it in thought.

"You don't know what happened," he pleaded, his hands still on me. "If you would just listen to me-"

"The news gave a pretty good description, William. I don't think there's missing pieces in my head, unlike you," I say coldly, detaching from myself so to not have to deal with my emotions. This makes him stiffen, pulling away and resuming his place at the kitchen table, lighting his cigarette and placing the ashtray in front of him like nothing has changed when everything has.

It feels like I'm out of time. Like I've been shoved into a picture of what my life looked like before. Except the house was never this clean, clothes always scattered about. Not just in a fit of passion, we just had bad habits when it came to picking up. Billy would always say the chairs are more decorations then they are seats, anyways. "Why would you use those when you have such a nice seat here?" He'd ask, wiggling his hips and placing his hands behind his head, making me laugh.

Billy never looked so well put together in the house, usually in a wife beater and his hair framing his face. He'd always joked he looked like a dirty hippie around me, and I'd always show him how much I liked that. Not that he looked fantastic now. When we went out he was known for putting in effort. He always had more hair products than me, which I found funny. Though he refused makeup. Once I'd managed to talk him into eyeliner. 'Guyliner' I'd teased. He liked it, but said it should stay between us with a wink before asking where to get dinner. Now he sits before me in clothes obviously stolen to help him look unremarkable, his hair shaggy and uncut, so different from the man I loved.

"Who are you?" I asked him. That man didn't shrink away from accountability.

He sighed, smoke swirling around him as he wipes his face with his hand.

"I don't know. Can't tell if I'm better or worse, to be honest," he admits softly. His eyes look haunted, heavy bags underneath. It's the way his shoulders sag as though his will to go on is slowly draining from him in this very moment that makes me want to break now. Like whatever reason he had for still going was fruitless.

I didn't like the way we mirrored each other like this.

I slowly scuff my feet towards him, tapping my fingers against the back of the wooden chair before pulling it out to sit across from him. It's a start.

"So if you tell me," I say slowly. "Am I going to wish you were dead?"

He doesn't look at me. "I don't know."

Great.

The night is long. Morning comes without an invitation, the blue sky beginning to glow through the shitty blinders I always told Billy we should replace one day. I understand less than when we started, we've both cried more than once, and between our fingers is cigarette stubs and the feeling of each others skin, hands laced together as though another click of an old remote to an outdated TV with batteries you had to rub against your shirt to make work would reveal the smouldering remains of a gas station, displaying the estimated body count and deeming one of us as a devil of the worst kind, ripping us apart.

"Jesus," I say when it's over.

"Yeah," he says. "So, needless to say, my anxiety is shit now."

It isn't funny. It's a tragic statement. But when we both glance into the others eyes, it's his small little smirk that makes me laugh like I haven't since my mother sent me the local news report with his picture covering the front page. The same one that shows everything is still okay.

"I'm sorry," I say. Then the laughing turns into sobbing, and then I can't breathe. And I really am sorry.

I'm sorry I couldn't help him. I'm sorry he went out on a romantic whim and borrowed money he shouldn't have for the ring I was too ashamed to wear on the proper finger. I'm sorry he couldn't come back for me. And I'm sorry for hating him when he showed up unannounced at my door.

"Hey," he says gently, standing and crossing to me, removing his jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders to comfort me. It's unfamiliar, evidence of a life he wouldn't have led if he had just stayed by me and it upsets me, but his lips against my wet cheeks ground me, familiar and soothing me, coaxing me into wrapping my arms around him, clawing my trembling fingers through his hair. Still soft. Still combed.

"You can't stay here," I choke out.

"I know," he says quietly. There's nothing for a long time, our bodies shaking as we cling to each other. In our arms are the unspoken months of grief. Of his longing for our home, of my insanity. Death looms over the furniture, light hidden away lest it take away my sacred treasures I'd used to keep his spirit close to me.

"I can't lose you again," I say.

"I know," he says, smelling my hair and placing a soft kiss on top of my head. "But I can't promise stability if you follow me."

My brows furrow, my mind racing in confusion, my hopes rising. Follow?

"I know a guy," he says quickly, his arms tighter as if scared I'll turn away. "Says he can get me a new identity and a one way ticket to somewhere. I don't know where yet, but it's worth a try."

My fingers trace his back, swirling invisible patterns over his shirt. He'd always liked that after a rough day. I can feel the tension begin to slowly fall away from him at the contact, his breathing growing deeper and more steady. "And you want me to come?"

"Need," he corrects. "I don't regret leaving you, but I can't stay away. Even if it's more kind to let you mourn and find a better life."

A new life. A new identity. New name, new everything.

Maybe I am insane. Maybe this exactly the kind of mental break Billy had that day. Maybe I was doomed to follow his spirit no matter what. Maybe this is a second chance. Maybe God had granted me a mercy I'll never be able to repay, no matter how many night I spend in worship at a church or between this man's legs. Maybe I'd spend every day looking over my shoulder, paranoid and eventually turning cruel to strangers so to keep this one person everyone told me to let go of from the very beginning.

But the same Billy.

"Can he do a marriage license?" I ask after a long silence. I can hear him laugh, pulling away to look at me.

"That eager?" He asks softly, his eyes gentle, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch, softly placing a kiss on his palm.

▪︎》◇《▪︎

"Well," I say, "I already have the ring."

Masterlist

As cute as this was, please have better standards than the Reader I wrote in this fic. No man is worth that. I am DEADASS. Anyways, love y'all <3

[milksuu]

omg, the little texting parts from your recent ez fic were cute! idk if it’s possible, but could you do cute little texts between heartsteel and their so, or maybe a huge gc? I would love to see how you characterize them :)

INCORRECT HEARTSTEEL GROUP CHAT TEXT (ft. gn!reader)

❥ prompt: groupchat with the heartsteel!gang ❥ content/warnings: implied sexual content, crack ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel! & gn!reader

an: omfg that is legit such a cute/funny idea! ill definitely write up some cutesy heartsteel x reader texts. probably winter holiday themed! get them hot cocoa vibes going. stay tuned for it! in the meantime, enjoy this crack.

[Ezreal:] 😚 wow i wuv you gwuys so much i juwst cant stop *looks down* thinking about you c-can we 😳🍆 *notices buldge* snuggies in my bed because i w-want t-to feew youw wawmth aww uvw me pwease im begging you 😩🙏 i wiww get on my hands and knyees fow you if youww just *whines* p-pet me im a good *moans* boy i sweaw 🥺👉👈

Aphelios has left the conversation

[Kayn:] WTFFFFFF DID I JUST READ!!!!?????????? 🤮🤮🤮

[Sett:] Dude. Stop. You literally made Phel toss his phone into the trash can. 😑

[mcreader:] it's fine. i'm getting it out for him. 🙄

[Ezreal:]😫 but daddIES ive been behaving so so gewd *rubs* fow you i t-t-thought you w-wouwd give me youw miwkies as a p-pwesent🤤🍼 but nyow 🥺 *whimpers* that im a bad bad boy how wiww you punyish me?!! 🥵🥵😏

[Kayn:] OKAY YONE IM READY FOR THERAPY NOW

[K'Sante:] Is it possible to block someone in a group chat? I'm asking for a friend. And by friend, I'm talking about all of us. 🗿

[mcreader:] phels not taking the phone back. he says he wants a new one with a new number. so ez can never contact him again. and i quote 'i would rather jump into oncoming traffic than suffer through one more degenerate copypasta'

[K'Sante:] I think I'm going to vouch for aphelios here. His idea of a new phone and number sounds good to me.

[mcreader:] wait. his hands are moving really fast. i think he's just screaming at this point ??? i probably shouldn't translate most of it. point is he wants his phone to stay in the garbage

[Sett:] Dang. I just bought us matching phone cases too. Guess I can return them. No biggie. 😔

[mcreader:] nevermind. phel took the phone back. we're good. 👍

[Ezreal:] 😵 wowie you guys awe nyo f-fun but thats okay cause iww be wosta f-fun t-tonyight when 🥴👉👌 *snuggles close* im undew nyeath the bwankie with you 🥵👅💦

[Yone:] Unfortunately for you Kayn, at this rate, everyone in this group will need a therapist. I don't think we'll be able to afford it.

[Kayn:]

[psychedelic-ink]

no cos javier and steve both in bed w u and steve has to keep reminding javier to share im going feral

anon you're pulling me back into a pit that I barely managed to escape from fbfgbg I legit read this and a huge ass lightbulb came to life in my head, god I need to rewatch narcos

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄

pairing: javier p x fem!reader x steve murphy

genre: filth filth filth , minors dni

word count: 430

summary: steve wants javier to share

warnings: fingering, oral (receiving), mfm, teasing

Steve can’t help but watch. He’s not really jealous either, no matter how hard he’s trying to convince himself that he is and that’s the reason why he’s feeling like a ticking time bomb ready to explode. 

