#WITH HORRIBLE NIGHTMARES AND ALL THAT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lord-squiggletits · 3 months

Text

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #i'm sure the doylist reason for the writing is just that pharma was a designated villain #so since he's a villain and 'crazy' it's fine for everyone even the good guys to treat him like complete trash #i just think from a watsonian perspective taking a sympathetic approach is way more interesting and logically consistent #what i mean is like. from a meta perspective one of the best ways to show that a character is super evil and not worth saving #is when even the good guy heroes. the ones who are supposed to be kind and compassionate and wise. see him as dirt #and this is also kind of a necessity in most plots bc TF is the kind of series that just needs action villains and long-term antagonists #so not every villain is written or has a plot to be made redeemable. and pharma is one of these bc he's not important or a legacy character #so from a doylist (meta) perspective you could read the autobots' disregard of pharma as a sign of #'this guy is not meant to have your sympathy as a reader. pay no attention to him'#but from a watsonian (in universe) perspective it paints a miserable picture of pharma being utterly forsaken by the ppl he served alongsid #and like yeah i'm super autistic about pharma so of course i view him with sympathy but like #the idea of being a loyal and good person for years only to be subjected to a Torment Nexus of #being blackmailed into breaking all of the oaths you held sacred. under threat of you and all your comrades dying horrible torturous deaths #then when your comrades find out about it they focus solely on the 'harvesting organs' and not on the 'blackmail' part #and then you get literally left for dead by your comrades and best friend hating your guts #and then you get rescued by a guy who uses you as a test subject for his evil machine #this is a fucking nightmare scenario like pharma could hardly be suffering more if the author TRIED to make him suffer #and for me it's like. the evil pharma did can't be decontextualized to what drove him to that. as well as the question of like #how easily ppl can write someone off as evil and turn a blind eye to (or even find satisfaction in) their suffering bc theyre evil #and either brought it on themselves or it's just karma paying a visit #like. i feel like if pharma WERE a shitty doctor and a terrible person his whole life then the delphi situation would feel like karma #but the way it's written and the lore retroactively put in makes it feel more pharma getting thrown in a torture carousel #and THEN becoming evil. but then being treated as if he was always evil or was some sort of bad apple #bc like i'm not opposed to LOLing when a villain gets a karmic torture/death related to the wrongs they committed #but in pharma's case it feels less like karma and more like endless torture + being abandoned by ppl who should have been more loyal

288 notes · View notes

dent-de-leon · 2 months

Text

Thinking about...Taliesin saying that Molly would've taken Caleb out drinking and partying. Tried to quiet all the gutting guilt and grief eating Widogast alive by offering him a pleasant distraction from all the pain--a bit of fun, a spark of desire.

And just the implications of...a night spent in someone's arms for the first time in the longest time, Caleb so achingly touch-starved and lonely. Molly's touch far gentler and softer than he'd expected, the same comforting warmth as a tender forehead kiss he still clings to the memory of.

The way Lucien also used sex as a coping mechanism when he was at his most depressed and despondent, so lonely and self-isolated and desperate for any taste of affection. And when Molly sees Caleb wallow in all his self-hatred and sorrow, drawn to his own self-destruction like moth to flame--he can't help but long to reach out, to connect. To give this other Empty, shattered soul a bit of the love he always craved.

Thinking of Molly having the chance to be with Caleb, even just for a moment. Both of them sheltered in the Moonweaver's light, swept up in the lulling comfort of a lover's embrace. Both of their hearts feeling lighter come dawn--

#mollymauk #caleb widogast #widomauk #did i recover yet from tal saying that molly wouldve tried to spend the night with caleb just to take him away from it all for a moment?#that he would've done his circus man thing of trying to take caleb out for a bit of fun to make him forget for even just a moment all the #horrible awful nightmares they can both never wake from?#no i did not--#also #the molly and lucien parallels...

