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elias-code · 3 years

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Two Left Hooves [2/7] - Choice II

Choose your own adventure ~ “What’s Better than Breakfast in Bed?“

Characters: Technoblade x gn!reader, Philza

Summary: You've asked Techno whether he wants to sleep with you or not, and he makes up some excuse to join you. He cuddles with you into the night, but you're greeted with a nightmare, Dream's voice warns you of something to come, but refuses to specify what. Techno pulls you out of the dream and you sleep undisturbed until he greets you with breakfast in the morning.

Warnings: Cussing, Nightmares

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE INTRO AND CHOSEN YOUR ROUTE, DO SO HERE: INTRO

— The Bird —

"Techno-" I said, kneeling to his level, "What do you want? I mean, you can sleep with me if you want to."

He paused, expecting a quip, but instead, I'd forced him to choose for himself.

"Seeing as you’re already cold, even with the fire..." He clicked his tongue, testing his words, "I want to keep you warm."

Holy shit that's adorable, I thought. Techno never let emotions shine through his words. When I talked to him, I had to constantly read between the lines. His monotone speech was, I supposed, a product of his repressed emotions. Ever since meeting him, I felt like it was my responsibility to dismantle the fortress he’d put around his heart.

"Excuses, excuses," I teased, “but you’re right, I’m gonna freeze without you.” I smiled at him. He let out a small huff, but his expression was unreadable.

"It's not an excuse, it's a reason," he said, turning to me, "They're desperate for me to be at the banquet, but they won't let me go alone, alright? If I let you freeze to death, it wouldn't make for great PR."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, standing up. I offered a hand to him, to help him stand, "Thank you for not killing me so you don't have to go," I whispered.

"No problem, heh," he took my hand and stood, "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just downstairs, get ready for bed," He said, dodging the question. He let go of my hand and awkwardly pat me on the head, leaving the room.

I didn't know how the ball was going to work out. On the one hand, Techno would go to the banquet and it'd be as awkward as it's always been between us. On the other, I'd manage to tear down his walls and reveal his emotions, changing our relationship forever.

Techno presented himself as untouchable, calling himself 'the blood god,' but I saw him hold back tears when Tommy betrayed him. I saw the destruction his wrath brought upon L'Manburg. He has compassion, but if he bottled them up any longer, there's no telling who he'd become. He couldn't keep letting everything out as anger, or we'd all pay the price.

I dressed for the night, setting his cape on the back of his chair. I chose a simple shirt and pants, the thickest ones I'd brought with me. I was still cold, but I took the opportunity to inspect his room.

He lives in the attic, a small loft with sparse decoration. What little furniture he did have was extravagant and of the highest quality. His desk chair was made of dark oak wood, the velvet red cushion was well worn. The table matched, a knife was stuck in it, too hard for me to pull out. It was dull, probably used to open letters.

His bed was made, probably just before I got there since it was only roughly put together. Next to it, there was a giant bookshelf pushed against the wall. Most of the books were unmarked and dusty, but a few of them were clean, recently put back. The Art of War, Odyssey, and the Iliad were among them. Their spines were worn and multiple bookmarks were sticking out of the top of each.

"Do you read much?" Techno asked, startling me.

"Um, oh," I stuttered, "I don't know where to get books from, so..."

"No?" He reached over and pulled The Art of War out of the bookshelf.

"I live out in the middle of nowhere," I shrugged, "The only thing I read is my mail."

"That's pretty sad," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have plenty of things to occupy my time with, Technoblade," I crossed my arms.

"Mhm," he handed me the book. Its cover was more worn than its spine, the old leather was cracking at the corners. "Take that home with you, I've read it a thousand times. Might come in handy."

"I suppose I can use it to knock intruders out," I flipped it over. It was like a brick in my hand, heavy and hard enough to break a window. "Thanks."

I yawned, realising how late it's gotten. I left my house almost a full twenty-four hours ago and I rode endlessly until I got here. I was exhausted.

I walked over to my pile of stuff and carefully placed the book in my bag. I then took a bit of a running start and jumped onto the bed, landing in a pile of furs and knitted blankets. "Don't wake me up in the morning," I muttered.

Techno came over and sat on the bed next to me. "I'll try not to," He said.

I shuffled under the blankets and shivered. The furs were enough to keep my body heat in, but I wouldn't tell Techno that. I heard him pick the covers up to join me. Soon, I felt his arms wrap around me, his chest to my back.

My cheeks flushed bright pink and I stifled a giggle. The blood god is snuggling with me... This is not what I thought was going to happen when I joined the server. I smiled and put my hand on his, wrapped around my waist. No one was going to believe this ever happened.

--- The Bird's Dream ---

He’s there, he’s right there. I need to go see him, I need to get there before it’s too late. There are so many people in the way, I’m not going to be there in time to dance. Who are all these people? They whisper about him as if they know him, as if they watch his every step and live in his mind. Left and right, they whisper things about me, about him.

“Did you hear, he’s going to the ball!”

“Oh and with that beautiful bird,”

“If only they knew. Tsk.”

Their eyes were unmoving, fixated on me. I shoved my way through the crowd, suddenly falling into the void.

“Did you really think it was going to be that simple? That you’d just seduce him with the snap of your fingers? He’s not a dog, he can’t be trained. He’s a wild animal. He’s unstable, He’ll break your heart, little bird.” Dream's voice boomed, echoing in my mind.

"Who are you?" I tried to yell, but only air came out.

"I'm the one who whitelisted you, the one who trusted you."

"What does that mean?" I was desperate to stop, to wake up, but I was falling infinitely.

"That's not for you to know, Puppet. You're here because I have a job for you, nothing more. You're the only one that can get through to him."

"What- What's my job? Why am I here?"

"You'll know soon enough-"

--- Technoblade ---

I slept soundly until I felt them stir under me. It sounded like they were having a nightmare, they muttered my name. What the hell are they dreaming about? I pulled them closer, brushing my hand through their hair. I wanted to wake them softly, so they'd forget about whatever was just racing through their mind.

They took a deep breath, signalling their waking. I continued to stroke their hair, "You ok, Bird?"

They mumbled an 'ok' and turned to face me, burying their face in my neck. I did the same and took deep breaths for them to follow. Within minutes, they were asleep in my arms. It felt right.

I didn't have the heart to admit it. If I did, I'd just have to tear it all away again, I'd be the one thing I truly hated. I'd be a traitor.