Sweat beads at his tailbone as his eyes devour the way you arch into Javier's mouth, the way you thumb your hard nipples as his tongue slides deeper and deeper with every hungry lick. He’s not a man of art, he doesn’t paint or write or do anything really but this—this right here makes him think of every sculpture and poem. 

Swallowing, he smoothes his palm over your thigh, pushing it up until he reaches your hip, squeezing it. Javier doesn’t care about his presence at all, his eyes are squeezed shut, his hips grinding into the sheets as he closes his lips around the sensitive nub. Steve shudders at the way you moan, chest heaving up and your breasts spilling from between your fingers. His cock drips at the sight. He takes a hold of one of your hands, pushing it away, he replaces it with his own much larger hand. 

Your eyes flutter open, lips parted, you moan again. “Steve—” 

Javier scoffs at that, eyes momentarily finding you through the darkness. “I’m the one doing all the work, you should be moaning my name, bonita.” 

Sweat glistens across your body, the dirty yellow light filtering from the window giving you an almost heavenly glow. Javier parts away with a string of saliva following, looking up, he presses the length of two fingers and starts to rub at you with precise movements. Your jolt is instant, fingers rounding around Steve’s wrist, you drip all over his fingers and the sheets. You scream out his name this time, which sparks some annoyance in Steve, he’s not a damned prop. 

“You need to share,” he grunts, circling the pad of his thumb around your nipple.  “You’re acting like a brat, Javi.”

His protests are cut short with your whine cutting through the air like a knife. You claw at his chest, your sopping sex lifting to meet the movements of Javier’s fingers. When you managed to curl your fingers around the slope of his shoulder you pull him down, crashing your mouth with his. He slips his tongue between your lips, he groans into the kiss, hand roughly kneading the flesh of your breast as Javier curls two fingers inside, his mouth once again latched to your clit. 

“You worry too much,” Javier rasps wetly. “She wants us both—Plenty of her to go around.” 

Your fingers wrap tightly around his weeping cock, the drag of your palm making him growl. In that moment he knows that Javier is right.

[theylikeholdinghands]

A ramble of major spoilery thoughts after the prime premiere screening (episodes 1+2)

Under the cut. Very big spoils, I’m warning you.

My head is jumbled after the masterpiece I witnessed and all I’ll summarise are reactions and some stuff y’all already know from other screenings

Episode 1:

CROWLEY AS AN ANGEL OH MY GOODNESS HE WAS SO HAPPY AND JOYFUL AND HIS HAIR WAS STUNNING. Aziraphale definitely had love heart eyes at him and the whole “oh look at you, gorgeous” thing was legit. Crowley said that and Aziraphale smiled thinking it was aimed at him and then turned as he realised what he meant, the whole cinema room went awwwwww.

No one told me Gabriel fucking rubs his naked self fully against Zira whilst hugging him, I actually died.

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY DOES PLAY WHEN CROWLEY IS RUSHING TO THE BOOKSHOP TO PROTECT AND APOLOGISE TO AZIRAPHALE. AAAAAAH

The whole cinema erupted in laughter when Crowley had to do an apology dance and I was screaming. He did end it with a ballerina pose I cannot. Aziraphale said he had to do that apology dance in 1650, 1793 and 1941 (so I hope we see that in the 40s minisode)

Aziraphale being all adorable listening to his records before he got interrupted by Gabriel aaaaaah

GABRIEL SAYS “I LOVE YOU” TO AZIRAPHALE AND ZIRA SAYS THANK YOU and then goes “I…hmm” SAVE IT FOR YOUR HUSBAND

Aziraphale is so sweet with Maggie but he has no fucking clue how to be a landlord i stg. Maggie also mentions the lockdowns, so the lockdown audio clip is canon.

Episode 2 Part 1 The Minisode:

The way Aziraphale enters this episode, dramatic ass bitch

I absolutely loved Azicrow’s initial argument about Crowley being evil and killing the goats and then the reveal he never killed them. ZIRA’S SMUG FACE BECAUSE HE KNEW CROWLEY WOULD NEVER HURT ANYTHING. Plus why do they look like they’re gonna kiss in that argument, I saw Zira looking at his lips… maybe his beard

Ty’s character is so camp when flirting with Zira oh my goodness

Gabriel’s long hair reveal got the crowd roaring

CROWLEY TEMPTED AZIRAPHALE INTO EATING AND HIS REACTIONS OH MY GOODNESS

The way they work together to trick the angels into thinking the kids are brand new is comedic gold

The very final scene of the episode is absolutely stunning. They’re both vulnerable and I love the line “I’m a demon, I was lying” comes back in so many ways this episode

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW EVERY REVIEWER SAID FRANCES MCDORMAND WASNT GOING TO BE BACK AND YET WE HEARD HER AND SAW HER NAME IN THE CREDITS

Episode 2 Part 2 Present Day:

CROWLEY SLEEPING IN HIS CAR, MOVE IN WITH YOUR HUSBAND DUMBASS

AZIRAPHALE CALLED THE BENTLEY “OUR CAR” and said he learned how to drive 90 years ago

Crowley’s romantic wooing involves a downpour of rain, sheltering under an awning and looking in to each others eyes to realise whats been there the entire time… ARE YOU OKAY CROWLEY

Crowley didn’t know Jane Austen wrote novels and knew her from a crime background. He picks up Pride and Prejudice in Aziraphale’s bookshop aaaaaaah

When Gabriel is alone alphabetising Zira’s books, he comes across P&P and reads the first sentence. THEN PICKS UP ANOTHER BOOK AND ITS THE FUCKING GOOD OMENS BOOK. NEIL I CANT BELIEVE YOU DID THIS

Anyway these are my initial reactions so sorry for the ramble. I hope y’all who haven’t been to a screening get to indulge and look forward to whats coming in just over a day now!

[astolfofo]

deja vu, Jamis vu

BSD beast au x reader. Based on the end of the beast movie.  AUTHORS NOTE: SO. ITS FINALLY DONE. ITS 4AM I AM ON IPAD TUMBLR AND UHHHH… I tried to edit this. but. TUMBLR WAS BEING AN ASS. and the two hours I spent editing this went down the drain. Mere words could not describe the grief I felt at 3:37 in the morning. I would have screamed if I weren’t so zombieified. Then, I tried to be paitent and edit it another time, but tumblr was like: haha no. so it didn’t save. I swear it’s not my fault if you have a stroke while reading this. I sacrificed my sleep for an entire week to do write this. Please give me some credit for my suffering. /lh

Also keep in mind. I have watched the DA movie and the beast movie a whopping total of 1 time. It’s probably very off from what I was trying to communicate, cause I legit have no clue what goes on in the light novels... spare me the slander. 

Last thing, I tried something new with this one, so there’s weird ahh switches between first person and 2nd person in this. Idk how good it is, lmk if i should never do it again.

Tw: head injury, murder, blood, suicide, yeah I think that’s about it.

word count: 6.8k  

To all the Chuuya enjoyers out there, I’m sorry for being a disappointment.

Tags: @redeemingmygloryintopurgatory

I’m wet.

Im standing outside his door, knocking as it rains outside, without an umbrella, cold, and of course, drenched.

Helplessly, I knock on his door, hoping for a response from him. I know it’s pointless, by now. I should cut him out of my life by now, I should… leave him. He’s not a good person, he’s part of the Port Mafia, for the love of god… I’m scared of him. He could crush me at any moment. Hell, he breaks into my house so frequently, and even though he’s done no harm… he could kill me at any moment. So why am I here? Shouldn’t I be relieved that he hasn’t shown up at my apartment for over a month now? I… just can’t…

Lightening splits the sky in half and the sound of thunder cracks in the air.

Your fist slides down the window pane of the door. It makes a terrible sound, and you wince in pain from the sting of the friction. You should just go home. It was obvious Chuuya wasn’t even home, he never was. And if he wasn’t even home, how would he even answer the door? You regret coming here in the first place, you didn’t even know why you chose to. Was it out of worry? Was it because you had to say something to him? You couldn’t remember by now, it was all on impulse. 

Chuuya had broken into your apartment countless times. Still, no matter how many times you’d snap at him, how many times you’d emptily threaten him, or try to push him off the balcony, he still came back the next day, unphased. You couldn’t get rid of him, no matter how hard you tried. And after many days, you had learned to accept that someone could break into your home at any given moment.

