#he thought his own tomb was bad...this is too much!!!!

[cherubchoirs]

Yo, I was looking up information on Fraud to ask you questions but apparently in Dante's fanfiction at the end of Fraud and the start of Treachery there is the 'Central Well of Malebolge' which is filled with Giants, both biblical and greek all of whom are related to treachery, which leads on to the thought of Minos, or more exactly the giant husk that remains in Lust and also Sisyphus's giant corpse in Greed, both commited 'treachery' to heaven by reform and rebellion. I wonder if there is a connection between rebeling = get huge or if it was something manufactured by heaven or hell for some weird reason.

It would be interesting if on return to Treachery Gabriel's old body became a massive icy landmark and a reminder to all he lost. there is a metaphor there.

oooooh yes the pit of giants is an odd part of the inferno but it makes a very stark and startling end to dis as the poets reach cocytus - dante at first mistakes the giants for massive towers or turrets, believing them to be more hellish architecture before virgil corrects him. most are classical giants from greek myth, with the majority seemingly punished for defying zeus and now, ironically or perhaps fittingly, keeping guard around the frozen lake of the treacherous. however, there's a weird wrinkle in the souls here with the presence of antaeus and nimrod. antaeus did not join the rebellion against zeus; accordingly, he is unchained and assists the poets down to cocytus. but then nimrod is also located here - he defied god by building the tower of babel, but absolutely nothing suggests he was a giant in life. so it's quite possible these giants are representatives of pride as a forerunner to treachery, which has no other place in hell (yet does on mount purgatory and is considered a deadly sin)

it follows then that what you're saying makes a lot of sense, that like the angels perhaps husks have a secondary way of growing massive in size - angels have virtue, husks could have pride (as measured by heaven, and certainly deciding to rebel against their station - as lucifer once did - suggests a staggering amount). i'm also just SO fascinated with the idea of gabriel's cast off "husk" (as i think of fallen angels being sort of an equivalent to prime souls - they are a rebirth only achieved by the higher ranks). i love the idea of it being inert, not a threat of any kind, frozen and dead, but absolutely sickening for gabriel to confront. it may even be frozen totally in cocytus as all those in judecca are - twisted and locked deep in the ice, yet impossible to miss in its now enormous scale. and just the thought of him crossing over cocytus only to look down and see that....idc how close they are to the bottom of hell, they're turning around!!!!

[shares-a-vest]

Eddie reaches for Steve's fruity-scented shampoo - the stuff he swears he hasn't been using each and every time he stays over. He pops the cap and then the lights go out.

He screams bloody murder and drops the shampoo bottle. He kicks it and presses his palms against the nearest surfaces. One on the tiled wall, the other on the glass as he does everything to stop himself from moving his feet because, if he trips on that fucking fruity shampoo that makes Steve's hair oh-so-silky, he'll go slipping and sliding straight through the glass and into the goddamn toilet.

And he cannot die like that, buck-naked as the day he was born.

Though, if he absolutely had to die in the nude, he'd want it to be while he's railing someone six ways from Sunday...

Preferably the hunk who is bursting in through the bathroom door and waving a flashlight right in his eyes.

Steve opens the shower and reaches in to shut off the water. Eddie palms around and grips his boyfriend's wrist, impossibly warm despite now being wet.

"Are you... uh..." Steve drops the light enough from him to stop spluttering about. Eddie blinks hard, regaining enough focus to find a sly smile tugging at the corner of Steve's lips as he attempts to be serious, "Um, are you okay?"

Alright, maybe falling head-first into the toilet would have been a little less embarrassing than this: Steve staring back at him and snickering. He cups his junk and grumbles.

"Towel?" he spits, holding out one hand.

"Sorry," Steve says as he hands the brown (seriously, why do the Harrington's enjoy brown so much) towel over, "It's just you looked like you were in the middle of some naked jumping-jacks."

"Stevie, I was terrified," he retorts, drying off his arms and hands first so he can get a better grip on anything so he can safely get out of the damn shower before it becomes a fogged-up glass tomb.

But Steve places the flashlight tight under one arm and spots him, hovering one hand and placing the other on his dripping wet hip.

"I know," he soothes, now completely serious, "I was scared too."

Eddie doesn't care that he is mostly wet and that his hair is completely soaked, he goes right into Steve's strong arms, feeling his navy-blue sweater quickly dampen between them. Steve maneuvers around to stop their bodies from completely blocking their light source and hugs him tight.

"So stupid," Eddie can't help but mutter, "How am I more scared of the fucking dark than I was when I was six? Besides, how do you even lose power out here in Richie Richville?"

"Well, considering this house is surrounded by trees," Steve shrugs, "We lose power quite easily in bad weather," he pulls back enough to give a dangerously-teasing smirk considering Eddie's state of undress, "Thought you'd enjoy some candles and what-not, anyway. Doesn't Bilbo Baggins scurry around his cottage with a candlestick?"

Now it's Eddie's turn to move away as he hurriedly wraps the towel around himself - to protect his modesty. Yeah... that.

"Excuse me?" he exclaims, "He lives in a Hobbit hole, for one. And I'll have you know his home is well-lit."

"Come on!" Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes and taking his hand.

He leads them back into his bedroom, which at least has some moonlight peaking in from the windows. And yeah, now Eddie can really hear the source of the power outage. The wind outside and the trees that shroud Loch Nora sound like a goddamn tornado.

"Though I think Rivendell surely must have had some sort of electricity," he wonders aloud as he attempts to focus on something else.

"We can debate the infrastructure of Middle Earth later," Steve chuckles and promptly shoves a pair of sweatpants into his hands.

Eddie steps forward, smiling bashfully.

"You mean it?" he coos, biting the 't'.

Steve's eyes flick to his lips as he bites his own, "I can think of a few things we could do that don't involve the power being on."

Eddie opens his mouth, readying himself for a lame line about their palpable electricity that will probably make Steve laugh when the damn radio crackles.

If a physical object could be a boner-killer, it's the damn radio Steve currently has attached to his hip.

"Steeeve is the power out at your house, overrr!" Dustin screeches the moment Steve fishes it from his back pocket.

"Yes, over," Steve answers. He holds a finger up, silently asking Eddie to wait as they make no attempt to move an inch from each other's personal space, "I'mfine-okaygoodbye!"

He clicks the radio off completely and tosses it on his dresser, paying no mind to the fact it sends his Little League trophy toppling onto the carpet.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 9: GOD IS A CIRCLE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high sex, threesome, oral sex, fingering, graphic depictions of violence and blood, recreational drug usage, biblical imagery, angst

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i was barely conscious when i wrote this. sorry bout it

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Bliss is never eternal. If it was, you’d think the world would stop turning with everyone busy with their greatest indulgences. It’s not like you were much of a hedonist anyway, not even with Satoru’s influence.

You feel intoxicated with him and Suguru, but it’s not enough to keep you from reality. Yaga-sensei proves this the moment the boys are ordained the task of protecting the star plasma vessel—a fourteen-year-old girl with more spirit than you ever had at that age. You admire her spunk, her unwillingness to take shit from either of the boys. It entertains you endlessly.

“How do you deal with them?” she mutters to you. You learn that her name is Riko Amanai. She loves the ocean and has a sweet tooth like Satoru. Her favorite flavor is anything blue.

“I keep them in check.”

“Are you my bodyguard too?”

“Not really,” you laugh. “But I’ll be around.”

Riko likes you. She clings to you more than you anticipate, considering this isn’t your mission, but you understand. She’s vulnerable despite her confidence in her fate as Tengen’s vessel. Talks a big game with blue eyes shining bright, similar to Satoru. 

She pouts at your absence. You think nothing of it, knowing that she’s in good hands between the boys and that caretaker of hers. The bounty on the girl’s head is daunting, but the boys are the strongest, and you watch them evade the enemies easily. 

It’s when they end up in Okinawa that something in your chest feels a bit empty. A bad omen, anxiety pooling in your gut. 

Satoru texts you pictures from the beach—sea creatures from the ocean and the aquarium, selfies with Suguru that are often blurry. He texts you how much he misses you, how much he craves the parts of you that you think may be too intimate to even talk about out loud, let alone through text. Suguru sends you pictures of Riko and Satoru on the beach with the creatures they pick up from the ocean, of sunsets he knows you would enjoy.

You ache for their return. 

satoru: gonna stay for another day jsyk

you: having fun?

satoru: yeaaaa

satoru: tired as fuck though

satoru: but riko likes the beach. thought we could give her one more day

you: you’re sweet

satoru: not as sweet as uuuuuuuuu

satoru: she says hi btw

satoru: shes mad ur not here

you: she likes me more than you

satoru: >:(

you: i’ll see you soon. get some sleep please

satoru: anything for u baby

Something has gone terribly wrong. 

You have no reason to be worried—Satoru is more than capable of handling that assassin, no matter how swift his movements may be. It was whiplash to see a sword go through him, and it was whiplash to see Satoru react like it was a paper cut.

Now, in the Tombs of the Star, you feel a chill run up your spine as you escort Kuroi out. She’s still emotional, wiping tears after her goodbye to Amanai. Trepidation strikes you the same way it did in that forest all those months ago. The air has grown cold, but you can’t sense any other cursed energy but your own.

“Kuroi,” you breathe.

“Yes?” She sniffles, wiping her tears quickly.

“Go on without me,” you say cautiously. “I think I better guard the Tomb just in case. For Geto.”

“Alright. Thank you for being there for them.” Kuroi smiles at you with a warmth you aren’t sure that you deserve.

“I wasn’t the one protecting her.”

“I know, but she admired you a lot. We missed you in Okinawa.”

You pull her into a hug, one that you wish you’d given Riko moments prior. It’s a parting gift. 

When she departs, you’re left alone in a dark hallway. You expect a spirit to jump out — something monstrous, an amalgamation of your nightmares. But this is a sacred place, you suppose. One meant for sacrifices and blessings. You’ve never really believed in blessings. The world is built on too many curses for that.

Something in the air made you want to choke, swallow back bile. Nothing like your old anxiety spells. It’s something else, you’re sure of it. And yet, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The rustle of fabric. 

He couldn’t go undetected, not completely. Not when your intuition was on overdrive, making you sick with it. Your senses acute. 

“Haven’t seen you before.”

His voice is raspy, the sound of skinned palms on pavement. Deep the way Japanese whiskey burns down and sits in your stomach a little too heavy. There’s a split on the corner of his mouth as if he’d been nicked by a thorn. He smiles at you with lazy, bovine eyes and a snake-like smirk. 

This man is not a figment of your imagination — he’s real as can be as he towers over you, yet there’s not a lick of cursed energy you can feel, even when you’re this close to him. A human.

You think about Satoru and the sword that went through his chest. You look at the sword that the stranger in front of you wields. Within a second, you rush to touch him, but your technique doesn’t activate as soon as you want it, too. He slashes you across the stomach, crimson permeating the torn fabric of your uniform.

“Weak little girl,” he chides. “You’re too pretty to kill, though.”

You gag, nearly vomiting on the ground. 

“You their girlfriend or what? Would’ve thought they were fucking each other, to be honest.”

You shake your head weakly, your vision blurring already. You hear a bark of a laugh. Not even your bared teeth can be taken seriously, not when you’re bleeding out on the ground. He tuts as if he’s scolding you.

“He’ll kill you,” you hiss. The man laughs again. You must be referring to one of your boys. He grins wider when he realizes. 

“Which one? The one with the bangs?” he scoffs. “Because I already killed the Gojo brat, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart drop, sinking like an anchor as the feeling drags your body down with it. You look at him with wide eyes, and the sadistic stare you get back tells you he wants to humiliate you. It would hurt less if he just killed you.

Satoru would never die by the hand of a non-sorcerer. Not a fucking chance. But the notion doesn’t stop the itch behind your nose, your eyes threatening tears. The man crouches, his face looking down at you in mock sympathy, and places a rough palm to your face, swipes your quivering bottom lip. You taste blood.

You clutch his wrist immediately and he raises his hand.

Something metal whips the side of your face, something heavy. Your sight of vision narrows into black.

When you wake, you aren’t sure if you’ve arrived in a nightmare or had just left one.

For one, Satoru is saturated in blood. The scratches on his face are brutal. He looks half feral, half shell-shocked. It’s nothing you’ve seen before.

Despondency paints Suguru’s face into a shadow of himself. There’s something off about their cursed energy.

You don’t want to ask them how the rest of the mission went — you can already tell what the answer might be. If everything went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a blank stare in each of their eyes. If everything was fine, they would return to you like themselves — animated and flirty and teasing. If everything was the way it was meant to be, maybe you wouldn’t have the slight scar of a side wound aching at the side of your gut.

Instead, they’re all business. It’s like they look through you when they speak to you.

“Is Riko…” you trail off.

“She’s dead,” they say.

They deliver the news to you, expressionless. Mirroring each other.

There’s a blankness in Satoru’s eyes. Cold. No one exactly knows how to deal with being killed only to bring yourself back again. The thought of his mangled body surrounded by flyheads makes your stomach churn. 

He had always been god-like, prodigal. After being reborn, he really was a God. Untouchable. You’d think him to be cockier or more cruel, but on the surface, he’s devoid of anything, really. He’s stony-eyed, instead, a little empty behind the face. There’s a spark of something when he sees the large bruise on your cheekbone and the ghost of a slash on your rib.

He won’t say much about the man who killed him. Only that he had no cursed energy and a son. You remember a scar bending with the curve of a mouth and sharp green eyes.

It’s quiet at Jujutsu Tech afterward. Yaga continues classes like he always does, and all of you do your best. There are fewer missions that are being demanded of you. You think it’s because of the failed mission. Despite this, Satoru takes on whatever he can, even volunteering for the tougher ones just so he can let off some steam. Suguru often tags along with him, leaving you alone to sulk.