Don't get attached, Techno. We get to break hearts now, not just crush them! If you name this one, you'll regret it. Nothing screams ruin more than you do.

I woke up to birds chirping outside my window. The weather had finally let up, now I could finally get real work done. It took me a couple of seconds to remember the person fast asleep in my arms. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Carefully, I picked up the covers and snuck out of bed. I wanted to keep my promise not to wake them up, and so I immediately left the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards as I descended the stairs to the kitchen.

I pulled half a dozen eggs out of their box and cracked and cooked them over the fire, adding the occasional spice so it wasn't too bland. I toasted some bread and stuck it all on separate plates. Four eggs for me, two for them. I was two times their size, after all. The image of them laying on my bed flashed in my mind, making me smile. I shook it off. I couldn't get attached any more than I was now.

I pulled myself together and went back upstairs with the food. I put my plate on my desk, pulling the knife out of it and stashing it in my drawer. I walked over to the bed, placing their food on the nightstand. I reached over and gently pat them on the head, slowly waking them.

"Good morning," I whispered.

They opened their eyes and mumbled "G'morn'n,"

"I made you some eggs," I said, still petting their head, "You should eat them while they're hot,"

"Ok," they sat up and I moved back over to my desk, sitting in my chair.

They yawned and stretched, their shirt raising over their waist, exposing their belly button. I looked away and busied myself with my food.

Oh, look at them, they're so cute... so naive... so vulnerable.

I wanted to scream at the voices to shut up. They had been plaguing me ever since Phil suggested I invite them. For some reason, they had a vendetta against the bird. They wanted to see them suffer to, in turn, make me suffer. The voice's presence itself was enough to turn my hair grey, but this added a whole extra layer to my agony.

"Techno?"

"Hmm?" I didn't look up from my food.

"Did you make me breakfast in bed?"

I looked at them, hiding my embarrassment, "You told me not to wake you, but I was hungry, and I thought you'd like some too."

They blushed and shrugged. "You know me so well," they sighed.

"And I thought you'd appreciate the origin of the eggs," I added.

"Oh, and where are they from?" Their mouth was full, making them mumble a bit. They looked a bit scared.

"Well," I leaned towards them in my chair, "They're from The egg."

"Bullshit," they called, stuffing their face with more eggs. Maybe I should have given them more.

I laughed, genuinely, "They're just chicken eggs, I doubt the egg would taste very good,"

We ate and joked like nothing was wrong in the world. They were so good at making me feel at home, but the voices were eager to remind me of my past. I wouldn't let them spoil this. What we had was new to me, and I wouldn't just lay down and take the voices at their word. Gods know they aren't worth their weight.

— Philza —

“Hey, you two…” I creaked open the front door to Techno’s cabin.

The bird smiled at me from the breakfast bar, “Hey Phil, good morning!” They seemed very chipper for having just woken up. Both of them were already dressed in the day’s clothes, excluding overcoats that hung on the hooks by the door.

“Hello, Phil,” Techno nodded at me. His hair was neatly braided and they were both already dressed.

"How was your morning?"

"Techno made me breakfast!" They laughed. That was a surprise, he didn't even cook for me.

"Ooh, nice," I said, "What's better than breakfast in bed, eh?"

"Riches beyond your wildest dreams," Techno chuckled. I guess they were both in a good mood this morning.

“It’s nice to see you, mate,” I said to the bird, wandering over to join them at the breakfast bar. I sat down on a stool next to them, putting the notebook on the counter in front of me. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Ooh, what is it?” They said, sliding the notebook over to them. I reached over and opened it to the page I was referring to.

“The banquet has a dress code, and I’m assuming you don’t have anything that matches it,” Everything they wore was forest green or yellow, sometimes they had black or white clothes, but it was few and far between.

“What’s the dress code?”

“It’s blue, black, white, and gold,” I pointed to two drawings on the page, “I’m thinking either I make you a dress or a tuxedo, or I can mix the two. A tux top with a skirt. What do you think?”

They pressed their lips together, surveying their options. I tried my best to draw them, although they were rough sketches of a fancier design in my head. I could draw buildings and architecture for my blueprints, but flow-y things were not as easy.

/// UNDER CONSTRUCTION, BRRRRR ///

Choose your garment! It only affects the story slightly, I promise! There is no gender attached to them, it just changes how you’ll interact with people :)

Dress

Tux-dress

Tuxedo

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #dreamxd #dreamsmp #dsmp #mcyt #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader #philza #elias original #two left hooves

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frame-to-frame · 3 years

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Breaking Down Griffith’s Coping Mechanisms: Repression v. Self Harm

CW: extended discussion of self harm and suicidal ideation, images of torture, mentions of CSA

For anyone interested, here is my very long breakdown of how I read Griffith’s state of mind and coping mechanisms (1. repression and 2. self harm) working throughout the Golden Age of Berserk. I think this reading provides an explanation as to why Griffith acts the way he does in some of his more obtuse and “irrational” scenes (the river, Charlotte), and how these actions eventually lead him to becoming Femto at the end of this arc.

Miura may not have planned all this out explicitly, but I think he has a good understanding of the psychological reality of why people repress and why they self harm, and the story proceeds accordingly.

This essay is basically a psychological deep-dive and a reworked version of a very long conversation I had with @bthump last year, it’s taken me a while to get back to this because life n stuff.

The content of this analysis is basically going through the GA scenes where Griffith acts in a self-destructive way and explaining how and why this happens and how it informs his actions in the story more generally.

If you don’t like or understand Griffith, I would invite you to give this analysis a shot anyway, because a lot of Griffith’s story takes place in the subtext of the Golden Age, and it takes a liberal helping of interpretation to figure out what’s going on. This of course is just one reading of Griffith’s character, but as I hope to show, there remains a consistent logic behind his actions that governs his impulses to act in the way he does throughout the story.

Okay, enough preamble, let’s jump in.

On Griffith’s Guilt

So first off, we have to ask why Griffith acts in these self-destructive ways in the first place. Basically, what are his coping mechanisms are responding to – why are they necessary at all?

I think it’s pretty clear that the heart of Griffith’s pain, coping mechanisms, and self-destructiveness is his guilt. More specifically, this guilt comes from the belief that he is cruel and evil because he’s willing to continue to pile up bodies and walk that corpse-laden path to the dream, to put others in harm’s way for his own sake, to devour others’ dreams for the sake of his own.