And you had no knowledge of how he knew you, let alone knowledge of how he even got your house key. Or maybe he picked your lock. You couldn’t be sure and you really did not want to know. 

Every day, you’d come back home from work, and Chuuya would be sitting on your couch, drinking your wine (much to your own distaste). You’d usually give him a dirty look, and he’d glare in return but you’d say nothing. You preferred not to talk to him, and Chuuya wouldn’t raise conversations by himself. He always sat in the corner of the room, observing… scrutinizing every move you made. On the rare occasions when you had managed to start a conversation with him, it was always painfully awkward.

You once remember asking him why he was here, what he wanted from you, and his true intentions. Chuuya looked at you in an amused manner and stared out the window. 

“Why I’m doing this? You’ll find out yourself when the time is right.”

By the time you had woken up, he was always gone. As if he was never there in the first place. The only thing he’d leave was the wine glass he’d drink out of, and your clothes you had hauled back from the laundromat messily folded, in your drawer. Occasionally, when it warm out, he’d leave the window open. They were small actions. Meant to be noticed, but not returned.

The splashing of rain intensifies, as you stand on Chuuya’s porch. He’s not home. You can’t stand here forever. You have to get back home before it’s too late.

What a great way to spend my time off work.

But you wanted to try one last thing before you left. Maybe his door was unlocked the entire time. Although you would doubt it, it was worth a try. It was so stupid to do this, all of it was. But your curiosity is getting the best of you, and you desperately wanted answers. Answers only Chuuya could give.

So, you grip the door handle and twist the doorknob. Much to your shock, the mechanics of the door click, and the door opens.

Chuuya had left the door unlocked. He forgot to lock his own door. You take a step up, and stand in the doorway. The rain is still hitting your back, and you groan realizing that you’re dripping water onto the floor. Quickly, you step in and shut the door. You twist the lock, ensuring that no one else would come in.

You sure hope Chuuya wasn’t going to come home tonight. The thought of it made the hair on your neck stand slightly. 

You take off your shoes which are drenched in water and stare in the mirror. You’re soaked to the bone. Your clothes are completely see-through. You’d need to change them. That could wait, though. If the rain stopped, you’d go home as soon as possible.

Okay. Quick in and out it is. I need to find my spare key, and I need to find what happened to him after the explosion in the sky that day. The one that happened on the top of the… port mafia building. You shudder. I wonder what happened. It was so bright that it looked as if the sky exploded for a second. The next thing you know, everything is back to normal… except it isn’t. A dead body is found at the bottom of the building.

Followed by that, I never saw Chuuya again, but many people that were close to me have been avoiding me. When asked why, they avoided my question. There isn’t a strong connection there, but I think… that all of these events are connected somehow. Chuuya never appears again, and the fact he works for the Port Mafia, definetly does not help. 

Additionally, the Armed Dective Agency sent me a letter to be wary of Chuuya. With no additional information. There’s something going on here. Something is wrong. Something terribily wrong.

And I’m scared.

Apprehensively, you take several steps inside the house. You keep getting the feeling that you may get caught. But you don’t hear anything at the door. It’s a painful paranoia.

You inhale and exhale.

I’ll start looking for hints first. I don’t need an answer right away. One hint will be able to give me lots. I’ll start from his room, that’s where people are most likely to hide things.

You walk as quickly as possible across the empty corridor in the house. His house is eerily empty. There isn’t much in it, just a lot of furniture, a shelf of wine, messy papers and a few books placed sparsely across the rooms.

You walk up the stairs, which slightly creaks under your weight. You try your best to ignore any noises and try to stay focused. As you reach the top of the stairs, you see his bedroom, which is the first room at the end of the staircase.

You walk towards the room, you open the door and look around. Chuuya’s room is surprisingly fuller than the rest of the house. There is a dresser, with several items stacked on top of it. It has drawers, which you assume were full. His closet was also filled with clothes, with various hats on the shelf above in his closet.

Chuuya’s bed was neatly made, giving the impression that he had not been home in weeks. Unoccupied, cold, and abandoned. Yet you felt a temptation to lie in it either way. Your eyes dart to the dresser again, and you look at the various items spread out on it. None of these are of much use to you. Besides the gun that seemed unused.

Your hands move to the drawers and you begin to search them. In the first one, there was nothing. Just a bunch of stationery, and papers, some of which had blood on them. You shudder in disgust and move on.

You struggled to pull the second drawer. After a moment, it slides open and you look at the inside contents. You stare at it, wondering if you open it. There is no address on it, and it isn’t sealed. 

You have a bad feeling about this, but your hands move faster than your brain. You pull out the piece of paper and read its contents.

The letter is addressed to you. It doesn’t include much. Just A single sentence that holds an address. 

And then it hits you.

Chuuya had been planning this for a long time. He had purposely left the door unlocked, left his house empty, and left you because he knew you would try to find him one day.

It infuriates you more than you expect. But you can’t stop here. You’ll go to a specific location. 

Just to be sure, you look in the third drawer, you see your spare key, as well as a lock cutter. 

Its dark now. It’s still pouring. You have no choice to stay here for tonight. Begrudgingly, you curse yourself for dragging yourself into this. Still, you were in too deep to back out now. Whatever happens, will happen.

-

You wake up. 

You're lying on Chuuya's bed, in his clothes, begrudgingly. Your own clothes are discarded onto the floor, dried during the time you had been asleep. Still, you don't exactly feel like changing into them. It felt too gross to wear them. 

You shake your head. Now's not the time to be thinking about that. You sit up, and stretch your arms. Then, you walk towards the desk again, and look at the address. You take note of the address, and take your spare key. Before you go, you flip over the paper, ensuring that you didn't miss anything. There's another sentence scribbled on the top of the paper.

I know you're reading this. You want to know why I'm gone, and why I did this. The address that is provided will help you, but it will not give you the answer, nor will I be there. 

…What? 

You read the sentence over and over again. The words sink in, making you feel conflicted. You knew you were getting yourself into a certain kind of danger by doing this, but you didn't expect it to be this risky. Hell, you didn't even know where the man was now, and not to mention… the location…

You look at the location again.

It's on the street where the explosion happened. And you're no fool. If it was on that street, it meant it was that building. There were no other possibilities. You doubt it would be any other one of those tall skyscrapers, anyways. The one where the explosion happened was the only building Chuuya had any affiliations with.

Which was going to be incredibly difficult to get into. Let alone, to the top floor. You'd be dead even trying to set foot into the door. It wasn't worth your life for this. You should forget about it and go back home.

You look through the paper again, hoping there might be something more to help you. Sighing, you came back with nothing. I suppose I really have to go through with this, don't I? There's no turning back. 

-

The walk to the Port Mafia's building was rather short, if you were being completely honest. It was located in the heart of Yokohama, and was one of the tallest buildings there, if that told you anything. 

You stand outside the building, as the apprehension and fear build up inside you. You had never felt as much of a need to run from anything, as much as you did now. The doors, despite their grandeur size, and large glass design, looked uninviting. Almost like doors to a bank vault; the kind of doors that told you, you wouldn't be able to get out, as soon as you stepped in. And from various things people has told you throughout the years, the Port Mafia keeps people it's had come into contact with. It's more powerful beyond belief. 

It doesn't need to control you. You'll be forced into being pliant for them, simply by fear. No one can betray them. Death is almost a guarantee if you do.

And recently, they had also become violent as well. You might as well be walking yourself into a death wish.

But your feet remained rooted into the ground, and part of you remains determined to see this through. So you take a deep breath and walk into the building. 

You try to remain calm as you push through the doors, into the lobby. You pray Hou won't be swatted with bullets as soon as you enter, but much to your own surprise, there's no one in the lobby. It's completely empty.

It doesn't feel right. You wonder if what happened. Well, it's not your business anyways. You couldn't care less. You just needed to find whoever Chuuya's office is and-

"Who are you?"

shit. you curse under your breath. "I-I'm," you turn around to face the person talking g to you. As soon as you do this, the man's eyes widen, and you acknowledge away slightly. "Sorry… um… do you know where Chuuya is?"

You had never felt so idiotic and out of place in your life. You can physically feel your heart pounding inside your chest, as you pray you don't look too suspicious. You can't mess up here. Though the man you are currently talking to isn't holding any firearm. That may just as well mean he has even worse methods to kill you off.

"He's not here."

of course, he isn't. You think to yourself. He wrote that in his own letter, or whatever you call it. 

"He's been arrested." The man looks you directly into your eyes, and as on instinct, you look down, too scared to actually look at him. A few moments pass in silence.

"Can you… perhaps tell me why?"