You don’t think you have any reason to sulk. It’s not like you were killed, anyway.

You feel them both pulling away. You don’t bother to pry — they at least seem to be occupied with each other. They were best friends before you ever got close to either of them. You knew your place. You’d give them space, knowing the gravity of the trauma they’d experienced on the mission, and yet your heart ached all the same. It was a familiar hurt, the same you’d felt in high school about Satoru. It was only peculiar now because those feelings applied to both of them.

But then there are times when Satoru sneaks into your room like he always does. He likes to nip at your shoulder with teeth that feel sharper, meaner. Hand around your throat, the calluses squeezing flesh. He likes to pin you down to the mattress, likes to hear the squeak of the bedframe as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Suguru takes you, too, but not so desperately, not so obviously. He lures you in, instead. You realize that he’s different than Satoru in the way that he has the patience for games. It explains the teasing, the touching. He’ll have you wrapped around his finger just from talking to you, and within the hour, he’ll be fucking into your soaked cunt in the locker rooms after sparring.

You suppose this is the way they both let out their frustrations, how they cope with the trauma of losing Riko. They were tightlipped about her. 

Both of them had changed in ways that were beyond your comprehension.

Satoru gets colder. Similar to the way he was in high school, when he barely acknowledged you. He doesn’t like to look at you for very long, as if the mere fact of his gaze on you would hurt him, hurt you. It was stupid. He didn’t care about your fragility before, so what point was there to care about it now?

Suguru is mostly the same, just quieter. Hell, he’d always been quiet, other than the times he’d fuck you or when you’d be alone with him. His sarcastic streak was weaker. He touched you less.

You can’t stand any of it.

Satoru isn’t meant to be someone so vulnerable. It’s out of character for him. 

You soothe his nightmares when he wakes you up in the middle of the night clutching your waist with nails digging into the skin underneath your shirt. He’s always shaking, always mumbling something nonsensical.

Selfishly, you find that it feels nice to be needed. To be his only form of salvation during these times.

In his waking moments, Satoru is himself again. Belligerently so, with his recklessness. It’s up to you and Suguru to tame him, often. Satoru is almost a different version of himself – familiar and still annoying — but he is much more adamant about his power, nowadays. A God complex in the making.

Satoru gets greedier. He likes to wake you up with his nose nudging your clit, tongue already making a mess of your hole. No amount of pushing his head away with your hand would make him stop, though you blame yourself for indulging.

He likes to tease you for the semblance of control. You suspect that beyond playing with you, he finds solace in Suguru, instead. They aren’t particularly shy about it—sometimes you walk into Satoru’s dorm and find them entangled with one another, clothes off and warm to the touch. They always welcome you into their arms, forcing you in between them. 

You feel like you’re at an arm’s length from them at all times despite this. 

November, 2009

You settle on a routine. It’s less than pleasant, but you’re used to it. Convincing yourself that it’s normal, at least.

Yaga puts you on more solo missions — you’ve improved your technique. The precision of it is tough, always a wildcard given the unpredictability of destruction beneath your fingertips. Regardless, it’s gotten better. It doesn’t traumatize you so much to be a vehicle of decay anymore. You’re numb to it.

It’s odd — you’re carrying the burden of something you didn’t experience. Satoru finds that you are a mirror for Suguru, the same temperament and all. Always leaving the party to smoke cigarettes together. It doesn’t make him pissy necessarily, but it makes him pout. Clingy to the both of you.

“Stop being antisocial,” he whines.

You and Suguru look up at him in question. He had followed you out of the party when you saw Satoru’s hand on the waist of a girl you didn’t recognize. It was nothing, probably, but it wasn’t something you had ever had to deal with. It wasn’t like he could pry anything out of you, anyway.

“We’re not,” you defend, waving a cigarette around. “It’s too hot in there.”

It was true, to be fair. You were too warm in there and the outside air was nice. That, and you figured that Suguru would follow you, and he always wanted to steal you away for kisses.

Satoru had technically intruded on that, interrupting the moment Suguru had pulled away from your mouth. He eyes you wearing Suguru’s jacket and softens.

“You wanna go home, don’t you?” he asks.

“I can stay if you want,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Can you guys at least hang out with me?”

“Needy,” Suguru teases, stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ushering you in between the sliding glass doors, hand on the small of your back. He nips at Satoru’s neck on the way in. 

As if in apology, you don’t leave Satoru’s lap for the rest of the night. You don’t really get to. He even follows you to the bathroom and considers taking you over the counter for the hell of it.

It’s been difficult to touch you, lately.

In late August, the Zen’in outcast had killed him. Satoru had never thought of death as an option that was even possible. It’s why his mind was frenzied in his last moments, panicked as the two of them were surrounded by fly heads. He had not anticipated death, hadn’t anticipated the impact of it, how Suguru would have to return his corpse to Jujutsu Tech. How you would be shedding overflowing tears.

He’d like to think that your face or Suguru’s was in his mind when he took his last breath, but truthfully, he doesn’t remember. His mind was blank.

And when he had risen from the dead and shot a lethal hole through Toji Fushiguro, his mind was blank then, as well. The euphoria had faded. He had fulfilled the ordained role of a boygod, his hands were bloody, and he killed a man who would leave behind a son. He thought of his supposed immortality, his transcendence beyond something human, and then he thought of you.

You were the most human thing about him.

Your warmth, the flush in your cheeks. The way he had taken you back when you were in school, none the wiser about the world of curses. Sometimes he thinks you are one. 

It wasn’t meant to go this far, but he had taken the leap and continued to wade in the pool of it all. He does not think of love when he thinks of his family, but he thinks of love when he sees you and Suguru. Something beating, something alive.

It was why he was constantly tipping the line between overflowing completely and being numb — Satoru was no stranger to his indulgences. You, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Fragile underneath his hands. Sometimes, he didn’t even think it was worth it to keep you in the bear trap he had set for you.

And then Suguru would kiss away your tears when Satoru was too rough, too cold, and he would succumb to his desires again. Instead of being something akin to a god, he often dreamt about being ordinary. 

Maybe if his birth didn’t throw the planet off its kilter, he could truly be good to you instead of wanting to cut you open and live inside of you. Satoru would always be safe in your skin, but he had started to doubt that you would ever be safe in his.

You were the first to know him, he thinks. You had met him as a child and didn’t assume his divinity, rather, you were oblivious to it. Even as a little servant, you refused to kiss his feet. It relieved him. Satoru knew you always meant more to him than a toy, but in his emerging adulthood, he had taken you as a form of escapism and couldn’t cut you off. You had fastened yourself to him like an extra limb unknowingly. 

“I don’t get how you can be so overbearing to her yet so distant at the same time,” Suguru remarks. 

Satoru makes a face, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Satoru says blankly.

“The teasing goes too far. And you get insensitive because you’re a prick, and then you barely text her back when you’re on missions.”

Satoru scoffs, fiddling with the pencil he twirls in his hands. Suguru was right, he supposed. He noticed you were a little hollow, all blank stares. Sleeping in while Satoru did not sleep at all. 

“They’ve gotten harder lately. And it’s not like I’m–”

“Not what?” Suguru snorts. “Her boyfriend?”

Satoru says nothing to this. Instead, he tackles Suguru onto his bed, slides his palms underneath his shirt and up the smooth planes of his abdomen. He sighs, setting his head on Suguru’s chest.

“It’s not like she cares.”

“She does. She loves you.”

Satoru’s face reddens as if what Suguru says isn’t fact. On Satoru’s end, however – his feelings for you were an understatement. Calling it love seemed fruitless. He’d like to be fused with you, never letting you go. Stuck in the bliss of your skin kissing his in the early mornings forever.

“Think something got knocked loose when I died,” Satoru mumbles, his eyes blank.

Suguru looks at him in question, not following.

“I’ll make it up to her.”

January, 2010

“What are you getting Suguru for his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru shrugs, a blue raspberry lollipop filling up the hollow of his cheek. Tongue matching the blinding saturation of his eyes. “A blowjob?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic! You like watching.”

“I’m serious,” you roll your eyes.

“We’ll take him out,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Always stupidly attractive, his beauty borderline mythological.

You knew he was lying, knew that he would be away on that Wednesday, that his calendar was always filled a month prior with what the higher-ups needed from him. You thought it was unfair, given that he was still only a second year, though you still knew better. The glaring truth of his strength ever since the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission was conspicuous, a reminder that started to become egregious to you. 

Satoru takes some of your takoyaki in unspoken amusement with you rolling your eyes, passing the tray towards him. He pouts despite the gesture, reaching over to poke you in the cheek.

“That can’t taste good with all the sugar in your mouth.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You fixate on the television. Satoru had gotten lucky recently, convincing Yaga to convert one of the common rooms with the connected bathroom into a dorm for himself. He had the Gojo money to “donate”, and he’d been on his best behavior in the past few months, which was rare. It wasn’t like Yaga really gave a fuck about their boarding situation as long as the missions went smoothly. 

The room was big enough to fulfill that dream of pushing two beds together. A TV set and dingy couch to match. He needed the TV to fall asleep at night, especially if you weren’t there to stroke his hair. It was the only light source beyond a Hello Kitty lava lamp that Suguru had gotten him as a joke gift.

Satoru had recently started an obsession with Godzilla for some reason, forcing you to watch one every few days before bedtime. You were going in order since Christmas – tonight was the one versus Hedorah.

“You never look at me anymore,” he whines.

“What are you talking about?”

You’d rather say something biting, like how it was the other way around. How he’s been shoving your face into the mattress. How you’d come back to your dorm and see Satoru in between Suguru’s legs without much acknowledgment to you until he’d finish. 

“You look at me like I’m a mosquito bite or something. What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” he grins, settling his cheek into his palm.

“Not at all. You’re hideous,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. The remark earns you a light kick to your shin under the table.

“Wow. Rude. Personally, I think you’re God-sent.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this movie,” you mutter, trying not to let him know how much his comment affected you. You always flushed when he said things like that still, and it would always be out of the blue.

“You know I like talking during movies.”

“Right. It’s one of your worst qualities,” you sigh.

The pillows around you are discarded when he suddenly pins you down to the carpet, your face right next to an old ash stain from one of Shoko’s cigarettes. He grins as he parts your mouth with the pad of his thumb, and you’re as obedient as you always are. There’s a ribbon of saliva from his mouth stretching as he takes the lollipop from his tongue to yours. 

It wasn’t difficult to get his dick hard, really. He’d known that ever since he’d seen you sprawled on the grass next to the track field when you were fourteen, the way your chest was heaving and your underwear was just slightly visible underneath your gym shorts when you parted your legs. 

Satoru thinks you’d laugh in his face if he’d told you about all the times he thought about you when you were teenagers despite the fact that he didn’t speak to you at all. He knows that he would deserve it.

It’s funny. He used to resent you then. He knew he could have you if he’d simply tried a bit harder, if he didn’t so abruptly toss you aside in middle school. Even so, you were everywhere for him—in his dreams, in his house against your will like a chained ghost. Back then, he hated that he loved you, hated that you were weak, hated that, at least besides Suguru, nobody knew him except you.

He wonders briefly if he was high on the taste of you or if the candy is laced with something— he wouldn’t be surprised, since Shoko and Suguru were enablers for the two of you even when you tried to be responsible. It didn’t matter anyway. Your body always made him this frenetic.

It’s when his fingers graze the heat of your cunt that Suguru barges in. He blinks at the two of you entangled on the floor and merely laughs.

“You guys just started?”

“Mmmf,” Satoru grunts. His hand’s wrapped around your neck, now, and your eyes are closed. 

Suguru’s musk fills the room. White pine and sugary maple — he’d used Satoru’s deodorant before the mission. There’s still a blood splatter under his cheekbone the color of ripe plums. This was the usual weekend routine. Mindless fucking with a movie in the background. At least one of you would be too exhausted to muster up the energy to go into the city. It was easier to indulge inside, especially when the temperature kept dipping.

Your eyes flutter as Satoru bites your neck down to your collarbone. When you look toward the couch, you see Suguru with a plastic baggie of something you don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

“Shrooms.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Satoru quips, his hand digging into your hip. 

“There are some freaks in Akihabara,” Suguru shrugs. He eats the mushrooms like they’re crumbs at the bottom of a chip bag. “Got this shit after my mission in a fucking vending machine outside a love hotel. Can you believe it?”

“What, did you get a room there or something?” Satoru snorts. “Whore.”

“Why would I, when I can home to this?” Suguru’s eyes are viper-like, serpentine as he smiles lazily. You’d eat from his palm if he asked you to. In sickness and health—it was stupid. You crawl to him and you do.

Satoru doesn’t take any. He knows full well that psychedelics fuck with his Infinity, that it would only make his insomnia worse. The last time he’d tried acid, he had nightmares for days, seeing green eyes of a hunter. Blood slashed from a blade to his neck. Flyheads swarming.

The drugs make you giddy. Another hour and the room spins in an orderly fashion, the ceiling dancing around in a kaleidoscopic pulse. Suguru had limited your dose, knew you’d freak the fuck out if your self started to disconnect. He’d been there enough times to despise it. Ego death was torture for the introspective kind.

He sucks a hickey into your neck while you’re mindless. It’s amusing how invested you are in this episode of Sailor Moon. Satoru lays his head on your thigh, playing with you lazily. You’re happy enough to take it, grinding against his hand as Suguru distracts you with a kiss. It’s tender and slow, not unusual for him, but with the two of them together, everything is usually frenzied.