We see this in the flashback with the doll-knight boy, when his guard slips in front of Casca:

Casca specifically flags for us that this is a significant and unusually revealing moment for Griffith, where he shows a sliver of what’s underlying his implacable façade as a mercenary leader.

Another moment where we see Griffith’s guilt directly expressed is in “Tombstone of Flame: Chapter 2.” This scene shows us more explicitly that his guilt is bound up in his pursuit of the dream and the cruelty it takes to make that dream a reality:

From this scene, we can understand that to Griffith, his “cruelty” is specifically associated with walking the path to the dream, and alongside this, his willingness to put others in danger while he himself remains out of reach of harm’s way. These are both shown to us as things he hates himself for, given that he self harms directly after these scenes (with Gennon and with the second set of scratches – and if you need evidence that the latter happens, bthump has broken this down here).

This “cruelty” that lies at the heart of his guilt is why the guilt trip the Godhand take him on during the Eclipse cuts so deep, because throughout that sequence, the Godhand emphasize exactly that aspect, his cruelty, and no other part of him (such as his remorse, his intentions to create a more equal world, etc.).

On Griffith’s Repression and Resentment of his Dream

Alright, so we know why Griffith feels guilty. The next question is how Griffith responds to this – I’m suggesting here that it’s through a dual combination of repression and self harm. So, why does Griffith repress and why does he self harm?

Generally speaking, he represses to make himself feel better. This is basically the act of redirecting his feelings – telling himself that the guilt/pain he experiences over pursuing the dream doesn’t matter because all of these acts of cruelty are in fact justifiable, because they agreed to it, because he thought about this logically, because fate said it was OK, because he feels nothing, because, because… It’s basically every time he puts aside his feelings in pursuit of the dream.

Griffith’s repression involves rationalizing away his feelings in order to retreat to a space of emotional safety as an escape from his self hatred and the guilt he feels over his willingness to pursue the dream. The repression exists to smother the negativity he feels about the dream (and what it takes to get there) however it possibly can. And it is in this way that Griffith’s ability to attain his dream becomes closely tied to his ability to repress his guilt over wanting to and trying to obtain it. The repression and the dream basically go hand and hand.

However, it’s important to acknowledge that Griffith’s repression also walks a delicate line, because it attempts to excuse the corpses for the sake of the shining end goal as the ultimate justification for all the bodies, effectively justifying death with more death in a vicious circle, where the guilt continues to grow larger and larger into a mountain of bodies that is eventually visualized for Griffith directly in the guilt trip.

To make a bit of a subtle distinction here, it's not exactly that Griffith’s ability to repress his guilt over all of this becomes necessarily weaker the more the bodies pile up around him, because the increased body toll simply demands the need for greater and greater justification. In other words, it asks that he make a huge sacrifice for a huge gain – the eclipse for a utopia, basically.

However, we see that how this plays out in practice is that Griffith’s repression works against itself if not in the short run, in the long run because it ends up feeding this vicious circle. His repression feeds and intensifies his self loathing because it effectively enables more death, which in turn necessitates the greater need for his coping mechanisms and with it a stronger and stronger ability to repress those negative feelings. So if his ability to repress ever falters, what’s waiting in the wings is an increasingly difficult-to-justify mountain of death, guilt, and self hatred.

And not only that, if we dig a bit deeper, his ability to repress also feeds his self loathing directly, even as its entire goal exists to suppress it – because if he hates himself for his “cruel” willingness to walk the corpse-laden path to the dream, and the primary way he’s able to do this is because of his repression, then his ability to repress, to put on the mask for the sake of continuing the dream, would also be something he (unconsciously) hates about himself.

And in fact I think we see some of this resentment over his ability to repress his guilt finally acknowledged in the Godhand’s guilt trip:

Read: “That’s right, I knew what this was doing, what I was excusing, what I was encouraging, and I found a way to do it anyway.”

If Griffith’s repression is what enables his cruelty, when his ability to repress falters and he’s left only with his self loathing (as we see in in the guilt trip sequence, or even to a lesser degree with Casca in the river sequence), he is thus also hit with the resentment and self hatred not just over his willingness to repress his guilt but over the dream also, because this is what all this evil has been done in the name of: this is the ultimate cause. “It’s a blood-smeared dream after all.”

Of course we can see that Griffith is still able to functionally rely on the dream as a coping mechanism all the while implicitly resenting it throughout the Golden Age, but only insofar as he’s successfully able to repress the negatives that threaten to undermine its ability to function. After all, that’s why he needs to repress his guilt over the dream in the first place, because he cannot justify pursuing the dream if he confronts that guilt directly – it’s basically always threatening to overwhelm him.

And so, as soon as the mask of repression begins to slip, this underlying resentment makes it progressively harder to put on the mask and convince himself that the dream is worth all this death and cruelty. As we see in the river scene, once overcome by negative feelings about the dream – that the dream may in fact be able to excuse nothing, it may be ultimately nothing other than a monument to his own cruelty – the repression slips and he reverts to self harm, and he can only snap the mask back in place when he realizes that other people still need him to keep up that façade.

Griffith’s repression is essentially, at its heart, a precarious coping mechanism – it is intrinsically set up to undermine itself. The repression feeds and strengthens Griffith’s feelings of self loathing and his need to turn to self harm as a backup coping mechanism, which is effectively threatening to burst through the surface at any moment.

As we’ll see in the next section, his self harm in turn functions to invalidate his belief in the positive aspects of the dream (basically that it can still redeem him or his actions), and with it his ability to repress his own negative feelings.

This is essentially why I read the climax of Griffith’s Golden Age arc being the collapse of his coping mechanisms and his belief in the dream – because it hangs on his ability to successfully repress the negative feelings he has about the dream, and it hangs on two coping mechanisms that work at cross purposes from one another.

On Griffith’s Self Harm

Okay, so we’ve been over why Griffith feels guilt and how his repression works, but how does his self harm function in the story? First, let’s look at what it does for him emotionally.

There are a couple reasons people generally self harm – one of the main ones is that it can serve as a distraction from our problems and emotions, allowing people to focus on the pain in the moment to the exclusion of everything else. This kind of self harm would function like repression in Griffith’s case, because it would bury the guilt with a sort of distraction, by smothering it with a different kind of pain.