"After the previous Port Mafia executive committed suicide, Chuuya was forced to lead the Port Mafia. He hated the job greatly, and he eventually…" He stops himself.

"Go on." You mutter.

The man tilts his head and looks at you again. "Are you sure? If you want to see him… it's better just to see for yourself." He stops for a second. 

"No… please tell me. Tell me everything that you possibly can."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine then. If you insist."

"Chuuya lost his control over himself. He slowly became more, deranged, if you will, as time went on. After the old executive killed himself, Chuuya had no one left. Or at least, that's what we saw. His orders became more and more irrational, often just resorting to killing everything, and slowly, he eventually broke. He went on a rampage, as you've probably seen, Yokohama is not safe with him around. He almost destroyed Yokohama in its entirety, and it took serveral organizations to stop him. I don't know the exact details after that. He remains locked up underground."

You feel as if you had been doused under cold water. You didn't only have your question answered, but that also explained several other things as well. You try to recollect your thoughts while figuring out what to do next.

"By the way, you look familiar."

"How so?"

"I don't know, to he honest. You look like someone who used to work here. Maybe my mind js tricking me, though. You look too weak to be here."

"Yeah," you force out an awkward laugh, "I could never work here for the life of me."

"Figures."

another awkward pause, as you stare at the man.

"I assume you need Chuuya's location, don't you?"

You nod.

"Here." He hands you a piece of paper, with an address messily scrawled onto it. "Although, I don't recommend going to see him, tell the guards you are a relative of his. Hopefully, it will convince them enough to let you in. Though, if you want, I'm sure you can attempt to knock the guards out. Chuuya's well… very restrained so he won't hurt you."

"Ah… thank you."

"Don't mention it."

You bow and leave.

"Hey wait-" the man calls out, his voice echoing through the empty lobby. He seems hesitant to ask something. You stop and turn around. "Yeah?"

He looks down, and awkwardly avoids eye contact for a second. It's at this moment you realize he's a man with short, white, hair, as well thick bangs that were cut into a slant. He’s rather short, and he’s wearing a long jacket.

He looks… familiar. I wonder why.

“What’s your name?” 

You stare at him for another moment before answering. “It’s Y/N.”

You could have sworn you had seen a face of surprise from him for a second, but it could have been your imagination because the next instant you blink, it’s gone. “I see,” he says slowly. “Be careful then. He’s not the same as what you may remember.”

As… I remember? What….

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything. Just go to the address, and everything will make sense.”

“Hey wait-”

He’s already turned his back and left on you. You’re left with so many more questions than you started off with, and dread creeps up you again. There was a warning tone in his voice, almost as if telling you to do this was a terrible idea. That you were going to be landing yourself in scalding hot water, and you wouldn’t be able to get out. You knew the risks from the start, but…

You quickly unfold the paper, and look for the address. Once again, the address is written in the center of the paper. You carefully look around for any other writing on the paper.

It’s completely white. Blank. Except for one sentence on the bottom: It’s never too late to back out. 

And you stare at it, and think about the several cryptic warnings you received from this man. So… you’re telling me, that after that explosion happened in the sky… a dead body, the previous executive was found. Then shortly after that, Chuuya became the executive of the Mafia. He hated it. But he had no choice and was left alone to do it. Eventually, he lost his sanity and mind and the Mafia… I guess? Because very corrupt, violent, and unsafe. It took many people to stop him, and how he was arrested in an underground cell. At this address.

It’s clear he’s cutting something out. He said to be careful. Of course, if Chuuya has lost his mind, I need to do that. But he empathized that I should be wary of him. Also, he said I looked familiar, and he also looks familiar to me. He mentioned something about… me remembering? Have I known Chuuya for longer? 

But he also said that only Chuuya has the answers to all my questions. So that means in other words, he knows what happened during the explosion, he knows that Chuuya has been breaking into my apartment and he knows more about my entire predicament now, than I do.

Just… who exactly is he? How and why?

You cut yourself off from those thoughts. 

Ugh. this is ending up being so much more complicated than it was supposed to be. You thought in bitterness. So basically, I’ll go to the address, and get the answers to my questions. Sounds simple enough. There’s no need to overthink this. Maybe i’m just being paranoid. What’s the worst that could happen?

Well, a lot. But I’ll just ignore that for now.

You turn around and walk towards the door again. To be honest, you don’t want to know what might happen once you see him. You were already nervous from the implications the man had told you moments ago, and you were coming to realize there were some things that you noticed when you were in Chuuya’s house. Things that you maybe weren’t supposed to know about or see.

In the bottom of the drawer… there were documents. Documentation of everything that happened on the day of the explosion. A bright light illumined the sky, followed by the dead body found; the previous port mafia’s executive; Dazai Osamu. The two closest people to the explosion were a member of the port mafia, Atsushi Nakajima, and a member in the training of the Armed Detective Agency, Ryounouske Akuwatagawa. They are believed to be the cause of the explosion.

No one knows the exact events inside the Port Mafia on that day, except for the individuals involved in the actions that happened. According to the Armed Detective Agency, Akuwtagawa had barged into the Port Mafia to challenge the Port Mafia Executive. He accordingly, fought many individuals in the Port Mafia, a body count is yet to be determined. Data from thereon forth is unknown until the individuals reach the top of the building, where the most notorious event stated above occurred.

Additionally, after thorough examination of the body of the previous Port Mafia Excuetive, it can be concluded that he had committed suicide by jumping off the building. 

The document ends there, and the paper is ripped in half.

-

It felt like every meter you travelled towards that location was walking towards a terrible, yet inevitable fate. The drive there, dragged on and on as if mocking you for your choices. You find yourself counting down the seconds until you can arrive at the location given.

Oh, how you wished you had stayed at home instead of seeking him out. If only your morbid curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of you.

You’ve lost track of the time you’ve spent on the train, only waiting for the loudspeaker to announce your stop. The location you figure you were given led you to a rather remote area, likely in the outskirts of Yokohama. If not further. The man had told you he was locked underground, completely isolated from everything.

You found that part the most unsettling. If they needed that many security measures to keep him in place, it was likely he was completely gone. Gone beyond saving. If he had succumbed that much to his own grief and madness, it would be a question of whether he would still remember you or not. 

You look out the window again, enjoying your last moments of peace.

This is the eerie calm before the storm, isn’t it?

Moments after you think that, the train halts to a stop at the last station in Yokohama, and you get off. Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, and you’re not sure if you can stop it.

You try your best to remain calm. Force yourself to keep going. He’s special to you. You can’t lose him, even if you hate him. You need him. He’s the only one who still cares. 

And above all, he’s the only one who remembers you at all.

And so, you go. You take all the correct turns. You try to walk as quickly as you could, to arrive at the destination. You keep going, and going and going until…

You’re here.

It’s one of the better buildings on the outskirts of the city, yet… it looks incredibly unsettling. It’s a mundane building, one made from standard concrete, and glass. Yet. As you stand so close, you see cracks in the building. The door is partially cracked as well. 

Well, I’m here already. Whatever happens, happens. I may die in there, still, before I die, I have to know the answer. The answer… why can’t I remember? Chuuya. I want him to tell me, what he did to me. Why he came to my apartment every day. Why he’s… he’s…..

Oh. My hands are shaking. Surely I cannot be this terrified can I? I will do this even if it kills me.

You pull the door open and enter the building. The piece of paper told you that it was on the lowest floor. Your footsteps echo in the empty building, and it feels creepy no one is here.

Huh. Gives some Deja Vu, doesn’t it?

You proceed towards the elevator at the end of the hall, and press the down button. Almost instantly, the elevator makes a “ding” noise, and the doors open. You quickly step in and look for the lowest button. With a deep breath, you push the button, and the door closes.

You stare at your face in the mirror. You look terrible. Pale and your hair is completely dishevelled and a mess. If you didn’t know any better, you’d look like you were sick. You had been extremely anxious about this for an entire day, after all.

The elevator doors once again slide open. 

Here goes nothing. You sigh. I’d better hear you talking today, Chuuya. You have a lot to tell me. And you’d better tell me it all.

You step outside the elevator. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing, and no one here. The halls are empty, and the strong scent of stale air, combined with dust fills your nostrils. You feel like coughing for a second, but you hold yourself back. You didn’t want to make any noise to give away your presence. You take another step.

Despite what the man said, it was clear that there was no one else there. No prison guards, no other cells inside. It was clearly a floor made, simply to detain one individual in particular. Isolated, and secure enough that they’d never be able to escape. Deep enough underground that they’d never even know where they were.