He gets you in his lap, the sacrificial lamb you are. Always eager to walk into the predator’s gaping maw on your own accord because of his beautiful eyes. Suguru is no beast, but there’s something twisted about the way he plays with you sometimes.

He likes you to beg for it, but it’s not the taunting way that Satoru does. Suguru will inch his face close enough to yours to smell the artificial sweetness of your breath, then pull your hair when you lean in to kiss him. He’ll touch your thigh under the table, not unlike Satoru, but his fingers will dance around your core in a way that leaves you unable to speak to your fellow peers.

You wonder if they’ve learned their cruelty from each other. But this time, he’s sweet.

It’s the hallucinogen fogging his brain. It makes him like a teenager in love. Open-mouthed, pawing love handles. You’re wearing Satoru’s t-shirt, something monochromatic and stupidly expensive, and Suguru tears it off of you as his mouth waters.

Coughing, Satoru tilts his head, supports it with elbows on the carpet. His temperament is neutral, teasing even, but for some reason, looking at him makes you sober up to some degree of lucidity that’s sensitive to him. The part of you that wants to please him at all times.

You crawl to him and say his name. It’s child-like. The shrooms make your eyes wide, colors innocence onto your face from the bliss. It reminds him of when you were younger—bruised knees and twigs in your hair from tumbling in the forest with him. Something tugs at his chest.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” Satoru jeers, tongue licking his teeth. His palm on your face is hot.

You smile and nod. His gaze lowers and he snaps the waistband of your sweats against your hip. Hand on your thigh again, taunting your synapses. You think he’ll take you with his usual ferocity, but he steals your breath with a kiss instead. 

The kiss never ends. Maybe they switch in between, but you don’t notice. Your eyes are shut, tight enough to see phosphenes like a galaxy. Blue and purple bleeding into your irises. You feel them pulling you apart, cock filling you up, hands everywhere.

“Fuck,” someone gasps. Something like groveling, desperate hair pulling.

“Inside,” you beg. “Please.”

Satoru watches, mesmerized. The heat of your body, sweat pooling into the divot above your clavicle—it all makes his mouth water, but he stays still on the couch as Suguru pins you to the floor. It’s the most the Six Eyes has felt in months, for some reason, and he hadn’t even taken anything. He half-wishes he could get his hands on something other than you to inject into his veins—maybe then he could learn to be calm or fall asleep at regular times. Anything to stop the odd ache in his chest whenever he looked at you.

He’s never been a man of God. He was God himself. And then he sees you moan out, bliss-wrecked and flooded with light, burning like seraphim. He’d come back to life a thousand times just to see your face. It made him sick.

Satoru kisses you before you knock out on his bed, eyes half-open and dazed. You’re refusing to go to bed, citing euphoria for your desire to run a few laps. Meanwhile, Suguru is asleep on the couch, fucked out and satisfied. 

You’re coaxed into sleep. It’s not hard once you start rambling, shut up only by the feeling of Satoru’s fingers running across your scalp. He lays awake like he often does, talking to the moon. He sighs as you nuzzle into him, your whole body curling towards him to ward off goosebumps. You’re nearly bare considering you didn’t bother to put on clothes after you and Suguru had finished. 

Satoru pulls the blanket over you, sighing. He’d had the leftover beers in the mini-fridge just to feel a buzz, even the taste of German ales made his nose wrinkle. It still wasn’t enough to put his mind at ease. He stares at the stained carpet, then Suguru’s sleeping shadow, then your face. He shuts his eyes.

It’s been months, yet the memories still cage you. It’s like something wraps its hand around your throat in your subconscious. In each dream, you are aching for their return, and they come to you like newly-bloomed flowers.

It feels like you’ve been waiting for them for centuries, your body stuck in the grass with a bruise over your left eye that doesn’t stop aching. You don’t even know how much you’re bleeding until they return to you again, caressing your sides and pulling away at the sight of a wound. 

Your angels are not dead. It’s enough relief for you to keep going, but they still look at you with furrowed brows. Blood spills from your mouth.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

Despite the pain, the vision is familiar. You’re too distracted by their beauty, how their mere presence is arcadian in itself. You don’t need anything else. You could die here.

Here, between them and their celestial bodies, in the green, green grass. Spider lilies bloom around you like kisses in blessing as the golden evening swallows you up. There’s a sinking feeling—a literal one, of you descending into the ground in a way that feels like a loose feather falling.

Your angels reach for you until they grasp the whole of you and turn you inside out. They pull apart the mess of you, reshaping you, undoing tangles and knots and bending the stem of your being so you can be reborn in their image. They love you enough to do so.

And when you look back at them with love in your eyes, you flinch. They’re eclipsed by something terrible, too far away for you to reach. It’s bloody. It has a voice like skin scraping pavement, full-bodied whiskey.

You stretch your hand out only meet a sweaty palm. When you open your eyes, a pair of blue ones stare back at you.

[allophonicmess]

Past's Lilac Haze

Chapter 1

Masterlist

You only wanted to help you niece with her theatre project. And it got you and your Timelord husband involved in an alien attack on one of London's most famous theatres.

So much for his retirement plans.

14th Doctor x Timelord!Wife! Reader

"Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,

Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,

Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,

As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.

I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb."

You read with your best olden accent and high-pitched tone, imitating a squeaky girl's voice as the play asks you to. No reaction. You looked up from your script, expecting Rose to, in turn, answer with her line.

"Ninny's tomb." You repeated, nodding expectantly towards the crumpled printout in her hands. It was covered in annotations and highlighting, making it somewhat hard to read the actual text.

"You have to correct me now. Because I said Ninny's tomb." You explained, moving onto your knees to lean over and point her to the correct line. But she just stared at the text, trying to figure out what to do.

"Uh, but why do I need to correct you?" She suddenly started flipping through the pages, trying to find some context that seemed to be missing. She sighed, shaking her head in frustration.

"You need to correct me. Flute says it wrong. It needs to be Ninus tomb." You explained, showing her your own less annotated but aged copy. 

"But you just said that! Ninus tomb-"She felt irritated. It was a mistake to even enter the theatre club. She wasn't made for the stage, as learning text was way too hard. And she knew her acting wasn't much better; her mum noticed it too, cringing during the open rehearsals but always pretending to love it.

"No, that's the joke. Flute says Ninny's tomb so that Quince can correct him- "You stopped, setting down your text." We'll take a break. I can see that you are losing concentration." 

You got up, placing your booklet on the wooden coffee table that sat in front of the red satin two-seater. Rose had asked you to help her with her theatre role, much to the dismay of the Doctor (who bragged that he once was a Shakespearean actor, but Rose didn't care too much). So you offered her the chance to choose your study environment from any place she could think of. But instead of using the room emulator, she decided the Tardis library, which now came in a gorgeous dark wood and deep red satin theme, was the perfect environment. And you had to agree; It was a great choice.

"I'm going to get us some drinks, and then we can continue. You want tea or hot chocolate?" you asked, gently rubbing her shoulder. You loved your new role as her magic alien auntie, or so she coined the term. 

"Go back to your texts? I thought you two were done." The Doctor called as he entered the room. He had taken the day to set some things with Unit. They called in multiple crisis meetings to ensure that another incident like the Toymaker would not be possible. He hated the politics of it. So boring. But he saw the action plan as a positive initiative to prevent further harm to Earth or its citizens, so it was worth the effort. 

He confidently walked over to you, catching you by the waist to pull you into a hug. He hugged a lot. It was as if his body felt the need to compensate for the hug-free dry stretch during number 12. Not that you minded; his clinginess was somewhat cute.

"There is no need to get back to the text. I'll just text my theatre teacher and tell her I quit." Rose sighed, dropping her script next to your booklet on the table and sinking into her seat.

"No, you can't!" The Doctor whined, but he quickly whispered into your ear. "She that bad?" He cringed, hoping that Donna had been exaggerating. 

You rolled your eyes, thinking of a good answer. "Not bad, just… slow of study." You laughed softly at your own joke. But you quickly regretted it when you saw that twinkle in the Doctor's eyes. He had caught on. Oh no.

"Slow of study, you say?" He spoke with a booming theatre voice. 

"Oh no, please." You shook your head at him, hoping to make him stop. But it wasn't any good as, with starting his fourteenth life cycle, he had reached his Dad-joke era.

"Please don't" You pleaded softly.

"Have you the lion's part written?" He continued, moving away from you to kneel down at the side of the sofa. He was going all in, hiding behind the sofa's armrest only to slowly come up behind it. He looked at Rose with a playful expression, which shifted into a mix of shyness and embarrassment. The young woman tried to look away, to keep the frown on her face. But she couldn't fight the smile that spread over her face caused by the Doctor's shenanigans.

"Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study" he asked in a pinched voice. He stayed low, looking between Rose and the texts on the table.

A moment of silence as the Doctor stayed true to his role, and Rose's attitude began to crumble. You watched with a smile on your face. You believed him about having been a Shakespearean actor. He had talent.

"You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring," Rose answered in a small voice. She crossed her arms, trying to appear uninterested as the Doctor began to cheer.

 "Ha! See, you do know the text!" He laughed, quickly getting up and moving around the sofa to stand behind it. He laughed, shaking Rose by her scrunched-up shoulders. She tried very hard to keep quiet but stood no chance against the Doctor's infectious laughter.

"You will give the best Peter Quince performance there ever was. I just know it!" He turned, looking at your reaction. But you simply stood in the doorway, grinning softly at him. 

You loved to see him at ease in his new life; just see him be happy. 

He loved to make you happy; be the cause of that radiant smile. 

"Okay, then. You help her study since you seem to know the text by heart." You crossed your arms in a challenging manner. 

"I'll go get some drinks." You turned into the hallway to get to the kitchen, but Rose stopped you, calling your name.

"It would be really helpful to go and see a performance, no? For uhh... Artistic inspiration." She suggested but continued before you had the chance to comment. "And I don't mean the recordings. They are nice, sure, but-" 

"It's not the same as live theatre." The Doctor continued, nodding in agreement. He had settled down on the other seat next to his niece, casually leaning back, arms crossed over his chest and nodding slowly. 

"Exactly!" Rose swiftly turned around in her seat, looking at you with expectation. She knew that she didn't need to persuade the Doctor. He was ready and excited for any type of trip despite his retirement. You were the one she needed to convince.

"No." You stated simply. "We can go to the theatre like regular people. You know, take the bus, pay for tickets and so on. But we are not travelling." You shook your head. The term holds a much more significant meaning to the three of you than to the ordinary person. But Rose was all too aware that she had the two of you wrapped around her finger.

"Oh, c'mon! We don't have to travel far. It was on at the Globe this summer. What's a few months, eh?" The Doctor argued, his legs now kicked up onto the table.

You huffed a laugh. "Just a few months? Funny coming from the man that is still having difficulties with precision landing." 

"Oh, no, not this again." He sighed, "I land where I need to go; the Tardis works in mysterious ways. It knows when I need to be off by a few days… or years…" 

Right. You felt no need to comment on what could only be a joke. 

"Besides, I spent the last years always on the go. Been able to practice a lot, you know? I mean, compared to you-"

 "We don't talk about that now." You warned him gently yet firmly. 

He turned around to face you, genuinely sorry about bringing the topic up. 

"Talk about what?" Rose picked up on the tense situation. This was precisely what you tried to avoid. 

"I'll explain it to you eventually, but not now. It's a bit touchy." You told her, hopefully stopping her from asking any further. And she understood, nodding with empathy and then turning back to her text, thinking that any talk about travelling was over.

 For a moment, the library got very quiet. Only the soft cracking of wood and the rustlings of paper could be heard.

You were going to be strict, just once. Only this one time.

…

…

…

To hell with it.

You sighed deeply: "I love the Globe, I really do. But this year's version wasn't any good." 

Your comment made Rose set down her notes and turn in your direction slowly. She was about to activate her puppy-dog look, but you already gave in.

"1598-"You couldn't finish your sentence in time as she had already gotten up to wrap you up in a big hug.

 "But! My rules." You hugged her with a soft smile. The Doctor watched you two with amusement.

"We go there, we watch the play, and we leave. No prancing around and no adventuring." 

Rose let go of you, nodding very quickly and waiting for further instructions. You huffed a laugh at her giddy expression, nodding towards the hallway to notion her to get to the console room.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She called, running towards the console room. 

The Doctor also got up, watching after and chucking softly at her. "She is making you go soft." He noted, pushing up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Soon she will be unstoppable, spoilt rotten and hijacking the Tardis", He joked, moving in slow, languid steps towards you. You were still leaning against the wall by the door.

"Nah, not on my watch." You pushed yourself off the wall to exit the room. But the Doctor quickly caught your wrist, holding it gently. He looked at you apologetically.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up. That wasn't appropriate nor funny." He looked at you sadly, trying to let you feel his honesty. You nodded, turning your hand in his hold to his hand. 

"It's okay. She'll have to know eventually. Keeping a tragic backstory hidden from that one? You wish." You joked, squeezing the Doctor's hand and leading him outside. He quickly moved to kiss your temple. It made you pause, taking him in momentarily and appreciating how your story had turned out.

"But- "You spoke into the moment of silence.

 He huffed a laugh: "But?... You fly?" 

You grinned, keeping yourself steady on his shoulders as you reached up to peck a kiss on his lips.

"You know it, Darling."

[thewomanwhoboughttheworld]

I reckon it is widely accepted that Crowley and Freddie Mercury were, at the very least, besties, sometimes lovers, sometimes had a fling or dated. But I have feelings and headcanons nobody asked for that I have to share.

They met while Freddie was still in college. Freddie saw Crowley, drew a quick sketch of him and got up and gave it to Crowley. "I promise I will draw you a better one, dear." He never did, but Crowley still keeps the drawing and miracled it to always look like just made.