Now I don’t think that’s how Griffith’s self harm works, for a couple of reasons.

Firstly, it’s because none of the instances of self harm we see textually in Berserk actually function to help him forget or diminish his guilt or self loathing over pursuing the dream, and instead are oriented around the opposite, leading him to focus on it instead.

In the river when he’s scratching himself, he’s almost doing it subconsciously, like he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing, and he’s instead thinking about what he’s talking about: the dream, specifically the negative aspects of the dream:

Throughout this scene, he’s not focused on his own self-inflicted suffering as a distraction, he’s focused on his own guilt from pursuing the dream. His suffering is positioned here as a direct consequence of his guilt.

Similarly, when he’s fucking Charlotte he’s thinking about Guts leaving and rejecting him, not getting lost in what he’s doing with her.

Neither of these two instances of Griffith’s self harm are functioning as distractions from his pain, they’re about intensifying it. So, why would he want to intensify his pain?

It’s because the self harm is Griffith’s backup coping response – it’s what seeps out when the repression isn’t strong enough to bury the guilt. It’s what happens when he’s hit with the full intensity of the self loathing, guilt, resentment, etc. that his repression usually protects him from. Given that he’s essentially being overwhelmed by his self hatred, it makes sense that he would want to feel worse as a result, because this is him accepting and becoming all-consumed with the idea that he is evil and cruel, and he thus “deserves” to suffer.

It is in this way that the self harm serves as a punishment in Griffith’s eyes: “dirtying” himself is essentially meting out justice, effectively giving him what he “deserves” for his own cruelty. In his eyes, this is him reaping what he’s sown.

Basically, the second reason why I think the self harm doesn’t function as a distraction is that it seems to be more centred around penance through his own suffering. The strongest evidence for this again comes from the river scene:

“[F]or hundreds, thousands of lives to hang in the balance and myself alone to not be unclean…”

This part of his monologue clearly sets up his own suffering (“dirtying” himself) as both punishment and atonement for his guilt over putting other people’s lives in danger.

Digging into this a bit deeper, Griffith is still essentially trying to prop up the dream here through his self harm, by trying to position his own suffering as constructive to his end goal. If the guilt threatens to tell him that none of this is worth it, the self harm in this instance is Griffith telling himself that it can be if he is just punished enough for it. (“What I want…won’t enter my grasp so easily as that.”)

This monologue shows us that in Griffith’s mind, his own suffering may be directly given up in response to the suffering of others. It’s what’s being offered in “exchange” – basically, if he becomes unclean enough (read: suffers enough) it’ll make all those hundreds and thousands of lives that hang in the balance “okay” (and you can see how this is some shaky and desperate logic).

In construing his self harm as a sort of atonement for the lives he’s put on the line for his dream, he is trying to absolve himself through his own suffering. This moment in the river essentially shows us Griffith’s thought process as he is in the process of self harming: “If I suffer and atone for this, then it will all be okay in the end, I can still attain my dream because I will have paid my dues.”

However, while Griffith tries to make this impulse to self harm constructive, as we’ll get into in the following section, we can see that this is still always fundamentally destructive to his goals because it always makes him feel worse about himself and his own actions, and that impulse to feel worse can easily spiral out of control when faced with a growing mountain of bodies and a shrinking sense that he can offer up anything in penance or justification for it.

This choice of the word “unclean” here basically serves as a signpost to explain why Griffith takes every single later action he associates with “dirtying” himself throughout the story. This idea of “dirtying” himself is obviously extremely loaded – these acts which make sure he’s not “unclean” are communicated as acts of self-imposed suffering that take place as a sort of punishment after he acts “cruelly” (this is not him putting himself in harm’s way during battle, he does that anyway), and they’re acts that he himself explicitly views as loathsome and disgusting.

It’s clear that he views having sex with a child predator in similar terms to scratching himself – to Griffith, “dirtying” himself is essentially his self-imposed punishment, and he’s basically trying to construe that punishment as productive by positioning his suffering as in some way equivalent to the suffering of others (basically, “if I suffer too then that’ll make their suffering okay”).

This is also why, as we’ll get into in a minute, if he doesn’t view his suffering as “worth” anything, it becomes impossible to view his suffering as equivalent to the suffering of others. And that’s also why the more the suffering and the bodies pile up around him, the more difficult it is to rationalize his suffering as equivalent to all of this pain and horror.

This is basically the process of how Griffith rationalizes his self harm, this is how he construes it as a productive enterprise instead of a self-destructive one – this is the logic that links his self harm with achieving his goal.

And clearly it’s logic that’s resting on some supremely precarious ground.

Repression v. Self Harm

In order to see how my readings of Griffith’s self harm v. his repression play out, let’s revisit a few key scenes in greater detail before we get into discussing the wider implications of this in terms of Griffith’s story and the sacrifice as the culmination of all of this.

Let’s start with Griffith’s interchange with Guts in Tombstone of Flame:

This conversation basically proceeds as follows: do you think I’m cruel? -> yeah, but you believe the cruelty is necessary, don’t you? -> yes, you’re right, all of this is cruel, and I am too, so I deserve to be punished for it -> self harm with the second set of scratches.

That smile – that same smile as with the doll-knight boy, and indeed the same as the sacrifice – is Griffith being overwhelmed by self loathing. This is not repression. This is not “You’re wrong, I’m not cruel/it doesn’t matter because [denial/rationalization/repression/justification],” it’s “You’re right.” This is me. I’m cruel, a monster, and therefore I deserve to suffer.

And indeed, all three examples of that same smile (the river, Tombstone of Flame, and the sacrifice) lead to acts of self harm. In this case, this isn’t an example of him trying to justify or bury the guilt and pain and horror or build up his defences like the repression would, it’s him justifying an act of self-destruction to tear himself down, because he thinks he deserves it.

To really dig into this distinction, let’s turn to another example of how Griffith’s self harm works in contrast to the repression, and return to the scene where Griffith scratches himself in the river.

First of all, he’s scratching himself here because he feels guilty over putting people in harm’s way for the sake of his dream (a feeling which is specifically kicked off by doll-knight boy but I think it’s made pretty obvious that this is just over people in general), while denying this guilt out loud and spewing his BS rationalizations to Casca.

Both the self harm and the repression are working in response to the same guilt here. But why doesn’t he stop with the rationalization? Why is it narratively or psychologically necessary that he also self harms at all here?