122 notes · View notes

lovesickeros · 7 days

Text

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #fic tag #furina #so um. looks around. okay look. i know im like THE ts@r1ts@ dealer (censored so it doesnt show in tags. hopefully)#but the moment i saw furi in fontaine the day it released she became my fav even more then the tsaritsa SORRY SHES SO..#this is my love letter 2 furi (making her suffer unimaginable horrors)#open ended kinda in case i decide on making a sequel maybe #furi makes me feel cuteness aggression so bad i start acting like a rabid animal #furina the woman that you are. thats my girlprince meow meow id kill someone for her #playing her part as archon so well but being so horribly irrefutably human in every way..#five hundred years not even knowing what the real plan was. when it would end. knowing if she slipped up it was over.#and in the end almost no one knew what really happened. a select few people know the real weight of her sacrifice.#furina's story was always a tragedy. it was never going to be anything but a tragedy.#and thats one of the most tragic parts of it isnt it? she didnt know how itd end. she didnt know her story was always going to be a tragedy #furina never knew a thing. and still she did it for the people of fontaine and succeeded.#how do you define “yourself” when you havent existed for 500 years?#to be so selflessly human you give up “yourself” to save people who will never know of your sacrifice.#sometimes i think about the confrontation on the stage and have a week long mental breakdown #sacrificing EVERYTHING for fontaine and still. still! the people closest to you turn on you.#heavy on clorinde. she was as close 2 furi as neuvi fight me on this. i bite.#her bodyguard and friend and she ends up staring down her blade wondering if this is it. she failed. she failed them all #because even when faced with the trial. with losing everything. she still thought only about fontaine. oh furina.#do you think she has nightmares. wonders if she was never meant to win this game of g-ds. that her story was always meant to be a tragedy?#do you think she still wonders if she was ever meant to have a chance at a happy ending? a doomed tragedy from beginning to end

126 notes · View notes

kopivie · 7 months

Text

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #spidey!kazuha #spidey!kazuha x reader #WHEW.#tagging is a fucking nightmare i cant believe i did this all the time #but uh.. ta-da...#i feel so much better though #i had a horrible day at work so i got super high and then i read thing in my asks and then i cried and wanted to write about kazuha #i literally checked off every box #get high? ✅️ cry? ✅️ write about kazuha? ✅️✅️✅️#I FEEL SO FREE

244 notes · View notes

nyaskitten · 4 months

Text

Hearing that sometimes even adults have horrid nightmares about school is so funny... like school is longterm trauma huh? You cannot escape that shit ever huh?

#i say this bc . i had school nightmares all summer long #its HORRIBLE #raine's rambles #raine's shitposting #school #the accursed education system

125 notes · View notes

phoenix-art-official · 7 months

Text

dont ask me why i made this, its all my hand felt like producing

#w359 #wolf 359 #doug eiffel #douglas eiffel #for anyone who cares about context:#basically i have this pet fic idea in my brain #because i feel like we never properly got to deal with the trauma of. yknow. U.S.S. Horrible Unending Nightmare #and i was like ok then well its super easy to break things in the haephestus for plot reasons #lets break the heating for a bit :)#yknow like in pan-pan #and the idea is eiffel is the one who goes out and reboots the heating this time #cuz hes getting antsy in there and he wants to do it himself thanks #except. when he goes and does the thing #it kinda. jitters everything unpleasantly #and it causes that section of the ship to lose power momentarily #but ofc all eiffel can think as he shouts for hera or minkowski or ANYONE #is that. oh god no hes trapped again and alone and hes going to die slowly here and he can feel himself freezing all over again and and and #anyway the gang has to go get their boy and try and calm him out of the panic attack of a century #there we go context enjoy

123 notes · View notes

synthwayve · 6 months

Text

Brainrot sketches because I am VIOLENTLY ill

#my art #micolash host of the nightmare #laurence the first vicar #micolaurence #bloodborne #bloodborne fanart #doodles #sorry these are all sketches #these two weirdos are like chicken soup for my soul #anyway I hate them #good thing they both die horribly #I blame my mutuals

56 notes · View notes

crimeronan · 20 days

Text

eternally fond of writing princess luz and hunter's relationship because it's mostly just hunter going "honestly i'm really lucky. most people never find someone they want to kill and die for forever at any given moment. i don't know why i'd ever get upset about being so loyal to you that i will unquestioningly let you kill me to death" while luz is like [actively crying with gratitude] "you are so fucking crazy. stop being nice to me."

#like as potentially toxic codependency goes they truly do have it figured out.#hunter is the reigning champion of 'don't make me unpack the psychological issues that make this feel good to me. just let me feel good #about it' while luz is like 'we are both so crazy. hunter we are both crazy'#meanwhile literally everyone around them is like hey do you two need a parent and/or a life partner and/or a nap. asking for a friend #im not done writing/talking about them im just really distracted by real life things #you know all the like. recovering from horrible illness and cleaning my house and going outside etc.#toh #horrible nightmare trauma pals #princess luz au

25 notes · View notes

carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

Note

Piggybacking off something you said during your last stream, I also had a dream where the welcome home site updated and it was super messed up

I can’t remember the exact details but I do remember Barnaby was the focus, like there was a secret page about him and it played it off like Barnaby was some deranged maniac-

Just something I remembered after hearing you also had a creepy dream

it's comforting to know im not the only one subconsciously scared of such Things

#the contents of my wh update Nightmare were ummmmm much worse than that but yeah #nodding across a room at you in solidarity #its scary right? like the dream itself is fucked but you wake up and its like #Thank Fucking God that wasnt real lmao #rambles from the bog #man... the music that played in mine... the Warnings before it started playing...#horrible horrible stuff! poor sally is all i'll say!