Crowley never really liked Mary Austin. He didn't like her when she was Freddie's girlfriend and always found a way to inconvenience her. He still doesn't like her, especially after she put Freddie's belongings up for auction. He liked Jim Hutton, however.

Freddie kissed Crowley first. It was after a rehearsal of one of Freddie's early bands, Crowley was giving him his feedback. Freddie just leaned in and kissed him. He avoided the demon for the following two weeks as he was confused (he still hadn't realised he liked boys) and felt embarrassed.

Even though they were both adamant that there were no feelings involved, they both deeply cared for each other. Neither would admit it, saying they were only friends who (more than) occasionally hooked up, but they both knew there was more. However, Freddie fell a bit harder even though he knew Crowley wasn't in love with him. It did hurt a bit, but he was eventually fine with it.

Freddie actually knew about Crowley and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel. Crowley told him one night while they were both drunk and then Freddie remembered and asked him. Crowley tried to deny it, but Freddie insisted so much that in the end, he decided to tell him everything as he knew Freddie wouldn't tell anybody. And he never did, he treated this like his own secret.

The first time Freddie saw Crowley's eyes, Crowley thought he would be scared. But Freddie just said: "I know they're snake eyes, but they remind me of my cats. And what a lovely colour, darling. Yellow's my favourite, you know?".

Crowley ranted A LOT about Aziraphale to Freddie. He was always going on about how much he hated his being a goody-two-shoes, how infuriating his constant reminding him that he was actually a good person and how the fuck can 6000 years be too fast? Freddie just smiled because he knew. He could see how much Crowley loved that angel. It broke his own heart, because he knew he could never be loved that much, but never said a word.

Freddie did write a lot of songs about Crowley and Aziraphale. Obviously Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, but also Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Somebody to Love and many more. Spread Your Wings is specifically about Crowley and he knew. But what Freddie would never tell anyone, a secret that he brought to the tomb with him, is that he wrote Love of My Life and You Take my Breath Away for him. (told you that Freddie was in love, my poor baby suffered too much in his life).

Freddie taught Crowley how to play the piano.

Crowley auctioned for some of Freddie's belongings. He got some kimonos, some handwritten sheets and his piano. He couldn't let anyone else have it.

Crowley never really left Freddie's side. He was always that mysterious, dark and handsome man showing up especially when Freddie needed someone. People eventually accepted it as part of Freddie's charm as he was always so secretive about his personal life.

Freddie let himself be vulnerable only around Crowley. Just as Crowley took off his glasses with him, Freddie allowed himself to cry only those times in which they were alone. He cried in Crowley's arms so much when his illness was worsening, when he was scared of how much he would have suffered. One night it got so bad that Freddie was basically begging Crowley to end his suffering and Crowley had to perform a miracle so that he could sleep. Neither brought it up ever again.

When Freddie died, Crowley was there with him. He gave Freddie just enough life to allow him to say some words. "You promised me you wouldn't come," Freddie told him. "I'm a demon, I lied" replied Crowley with a broken voice. He then sat on the bed and stayed with him until the very last moment. Aziraphale was there too. He followed Crowley without telling him because he felt he needed him. Aziraphale took away Freddie's suffering so that he could go without pain.

That same night, Aziraphale tried to persuade Crowley to stay at his library because he thought Crowley needed a friend. Crowley refused, hopped on his Bentley and drove away. He parked in front of his apartment building and found a used packet of cigarettes and an old pair of sunglasses that belonged to Freddie in his car. As the radio passed Love of my life, he couldn't hold it anymore and burst into tears. He cried hard, really hard. He felt a familiar hand on his back but didn't look and didn't ask. Aziraphale never said anything either and didn't leave until Crowley stopped crying but before he could be seen. He remembered how much it hurt and didn't want Crowley to grieve alone.

Master post: here

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [4.5/...]

- OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: In which Buggy discovers that he’s in over his head while making a deal with Arlong the Saw.

Warnings: LA! One Piece, Canon typical violence, slight canon divergence, Arlong is his own warning

A/N: Unfortunately, part 6 of "DMTMYHB" is a little delayed and won't be out until at least next week. However, I began working on this initially out of boredom, so at least you can read about Buggy's POV after the events of chapter 4 and before the events of chapter 5.

Life sure is a shitshow sometimes, Buggy thinks to himself while spitting out a few grains of sand. For fish people, there’s a certain irony with pulling over a bag propped with sand over his head.

Then again, it could’ve been considerably worse.

They could have decided to water board him, or maybe take a decent chunk off his nose. It’s not too outlandish to assume that these kinds of people prefer the taste of human flesh, and although he considers himself fairly experimental man on occasion, that one is not on his kink list.

He might be big-headed sometimes, he’s man enough to admit as much, but even Buggy knows better than to underestimate the fish people. He’s had his fair share of encounters with them before, and needless to say, mixing a Devil Fruit eater with people who primarily live and breathe in the sea is a bad combination.

A very, very bad combination, especially if you throw Arlong the Saw into the mixture. Buggy’s not a recluse; he’s heard of his reputation as the self-proclaimed ruler of the East Blue. Ask just about anyone who he is, and they’ll whisper his name while pissing their pants like school children.

A misanthrope with a less than discreet disdain for all things human, and a face only a mother could hope to love, the guy does not fuck around with what he considers his, which approximately covers all of the East Blue. And the people in it are merely collateral.

If anything’s a testament, it’s his bounty. Twenty million berries for his head, doesn’t matter if it’s attached to his body or not. The highest bounty on this piece of the ocean.

Well, second highest. The top spot belongs to you, but that’s a thought Buggy has tried desperately to bury in the sand for the past few days. He doesn’t need to think about you, least of all now.

He has bigger fish to deal with, and it blows.

It’s his fucking luck that this is happening specifically to him.

No, it wasn’t enough that he got his ass handed to him by a bunch of scrawny nobodies.

It didn’t suffice that he had to watch you turn your back to him twice in a lifetime.

He’s managed to evade the saw-nosed fucker’s eye up until this point, and so, of course Fate would deal him this final one.

Just as the cherry on top of the shitty sundae that is his life.

So, to conceal or own terrified state when faced with the darkened stage room, Buggy decides to do what Buggy does best:

Fake it ‘til he makes it.

And he sure as fuck hope he does.

“Is this the best way to ask for an autograph?” His echo bounces like a ball through the darkened room. “I mean sheesh! Fans have gotten so toxic!”

The eerie silence is his only companion now, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Not even the two fishy folks standing guard at his side offers him more than rolled eyes. Rude.

This place — his stage — which once served as his sanctuary, might soon become his tomb. If Arlong lives up to his rep, he’ll ask the clown to dig his own hole before chomping on his jugular.

Curtains for him and all fucking that.

“Alright, what do you want?! Tickets to the show? I can get you house seats, they’re pricey!”

A loud thud emerges from the shadows behind him, and a cold breeze brushes against the the exposed skin on his face.

“Oh, I am no fan of yours.”

He knows a beast when he hears one, even better when he sees them. He spent the good portion of his youth alongside one, and witnessed first-hand just how they could be. Beasts are strong, and brutal, and precise. They can tear you apart if they deem it necessary because it’s in their nature, but that’s all it is. Nature.

However, Buggy’s also come to discover that beasts have also the capacity for kindness and love. A beast is someone he can fall in love with.

This thing that emerges from the dark at his side, on the other hand, is no mere beast.

Hell, he can’t even qualify it as such. This creature at his side, one he doesn’t dare to face at first until he notices it’s gradual approach, is a monster.

Ain’t no way in the blue hell he’ll ever consider tapping that the way he would with a beast.

“I run things here in the East Blue,” the fish-man speaks, voice grating Buggy ears as he circles the clown. “I’m here to remind of you of your place in the food chain. You pull a job in my seas, you gotta pay tribute.”

Despite the fact that he’s nervous as shit, there’s a certain taunt crystallising in Buggy’s brain that he’s subconsciously urged to free against his better judgement.

Arlong’s place is second in this so-called food chain. Yours is the first, and if it wasn’t for the fact that voicing this would guarantee his premature death, Buggy would’ve reminded the fishy shithead of this.

Despite whatever grievances you two share, Buggy knows that he won’t mind not being at the top as long as it means it’s not under Shark-boy’s hierarchy.

The East Blue is, per Arlong’s definition, yours, whether you know it or not, and he’d much rather comply with that.

But Buggy keeps his act going. “But Arlong, baby, you don’t gotta worry about me. I’m small potatoes. Pirating’s more of a side gig.”

As much as he tries, and he does try, Buggy knows his words can’t keep the shark’s teeth at bay for much longer. Arlong is not a patient type, and it just about snaps when he reaches for his throat and prepares to chomp.

Buggy doesn’t intend to die now. He can’t. He’s got unfinished business to attend to.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!”

Maybe fate is actually on his side for fucking once, because the fish man actually does wait.

He has a shot.

“You know who’s out there really disrespecting you? It’s that little Rubber-Prick in the straw hat, goes by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn’t work, because it seems Arlong is more of a recluse than him. Has never heard the boys name. So, he tries a different approach before the teeth settle in again.

“He— He’s not alone.” Fuck, he’s losing air, and he kinda needs that to get the primary point into Arlong's thick, scaly head. A point that he’ll be sure to catch the asshole’s attention. “Cross-Hairs is with him!”

Arlong halts, and his lips don a sneer.

Another thing Buggy has discovered in all of this is that Arlong is an inherently proud guy, and believes himself superior to others not only because of his fishy nature, but due to the fact that he has among the largest bounties on this piece of the map.

Yours is the only obstacle keeping him from completely claiming that title.

“The Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates has been absent for the past decade.” Arlong lets up on the pressure around his neck, enough to let Buggy grasp a few fistfuls of air, but his feet still dangle above the ground.

“Y-Yeah—,” Buggy heaves. “But her— b-bounty hasn’t changed, has it? And the kid, he just knocked over a marine’s base in Shells Town, then he stole a map of the Grand Line and now he’s talking shit about finding the One Piece.”

This seems to be enough reason for Arlong to finally drop him, and Buggy struggles to retrieve all the air he’s lost.

“The One Piece, an excuse for humans to spread their filth across the seas.” Arlong is less than impressed, but what he says next opens a door. “Why should I concern myself with the ambitions of a mere human boy?”

“Because that map is useful,” Buggy regains some semblance of balance on his knees. “The kid is not, but I have unfinished business with him. What’s more, if Cross-Hairs is with him, then that’s your chance to get the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. Think about it! You’ll be at the top of the list if she’s out of the way.”

Arlong doesn’t like the implication laced in Buggy’s words, the possibility that he’s in any way lesser than a human. “I am already at the top of the list, clown. The Cross-Haired Pirates are disbanded, and humans tend to age so quickly compared to fish men. I’m sure she’s grown old and weary in the last couple of years, hardly worth my time.”

Buggy wants to smile. Smile as he thinks about just how fucking wrong this guy can be. The years have not drained you, nor weakened you, nor made you any less hot if he does say so himself.

Oh, if anyone can wipe the floor with Arlong, it’s you. That’s why he’s not afraid of revealing your current whereabouts, because he already knows fishy over there will get his ass whopped big time.

“How about this: you let me live, and I’ll help you find Luffy and Cross-Hairs. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

Two birds, one stone, and one fish filet, to be more specific.

Arlong grabs him by the neck. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I've got eyes and ears everywhere.”

The fish takes the bait, and Buggy can't help but laugh.

Laugh, not because Arlong agrees to his plan, but because the guy is going to be struck by lightning so fucking hard that in the end, there'll be nothing left of him save for that ugly-ass tool he calls a nose.

The moron has deliberately put himself up for slaughter, and personally, Buggy can’t wait to watch the show unfold.

The stage is yours.