Your footsteps tap loudly against the concrete and echo everywhere around. As you walk down the hall, the lightbulbs behind you light up. The man had told you it was in the deepest part of the prison. However, what he didn’t account for, was that you had no idea how this floor was organized. 

Not to mention it was starting to get creepy really quickly. Although there should be nothing else in here, you were starting to get the sense that there was something dangerous that might lurk in the air. You tell yourself it’s probably just the dark and your own fatigue and you were imagining things.

The emptiness of the entire building creeps you out. It’s eerie. It feels like you were lead into the wrong location, and you were walking into a dead end. It almost felt almost like a trap that you had been lured into. And every second, the floor grew significantly more eerie. The lack of any presence and the darkness despite the very few lightbulbs attached to the ceiling enhanced that. 

I should be getting close now… right?

You were. You could see a light at the end of this hallway, which was illuminated with an orange light. It must have been where Chuuya’s cell was. There was no other place as illuminated as this, and there was no reason for it to be.

You had gotten this far. There was no reason you should be stopping now. Should you? The answer… you had always looked for, you could get it now.

Chuuya always hid something from me. He has never answered once, one of my questions. He’s never told me why he comes to my house every day, he never told me once why he was gone. For as long as I remember, I’ve been coming back from my job, and seeing him there. But one day, he disappeared. No reason why, no reason of how. He just did.

But apart from my job, there’s another piece missing to this puzzle. There’s something else that I’ve always wanted to ask him besides why he’s gone missing, and the explosion which I already had the answer to. He knows me, better than I know myself.

What was I before all of this happened?

I know there’s something before all of this. It just doesn’t add up. The man I saw in the mafia looked familiar. The building itself was in a place that I had felt I had been in at some time before. There’s deja vu there.

But when I first walked into the apartment, the first day before I saw Chuuya, I had jamais vu. A familiar place, that I didn’t know. And consequently, I couldn’t remember much before that. So what-

“I know you’re there, (Y/N). You’ve been standing there for quite some time.”

Shit.

Your thoughts are cut off by that voice you instantly knew. Chuuya was indeed, there. But his voice didn’t sound the same as you remember. There wasn’t any of the snarkiness, or egotistical attitude in his voice anymore. Instead, his voice was laced with aggression, and a malice that made you hesitant to even come forward.

You open your jaw to speak, but almost if Chuuya knew, he spoke before you. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to know why I left you, don’t you? I assume that someone has already told you about what happened on the day I stopped seeing you, and I’m sure you know all about the aftermath of that.”

You feel like you are doused in cold water. How did he know? Did he plan all of this. You want to open your mouth and tell him to slow down, but he continues, anyways.

“And you’ve been having deja vu for several days, too. You feel like you know the Port Mafia building, you feel like you recognize everything you saw, including my home.” Silence, as he pauses for a second. “So why don’t you… come and face me, and I’ll tell you what actually happened?”

“Chuuya-”

You hear no response. You sigh and walk towards his cell. You’re not ready to hear this, and you’re not sure you can face him.

He’s different. He’s not the same anymore. He sounds more violent, his composture is much less controlled than it was before. What…what happened to him?

And then you approach his cell. He’s got cuts everywhere, specifically the gash on his face. You instantly feel the need to run away, to get this image out of your mind. He was thin, his face was significantly more gaunt than it had been the last time you had seen him. And the most unsettling thing was how he was kept. Both arms were harshly chained to the ceiling and the wall. The chains were wrapped around his arms several times (you would assume most likely to stop him from breaking free), and they cut deeply into his arm. Then his body was also tightly bound to a chair, and his legs were bound to the chair’s legs. His body you noticed, was bound so tightly to the chair, you wonder how he still managed to breathe. Still, nothing would be as unnerving as to look at as his eyes. They were not dull per say, but they were empty. Not in the hopeless kind of way, but in the tormented sense that he had been tortured so badly that it would be unlikely he ever saw the light of day again.

Truly, he was a lost cause. You could only describe him as tortured and traumatized, as you couldn’t glance at him a second time.

“Hey. You done oogling yet?” His voice came out as almost an aggressive snarl, and you instantly look away. “Look at me.” You do your best to look at him, while trying to avoid looking at any part of his face in particular. You didn’t want to see it. Truly, you don’t want to look at him in any way whatsoever. So you settle on looking at a corner of his hair. The only thing that was still familiar to you.

“I said look at me. In the eyes.”

You don’t want to.

Chuuya sighs. “I know I probably look terrible right now, but please. Just do it. For the sake of me. Just look me in the eyes. It’ll probably be the last time I see someone for a long time.” He draws that last sentence out for longer than you expect, and you start to feel uneasy again, but you try to ignore that and ask him the question. The question you had been dying to ask for an undefined amount of time.

It’s a second before you can really bring yourself to ask it. “Chuuya. Where are my memories?” your mouth tightens… “Who am I? Why did you… do this?” You take a deep breath, to stop yourself. “Just tell me. Please.”

There’s another stretched-out pause before Chuuya responds again. “I knocked you out.”

“You… you what? N-no… you’re kidding right?” Your voice wavers slightly, before seeing Chuuya’s face again. He’s dead serious. “Why would you do this?”

“You were in danger. I couldn’t help it, alright?” He yelled, and you flinch. He takes a deep breath in again, slightly more calm, and continues. “Let me explain.”

“You were part of the Port Mafia, (Y/N). In fact, you, me, and Dazai used to be assigned to the same team all the time. Of course, it was always despicable working with Dazai. He never told us about anything, instead only telling us what to do, while he schemed about whatever he damn chose.”

“You can’t be serious…”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Do you think I’m joking right now? That I’m making a story and pulling it out of thin air for fun? You wanted answers. I’m giving them to you right now.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chuuya ignores you and goes on. “Out of the three of us, you were always the weakest one, without a strong ability, nor any supportive abilities, however, we always had to drag you along anyways. To every mission gaven to us. Dazai would always make a plan, and we’d have to follow through. And if any of us ever messed up, we’d always get into trouble.”

“I bet you wanted to know how you got that bruise on your arm, that’s never healed, huh? Well, it’s cause you messed up one of the missions, and one of the higher-ups broke your arm. It never completely healed, and it was a warning that you should never mess up again.”

You look at your arm, where the ugly purple bruise marred your skin. It had never healed, and you couldn’t do anything heavy with it. Although it made a lot more sense than the reasoning you were told, you found this all too unreal. There was no way you were a mafia member. You were always weak. There would have been no reason for you to join. But even past the static buzzing in your brain, you could make out everything he said feeling familiar. As if your memories were just behind a wall you couldn’t break through.

“Still, I wasn’t able to do anything at the time, and Dazai didn’t care too much for you. The damned bastard treated everything and everyone like a chess piece, and played them as he wished. You were constantly treated as the runt of the three of us, and often used as the punching bag when missions weren’t successful. But, over time, you managed to become more ‘competent’ and not ‘drag us back’.”

“Of course, that all was, until the Dragon Head incident. All you need to know was that it was a bloody fight, and most of us were sent to deal with it.”

“As always, we were sent to deal with the mess. Dazai and I were obviously vanguards during the entire ordeal, and you were backup. When we had found the person behind it all, I used my own ability to kill him. We had won, but just barely.”

“You had managed to find the location of the man first, but you didn’t notify us. This person later told us that you actually refused to tell us. Ultimately, you botched Dazai’s plan, and almost destroyed an entire city, because you didn’t follow his instructions. Of course, Dazai was disappointed, even if he didn’t say anything. He essentially dismissed you, and planned to go back, and remove you from the Port Mafia. But, I didn’t want that.”

“So after a very long fight with Dazai, I managed to make a compromise with him. You would not be killed for betraying the Port Mafia, however, you wouldn’t be allowed to go back. But if I told you this, you would have rather accepted death, since the Port Mafia is the only thing you have ever known. You couldn’t go into the real world since you have no identity there.”

“So later that night, while you had looked like you were at least, partially asleep. I had no choice… but to give you severe head trauma, which would make you lose all your memories.”

There’s an unspoken silence between the two of you. You had always been told that your head was fragile. When you tried to think about your childhood or teenage years, your head would fill with static and it would hurt. Never had you ever expected it to be… this…

“You must be shocked. You probably think I’m not being serious, or that I’m joking. Well, I’m not done yet.”

“You were in a coma for years after that. For about two or three years, if I remember correctly. I had to make sure that you wouldn’t remember anything, so I bashed your head, pretty hard against the concrete. I brought you to the hospital after that, and told them that you had been injured badly, because you had attempted suicide. A balatant lie, but I couldn’t tell the doctors any more than that, otherwise I would have been detained.”