It’s because the denial (i.e., repression) isn’t strong enough to smother the guilt – and yeah, it’s because his rationalization is flimsy as fuck – basically it boils down to “I don’t feel responsible because I am a being of pure logic.” Which: lol

Again, the rationalization exists here to suppress Griffith’s negative feelings, the guilt, self-loathing, and monstrousness – this is him telling himself the guilt doesn’t matter, basically trying to push it away so he doesn’t have to emotionally confront it, because “I thought about it logically […] I don’t feel at all responsible…”

But we see that the rationalization isn’t strong enough, and the self harm is what seeps out when the rationalization can’t bury his self loathing. When the self harm takes over directly after this, the tone of this exchange changes and specifically swings toward the negative aspects of the dream: as he gets deeper into scratching himself, he becomes more and more dream-negative, i.e., focused on how his dream is built on corpses:

We’re being visually told that his answer to this, his way to make sure he’s not unclean, is to not only have sex with a child predator, but also pay that debt through his blood and suffering. The self harm is justifying his self loathing and guilt in a different way than the rationalization is, not telling himself that “the death is okay because [repression],” but instead “the death not OK – I hate myself and I need to atone for this, which will hopefully make it OK in the end.”

And importantly, as mentioned earlier, as soon as Griffith gets a stronger angle in this exchange – protecting Casca instead of protecting himself – his repression snaps back in full force and he reins in the self harm immediately.

I see this moment as especially significant to understanding how Griffith’s self harm works, because it shows us that the self harm cannot uphold itself as a coping mechanism, it’s basically destined to collapse on itself.

This is because in order to believe you can atone for something through your actions, you have to believe that your actions, your own suffering, has worth. And since the self harm is premised on tearing himself down, as he gets deeper in the hole of self harm, it becomes more and more difficult to believe that his penance is worth a damn. It’s just as much of a balancing act as the repression is, except that it specifically hinges on Griffith’s sense of self worth… so it’s pretty much destined to spiral out of control.

To reiterate, why is the self harm still a defence mechanism if it’s designed to make Griffith feel worse and emphasize the negative aspects of the dream over the shining end goal?

The river scene shows us how Griffith’s repression works in relation to his self harm – when the repression falters, the self loathing that has him focusing on the road of corpses gets him dangerously close to thinking that the dream isn’t worth it, and obviously he can’t live with that because then he’s left with nothing. The self harm (at least in the case of the scratching and Gennon) functions as the last line of defense against that sneaking suspicion that the castle cannot in fact redeem all of this death – because it asserts that maybe the dream can still be worth it if he suffers and atones for his actions. Again, the evidence for this is in the river scene:

“But… for hundreds, thousands of lives to hang in the balance and myself alone to not be unclean… What I want…won’t enter my grasp so easily as that.”

That last part indicates that he essentially still wants to want the dream here, and the self harm is basically what’s allowing him to do so, to continue on the path to his dream through his suffering as penance.

Yet even as this recuperative logic works to some degree in the river scene, this belief is still founded on the (shaky) assumption that his own suffering is worth anything in exchange for the suffering of others. That’s why, to me, it seems apparent that Griffith’s self worth plays such an important part in the breakdown of his coping mechanisms, and why it makes sense that at a certain point he reaches such a low that the self harm no longer becomes penitent, it becomes only punishment. This is the point where self harm becomes self destruction, and this is exactly what happens with Charlotte.

On Griffith’s Self Harm as Self Destruction

We know that Griffith having sex with Charlotte and his subsequent taunting of her father work differently than with the scratching and Gennon, because unlike these two cases, these instances of self harm involve him throwing away the dream too (or at the very least in the former case, putting the dream directly into jeopardy) – casting it into the fire along with all the other “frightening and sad things.” Like with his later suicide attempt and the sacrifice, this isn’t an example of Griffith still wanting to walk the path of the dream, this is him reaching the point where the dream no longer seems worth it, and we know this because he takes steps to actively throw it away (though I do think this understanding is still operating largely instinctually/unconsciously until the soup-behelit, as I outlined in my previous meta).

Throughout the torture sequence, as he goads the King into viciously beating him, we see that Griffith verbally associates his own failure (by implication – he is clearly referring to himself as well as the King throughout this sequence) with his worthlessness.

At this point, Griffith is masochistically relishing in the fact that he basically cannot offer anything to anyone anymore – his penance is no longer worth anything to anyone, and all that remains is the suffering he thinks he deserves.

This is the first time we see Griffith’s self harm not being mobilized in a remotely constructive way. Getting beaten doesn’t have anything to do with attaining the dream, this is a naked display of the belief that Griffith thinks he deserves to suffer for his actions without the veneer of his suffering functioning as penance. This is now simply his punishment, for daring to try to pursue the dream in the first place.

This exchange effectively reveals the naked truth to us – that Griffith’s self harm reflects his desire to suffer for what he’s done to others. Even though he may have pretended in the past that this desire to suffer for his sins can still in some way still be constructive to his goals, this moment shows us that ultimately it’s not. Here we’re seeing directly that when Griffith’s self worth is low (i.e., when he feels like shit), all he wants to do is suffer more, and that’s basically the rub.

And yeah, of course that’s how it works, because this is exactly how we see his self harm working throughout the story. Whenever he feels guilty/cruel/dirty, we watch him self harm to feel worse: the doll-knight boy and Gennon, Gennon and the scratching, “am I cruel” and the scratching, being rejected by Guts and self destructing, all culminating in the low point of the torture and “This is worthless.”

This scene shows us that Griffith’s self worth is intrinsically tied to his belief that he deserves to suffer, and this is set up as a vicious circle – the worse he feels, the worse he wants to make himself feel, and so on.

To back up a bit to the preceding scene with Charlotte, this is basically the gateway scene between Griffith as a functional human and Griffith as a self-destructing catastrophe.

Why he comes to Charlotte in this moment is open for debate – perhaps he’s simply trying to repress his pain over Guts’ leaving by attempting to seize the dream by seducing the princess. Or perhaps he secretly wants to get caught doing something risky that will fundamentally jeopardize the dream in order to punish himself for being unworthy of Guts’ love. Or perhaps it’s both at the same time.