He’ll watch from the front rows and give you an upstanding applause once the curtains falls.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k, @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[natsmagi]

my thoughts on the new event by the way If u even care

text ID below

"hi is this where i go for when i need to let my insane ramblings out of my system. Well anyway im starting to think the point of the lost ballade shuffle is moreso these characters exorcising their past traumas. i dont know alot about yuzuru or niki so i cant really speak on them but for tsumugi rei and madara itd make sense since the lyrics of the song seems to imply that They are the lost children. they are the lost children who have endured all this hardships. rei, tsumugi, madara and yuzuru had rather abusive and dehumanizing upbringings (again idk niki lore</3). theyre lost children robbed off their lives. i wonder if their scenes when the spirits came loose showcases how they coped about it in a way too? like mama is seen interacting with many of the members, which is fitting considering his whole deal being related to "having connections," since his family followed the shinkai cult and made the wishes come true. tsumugi seems alot more lonely, carrying his weight by himself to the point where it seems his body is beginning to give out. which is consistent with tsumugis character and how he often self-sacrifices and doesnt let others in much. rei seems alot more grand, focusing on the bigger picture and not himself, analyzing the situation to better know how to approach. such as him looking at the tomb thing with a more calculative gaze, and then giving that same look to the radio tower, implying that maybe thats whats been causing all of this. this is also consistent with reis character in how hes viewed by many as a savior. a prodigy that can fix everyones struggles, without stopping to view rei as his own individual the song itself feels very much like. People who are clinging to bad habits. wandering around aimlessly because with how they were raised this is all they know. never telling anyone of their hardships. never letting anyone in. completely isolating themselves, because the people who were meant to raise them never taught them how to live, so all they know is "watching over the world" and then in the end they exorcised themselves of their pasts, not letting that define them anymore. u can see it esp w tsumugi in how, minus the hush towards the camera, he never once smiled during the mv until the purified spirits were floating around him like hes finally at peace im so normal about this i swear"

[doodoodinklefart]

back for another jjk yap sess, this time abt geto LOL...

im honestly a little surprised i never noticed this before but the way that geto (who thought that his best friend was killed and saw a girl he was essentially willing to uproot his life for get murdered right in front of him) tries SOO hard to stay calm while toji's talking and then the MOMENT he brings satoru up again and trivializes riko's death, suguru loses it. i'm thinking suguru let him talk in the first place despite the risk of letting toji reveal his pact (and wanting to kill him Very Bad) cuz he figured it would be better to understand toji's deal since he beat satoru, something that suguru trusted would not happen

but then he starts referring to satoru strictly as "the six eyes", and i think that suguru, one of the few people that saw satoru as a person beyond his cursed technique or his family name could not help but get super pissed abt toji's dehumanization of satoru (and riko too, who he only refers to as the star plasma vessel). i just thought that it was very interesting....... suguru cared so much and it makes me CRAZY AS FUCK.

like, to begin with i think its sooo so interesting that suguru made it a point to be considerate of all the human parts of satoru despite the fact that im sure most other people assume he doesn't need to be worried about. i'll never stop thinking about suguru asking if he needs a break since he's overusing his technique, telling him he worked hard after getting back to the school, trying to rush to his side after he's been stabbed and being conflicted when satoru tells him to leave with riko and kuroi... he didn't just assume satoru could handle all that shit on his own cuz even if he could have he shouldn't have to.

also related omg im almost done i promise but!! the scene where suguru gets to the star religious group and sees satoru again for the first time...

the way that he can't even believe his eyes, probably in part because he's acting way different but also because he thought he FUCKING DIED. and he had to drag himself out of the tomb of the stars and probably went to look for gojo's body before even going to shoko. and then he had to tell her he couldn't even find his body man WHAT THE FUCK!!! i think maybe saw a twitter post about this part in particular but he might have thought toji took riko's body and satoru's, so the thought that he went all the way there thinking he'd have to see two dead bodies of people he cared about... ugh. suguru geto i love you

[the-phantom-otaku]

I recently learned that apparently Cazador not only let Astarion be buried, but he left him there in his grave for a year before going to retrieve him. (I know this info is found by using the Astral Tadpole. I think he'll tell you if you're trying to convince him or once he's convinced to take it.) Edit: This is actually untrue. I originally heard this over on twitter and didn't look up a clip to verify. The person I heard this from actually misinterpreted this scene, in which you use the Illithid powers to search his mind and you find the memory where he was locked in a tomb for disobeying. I think they thought it was a memory about how Cazador left him dead and buried rather than another way to find out about the harshest punishment Cazador ever gave him. Doesn't have too much of an affect on the rest of the post, but I want to correct myself. Tho I will say Cazador leaving him dead and buried for a year before finally awakening him as a spawn is a neat headcanon, and like I said before, WOULD make a lot of sense. People would be sure to notice that the recently murdered magistrate is suddenly back and luring commoners back to the Szarr palace.

Anyway, I had thoughts regarding the whole thing.

Astarion's body had to be tended to and prepped for a burial, and those bite marks are not subtle even 200 years later. Do you think Cazador paid off or threatened whoever dealt with his body? Or maybe he just had one of his servants do the preparations. Maybe he approached Astarion's grieving family and offered to not just pay for the burial expenses, but to deal with the whole process "so the family could grieve in peace." Anything so people don't think there are vampires roaming and so his family thinks he's dead and gone for good.

Astarion also destroyed his own coffin just a year later when Cazador woke him up. I wonder if his family thought his grave had been defiled and robbed of the corpse inside. Maybe people blame the Gur. They were the ones who killed him (from everyone else's perspective). They also took issue with his ruling, which led to the attack in the first place. To everyone else, it would make perfect sense for the Gur to rob his grave. Not just for revenge, but with all the rumors around, I bet people speculated that they used the young magistrate's body as bait for a monster or that they performed some ritual on it so his soul would suffer for eternity. Perhaps Cazador is even responsible for starting these rumors and stoking the fires to keep suspicion of him low.

Speaking more on his family, I wonder if the reason his grave is overgrown and unkempt is bc they left Baldur's Gate, either after the murder or after his grave was "robbed." As in, it wasn't bad enough to lose their child, but then he couldn't even rest in peace, and they couldn't bear to be in the wretched city anymore after the tragedy. Or perhaps Cazador forced them from the city via string pulling. It just further ties up any loose ends and gets rid of people Astarion could reach out to for help.

Anyway, I think that's about all I wanted to say. The whole thing with him being turned is so vague that I couldn't help but turn some ideas in my head.

[questionablequeeries]

Free Space (Too Far Gone? by Metallica)

Day 0

“Absolutely not. We need to put it outta its misery.” Hopper insisted as they recovered in the Harrington home. He grimaced when the sound of screeching and thrashing sounded from the basement, and Steve would have found the expression almost humorous any other day.

“He’s not an it!” Dustin protested, “And we didn’t abandon Will! We don’t leave party members if they can be saved!”

Nancy sighed, taking a gulp of water to gather her thoughts before she spoke, “Will was savable. Eddie is…Is he even Eddie anymore? He didn’t drop when the other democreatures did, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything!” Dustin’s voice got a little louder, “I don’t know what final boss battle you guys were watching, but Eddie, El, and Will did most of the heavy lifting!” While tentacles (vines? Whatever, either way Steve wanted to pretend that hadn’t happened) pinned them down, Eddie had turned on Vecna. He’d bared his fangs and lunged, catching the monster offguard enough for Eleven to mindblast the vines (vines aren’t slimy. Definitely tentacles) off of herself. He had even caught a tentacle (but tentacles imply they’re attached to something and the majority weren’t. So…vines?) through the chest for his trouble. Apparently whatever had been done to him made him heal faster, so yay for small miracles.

“He’s staying.” Steve finally spoke up, “Hop, with all due respect I won’t hesitate to do what it takes to protect him.” His voice was even, the ‘from you’ left unsaid but still understood.

Hopper paused before he sighed, “We do this, you aren’t taking care of him alone. The second he becomes too much of a danger…”

“He won’t.” Steve said firmly. They would make it through the night and pull his heart into the day.

Day 1

“Wow, you look bad.” Robin grimaced at the sight of her platonic soulmate absolutely drenched from head to toe.

Steve sighed as he wrung out his shirt, “I had El restrain Eddie so I could chain him up.”

“And that required you to take a swim first?” Robin arched an eyebrow as she walked into Steve’s bathroom and gathered a few towels.

“It was for a bath. He hasn’t had one since at least three days before he died.” Steve grumbled, drying himself off, “I know he’s not exactly Eddie right now but the moment he remembered he had wings was the most Eddie thing I’ve ever seen.” He’d watched as Eddie had gone from thrashing in the plastic pool they’d brought down to flapping a tidal wave in Steve’s general direction, making an almost pleased sort of chirp. The bastard had even looked smug, and it was annoying, but it was all the proof he needed that Eddie still lived, was more than an attack dog. It was progress.

Day 10

“So, um, the party’s gonna deal with Acererak, but the twist is that he’s the DMNPC that’s been traveling with them.” Will explained his next campaign, glancing over to Eddie. The man had to be restrained when people were with him, and the kids needed an adult by their side, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe the vampire wasn’t so bad. After all, being changed by the Upside Down didn’t mean you were automatically evil, just…different.

Steve smiled softly. He was pretending to read a magazine to give them some privacy, but he heard the curious chirps Eddie was making, the inquisitiveness spoken in a language Steve was starting to learn, and he couldn’t help speaking up, “I think he wants to know more.”

Will’s eyes lit up, “Okay, the big reveal’s gonna be at the end of the tomb…”

Night 35

Steve was woken up by screeching, mournful and terrified. He booked it downstairs so fast he nearly fell down the last steps. He saw Eddie in his little nest of sweatshirts he’d taken from Steve, wings wrapped around himself and brows furrowed, fighting some horrors his own mind had created. Without hesitation, Steve climbed into the nest and laid there, pulling Eddie into his arms and brushing his hair back, “It’s okay,” He whispered, “You’re not alone.”

Day 63

Dustin was sat right next to Eddie, reading from The Hobbit, when he felt a wing wrap around him, startling him out of the paragraph, “You okay? Do you need something?”

Steve grinned, “I think that’s mostly because he can’t do it with his arm.”

Eddie let out a confirming chitter.

“Let’s let him out!” Dustin undid the chains before he could be stopped though, considering it was just he and Steve, there wasn’t really a voice of reason there.

Eddie froze when he was freed, looking around the room as if this was a trap, a trick, and a soft whine pulled from his throat.

“No, it’s okay. Like this, see?” Dustin demonstrated by wrapping an arm around Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie hesitated before he rested a clawed hand on Dustin’s curls and ruffled them. What startled both Steve and his semi-child was the purr that rumbled from the vampire’s chest.

Day 86

Steve walked downstairs with breakfast. They’d found that Eddie could eat normal things but that most of his nutrients came from blood, so the adults had been donating when they could. Thankfully, he only seemed to need to be fed once a day, with Steve giving him human food the rest of the time. He frowned when he heard what sounded like hissing, an incessant ‘s’ sound, “What is it? You okay?” He asked in concern, setting down the cup and approaching his vampire.

Eddie let out an annoyed sort of grunt then continued hissing, shaking his head.

Steve crouched down in front of Eddie, resting a hand against his cheek, “What’s wrong? Do we need El?” Because Eleven was the only one who could communicate with Eddie better than Steve through her static blindfold mind powers (and Steve totally wasn’t jealous, no, why would he be? Totally fine with someone else speaking to his Eddie, totally chill and cool)

Eddie growled, hissing louder, until he stopped and took a deep breath. Robin had been teaching him how to control his emotions, though hers were mostly panic attack related. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes, “SSSSSStevie.” He whispered.

Steve felt tears spill out, instantly throwing himself at Eddie, “Yeah, Baby, it’s me.” He murmured into a cold neck that still felt so familiar, “Welcome home.”

@steddie-week You can read the entire week here!

[williamvapespeare]

torturing myself with Astarion/durge heartbreak 2k23 (some comfort immediately after that scene)

-

“Anyway it’s a brand new day, I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.” 

He means it as a joke, he really does, the sort of thinly veiled thing he pulls out when a conversation gets too close to the endless darkness of a tomb or the trusting eyes of yet another victim, pain dragged down each of his limbs, screams caught in his throat, or, well - he figures he’s owed a bad joke or two for all of that. 

And Tav humors him with a small huff of something that might have been laughter, only it catches on a sharp sounding inhale and all of a sudden he’s clapping a hand over his mouth and curling into himself and Astarion has done quite enough sitting back and watching that night already.

When he pushes himself closer, Tav turns away, his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders heaving. Astarion reaches out, slowly, with all same the caution he uses as he feels his way through the mechanisms of a trap, fits his fingers under a spring, eases it open. He’s good at this, Astarion knows, and now he gets his hand around Tav’s wrist, pries it gently away from his mouth. Tav’s skin is still raw, dried blood flaked around the wound. Astarion does his best to be gentle as he pulls Tav’s hand towards him, holding his fingers loosely in both of his own hands. 

It reminds him of a night weeks ago, when Tav accepted Astarion’s terrified words with the most grace he’s ever known, warm arms around his waist, a soft smile on Tav’s face, gentle fingers curled around his own. I care about you. 

“I’m sorry,” Tav says now, voice choked and raw. Like he’s been screaming all night. “You shouldn’t. I tried to, I fucking tried…” 

“I’m here,” Astarion cuts him off. Tav’s hand tries to clench in his own, twisting into a fist where Astarion can see the bloody imprints of nails already etched into his palm. He tightens his grip. “Someone already beat you to the whole killing me thing, love, and look how that turned out. I’m still here, whole and beautiful.” 

Tav’s shoulders hitch again, but he blinks his eyes open, and while Astarion doesn’t like what he sees there - dark circles like bruises above his cheekbones, fear still radiating from him like a pheromone - he sees Tav there in his eyes, nothing more, nothing less.  

“That’s it,” he soothes, calming and utterly nonsensical. “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tav says again, but his voice is steadier this time. 

Astarion reaches out, touches Tav’s cheek in what he hopes is a delicate caress, like he too is something gentle to be taken care of, even when his body and his brain are fighting it with everything they have. 

The fire is long since dead, and Astarion lets his gaze wander up from the blackened logs to the dull grey sky, it looks this way just before sunrise, he’s learned. Sometimes, the subtle hints of pink blink into view on the edge of the horizon without warning, and he’s struck with awe at the sight of it, the light, the freedom, every useless cliche it’s come to represent. 

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, but by the time he hears the first rustling of their companions around them - it’s Gale who always appears first, he knows, the man wakes ridiculously early for a human - the sun is high enough in the sky that it’s beginning to peek through the early morning clouds. 

“I should probably, uh,” Tav motions vaguely to his hand where it still rests loosely in Astarion’s, “deal with this before anyone else freaks out.” 

As much as Astarion agrees, he can’t quite bring himself to let Tav go yet. 

“Of course,” he says, instead of any of the disgustingly possessive thoughts on the tip of his tongue. “Get yourself cleaned up, darling.” 

He helps Tav to his feet, watches as Tav rubs his face on his sleeve, skims his own fingers over his bloody wrists, taking stock of the damage. Astarion recognizes the motions. 

“Will you,” Tav starts to say something that tapers off into a tired sort of silence, but Astarion is already nodding. 

“I’ll be right here,” he says. “Whenever you need me.” 

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part v- the boat

“we are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side” - kahlil gibran

summary: the weirdest boat you’ve ever been on.