“For several years, you stayed in the hospital, completely unconscious. I’d visit you everyday, and see if you would wake up. At one point I had considered just giving up. But eventually, you did wake up. But, you didn’t have an identity in the real world, let alone education, or anything that would let you survive. When you were discharged, I paid a company to forge you a fake identity, which is what you live by now.”

“I’ve watched over you for so long, (Y/N). You once asked me what you needed to be protected from. I didn’t answer that question because I didn’t think it was the right time to let you know the truth. Alas, you’ve come searching for the truth yourself. The Port Mafia was after you for a long time. I had to constantly monitor you, you were constantly on my mind every day. And even when you were discharged from the hospital, I still had to watch over you while you slept. They wanted to kill you. I didn’t want you dead, in fact how could I?” Chuuya laughs in bitterness. “I loved you for a long time. I did all of this to make sure I’d be able to see you happy, for once. And you were. You moved into society rather nicely. You were simply not meant to be part of the Mafia, despite the potential in your ability.”

“You have the gun I left on my desk, didn’t you? You knew you had to take it because you might have been in danger.”

“Chuuya… stop.” You’re still in shock, but you know you’ll never properly remember any of your memories now. You can only trust him. Whatever he says, you have to believe. He’s not lying. He never was lying.

“That was Dazai’s gun. The gun he left before he killed himself.”

“No… please. Stop. Chuuya. Don’t do this please…”

He chuckles. “I have no merit in my future, I am simply left to rot and die here. You wouldn’t understand, (Y/N). I spent so much time in my life for you, that it would have been simpler to just kill you. But I can’t do that.”

“But in a life where you don’t return any of that to me isn’t worth living either…”

“CHUUYA,” you scream. “Stop this. Don’t…”

“So shoot me please. I know you’re dying to do it. You brought the gun with you, you wanted to kill me. I know you do. Why? You’ve reached into your pockets serveral times while I was telling your past. My life is hopeless, completely doomed. I’ve lost everything I once had, except for you. And I can’t even see you now.”

“So kill me. Put me out of my own misery.”

He smiles, in a twisted sort of way, expecting you to shoot.

“You won’t regret it.”

And it’s true. You were planning on killing him, but you don’t want to now. But if what he said was true, you were also ruthless as he was. You had to make a choice, quickly.

Your hands move faster than your mind, and you can’t stop yourself.

You shoot once. Once at his chest.

You can’t bear to see what you did.

But you also can’t see control what you were going to do next. You hear another gunshot being fired, and you weren’t if it was from yourself, or maybe someone else in the floor.

Your vision stops and you feel yourself falling to the ground.

[kitsunefyuu]

If afo and inko were in love, what would their relationship be like?

Well with all this new backstory information I have quite a few ideas on how their relationship work. Warning, while I definitely write them as loving and stuff doesn't mean there aren't some red flags.

How their relationship would be like in love:

All for One is a petty person who desperate for love and validation using any means to get it while also willing to spoil his 'gift' if likes them. Inko is a loving and strong willed person who do anything for their loved ones.

Basically they work well. As All for One is startled that Inko is just actually nice and seems to just like him. It ain't at all like the insane worship of his followers and he LATCHES onto that. So he kind of orchestrates opportunities for them to keep meeting. But tries to act subtle despite trying to throw gifts at her.

Inko of course thinks it's kind of hilarious and sweet that he's trying so hard. So basically she agrees to date him and let me tell you AFO has NO IDEA how dating works. He just kind of there eating dinner with no idea what to do- Cue Inko just deciding to talk and slowly getting him to talk about stuff and talk about herself.

All for One is intrigued since he doesn't really get many chances to just 'talk' about stuff that isn't a transaction. He knows people but he isn't usually part of said people. And he ends up talking about his brother and how threw himself into his work still wishing him back.

Basically first date goes great and Inko learns a lot. Though AFO avoids the whole 'murdered' said brother accidentally or that he was being evil or is still evil.

Basic dating between them is AFO basically spoiling the ever loving crap out of Inko with material things. While Inko gets him talking about his emotional needs and desires as well as helping him learn more about her. AFO learns he likes learning about people when it not about what they can get but just because wants to talk.

AFO has very much murdered or wanted to murder potential threats to Inko in the background as well as anyone that dared to try and 'steal' her. Look man he's still AFO and if there anything you know, he ain't keen on sharing. Though he makes sure they aren't so close to Inko she worry or something, he ain't that stupid. He doesn't need her running away so if they are too close, he must endure... Inko pretty good at getting him to not worry over it tho.

AFO actually considered retiring super villainy when they become engaged. As unlike with followers and people that owe him she not afraid of him. Also she seems to just genuinely like his company despite him being 'off' as many say. Who would have thought having a healthy normal relationship and being in love can be so enjoyable? If only he read more romance novels/manga.

BTW he did start reading those in his attempt to woo so you get sudden random romantic gestures from him. He even learned to cook as learned girls like that and he wants to impress her. Inko gushes at having a husband that does so much for her. He feels like a god damn great provider so like a peacock showing off his tail feathers.

People swear it seems like he got more handsome while dating Inko. AFO didn't even realize it but he made himself look more handsome purposefully. Obtaining better grooming habits, maybe some quirks and also he just smiles more genuinely with her. He still ruthless as hell as a villain but now he working even harder to impress her not just look good for his cult.

One time AFO nearly revealed he had more then one quirk because of a rat. He screamed when saw one and was about to legit about to air canon it- He got lucky because Inko just captures it in a bucket. Assuming he was scared and now about to just bring the whole place down. AFO learned he needs to be more careful.

I got even more but we be here forever so ask for more if wish to hear more of me ranting about Inko X AFO~!

[anonymous-dentist]

saw that you had some discussion about the pepito retconning and otipep. i was very surprised to see people hating it so much, and am disappointed by it being retconned.

i read the situation as pepito throwing a tantrum, because pepito is a small child and small children do stuff like that all the time. not pepito not actually wanting roier as a parent. little kids are dramatic all the time.

otipep does not exist and never existed, regardless of retcon. it was the explanation roier made to explain to himself why his child was having a tantrum because he wasn’t in a place where he could deal with it. it’s not reality, they’re not separate characters. it’s just pepito.

You see, the thing about Otipep is that he directly insulted the streamer, and he refuse to "Yes-And" with him, and that's the number one thing in any kind of improv storytelling. They were a different admin from what the audience and Roier were used to, and that's fine, we're used to it. What isn't fine is that Otipep refused to work with Roier and insulted him and ignored him and walked away every time ccRoier tried explaining what he and Admin 07's Pepito had been doing for the past few days. Call it a tantrum, that's fine, but it's also a dick move when it's your literal job to work with the streamers to tell a story. Look at the way other eggs have thrown tantrums, and then look at Otipep.

You'll be hard-pressed to find a Hispanic fan that actually liked the Otipep Day and that's because Otipep came in and immediately and actively destroyed days' worth of storytelling and wrecked a cc's attempts at a story to the point of the cc giving up on the rp for the day and going to build and even getting off the server a little earlier than planned because like? Okay? Sure, destroy yet another one of Roier's planned Lores, it's not like people have been doing that since the first week of the server.

The only people that I've seen defending Otipep at all have been English-Onlies who saw Otipep's English sign and bed basically screaming to the world "ROIER IS A TERRIBLE FATHER AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO ADOPT ME! PREFERABLY SOMEONE WHO SPEAKS ENGLISH BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT I TYPED THIS SIGN IN! NOT THE LANGUAGE ANY OF MY PARENTS SPEAK!"

And what happened after people saw that sign? Well, English fans all went "Well this obviously proves that Roier is a terrible father and that Bad should adopt Pepito instead. He's been a bad father all along, and he's just as evil and insane as Cellbit is." This, in turn, started the process of the Hispanic fandom yet again losing a character on the server; at this point, it's legit just Roier and Quackity because Pol isn't allowed online for Lore Reasons and qMaxo is dead and everybody else just doesn't log on as often. Do you see the problem here?

Roier describing Otipep to Richarlyson legit made Richas' admin go "WHAT????" because that was Not professional behavior on Otipep's Admin's part. And that's the biggest thing here, I think: the lack of professionalism at play when you're hired to play your part and work with people "in the spotlight" (aka the streamers) but you aren't cooperating at all. It's like going to work at a grocery store and being told you're working the registers that day and going "No, actually, I'm going to stock shelves". You don't do that at work, and you definitely don't do that live on stream in front of 10k+ viewers.