Let’s quickly break down how this scene works in terms of Griffith’s state of mind. First we see him still trying to play the gentlemen, still repressing and putting on a show of the perfect prince for Charlotte. Soon after though, the mask drops and he basically reveals a hardened statue beneath. He’s ultimately too hurt in this moment to keep the cheeky and/or charming mask up – he looks like he feels cold and empty, and he’s still trying not to think about what’s just happened with Guts.

This is basically an exact midpoint between his repression and his self harm – he’s trying to smother the pain by not thinking about it (repression at its simplest), but at the same time what he’s choosing to do with Charlotte actually intensifies his pain, because it leads him to think about Guts anyway (self harm).

Again, Griffith’s repression exists to make himself feel better, to reassert the importance and value of the dream, and his actions don’t actually accomplish this in the slightest. It doesn’t make him feel better, because it’s functionally designed to make himself feel worse.

And yeah, we see that afterwards he clearly feels 1000% worse, not better.

Griffith’s self harm moves into the territory of self destruction here because he isn’t actually able to atone for anything by having sex with Charlotte – regardless of what he might have intended when he went to Charlotte’s room, the scene plays out to tear himself down, and the dream is no closer after he’s done so.

His isolation in that final panel is basically a visual representation of his own self-imposed punishment for his daring to think all of this was worth the price he, and more importantly everyone else, has paid for it.

In this way, this sequence and the one that follows in the torture chamber show us that Griffith’s change in attitude toward his acts of self harm v. self destruction comes down directly to the amount of self loathing he is experiencing, and in an intrinsically related way, how much value he places in himself, his own desire to feel better, and his ability to atone for his actions.

And I think it’s clear that things change for Griffith because of Guts. Whether he likes/recognizes it or not, by the time Guts leaves he’s also staked his self worth on what Guts thinks of him, because he loves him and craves his respect and admiration. Guts’ answer to “Do you think I’m cruel?” cuts deep, but not as deeply as being told that he essentially never had any of Guts’ love or respect in the first place, which is what he believes as Guts leaves (“Is this how badly you want to leave my grasp?” – see bthump’s excellent meta breaking this moment down in more detail).

It makes sense that this moment would deliver such a devastating blow to Griffith’s sense of worth that it makes his self loathing spiral out of control and leads to him tearing his life apart.

And indeed, I read something very similar going down in the guilt trip, when the Godhand essentially tell Griffith that not only did he never have Guts’ love, he was in fact never worthy of love in the first place, because he is evil, a monster, too cruel, dirty, and loathsome to deserve a way out of this hellish cycle he’s stuck in.

Redux: The Sacrifice as Self Destruction

As I broke down in my previous meta, my analysis of the Eclipse leads me to believe that during this sequence Griffith is choosing the sacrifice (self harm) and not the dream (repression).

Originally, I argued that repression played no part in the sacrifice. However, upon further reflection and lengthy discussion, I have come around to the idea that in fact it is still at play during the first half of the guilt trip. This is clearly the case, because Griffith actually does manage to make an “ends justify the means” argument with respect to his sacrifice of the BoTH, even confronted with an image of all those bodies laid at his feet.

With the Godhand’s encouragement, he is temporarily able to push past the guilt to keep proceeding toward that end goal, covered in blood, in the attempt to convince himself that all this death and suffering couldn’t be for nothing (“If I repent...”). As I noted in my previous analysis, I believe this logic would have been enough for Griffith if all he had to do is sacrifice his Hawks – but as we know, in order to become a monster, you have to sacrifice what you love most, and imo no positive or constructive logic about finally attaining his dream could lead Griffith to the conclusion that the dream is worth anything close to Guts’ life.

It seems that what actually makes the difference at the bitter end is the intervention of fate and the word of God during the Eclipse. The Godhand essentially don’t let Griffith go through with this line of utilitarian thinking, because right after emerging from “the reality within his conscious realm,” they bring him right back into the pile of corpses, only this time it’s portrayed in less abstract terms by evoking the battlefield directly.

The Godhand are effectively telling him right after he’s successfully made his rationalizations that there’s no washing that blood off – that he’s already evil (“That is you”) and there is no absolution waiting for him, only his destiny, which is to reap the evil he has sown. It’s like they specifically get him to make the justification one more time in order to condemn him for it.

They prevent him from shifting the focus back onto that end goal and instead re-emphasize what he’s done to get there (“Over those corpses…you have trampled”), to tell him that he must embrace the cause and effect of his actions (“Bear [your] evil and confront destiny”).

In this way, it’s ultimately a pronouncement of guilt from the veritable mouth of god that finally puts the nail in the coffin of Griffith’s dance between the ends and the means, repression and self harm. They definitively come out and say that there’s no more repressing this, there’s no world in which this will ever be okay. You’re just evil and all you have to look forward to is more evil. This is you.

Directly after this, at the moment of the sacrifice, Griffith has basically been brought to his absolute lowest point, where self destruction seems like the only option (keep in mind that he’s already tried and failed to kill himself). After the guilt trip he thinks he’s less than worthless – he’s been convinced that he’s evil, and deserves nothing but more evil and his own eternal suffering, to “bear his evil and confront destiny.” This is where the last moments of his (human) life swing toward self destruction once and for all.

From what we’ve seen already about how Griffith acts when he feels worthless and wants to self harm, at this point Griffith cannot possibly think that he deserves to benefit or gain anything – not a castle, not absolution, love, or care or human connection. All he deserves is eternal pain and suffering. And by making the sacrifice, Griffith is guaranteeing that belief in his own mind, by obliterating all the remaining goodness within himself by committing an evil act.

Choosing those “raven-black wings” over the lives of Guts and the Hawks is so contrary to what values we already know he believes in, this moment it’s basically just more fuel for the fire.

Contrast the sentiment behind this:

With this:

We’ve been shown that Griffith’s sense of ego is premised almost entirely on what he can do for others – he has left very little sense that he deserves anything for himself. That’s why the selfishness of the sacrifice is, imo, so personally destructive to him – because for someone who has such little sense of independent self or self worth, to make an entirely selfish choice is so contemptible, terrible, unforgivable in his mind that it completely destroys him.

We know that this same perceived selfishness is already his deepest source of guilt and trauma (the belief that he has put others in harm’s way for the sake of his own goals) – so agreeing to the sacrifice is a manifestation of that exact same guilt, just magnified a hundred times over. This act is him basically deciding to give up the pretense that any of his actions have ever been anything other than pure selfishness, cruelty, and evil, by fully embracing that evil and making an exchange for personal benefit, because in his mind there’s essentially no coming back from such a contemptible decision.