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: language, death, violence, abuse, red room, more episode five to come

a/n: hiii, i’m slowly getting back into my groove lmao. got the results back on my finals and scraped by in math, saw taylor in the pouring rain, ya know, normal things. thank y’all sm for being patient w these uploads. as always, hope you enjoy, love you all 🫶🫶🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit @vainillasmil157 @doublevirgogirl @boofy1998

previous part | series masterlist | next part

Now, you’ve grave robbed before. The Red Room had some dirty work, literally and figuratively.

However, you’ve never grave robbed an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb. Especially not with a man who’s kind of two men who are the avatar of an Egyptian god.

You’ve done worse.

Like shoving your hand down a mummy’s throat because Steven didn’t want to.

“Be gentle!” Steven yelps as you dig around the dead man.

You scoff. “What is he going to do, bite my arm? The integrity of the enamel is pretty shot now, I think I’ll be fine.”

Finally, your hand touches stone. Yanking it free, you victoriously present the ushabti to Steven.

He cheers as you both jump in excitement, passing the ushabti between you both to examine it. Your heart is pounding, both out of excitement and how close you are to Steven.

It turns out to be even closer than you thought when you look up, and almost bump heads with him.

For a moment, you just take in his gaze. How gently his eyes meet yours, deep and dark and entrancing all the same.

“We may have to fight our way out of here,” you cough, refocusing.

Steven shakes his head. “No, no. We can just sneak out a back entrance and-“

“Steven.” You rest a hand on his. “They have a way to track us if we have the ushabti. There are guards crawling all over this place. It’s going to get messy.”

In his head, Marc agrees.

‘It’s gonna be a fight Steven, she’s right.’

“No, no, not everything is a fight.” He’s not sure if he’s talking to Marc or you. “There’s more solutions than- than killing people.” You can’t disguise the way that his words sting.

A loud rumbling of footsteps echoes down the hallway.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

‘Give me the body, Steven!’

In an instant, the mild-mannered Brit is gone, and Marc is readjusting to having control again.

“This is bad,” he whispers, as the footsteps grow louder.

You chuckle. “Yeah, no shit.”

Watching you ready your weapons and aim at the entrance, noticing the way your breath trembles, Marc makes a split-second decision.

“You should run.”

“What?” You balk, never taking your eyes off the tunnel before you. “I’m not leaving you.”

“This is my mess, you don’t need to get hurt for me.”

“Too bad.”

The room is flooded with Harrow’s devotees as you finish your sentence. Dozens of guns, all trained on the two of you. You don’t waver, staring down the barrel of your own gun with a finger resting on the trigger.

“I remember the first morning I woke up knowing Khonshu was gone,” Harrow says, stepping up towards Marc. He doesn’t even act phased by the weapon pointed at his head.

“The quiet was liberating.”

It sounds hauntingly like the chemical-induced control in the Red Room. Voices in your head that aren’t your own.

“You’re a free man.”

Logically, you know that Harrow is speaking to Marc. And yet…

“And, of course, with that freedom, comes choice. And right now, you have a very important decision to make.”

Marc sighs. “Okay.”

He’s not one to give up. That much has been made clear in the time you’ve known him. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s planning something.

The moment he strikes, so do you, shooting down as many men as you can. It’s a whirlwind, Marc with a stolen weapon from the sarcophagus and you with anything you can get your hands on.

Of course, cornering a wanted mercenary and a Black Widow in a small space is a recipe for violence.

Harrow knows this.

You’ve heard a lot of gunshots in your life, even felt a good dozen or so. The scars littered across your body tell that story without uttering a single word.

So you know when you’ve been hit.

And you know that this one is bad. Really bad.

A shot to your stomach, then two more to your chest. You can feel your clavicle shatter and ribs crack, but you can’t hear yourself scream. Maybe you don’t even make a sound.

The pain is blinding and absent all at once, and the only thing besides the ringing in your ears is Marc’s panicked movements as he catches you before you fall.

“Hey, hey, hold on. You’re okay, I’ve gotcha.” His words are muffled, but you swear you feel him press a kiss to your forehead. Not such a bad way to go.

He’s cussing, holding you close and shielding you from the onslaught of bullets when he takes two shots to the back.

That’s all it takes.

He topples into the pool of water with you still cradled in his arms, and the darkness only gives you relief.

You don’t let yourself think about Sam, Bucky, and Steve. Or Tony and Peter. Not even Nat and Yelena.

About how the Avengers will hunt this man down. About how they’ll find your body in the water.

Will the world mourn a killer?

Well, the only “world” to you right now is the dark water you’re sinking in and the man holding you tight, so you suppose it doesn’t matter all that much.

———————————————————————

You open your eyes to a hell you never thought you’d return to.

A large, open room, cold and dreary. A woman looms in the corner and about twenty or so little girls look up at you expectantly.

When you turn to the wall covered in one large mirror, you’re met with something else.

A ballerina. White platter tutu bejeweled with gems, worn pointe shoes, your hair tightly pulled back.

The woman snaps her fingers. You instantly jump into the motions you thought you had forgotten, executing a routine with a kind of poised grace that would only ever come with the Red Room’s brutal training.

Finishing with a bow, not even breaking a sweat, you are dismissed, and the world seems to shift.

Now, the room you’re in is bathed in red light. When you look down, you’re in a Black Widow uniform.

You’re not too alarmed by this. No, what scares you is what you know lies in front of you. The bodies on the floor.

The sirens in the halls.

The man in the room, examining your technique.

There’s a fog in your head that you know all too well.

“The chemical seems to be working,” a familiar woman says. Her hair is done up in more braids than you can count. “It wasn’t even this successful on my pigs.”

“I don’t give a shit about your pigs,” the man growls. “I just can’t have another Widow escaping.”

You blink, and they’re gone. The room is white and the haze in your mind is receding. You’re still in the uniform, but you don’t mind that as much.

Wandering the bright hallways, you find yourself in a hospital. The lights seem to sway, and your balance is faultier than usual. Must be a side effect of the flashbacks.

Voices are echoing down the hallway, and you can’t help but feel that they sound… familiar.

“But Marc, Marc-“

“The hospital! That’s the imagination.”

Why would their voices be separate? They continue arguing as you turn the corner, just as Marc turns around.

His breath catches in his throat, as if he’s seeing, well, a ghost.

“Oh, c’mon,” he sighs. “That’s just cruel.” Marc walks forward, still not really believing in this whole “afterlife” deal or that you’re here.

Because that would mean you’re dead.

“Where are we?” you ask, hurrying around the corner only to see… uh, a hippo, and maybe more concerning, Steven.

You mutter under your breath in Russian, only stopping when Steven puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but-“

“We’re dead,” Marc finishes, groaning audibly. There’s no way around it. “Harrow, he- he shot you, and then…”

He blinks away the image of you, bloodied in his arms.

“Wait, if this really is the afterlife-” Marc says, approaching a door. “Then what’s on the other side-“

He flings the double doors open, revealing that the swaying of the building wasn’t a hallucination.

You’re on a boat. In the middle of a fucking desert. And you’re also apparently dead.

“Oh, what the shit,” you gasp. “Where the hell are we?”

Steven follows behind you. “It’s the underworld.”

You still don’t understand how the two are separate, even as Marc laughs and pats his alter on the shoulder. “I’m not crazy,” he sighs in relief. “I’m dead.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, watching as the boat coasts over dunes.

“We’re sailing to A’aru. To the Field of Reeds, right, Taweret?”

The hippo, apparently Taweret, nods. “Ah, so he’s the smart one, eh? Well, if your heart’s balanced in life, then you will spend eternity in paradise. The Field of Reeds!”

She coughs before reaching out her hands toward Marc and Steven. “But before we get there, I’ve just got to do a little…”

Her hands pass through their bodies like air, and when she pulls them back, in her hands are two, identical, white hearts.

“Oh, goody! It worked! Look at that! Here was little old me worrying I’d blow your chests wide open.” You wince, before stepping forward.

“I guess you have to do that to me?” you ask, hating the answer.

She nods, and just as gently removes your heart, cradling the three.

“You’re more of a standard case, really, no offense to you boys. We’ll weigh yours first.”

“What’s happening?” you whisper to Steven.

“She’s going to weigh your heart on the Scales of Justice against the Feather of Truth. The ancient Egyptians believed that the heart was the sign of who you really were in life.”

The space in your chest feels cold now.

“If the Scales balance by the time you end the journey, then your soul is permitted to pass into the Field of Reeds.”

You feel a chill run down your spine. “And if it doesn’t balance?”

“You get thrown overboard,” Taweret politely informs. “Whoo! The dead will drag you down into the Duat, where you will remain forever, frozen in sand.”

Wonderful.

You watch as she sets your heart on the scales, waiting for it to almost fall over from your heart’s weight.

But it doesn’t.

It sits rather politely, perfectly equal to the feather.

“I think your scale is broken,” you mumble. “I’ve done a lot of, um, less-than-balanced things in my life.”

The hippo shakes her head kindly. “No, the Scales aren’t wrong. However, your heart does feel heavier than most. Perhaps there’s something in the boat to help lighten the load?”

Next, she sets down Marc and Steven’s hearts. They had been talking in hushed tones a few paces away, but Taweret’s voice brings them back.

The scales are rapidly shifting, never stilling on one side or the other.

“What’s it doing, why is it moving like that?” Steven asks.

The goddess shrugs. “I don’t know. I do not have a card for this.” She carefully removes the hearts.

“Oh. It’s the hearts. They aren’t… full.” She chuckles a bit. “And trust me, I’m a goblet-half-full kind of gal, but… It’s like they each feel incomplete.”

Marc crosses his arms. “What does that mean?”

“Without balanced scales, the Duat will eventually claim your soul.”

“So what do we do?” you ask.

“This boat contains all of a life’s memories,” Taweret says. “Now, I don’t know what you two have been hiding, but my advice, get in there and show each other the truth. Balance your scales before we arrive at the Field of Reeds, or your souls will be destroyed.”

You don’t hesitate, hurriedly opening the doors, and jogging down the hallways as Marc and Steven reluctantly follow.

Behind the doors, you see flashes from their lives, intertwined and blurry behind the glass.

Behind you, they argue, going back and forth at an increasing volume until they start peeking in doors.

A scream comes from further into the ship. It’s a little boy. You and Steven take off after it, but only you seem to notice how Marc hangs back.

The sound came from a cafeteria, apparently. And at each table, there are posed bodies. Some bloodied, some strangled.

“Just a creepy caff filled with dead bodies,” Steven jokes as his voice shakes. “That’s all it is. No prizes for guessing whose room this is.”

Marc studies the bodies, before he starts naming locations. You know exactly what he’s doing.

“You killed them,” you say. It’s not a question.

“Surely not all of them?” Steven asks.

Marc is still looking at the countless people. “They were criminals. Murderers. Predators. The worst of the worst. Khonshu wanted them punished. It’s what he meant by protecting the travelers of the night.”

A pang of guilt stabs through you. He was killing the guilty. You killed the innocent. In another life, you might have been one of the bodies in this room.

“Marc! Look, the Scales are slowing down. It’s working,” Steven says.

“Okay, all right. So now what? Do you go next?”

Movement catches your eye. The small boy who called out before. But unlike the others, he’s alive.

“Marc, who’s that?” You point to him. The man pales visibly.

“Wait, wait, don’t go near him!” Marc pleads as Steven rushes after the boy, who runs off as quickly as he appeared.

Chasing after them both, you only catch up after Steven has entered a memory, with Marc banging on the locked door.

You start looking for other entrances when you see it.

All of Marc and Steven’s doors are white. They match the hospital and are denoted with a small crescent moon on the door handle. This one is made of dark, heavy metal. And you’d recognize that red insignia anywhere.

This is your door.

You don’t even bother looking in it. You see your worst memories every night, so why would you want to watch them again?

Turning back to Marc, you ignore the door completely.

“Let’s look for another way in, yes?”

You both race down the halls, peering in each door for Steven. However, the further you go, the more of your doors appear.

Marc can only catch glimpses of what’s inside. Red lights, gunfire, sharp commands in Russian. And lots of screaming.

He’s trying to push the sounds from that cave out of his head, but all he can hear is water. So much water.

When he opens his eyes, you’re staring into one of his doors. With a tentative press on the handle, it swings open.

The scene is a funeral. There’s no mistaking that. Two parents sit together, and a picture of a young boy is surrounded by flowers.

It all pieces together.

“Your brother,” you whisper. “He died.”

Steven nods from the staircase, soaked in rain and the memories of what he just saw.

“I want my RoRo back,” the mother says, voice hoarse. “I want him back.”

Light steps on the stairs reveal a younger Marc, eyes wide and teary. And you know exactly how this is going to go. Not that it makes it easier to watch.

You close your eyes as she blames the child, screaming as the family tries to calm her down. The boy races back up the stairs, and Steven follows with Marc not far behind.

You’re stuck in place, breath heaving as the mother, Wendy, sobs uncontrollably. Then you blink.

And you’re back in hell.

———————————————————————

Steven and Marc chase each other through more scenes of Marc’s childhood, through birthdays, and arguments, and when he eventually left that hell of a home and never looked back.

But when he tackles Steven, they land in a memory that isn’t theirs.

They see a little girl holding a gun. It’s clearly too large for her hands, given the way that her middle finger rests on the trigger rather than her index finger, but she aims it steadily.

She’s aiming at a man tied to a chair, bag over his head. Steven and Marc barely have time to look away before she shoots.

She doesn’t miss. You never miss.

The girl hands off the gun to a trainer, who nods in approval. As people come to clean the room and dispose of the body, she exits, the two alters following.