44 notes · View notes

inoreuct · 10 months

Text

punkflower | post-nightmare hurt/comfort

A cricket chirped, the noise carrying sharp in the still air. If not for his training, Miles would have startled; hell, he nearly did anyway, shaken as he was.

It was ridiculous how he could see the same nightmare that many times over and still get affected by it. It was old news by now.

Unfortunately for him, his brain still hadn’t seemed to get the memo.

He knew it by heart at this point. It always started with him in a white room, perfectly pristine, the clinical perfection slowly disintegrating into muddy darkness. Withering away until the floor had become a murky pit, glitching in and out of existence.

And every time, someone he cared about was in the room with him. His mami, Gwen, Pav, Peter B., Peni, Hobie, Noir, Hobie, his dad, Gwen, Hobie— The faces switched in and out on a steady rotation. He laughed, sometimes, at the sick humour of it if he managed to predict who it would be.

The one constant was that he could never save them.

They’d be smiling one second and screaming the next, plunging down, down, down into that horrible gaping maw in the ground, and Miles would jump after them knowing they were already too far from his reach—

And then he’d wake up in cold sweat, heart in his throat, fingers twitching with the urge to text or call whoever he’d seen that night and fighting against the desperation to make sure that they were alive.

It was ridiculous. He knew that.

But tonight he’d jerked awake with Hobie’s name a dying scream on his lips, and he couldn’t bear to be alone.

So here he was, creeping onto his boyfriend’s canal boat at ass o’clock in the middle of the night, carefully stepping over the skein of spider silk that functioned as a trip wire and unlocking the door with the key he knew was taped beneath the railing. He made his way to Hobie’s bedroom on autopilot, tugging the collar of his sweatshirt higher; his flannel pyjama pants swished around his ankles as he carefully turned the handle, pushing the door open slowly enough that it didn’t creak.

Hobie was sprawled out on his pallet, blankets twisted around his lanky frame, one arm sticking out with his knuckles brushing the floor. His chest rose and fell just enough for Miles to make out in the darkness.

Miles swallowed against the sudden ache of relief, let it drip down his throat to ease the tight knot that had settled low in his gut since before he’d grabbed his watch and opened a portal without even thinking. It helped, but barely.

He took a bracing breath and toyed with the hem of his shirt, bare feet cold against the floor. This was stupid. He’d seen that Hobie was fine, now; that in itself felt creepy stalker-ish, and he cringed a little.

He should leave. He had school the next day, and waking up was gonna be a pain in the ass after this.

His throat bobbed as he turned around, hovering in the doorway, eyes burning.

He didn’t want to go.

“Miles?”

The breath caught in his lungs as he heard the sheets shift. He dared a peek over his shoulder, one hand still on the doorframe, to see his boyfriend sitting up slowly and blinking like his brain was taking a moment to come online.

“Baby, why’re ya here? What’s wrong?” Hobie asked, breathy and slurring a little, eyes widening as he flipped the sheets aside and started to get out of bed. “Wh—”

“Nothing,’ Miles replied quickly. Too quickly, based on the suspicious look Hobie sent his way, and it made guilt spike in his chest. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry.”

Hobie studied him for a moment, before the tension bled out of him and he sagged back against the mattress. “S’not nothing if you’re here, innit,” he murmured, high cheekbones lit up soft in a sliver of moonlight from his window. “Come ‘ere.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s really nothing. I should let you get back to sl—”

“Miles.” Hobie’s voice was stern, underscored with a pleading tone that made Miles feel a little bit like crying. “You can’t lie to me, love. I ain’t gonna let ya spend the night alone like this, so come here.”

The sleeves of his sweatshirt stretched taut as he pulled them into his palms, sucking down a deep breath as he nodded. Hobie’s pallet had just enough space for two, if they maneuvered right; they had it down to a routine, now, but still the way Hobie lifted his arm like he knew exactly where Miles would want to be made Miles’s throat tight.

Miles dropped to his knees, twisting so that he could press his back to Hobie’s chest, head pillowed on Hobie’s bicep. They fit together like puzzle pieces, same as they always did; the broad hand spreading low over his ribs grounded him. Made sure he didn’t drift apart.

“Was it the nightmare again?” Hobie mumbled, the words brushing Miles’s hair, and he huffed a mirthless laugh.

“Yeah. Don’t have any others.”