I work in childcare. I know a tantrum when I see it, and Otipep could be seen as one. But you have to keep in mind the meta aspects here and think, wow, this is fucked up from a meta perspective! Going out of your way to ruin the fun of someone else just because you want the story to go a certain way? Not to be tolerated in any kind of collaborative setting. My dnd groups have kicked people from the table for less.

It got to the point where Quackity himself has to say it isn't canon, and, well. I think we can see that there was a genuine problem.

[bthump]

What are your thoughts or analyses on the phallic imagery in berserk? Less so the more obvious ones like seen in Casca’s nightmares which are obviously pointing to her sexual trauma, but like we see with the vagina-esque monsters and how Guts’ sword is alluded to being like a penis in some cases. Sorry if it’s a weird question lol

Sorry for the wait on this lol, I was on vacation for a while, and it's also a topic I wanted to spend some time on because I love it and I wanted to be relatively thorough. Thanks for the ask!

So yeah, disclaimers out of the way, Freudian analytical theory is very silly, very gender essentialist in ways that can often be transphobic and misogynist, and as far as I'm aware pretty much wholly unrelated to real psychology. Back in the 70s and 80s you had film theorists who took it seriously as a genuine glimpse into the subconsciousness of humanity or whatever, but now it's pretty much just a readily available source of sex and gender related symbolism that's easy to understand.

And in Berserk I do genuinely think it's a valid lens to view the story through because Miura is often quite heavy handed in utilizing it as symbolism. I mean, Guts literally gives someone an orgasm by stabbing her at one point. Some of this can definitely be a stretch, taking established symbols and running with them, but some of it is also almost certainly purposeful. I'll leave it to you to decide what you see as legit and what you see as stretching believability here.

This is very long lol

So yeah, it starts off strong in Berserk with Guts' oversized sword. Swords are dicks, ie sources of masculine power, especially in Berserk

and in the context of the story the dragonslayer is Guts overcompensating imo. And it's not compensating for a small dick lol, which would be more the purview of comedy, but for a loss of masculinity, ie Guts' childhood abuse from Gambino, and rape trauma. It's about his need to prove himself because he was made to feel like he had to, imo.

And it's not just the size of his sword, his obsession with it is also a major factor. He has a grandiose speech about how his sword is like a part of his body (hmm) and that it's been at his side through everything and he's always relied on it. The dream he lands on is to be the best and strongest sword fighter ever. He's currently having a breakdown over not being able to hit someone with his sword. He has a recurring tendency to break other guy's swords lol. At one point Casca screams at him that he essentially cares about his sword more than her. etc etc.

In the story dreams are at odds with emotionally healing human relationships, and dreams are represented by swords (Guts' sword obviously, Casca becoming Griffith's sword, Griffith calling the throne a sword while taunting the king in the dungeon as well as his vision of himself throwing him a sword and pointing to the castle in chapter 72).

So through a Freudian lens, Guts' sword can also be said to represent emotional isolation, positioning masculinity as emotionally isolating. Which, yk, fits with Griffith also equating dreams and masculinity in his Promrose Hall speech (a man must achieve a dream before he can have a family or lover) and, I suppose lol, Casca getting "softer" and more feminine as she falls for Guts, as femininity is therefore the opposite: emotional reliance on and support of others.

So if swords are dicks, then it follows that wounds are vaginas, ie yonic symbols. Also pretty obvious when you read some of the lines during the Guts and Casca sex scene lol. "I too want a wound I can say you gave me." These can represent weakness and victimization (I did warn for misogyny lol) and/or (often sexual) relationships and emotional openness.

So you have the relationships - "licking wounds" with Casca; Guts letting Casca stab him when he thinks about abandoning Griffith; the Beast of Darkness calling Casca the wound Griffith left so Guts can keep feeling the pain Griffith caused; Griffith scratching his own shoulder where Guts' sword pointedly didn't wound him; Griffith being out of reach of Guts' sword post-Eclipse; "let's give him a heap of raw iron;" and Farnese grinding on Guts' sword while possessed and Slan directly treating being stabbed as sexual penetration for the most obvious examples...

Also I'd argue that any time Guts gets his ass kicked in a fight it functions as an echo of his rape trauma symbolically and subconsciously to Guts. Both kinda obviously at times, like eg when Slan overpowers him and tears off his shirt while wounding his chest, and kisses him after the stabbing, causing Guts to feel a burst of fear

or when Rosine stabs Guts through the mouth as another enemy who flirts with Guts mid-fight. And of course the first duel with Griffith in which Guts unilaterally sets the stakes to sex slavery because he's projecting.

But also a little more subtlely, such as when Zodd is given the same position as Nightmare Donovan in Guts' concussion nightmare after he kills Adonis, or all this consistent imagery that rapists and apostles tend to get.

Or, interestingly, the way the Berserk armour functions as self-harm as Guts fights by penetrating Guts to "heal" him.

Something that solidifies its hold over Guts and makes him lose more and more of his positive humanity to his urge to kill.

So yeah, from a Freudian angle I'd suggest that Guts is driven to fight to reclaim the sense of masculine power he was stripped of when he was raped, and every fight can be said to be a repetition of his rape trauma in which he (usually) successfully fights back, but also continuously retraumatizes himself rather than healing.

I'm going to delve a little deeper into how phallic and yonic symbols intersect with the characters' relationships now that we've outlined some of the preliminary symbolism, starting from the Golden Age.

The first duel between Guts and Griffith is rife with Freudian symbolism, very overtly. Griffith stabs Guts and then Guts proceeds to have a nightmare about his rape trauma. Then he projects that trauma onto Griffith when he assumes Griffith wants to fuck him and adds sexual stakes to their duel. Then, yk, he takes Griffith's sword into his mouth lol.

Griffith winning by dislocating Guts' arm can be easily taken as a symbolic unmanning/castration, nicely introducing us into Guts' three years of growth towards prioritizing relationships instead of aimless sword-swinging to prove himself. It's also suggestive of penetration when you're primed to look for sexual symbolism (and if Guts offering Griffith his ass and then biting a sword doesn't prime you for it, what does?):

And the two of them losing their swords in the course of the fight and resorting to unarmed combat can also be taken as a telling symbol of the conflict between dreams and their relationship with each other. They lose the symbols of their dreams and contend only with each other, in a more positive contrast to the second duel that ends their relationship, in which they fight only with swords and never touch each other.

Wounds come into it when Griffith nearly gets killed rushing in against Zodd to save Guts, leading to the most impactful moment of their relationship, where Griffith admits he did it solely for Guts' sake and had no other reason. Griffith also points out how wounded Guts is after that fight, in what I'd call a nearly flirtatious way:

And if you follow these symbols completely strictly this scene suggests Guts retreating into his defensive masculinity in his sword exercises after being defeated/emasculated by Zodd and accused of not valuing his personal relationships by Casca, and finally finding a new, more constructive purpose for his sword after Griffith essentially confesses his devotion to him.

Dedicating his sword to Griffith in return for the wounds Griffith suffered for his sake, with, it has to be noted when the topic is freudian symbolism, his sword held at exactly crotch level.

In the second duel Guts destroys Griffith's sword before leaving, a symbolic castration which is most likely intended to represent and foreshadow Griffith's subsequent loss of power when he throws his life away and ends up tortured in a dungeon for a year. More interestingly imo, is Griffith tracing scratch-markes on his shoulder after sleeping with Charlotte and while crying over Guts - the same shoulder Guts' sword didn't quite hit when he won the duel, drawing attention to the lack of a wound by Guts' hand, a wound he created himself and traces in his devastation.

You have a nice... I don't know what the comic terminology is lol so I'm just going to call it a match-cut here, with Griffith and Casca both getting penetrated by the same number of arrows/skewers, to signify Griffith and the Hawks' fall from power, in contrast to Guts' growing phallic power as he pursues his sword swinging. Power which he demonstrates when he returns and saves the Hawks and Casca and Griffith by swinging his sword a lot and defeating a lot of powerful enemies and, if I'm gonna be crass, healing Casca's suicidal despair with his dick lol.

Interestingly though, before he does that he lets Casca stab him while experiencing the guilt of having driven Griffith into a torture chamber by leaving. It's a wound that highlights his emotional connection to Griffith and vulnerability to those emotions, even as he tries to deny them. He then manages to successfully deny them for a little while longer after having sex with Casca.

In this Freudian context, Guts and Casca's sex scene is an affirmation of a relationship, but one which is emotionally uneven, with Casca ready and willing to emotionally rely on and support Guts, but Guts still dedicated to his sword-swinging dream, inviting Casca with him but only as long as she doesn't get in the way of what he wants to do. This does fit with phallic symbols being associated with emotional distance and yonic symbols being associated with emotional closeness lol. (Also fittingly, the one way he does open up to her is about his rape trauma after a flashback.)