They both know it’s you. Neither of them want to say it.

The next room they enter, the girl is a bit older, maybe preteen.

An angry man with glasses looms over her while a woman stands in the corner.

“You failed the Red Room. We’ve put all this effort into making you perfect, and you can’t even finish a mission!” His hand flies out, striking her as Marc’s vision blurs. The sight is all too familiar.

“You… will be punished for your little ‘slip up’. Then, you’ll go back and clean up your mess. No witnesses can be left alive.”

The girl speaks in a way that seems detached. Cold, analytical. “But the witnesses aren’t-“

Another blow lands.

“Don’t speak out of line.”

The woman finally pipes up, her voice cold. “I believe she should go through her graduation ceremony. It will provide… motivation for the next mission.”

Apparently, there’s more to the ceremony than Marc or Steven know, because the little girl’s eyes go wide, and she finally shows emotion.

“No! No, please don’t make me! I’ll never fail you again, Dreykov, just don’t make me-“

He waves a hand. “Take her to the medical wing.”

The scream that the child in front of them lets out is guttural, and she pleads as she’s dragged fighting all the way to the door.

For a moment, she breaks from their grasp and falls begging at the man’s feet. It’s all breathless words and choked breaths.

Dreykov doesn’t even bat an eye. Not when the girl starts sobbing, not when the guards grab her again.

“We shouldn’t be watching this,” Steven says. “These aren’t our memories.”

Marc shakes his head, opening the next door. “We have to find (Y/N), and she’s probably in one of these.”

It reveals another hallway, but not one from the ship. A closed door beside them is marked as having a surgery in process. A hysterectomy. And from the sounds inside, you were both awake and without any form of sedative.

“No…” Steven says. Trying to block out the screaming and crying he can hear, muffled by the heavy door. “They didn’t…”

Marc nods. “I did some research on the Red Room a while back. They would… sterilize the agents for max efficiency.”

“Marc, we need to leave!” the British man exclaims. “These are very personal, traumatic memories that we’re sifting through, we don’t have the right to do this. You didn’t even want me seeing yours, and now you’re okay with looking at (Y/N)’s?”

The other man sighs. “How do we know she’s not digging around ours right now?” The two head for the next door, flinging it open. “For all we know, she’s watching what I didn’t want you to see right now-“

They stop in their tracks for two reasons.

Firstly, there’s a past version of you in the middle of the room, panting heavily. On the ground are 19 dead bodies. All young girls. You’re covered in blood.

Secondly, you’re here. Not just past you, but actual you. You’re perfectly still, watching the scene with an unreadable look on your face.

“(Y/N)?, what is this?”

You whip around at the sound of Steven’s voice. Only then, in the dim red lighting, do they see the tear tracks running down your face. You wipe them away.

“I got lost,” you whisper, voice soft. Your eyes keep flitting back to the bodies littering the floor.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “I was with you guys, then I blinked, and-“ A silent sob tears its way out of your chest. “-and I was here again.”

Marc and Steven can’t help the way their chests ache at your voice. Not confident or even sarcastic. Just scared.

The former surveys the memory frozen in time. The same man from the earlier memory, Dreykov, stands with another woman.

“What happened here?” he asks, attempting to get your eyes off of the floor.

You wipe your eyes again. “That man, Dreykov. He’s the head of the Red Room. And Melina-“ You point to the woman next to him. “That’s Natasha and Yelena’s mom.”

“After Natasha escaped, they started working on a chemical that would allow Dreykov to control every aspect of his Widows. My group was the first successful run.”

Steven keeps his eyes averted from the bodies. “So why are they all dead?”

“Girls are sorted into groups of twenty when they’re trained to be Widows. Only one survives.”

You stare down at the bodies of your friends, almost your sisters, battered and bloody at your hands.

“I killed them all. I didn’t even hesitate. It was me or them, and I-“ Before you can start spiraling again, you are suddenly wrapped up in two sets of arms.

Letting yourself relax into the group hug, you exhale a heavy breath. Being completely enveloped also has the added bonus of hiding the scenery around you.

“It wasn’t-“

You cut Steven off. “Don’t tell me that it wasn’t me. It doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

His voice is muffled in your hair. “That’s not what I was gonna say.” It was definitely what he was gonna say, but he quickly changes his plan. “But this, you’ve already lived through all of this. You’ve grown, and now you’re an Avenger. Hell, you charged right in to help us and now you’re dead too.”

“Speaking of which-“ Marc pipes up. “You don’t seem very concerned about being dead.

As they guide you out of the room and back into the ship's hallway, you sigh in relief. Your shoulders visibly relax, and the darkness clouding your eyes relents the tiniest bit.

You offer a smile that’s still a little sad, but a smile nonetheless.

“Oh, please. One of my best friends is a multiversal being that can rewrite reality on a whim. I wasn’t that worried about being dead for a little while,” you joke.

The three of you walk down the hallway until a door that isn’t yours appears. It shows the desert at night, with a similar body count to yours sprawled in the sand.

But there’s another figure. Marc. Dragging himself toward a temple. A thick trail of blood coats the sand.

“Oh, great,” Steven quips. “More dead people.”

Marc’s eyes don’t leave where he’s crawling on the ground. The amount of blood loss is astonishing, really.

“Taweret said you have to tell each other the truth, right?” you ask. “This is part of that.”

Marc steels his nerves before sharply nodding. They just saw some of your worst memories; it only feels right to reveal some of his own.

With a shaky hand, he opens the door.

[mysadcorner]

Hello! I have a request on a head cannon on the whole bat family discovering that their adopted sister is basically out in the world discovering tombs raiding them for sport, and getting dangerous artifacts to store them safely and protect them in the manor. Basically Lara Croft and I’m basically basing it on the unified timeline for the tomb raider games which contain the original timeline, Legend, Anniversary, and Underworld or LAU for short timeline, and the survivor timeline. You can pick the personalities for Lara from each of the three timelines to creat your own unified Lara Croft. Sorry if this doesn’t make sense I have been think of this a lot and was searching for any head cannons that I had in my head. But I would love if you did my request, thanks! Oh btw I love your work! ❤️

BatFam x TombRaider!Reader Headcanons

- Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about which character you want in headcanons -

Masterlist Navigation

I haven’t written for ant of the female batfam characters before, so I decided to leave them out. Sorry in advance!

Bruce Wayne

• Bruce’s first reaction to you having an interest in tomb raiding and searching for artefacts would be one of interest. He doesn’t have a lot of time to do what you do since he’s always so busy with his business and helping people, so he’s inclined to know more about what you do despite him generally being well travelled himself but in a different way.

• He would be incredibly supportive of you and wouldn’t be able to tell you to stop as he also has questionable ways of spending your time. If he ever did have some spare time he would like to go with you on one of your trips, but he would have to schedule a bit of time to do this in advance as he doesn’t like to be away from Gotham for too long.

• Bruce loves your company, so he doesn’t really like to be away from you for long periods of time, especially as he’s always concerned about something bad happening to the people he cares about after all he’s been through. However, since you do this regularly and know how to handle yourself he will be reassured that you’ll come home to him fine like you always do.

• Bruce has plenty of room at the manor for any of the artefacts you find and has plenty of protection to look after them safely; he’ll even have the resources to find out more information or history surrounding the pieces you find. Even if you wanted to put any of these artefacts on display for a private crowd he’ll be able to get an exhibition arranged for you instantly.

• Because you’re constantly dealing with valuable relics and artefacts there is a high chance that someone else will be looking for it as well, or will at least have an eye on it once they find out that it had been found. Bruce will promptly make sure you and the artefact are safe and will deal

Jason Todd

• Jason has always had a bit of an interest for history so when he finds out that you deal with historical artefacts he is genuinely interested in hearing you talk about what you do. He’s always going to listen to you and will be one of the few people you know who knows the right questions to ask which causes you to fall into a deep hole of knowledge surrounding the things you’ve found.

• He’s very supportive of you and genuinely likes the thought of you travelling rather than being stuck in Gotham with him. He likes hearing about the things you’ve found while you’re on one of your trips and will be awake no matter what time you call.

• Jason misses the emotional and physical support you offer him, so if you are away quite often then he will struggle with this quite a bit. However, if the two of you manage to stick through this then he will be much more appreciative of your time together when you are home.

• Jason may not live in the most expensive place if he’s living away from Bruce, but he does have more than enough connections to find you somewhere to keep all of your finds safe. And you already know that he has plenty of men on hand to guard everything you bring back with you that are of value.

• If there is anyone that tries to get in your way or tries to steal your artefacts then Jason will approach them quite brutally. He can’t stand the thought of anyone negatively affecting you or hurting you, so he’s going to put them in their place before anything bad actually happens.

Dick Grayson

• Dick is always interested in the things you get up to, and seeing that you have a passion for something makes him happy. He may want to know more about why you’re so invested in the things you do, but overall he’ll be happy to hear about it.

• Dick is one of the most supportive people you could ever meet, and he’d stick through pretty much anything you decide to do. He may want to give you self defence lessons of you’re aren’t already taught as he will worry about you being away and in possible dangerous situations.

• Dick will call you multiple times a day if he can when your away on your trips, and he knows he can be a bit overbearing at times but he just can’t stand being away from you for long periods of time. Luckily the two of you enjoy talking to each other so much that you never get tired of hearing his voice no matter what you’re doing, and you’re able to express your excitement to him every time you find something.

• Dick will be pretty curious about the things you bring home and will want to touch as many things as he can if you let him, and he’s quick enough to make sure he doesn’t drop anything you consider as important. He’d hope that you would show your finds off due to how proud of you he is, but if you aren’t willing to then he’s fine to admire them in private with you.

• Dick will always be incredibly protective of you, so he’ll be keeping an eye out for anyone possibly out to get you or get a hold of the relics you’ve recovered. He may keep this quiet at first though, as he doesn’t want you to get worried about any potential danger coming your way.

Tim Drake

• Tim would be very visibly excited when he finds out about your interests in tomb raiding and finding lost or forgotten artefacts due to having his own interest in expanding his knowledge on every subject he can possibly get a hold of. He may not know much about what you do, but he can certainly find a way to help you fairly quickly.

• Supportive - Tim is very supportive and will keep an eye out for any new information he can get his hands on which may help you while looking for artefacts. He’s also good at moral support and will listen ti any concerns you have about what you’re heading out to do or if something bad happened when you last retrieved a relic.

• Being away from you would be a bit stressful for him if he’s used to your company and is suddenly left without you when you’re away on a trip. He can’t wait to see you again, and will try to keep in touch to see how you’re doing as much as he can.

• Tim always asks you as much as you can about the items you bring back with you and is happy to hear you explain them and their historical value in depth. He also looks into anything which may be related to it and will help you complete a collection if you ask him to in his free time.

• If anyone tries to get in your way or tries to get a hold of the things you have found then he’ll get everyone he can to keep an eye out for you, and will make sure no one gets their hands on you. He’ll always be worried about you, but he’ll also be happy that you’re doing what also makes you happy.

Damian Wayne

• Damian has been around his fare share of things which hold ancient value or historical context, so he may have heard something about what you’re looking for. If not, he’ll want to have an in depth and deep conversation about it with you - he especially loves conversations which make him think about things in a deeper way and has him mentally stimulated.

• Damian isn’t exactly loud and expressive about how he’s proud of everything you do, but he definitely is. If anything he’s much more defensive of you; he’s always prepared to stop anyone who has anything bad to say about you or is out to stop what you’re doing, and if you need something specific to keep you going then he’ll be more than happy to provide it.

• You calm Damian’s angst and anger a lot so when you aren’t around he does seem to be more cranky and less patient to others. He does struggle with this, but he’s also very strong willed so he is more than capable to wait for you to come back every time.

• Damian is very gentle with the artefacts you bring home, so you don’t have to worry about him breaking anything. He’s also very invested in the stories you have about your travels, much more than he is about the value of anything you’ve retrieved.

• Damian will instantly be aggressive to anyone who tries to get near you with bad intent, and will happily come with you on your travels if he thought you may be in any danger. They would never see Damian coming, and he would make sure everyone saw what he did as an example to stay away from you.

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 2)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: E for Everyone

Chapter: 2/??? (<- Prev Chapter • Next Chapter ->)

Word Count: 905

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, how do Elves experience dream flashbacks if they don't sleep, heart to heart, one last night before entering Reithwin, fanon lore, canon typical horror.

"“Oak Father forgive me!” Halsin looked absolutely mortified, casting hand shaking, beads of sweat clinging to his scarred forehead, nearly pale as Astarion."

———————✨🌿✨———————

Elves needn’t sleep unless they are gravely wounded or if it is imposed upon them by external forces. They trance instead of “undisciplined” dreaming, they walk through their memories freely, observing rather than participating.

However this does not mean that true, bone deep exhaustion cannot blur the lines between sleep and trance. Or that one’s subconscious cannot lock the door behind them, once a memory has been entered.

This much was true for Halsin that night.

A wave of death emanating from tomb and tower, following his dwindling Circle no matter how fast they ran. Unfeeling toward the innocents they strived to take with them. A small, antlered boy vanishing into the gloom cries out for rescue. At every turn he is met by a suffocating silence bore from a darkness that held nothing and killed everything.

A familiar corpse contorts into a gnarled mass of thorny brambles, its eyes burning an unnatural blue. He is surrounded by dying Harpers and Druids, Wraiths and Blights arising in their steads. A hand reaches through the darkness, grabbing at his arm. He must defend himself, he turns.

“Halsin!”

Tav tumbled backwards, clutching at the numerous thorns protruding from his arms and chest. Tiny welts of blood bespeckling his now ruined shirt.