Griffith thus chooses the sacrifice as an act of self destruction, and it represents the choice to become exactly everything he always feared he was, to let go of his responsibility to do the right thing by proving that the Godhand (and Guts, or so he thinks) were right all along, by finally making a truly evil choice and thereby validating his belief that he has always been evil and therefore deserves to suffer for eternity.

This is what I mean by the sacrifice being an act of self harm and “spiritual” suicide, not just because he’s basically killing himself, but because the whole impetus is based around actively destroying all the things that he valued about himself – his own soul – everything that made him good and human in his own eyes (and like, this is exactly what Femto, the result of this choice, is). This decision is based around tearing his entire sense of humanity to shreds, by doing the worst thing to himself that he could possibly imagine (making an exchange for personal benefit and sacrificing his most dearly beloved) and becoming the embodiment of that cruel and violent world order he always hated.

The way I think of this as suicide isn’t at all about making him feel better, because it’s not ultimately giving him absolution/justification for or abdication from his actions, it’s giving him the exact opposite – proof of his cruelty in the form of raven-black wings, which are basically just the evidence he’s been looking for all along that he deserves to suffer. It’s also not a depiction of true suicide, which would be an actual escape from his pain. Though this is still an escape in a way – not from his pain but into it.

Conclusions

While all the acts of self harm/destruction we see Griffith undertake throughout the Golden Age (the scratching, Gennon, Charlotte, the torture chamber, and the sacrifice) have varying elements of repression within them, because that’s still Griffith’s default response to his guilt, each are still ultimately acts of self harm/destruction because they result in tearing himself down and they actively function to make him feel worse – this is succumbing to the pain rather than trying to shield himself from it. None of these moments succeed at helping him along the path to the dream or making him feel better about himself, because none are functionally designed to.

And in saying this, I’m not also implying Griffith didn’t want his own suffering to end at different points in his life. I think after being tortured he wanted to die and end his suffering, after the soup-behelit/nightmare sequence he wanted to die and end his suffering, obviously, he attempts suicide after all. But the guilt trip is the ultimate difference in the end – the guilt trip is what convinces Griffith that he doesn’t deserve to end his suffering. That even his own “death” should be in the name of greater suffering.

Ultimately, what we can understand from this is that, despite the fact that he tries to pretend otherwise, when Griffith scratches himself it has nothing to do with attaining the dream, it’s not ultimately justifying anything other than his own belief that he deserves to suffer – he’s basically always just doing it to feel worse about himself.

When he has sex with Gennon, the specific act he chooses to take is one that is designed to hurt himself – there would have been many different ways to throw himself back into the dream in order to earn money without putting people at risk: for example he could have taken on some mercenary jobs personally, or sought out some non-combative work for interested Hawks – specifically why he chooses to have sex with a child predator is because he wants to punish himself for getting others killed, to atone through his own suffering. Choosing to have sex with a child predator as an act in isolation doesn’t advance the dream, only the end result (money) does. And that money could have been obtained in objectively less harmful and potentially more fruitful routes to that same goal.

Similarly, with Charlotte, his having sex with her, his leaving in broad daylight, his taunting the King, etc. – I read Griffith making those choices because some part of him wanted to destroy himself, to actively torpedo the dream because in some sense he has been brought to believe that he’s worthless and so is everything he’s staked his life on.

What he did in the river, with Charlotte, with the King, even the sacrifice – none of these events had to go down the way they did. The way they went down was basically arranged to destroy every one of those “sad and frightening things,” including the dream and his own life.

In conclusion, I hope that this meta shows how centrally important the logic of Griffith’s self harm is to his actions throughout the narrative of the Golden Age. His beliefs about himself and his own suffering are shown to us to consistently shape his choices, and I think it’s also clear that this logic persists through Femto’s actions after the Golden Age.

I have some more metas planned where I’m thinking of fleshing some more stuff out that spawned out of my original meta and subsequent discussions around it, so keep out an eye for those if you’re interested.

As always, if you have any thoughts about any of this I would be very interested to hear from you.

Thank you so much for reading!

#berserk #berserkmeta #griffith #griffithmeta #griffguts

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maldito-arbol · 3 years

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Let’s talk about zodiacs and TPN Part 1

This is largely inspired by the fact that I talk about the characters’ zodiacs nonstop in the fanfic I’m working on for my tpn witch au, and I’ve been chortling to myself the entire time about how well some of them fit their sign and how some of them just... don’t. I’m going to simply infodump about each character, their sign, element, and some attributes they fit to a t while others don’t make sense. I will also touch on compatibility for all you shippers out there, don’t worryyy. Now this isn’t at all a critique or review of the characters themselves— I know astrology is not the first thing authors consider when choosing character birthdays, if they even do at all, this is simply me rambling about my hyperfixation and projecting onto fictional characters like we all do.

A couple last notes— one character in particular (cough cough Ray) has a different “canon” birthdate from “actual” so I’ll discuss both. Also, while I will be doing surface level research to make sure I’m not talking out of my ass, im not a professional astrologist, I’m simply a witch with an enthusiasm for zodiacs. Well then, without further ado, let’s talk about the kiddos.

Emma

Birthdate: August 22nd

Sign: Leo

Element: Fire

An overview: The funniest thing to me about Emma is that she’s literally the epitome of a Leo. Fire signs are generally very outgoing and energetic—they talk a lot and tend to be the leaders of the packs. Leos in particular are incredibly admirable and truly know their way around a conversation. If I ever wanted to get stuck in an elevator for 48 hours with no wifi or connection to the outside world and only one random stranger to talk to for the entire duration, I would pick a Leo in a heartbeat. Emma is very much the leader-type, she’s someone everyone pauses and listens to when she calls for their attention, and she always prefers to talk her way out of conflict rather than fight—but not in an underhanded manipulative way, no, Leos are very genuine with their feelings and will be upfront about their reasons for their actions.

Take this scene between Emma and Leuvis for example— this to me is about the closest to perfect of a summary of what Leos are like, and how Emma fits her sign beautifully.

She doesn’t want to fight, but she will if she has to—for the good of her friends and the good of humanity. She can stick to her ideals and yet extend a hand to the enemy anyway. This is what makes Leos such a force to be reckoned with in leadership roles.