It's worth noting that in this disconnect Casca erroneously assumes Guts fought the hundred men and "bled" for her, making her want "a wound" from him in return. Guts fighting those hundred men is much more reminiscent of his fights against apostles, the fights that revolve around replaying his rape trauma to make himself feel better. Casca assumes they already have an emotional bond due to Guts' wounds, but she's wrong - Guts specifically thinks to himself during the hundred man fight that he's not doing it for Casca.

This is reflected in the Wyald fight when Guts insists on fighting Wyald, again as part of the whole reaffirmation of masculinity thing I outlined at the start of this, when Casca just wants him to run away. The Wyald fight is pretty overt about being about Guts' rape trauma imo, moreso than most fights in the story. Wyald's rapiness is made a point of from Guts' point of view when he sees him wielding the torso of a woman sexually impaled on a pike and gets extra angry, and when he literally cuts off Wyald's dick when he's about to rape Casca, and then has his pointed line about needing to "settle the score with him... with them... by his own sword."

SO ESSENTIALLY to sum up this subsection, I think you can argue that what prevents Guts and Casca from being an equal relationship is Guts stlil being hung up over needing to prove his masculine power through sword-swinging, rather than embracing his emasculation (which, remember, tends to signify positive relationships in this context) and coming to terms with it ("immersing himself in sorrow" as Godo says much later.)

Like, to return to Griffith, it's fitting that after Guts destroys his sword and he goes through a year of torture and is thoroughly emasculated, he's able to recognize his feelings for Guts and understand that Guts is more important to him than the dream, the "sword called the throne."

But he doesn't quite come to terms with his emasculation either. This symbolism is one explanation for the wagon scene where he propositions Casca - a desperate bid for some form of power. Not the strongest explanation imo, but since we're currently in the business of actively looking for this symbolism, it definitely fits. Casca's rejection and pity reinforce Griffith's emasculation, and overhearing her tell Guts to leave again is the final straw. Relationships are a bust, swords are now his only recourse, as we see when he has a vision of himself throwing him a sword and pointing to the castle.

You could take the nightmarish vision he has of a life with Casca as Griffith rejecting emasculation, but an alternate way of taking it is Griffith regaining a form of phallic power, and the emotional isolation that goes with it. After all, it's implied that he has a child with Casca, while totally withdrawn and emotionally isolated.

I once said in a different silly essay that Griffith choosing the dream is, in a way, Griffith choosing another version that nightmare, and that take also fits here.

And hey, it's another reason for Femto to rape Casca lol, if we want to ascribe meaning there, and of course we must in this kind of analysis. In the wagon Griffith essentially offers sex to Casca for the faint vestige of masculine power it could give him (emotional isolation and a child); in his nightmare he imagines that life and it drives him to suicide; and after becoming Femto he forces sex onto Casca and then continues on to embody emotional distance and masculine power.

This power is painfully demonstrated through the rape of Casca, but also subsequently through his pure untouchability (often in pointedly sexualized contexts); through his phony relationship with Charlotte and ascending to the ultimate patriarchal role of king/emperor and taking that sword called the throne; and I guess also through his actual sword lol which he still uses.

An example of sexualized untouchability - check out the positioning of that third thought bubble, in this scene where Griffith lords his invulnerability over Ganishka.

And look at all those pillars, I'm js.

And I'd be remiss not to point out the most recent confrontation with Guts where Guts tries many times to hit his naked body with his giant sword, completely fails, and then Griffith kidnaps Casca. More very on-point emasculation symbolism, it might as well be Guts trying to fuck him but unable to get hard lol. His breakdown afterwards doesn't do much to disabuse you of that notion either.

Anyway, back to post-Eclipse Guts. There's not much else to add that I didn't cover at the start, but in brief:

Guts has lost his arm during the Eclipse, which is an emasculation - he loses it while watching Femto rape ~his woman~ so it's like the most traditional symbolic castration there is lol. And of course he replaces it with a bigger, better, and more overt phallic symbol: a canon. And like the first thing we see him do with it is shove it into the mouth of a monster he's banging and blow her head off. So yk, there's that.

And there's Puck, who exists to help bridge Guts' emotional distance and essentially serves as the feminine counterpart to Guts' masculinity for a while. From his magical empathy, to his tiny size, to his lack of genitalia (note that in Freudian theory the lack of a penis is an indicator of femininity rather than specifically the presence of a vagina), to his connections with female characters Theresia and Jill, even arguably to his introduction where Guts saves him from a bunch of men throwing phallic knives at him by skewering them with his own (bigger) projectiles, this is consistent during the Black Swordsman/Conviction arc era.

Chestnut Puck is a lot more boyish, with his particular humour, his cameraderie with an annoying teenage boy, and now having his own feminine counterpart in Ivalera, but that's fine because his thematic job as a feminine influence on Guts is over after Guts starts collecting more friends.

And as far as the RPG group goes, there are a few notable instances of phallic symbolism for them too. Farnese and Serpico are an obvious example, with Farnese sexualizing the wounds Serpico voluntarily suffers for her, when she demands he duel for her honour a bunch of times.

Farnese brandishing the end of her whip at him doesn't hurt the freudian power dynamic symbolism either lol.

In the Conviction arc Farnese wielded a sword she was incapable of using, suggestive of her true femininity under a brash masculine surface, and when she softens in the Millenium Falcon arc she becomes a caretaker with only a small dagger for self-defense. That said, she does get that epic moment of stabbing a tiger in the eye with a long silver pole (candlestick) when she rejoins Guts' crew rather than becoming a housewife, so she still gets some badass phallic weapon imagery lol.

Serpico wields a thin rapier in the Conviction Arc, which Guts easily grabs in his hand, and in the Millenium Falcon arc he switches to a... limp feather duster lol. Serpico is very feminized compared to Guts and his weapons fit as part of that, but they're still effective weapons. You could maybe argue, within this Freudian lens, that this is indicative of Serpico's healthier relationship with masculinity. He's not compensating for anything, he's at peace with himself.

And god I gotta say something about Guts and Serpico's duels. In the first one you have Serpico delaying Guts while Farnese steals Casca from him, and part of that delay is to force Guts into a fight where he can't wield his sword, a parallel emasculation to Casca being kidnapped.

Then you have their confrontation after Farnese's no good very bad night, which is just incredibly suggestive lol.

You cannot tell me this isn't Guts getting blueballed when Serpico leaves after one quick exchange. Particularly coming in the same chapter featuring possessed Farnese grinding on Guts' sword (which Guts was much less interested in, incidentally). Also: wounds as sexual imagery again. Guts licking the blood off his cheek? Come on.

And finally you have their fight in Farnese's basement, in which Serpico attempts to hinder Guts by surrounding him with giant pillars, which Guts smashes through as he dodges around them. Another neat illustration of Guts' pure phallic power and Serpico's much more effeminate style.

One final note to address part of your ask, which didn't naturally fit into the rest of this lol: I would interpret vaginal imagery in monsters as mainly castration anxiety, yk, vagina dentata vibes, the fear of sticking your dick in a hole you can't see into. There's actually a lot of interesting stuff to consider in terms of the feminine as the unknowable other when it comes to Freudian theory, but that's like, not something I would expect Miura to lean into first of all, and also it would take another essay of explanation. If you're interested in that kind of Freudian analysis though I'd recommend the books Men, Women, and Chainsaws by Carol J. Clover and The Dread of Difference, edited by Barry Keith Grant. I took a course on women and horror films ages ago and read chunks of those, and it was very fun, and iirc both address Freudian imagery in horror.

Okay! So that's the rundown of like, all the examples of Freudian imagery that interest me at least lol. This isn't exhaustive ofc, Berserk is long and not stingy with this stuff, but this response is already so long and meandering lol, so I'm going to wrap it up here.

To sum up, phallic imagery often represents masculine power as well as masculine flaws (like emotional isolation) in Berserk, while yonic/vaginal imagery tends to represent feminine weakness as well as feminine virtues (like emotional connection and vulnerability). As a general rule, the more phallic imagery someone violently swings around, the more fucked up they are. Phallic violence is used to compensate for past trauma, but it only continues the cycle of violence. The way to break that violence is to accept one's wounds and focus on them, to heal, rather than trying to distract from them.

I don't think this is always the best way to interpret Berserk lol, but it adds another dimension that very often complements the surface meaning and thematic resonance of the story, sometimes purposefully, sometimes likely incidental. And either way it's a lot of fun to read into!

[see-arcane]

Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1.     There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2.     Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3.     Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.