“Oak Father forgive me!” Halsin looked absolutely mortified, casting hand shaking, beads of sweat clinging to his scarred forehead, nearly pale as Astarion.

Though shame and fear still marred the Archdruid’s face, muscle memory bid his body give way to his instincts as a practiced healer. Tav, who was still more surprised than in pain, found himself being urged to lay back down when he tried to sit up on his elbows.

“Vis medicatrix!”

They stung falling out into the grass more than they had entering. Tav clambered into a sitting position as Halsin fretted over him. Despite knowing full well that all the damage he’d done had been just as quickly erased by his own ministering hands.

Apologies erupted and clashed together once the initial chaos had passed. They stood up together breathlessly as their words tangled.

“My deepest apologies Tav, truly, I did not- I lost control. I…”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I didn’t know that Elves could have nightmares. Dreamed at all really. I thought something was attacking you!”

Tav recalls the muffled cries that had disturbed his rest and no other’s. The primal fear that had gripped him when he recognized who they belonged to. Had more Githyanki been sent after them by Lae’zel’s vengeful matriarch? Had they camped too close to the edge of the shadow cursed lands? It didn’t matter, he’d grabbed his mace and made toward Halsin’s tent like a man possessed.

“We… we do not. I was… remembering, looking for answers. Anything I may have overlooked. I wish for us to prepared, no matter how disquieting recalling it may be.”

Tav narrowed his eyes at the Druid, for all his virtues, perhaps this among them, that giant of an elf was a bad liar. Only half of the truth was revealed by his words. While the haunted look and the tension in his bearing gave away everything else.

“I see. Does remembering usually result in you making distressing sounds in the dead of night, and hurl nature’s wrath at those who come to investigate?” Tav’s question was blunt, but his tone was gentle. Partly to avoid waking the rest of the camp, partly to avoid shattering the delicate energy that bound them.

“…No. In truth, I am embarrassed to say that I may have ensnared myself in a trap of my own making. I do not relish in returning to this place, despite it being my greater purpose. It is… a vivid wound upon my memory, sometimes difficult to control.” He offered with as much plainness as was given.

“Still, an Archdruid should have more discipline.” Halsin’s tone grew distraught, “I should have known better. Now I have injured my allies, striking out at ghosts when our real opponent lies ahead of us. I had not meant to- I should never have harmed you…” Halsin trails off, turning away, pinching the bridge of his of nose, struggling to clear his thoughts.

He could not allow himself to be distracted from lifting the curse, pleasantly or unpleasantly. Halsin found himself unsuccessful, on both accounts. Extending his already long list of failures.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Tav soothed, placing a hand on Halsin’s shoulder briefly. “There isn’t a soul in this camp whose past hasn’t made a habit of catching up to them. Wyll’s got Mizora, Astarion has Cazador, Lae’zel and her ex-Queen, we’ve all got our monsters. I don’t expect you to be an exception, no one should.”

Halsin looked back at Tav again, he couldn’t help but chuckle, if a bit bitterly. The man had such a comparatively short lifespan compared to his own and yet, there was a wisdom there that reflected a great many times his years. He might’ve said the same thing, had their positions been reversed. So why then, did he deem himself the exception?

“Your words have merit. Still, I cannot help but feel…”

Tav nods, “I know, still, you are always welcome to come and talk Halsin. This burden isn’t just yours, not anymore anyway.”

The Druid’s cheeks flushed, he shifted uncomfortably. For reasons perhaps he himself couldn’t fully discern.

“Of course, the offer is mutual, my friend.”

[soudakuwunmoment]

About Dirk's role in the downfall of DirkJake

I mentioned recently in a post that I don't like DirkJake as much as I used to, and credited that to how Jake treated Dirk before they broke up. I know it's far more popular to say the breakup was Dirk's fault, but I'm here to add my perspective, because I truly don't think this is entirely the case.

Disclaimer, I am BIASED AS SHIT. I LOVE Dirk as a character, I relate to him on many levels, and his breakup with Jake is one of those levels. I was in Dirk's place a few years ago in a near identical situation, with a partner who was dissatisfied with our relationship and refused to tell me, while simultaneously distancing from me in a way which was incredibly unhealthy. I don't hold it against him now, and neither do I hold it against Jake. Both were teenagers. Immature and scared. However, while this gives me bias, I also think it gives me a unique perspective and experience in this exact situation. I think I have a place discussing this.

So, where to start? Well, first of all, let's establish what the issue was and how it led to the breakup.

After the time skip, we see that Jake is frustrated with how clingy and overbearing Dirk is being. He is overwhelmed by the intensity of the relationship, but is too scared to say anything because he doesn't want to upset Dirk or put them on bad terms. After all, Jake DOES love Dirk, despite what many people think. Having issues with your partner does not automatically mean you don't love them. In response to Jake's distant behavior, Dirk tries especially hard to impress him, make him happy. Dirk is anxious; he has been lonely his whole life, and has loved Jake for 3 years at that point. He is finally physically close with someone who he loves and is having his feelings returned. But now he senses that he might lose that. Dirk is VERY proactive about his problems, and is notoriously a chronic overthinker. So, Dirk attempts to "mend" things. He offers adventures and treasure and tombs; Jakes favorite things. Jake doesn't see Dirk's intentions and is oblivious to how anxious he is. He doesn't read behind the lines and therefore comes to the conclusion that Dirk has just been far too clingy lately. And so, we have a vicious situation. Jake's reaction to Dirk's clinginess is to hide, and Dirk's reaction to Jake's distance is to overcompensate and be more affectionate. It's a cycle that only gets worse the longer it's left unchecked.

So how can this be solved? Communication, obviously. It's the key to healthy relationships. I feel very strongly about that.

Both parties could do to communicate their exact thoughts, but in reality, Jake is more at fault. Sure, it would help if Dirk were to express specifically that he is anxious about the relationship and that's why he's being more clingy. But realistically, Does Dirk know that? Is he self aware enough of his actions? He never makes it clear whether he is. And him saying this to Jake, while it would help, it would only get them so far. The responsibility ends up on Jake. After all, Jake is fully aware of the reason for his behavior, we KNOW this. He tells us why he is doing what he's doing. And if he were to express this to Dirk, it would not only soothe his anxiety ("I see, so Jake isn't avoiding me because he doesn't love me/there's something wrong with me") but it would also spark a conversation about what to do about their situation. Perhaps a "I will give you the space you need so long as you don't become too distant/spend time with me" from Dirk, or an "I will spend more time with you so long as you respect my wishes when I wish to be alone" from Jake. But no, they can't have this conversation, specifically because Dirk does not know WHY Jake is becoming distant. Yes, Dirk DOES know Jake wants space. He is aware of this. But he does not know WHY. This is why he is anxious; he thinks it's because of his own personality or because he is a burden or because he is "toxic" as he often describes himself. And as long as Dirk is anxious, he will become "aggressive" in his clinginess. Sure, you could say this is a negative trait of his, but it can be avoided with communication, VERY easily.

You can say the breakup is Dirks fault all you want, and yes, he plays a role. But my opinion is that if either of them were to be considered a victim of the other, Dirk was the one who suffered more as a result of Jake's refusal to communicate.

[hongtiddiez]

last twilight ep 5 thoughts feelings etc.

eyy actually watched this earlier and rewatching it, so things should be a little less feral and unhinged. actually took notes my first watch through as well (wtf am i doing)

once again i love how stories are our constant companions in this show. i love how they keep playing with the parallels between worlds, it's one of my absolute favorite things in storytelling.

i love the fact that day is now 'invisible' in the world of badminton but he can still experience all of the joy of the game by supporting his friends. badminton was such a big part of his life and he doesn't have to leave it all behind, he just experiences it a little differently now.

film is so fucking pretty even covered in 'sweat.' i do love the show let her be 'sweaty' and disheveled instead of having perfect hair and make up after what was clearly a hard game. GIVE ME SWEATY WOMEN. (god im so gay)

so i said it last week but the only time we've ever seen mhok be violent is when he's been protecting the people close to him. (his garage bro, porjai x 2, etc) and we see him ready to do it again when august confronts day. there is no doubt in my mind that mhok was fully prepared to bury that bitch for even daring to make day the slightest bit afraid.

and god how scary does that have to be? you can't see, you're already nervous to be here, and suddenly someone is shouting at you - and maybe you don't recognize them at first because you haven't heard their voice in over a year but all you know is they're coming closer and they're so angry. i can't imagine anything scarier than that.

ahh, a broken picture frame representing a broken bond, an absolute classic metaphor. an oldie but a goodie.

once again i love that we see day's rage. anger really is such a big part of coming to terms with being disabled. i got some bad news a few weeks ago about my own disease and i've spent the last few weeks so angry and frustrated and then just sad. it's such a complex journey and the show is doing an absolutely brilliant job of showing that.

i do owe day's family a small smidgen of an apology since day is the one that asked it to be kept a secret, HOWEVER, i do think that conversation should have been revisited after a fucking year. how long were they just going to let him live in isolation? like cool for respecting his agency, not cool for letting him waste away in a tomb of his own making.

FINALLY WE GET MHOK OPENING UP.

so here's the thing with mhok. i love him. no - the real thing is i see so much of myself in him. my friends and family constantly get frustrated with me because i will never tell them when something is wrong or when i'm shouldering a lot of emotions about something. when i got the bad news about my disease i hid in my office and cried at my desk and then cleaned myself up and pretended nothing happened. fuck, i feel like i understand mhok on such a deep level.

not to get too into it but my own habits stem from neglect in my formative years, and i have to wonder if mhok's behavior maybe stems from his isolation in prison? oftentimes people with these behavior patterns will self isolate, either deal with or bury their emotions, and then emerge back into their friend group as if nothing happened. (am i talking about myself again? shhh.) mhok didn't really have a choice - sure you can write letters, have visitors, but a large part of his day was probably handling his grief in solitude. he's probably gotten so good at "handling it" and pushing everything down and dealing with everything in silence that he doesn't know how to handle it any other way now.

to make things worse, it happened over a year ago. he probably feels like he should be "over it" and not make it a big deal. maybe i'm projecting just a smidge (just a lot) but i do think it's something interesting to keep in mind. either way, him finally talking about rung to day is fucking MASSIVE, both for their relationship and mhok's emotional wellbeing.

august is fucking king of mixed signals and i don't super like that he looked for mhok's permission to lead day through the court. why the fuck are you looking at mhok when you could just ask day? if you look closely, as mhok is letting go day curls his fingers around the hand that mhok uses to remove his hand from his arm.

i do love we see mhok pushing day a little more out of his comfort zone as he did in earlier episodes.

porjai is so fucking pretty. is there anything more attractive than a woman in shorts and an oversized band tee? no. no there is not.

and again we see how much time and effort mhok has put into being day's caretaker - and his friend. he did research and learned methods that would make dining out easier for day. i love him so much! i don't know how day could still be thinking about august after that adorable little date.

UGH OKAY SO. HERE'S WHERE WE GET INTO MY BIG FEELINGS.

in my opinion, the theme of this episode has been "being late." here's why.

the boys were very nearly, or were, late to gee's badminton game

you could consider mhok 'late' to tell day about rung

day thinks he's too late to confess to august

mhok realizes he's come into day's life too late to receive his affection

and then we have august's literal late arrival (i still dont know what fucking game this jackass is playing)

this also ties in to a little trend i've been noticing in regards to mhok that oftentimes he's too late in life.

he was too late to save rung, and learned of her death late

he was too late to receive the mechanic job as it had 'already been given to someone else'

he was a late arrival to the interview to become day's caretaker

and again, he's entered day's life too late to receive his affection (or so he thinks)

i genuinely don't know if this is intentional, but i think it's something interesting to draw connections to.

anyway, again, i dont know what the fuck august's deal is but i can tell you if i was day i'd be getting over my feelings for him real fucking quick. i don't super like that august shows up, hears about day's feelings, and asks mhok to keep his being there a secret - but i do understand it and i do understand mhok's side of things. i don't think he does it out of his own selfishness, i think rather he realizes august likely doesn't return day's affection and letting him think august didn't show up is possibly the kinder of the two scenarios. (my only hope is we don't see august return and try to woo day or something later with this knowledge)

i do love that mhok stayed. he was concerned and it might seem a little overbearing but day was clearly nervous for this outing and all in all it's good that he stayed. and then he made sure to salvage the evening for day and take him out on a proper date. maybe it's not the date day wanted but it looks like he had a great time (perhaps even a better time) spending a day with someone he could relax and be himself around.

flowers have so many different meanings across cultures and tbh i'm far to tired to dig into the thai meaning of hydrangeas (if there are any) but i do think hydrangeas are neat. this is prob common knowledge but the color of hydrangea petals is determined by the ph balance in the soil they're grown in. (blue hydrangeas grow in soil with a ph balance of 5.2-5.5, far more in the base range than red hydrangeas that grow in a ph balance of 6.0-6.2, and once the soil reaches acidic levels it tends to produce pink flowers) i guess maybe if you wanted you could draw a connection to how malleable mhok is becoming and how his environment is changing him.

scientifically, sunflowers are also an interesting flower because they are often used to heal damaged and irradiated soil. they're so fucking resilient and help heal the world around them. i think there's a lot of connections we can make there with both mhok and day, regardless of flower symbolism and going purely on science.

anyway sorry to be a science nerd.

that's all ive really got for this episode, i say, as if i have not written you all a novel. this show continues to make me feel so much and tickle my brain in such a delightful way. between this and moonlight chicken p'aof has definitely made me a fan for life.

tag loves: @benkaaoi | @callipigio | @lookwhatihave (once again pls always feel free to lmk if you want to be added or removed)