“Hm. Guessin’ I had the pleasure of starring tonight?”

His boyfriend’s voice was sleep-raspy, deeper than usual. It reverberated in his bones as he made a weak sound of assent.

Hobie sighed, tucking his fingertips beneath Miles’s side to get him to turn around. Miles flipped, pulling at the blankets so they wouldn’t go askew, but the punk eased them from his grip to press Miles’s palm flat to his chest. “You feel that?”

A steady thump, right beneath where Hobie was holding his hand in place. Miles flexed his fingers and dug them into the thin fabric of Hobie’s worn sleep shirt.

“I’m alright, darlin’,” Hobie breathed, letting his other arm settle over the dip of Miles’s waist. “I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s over now. Nothing bad’s gonna happen, yeah?”

If it were anyone else Miles would have snapped at them to shut up before they jinxed it, but this was Hobie. Hobie, who looked at him with something so tender that it made Miles ache, all the way deep in his bones with the blatant faith woven into the words and leaving no room for any other possibility. The too-tight coil in his sternum began to give.

“That’s it. I’m okay. We’re okay, now.”

Long, lean arms wrapped around Miles’s back, pulling him in until he was pressed to Hobie’s chest, tucked up small and safe. Up this close Hobie’s heartbeat was a thrum in his ears if he used his heightened senses, strong enough of a lull that his own heart started to sync, and all of a sudden the exhaustion hit him like a truck.

It was like a dam breaking, the way his body finally relented to the nights upon nights of barely any sleep, the constant fight-or-flight making his heart skitter. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” Hobie hushed gently, rubbing a thumb into Miles’s hairline to kiss his temple. “I know, love. Sleep.”

“I’m scared.” He hadn’t realised how true the words were until he’d said them; he was sick of closing his eyes just to replay different, crueler versions of a memory that had already happened. He bit his lip until it hurt. “I don’t— I don’t wanna see it again, Hobie, I’m so tired.”

The way Hobie looked at him after that wrenched something tight in his chest; eyes wide, mouth pinched like he was trying to temper his emotions the way Miles so often did.

His eyes flickered over Miles’s face, almost desperate if not for the determined edge to his gaze. “They stop when you’re with me, yeah?” He exhaled shakily at Miles’s slow nod, pressing his brow to Miles’s hair. “Then stay with me. Stay here with me.”

Miles smiled a little, close-lipped and slightly sad. “Where else would I go?”

“I meant in your head, baby.” Hobie swallowed, thumbs smoothing over Miles’s cheekbones, palms warm against his skin. “Stay with me. Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Easier said than done.

But easier done here than done alone. Easier with Hobie curled into him like a missing half, warm enough to stave off the bitter chill of a London night.

He looked into deep, dark eyes and tried not to shake. Took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Don’t let me leave,” Miles murmured, half-hidden where he bent to press his cheek to Hobie’s shoulder. A pleasant shiver wracked up his spine when Hobie pulled him close again, their legs tangling. Don’t leave.

“I won’t.” The words were whispered next to Miles’s ear, near enough that Miles could feel it in Hobie’s chest when he spoke. “I’m stayin’ right here, so stay with me. Alright?”

Miles skated his fingers over Hobie’s side, up his scapula to curl into his shoulder. In the dim light he could just make out a jumble of words on Hobie’s collarbone where his shirt was pulling down, but he didn’t bother to read them; the arm tightening around his waist said it all, as did the pulse fluttering metronome-steady beneath Hobie’s jaw.

He pressed his nose to it. Felt warmth and blood and life, right there against his breath, under his hands, blooming against the pulse beneath his own ribs.

Sleep beckoned him, gentle for the first time in a long time. Miles suspected it had something to do with how Hobie was stroking a palm up and down his spine, free hand pulling the blankets up until Miles was tucked in, cocooned in darkness and soft touch and warm skin.

Ridiculous, how something as simple as being held by the boy he loved could settle so much turmoil inside his head.

“Rest. I’ll be here when ya wake up,” Hobie coaxed, his voice steeped in fondness, laced molasses-sweet with something heavy, and it called to Miles gentler than anything else. “I promise.”

Miles weighed the words across his mind, Hobie’s heartbeat in his ear.

He closed his eyes and let it lull him into slumber.

fin.

#punkflower #hobie brown #miles morales #across the spiderverse #atsv #flowerpunk #miles x hobie #spiderverse #hurt/comfort #you’re telling me miles WOULDN’T get horrible nightmares?? NAW #hell all of them get nightmares sometimes #miles’s just hate him a little more #hobie loves him enough to make up for it tho #god fuck they’re so in love it hurts

100 notes · View notes