Compatibility and ships: I know I know, this is the part you’re most excited about. I’m going to attempt to refrain from sharing my opinion on each ship itself, I will simply point out which have the highest compatibility levels. First of all, essentially all signs are most compatible with 1. Other signs of the same element and 2. Their compliment sign, their elemental opposite.

Since Emma is a fire sign, she’s generally compatible with other fire signs (Sagittarius, Aries, and of course Leo) as well as Air signs (Aquarius, Gemini, and Libra). So speaking broadly, she’s compatible of course with Norman as an Aries, as well as Ray IF he truly is an Aquarius. But if we narrow it down a little bit, I should mention that fire signs being fire signs can often clash with each other because both their energies are so high (personal experience lmao), and therefore their elemental opposite, air, are generally the way to go. Usually you’ll find on astrological charts and sites that Leos are most compatible with Geminis and Aquariuses, so Ray again if he is an Aquarius, and then we bring Violet into the picture because she’s a Gemini. (Uh, speaking as a Gemini, Leos are my favorite people to date, and I always seem to crush on them as well. I have a problem. A Leo problem.) I’m so sorry Gilemma shippers but fire and earth signs are like the worst combo, I don’t know how this happened because I love Gilemma with all my heart. The stars simply did not align for us this time

Norman

Birthdate: March 21st

Sign: Aries

Element: Fire

Overview: okay listen. I didn’t believe Norman was an Aries at first because he’s not as high energy as most fire signs, but then the more I thought about it, the more it just makes sense. The most key trait to an Aries is loyalty. They are so incredibly loyal and caring to the people they love that they often neglect themselves in the process. They can be very quick to anger if someone hurts or insults their friend, and are unafraid to start a fight or commit morally gray or even black actions in service of their loved ones. Point is you don’t mess with an Aries’ family or friends. You will get burned.

All the loyalty applies to Norman so incredibly well—the way that his plans and actions revolve entirely around Emma and Ray, and the way that he sacrifices himself for their escape even though he’s terrified of dying. But even more so this loyalty strikes you in the face when he returns as William Minerva, willing and committed to full on genocide all to keep his friends alive and safe. As I’ve said Aries are quick to anger, which seemingly isn’t very present in cool-headed, thoughtful Norman, but then you remember this:

Look at his expression. Even if he doesn’t easily lose his cool, when he does it’s terrifying. So essentially Norman is a much more subtle Aries— he’s not in your face aggressive or full of energy, but he has all the hidden signs. So yeah, I honestly can’t think of any other sign that describes him better. Norman is an Aries.

Compatibility and ships: being a fire sign and all, Norman’s compatibility is actually very similar to Emma’s. He’s compatible with other Fire signs (Sagittarius, Leo, and Aries) as well as Air signs (Libra, Aquarius, and Gemini). Speaking broadly that makes him compatible with Emma and Ray again, but narrowing it down Aries are much better in general with Libras and Leos so congrats Noremma shippers you won.

Ray

“Canon” Birthdate: January 15th

“Actual” Birthdate: February 5th

“Canon” sign: Capricorn

“Actual” sign: Aquarius

“Canon” Element: Earth

“Actual” Element: Air

Overview: alright Ray is a bit of a mixed bag to unpack. Because it’s been stated that Ray’s January 15th birthday is not his actual birthday outside of the source material, then it’s reasonable for me to count both birthdays because people have different ideas of what’s canon and what’s not. Interestingly enough though, Ray does indeed fit well enough into both the Capricorn and Aquarius signs, however I personally believe one shows through him better than the other.

We’ve been talking about fire signs for Emma and Norman so it’s finally time to dive into two other elements! We’ll start with Capricorn then, the Earth sign. The most important thing to remember is that the Earth signs are the most grounded and practical. If you want someone who can give you logical and rational advice, your best bet would be the Earth signs (Air signs are also good at this but this ain’t about them. Although you will notice some overlap in traits between these two, particularly in Capricorns and Aquariuses).

We can already see the ‘practical’ side show through in Ray by the way he hyperfocuses on taking Norman and Emma to escape but insists on leaving the other kids behind. This isn’t to say he doesn’t feel for them, on the contrary, Earth signs are indeed very in tune with their emotions and empathy, but Capricorns really know how to set that part of them aside in favor of the calm and certain route. They like tangible solutions, things they can grasp with the least amount of risk, and they’re very resistant to changes—like giant rocks. This is also noticeable in how Ray gets so very flustered by Norman and Emma’s impulsivity. He clashes with both of them because Earth signs prefer to take things slow while Fire signs just like to make a leap and hope for the best.

Note how Emma says “not that I mind...” meanwhile Ray is out here going “I MIND!!” Which we learn is because of his identity as the spy. He’s got his own plan and a tangible solution to shoot for, and Norman and his impulsivity and Emma going along with it is messing everything up. Thus, he forcibly retakes control of the situation via making a deal with Norman after the traitor is revealed. Very Capricorn stuff.

And if you want an image that just completely sums up the Capricorn in Ray, here you go:

On the OTHER hand, if we’re to go off Ray’s “actual” birthdate, which was so lovingly calculated by Tempo, then we get Aquarius Ray, the Air sign. The most important things to note about the air signs is that they’re the thinkers—the farthest from impulsive, they’re the least in tune with their emotions, and they are oh so horribly indecisive. Where Earth signs will be able to give advice that adheres to both logic and emotion, Air signs stick purely to logic. Where Earth signs are able to make calm and rational decisions, Air signs will agonize over options and often find themselves lost, searching perpetually for a solution with no cracks in it. Hello. I’m an Air sign. :’))

I’m gonna come right out and say it. I hate Aquarius men. Aquarius women and enby folks, they’re great. But Aquarius men? I may, as a Gemini, get along with them in surface level casual conversation, but behind every Aquarius man’s back is a Mal waiting to strangle him the moment I am given the opportunity. I’m so sorry Ray my son but you are not an Aquarius okay. Alright. Well, let’s just talk about the parts of him that do fit Aquarius.

So from the very start Ray is obviously a thinker, someone who considers his options very carefully before he makes a decision, and someone who hates making choices based solely on emotion. In fact, he hates expressing emotions at all. Aquariuses are very good at repressing or hiding their emotions behind other emotions (most air signs are). The most common way to do this is to put up a wall of either numbness or full-on rage. We can see both in Ray.

Instead of showing vulnerability in a healthy way, he would rather do that. Ok cool Ray.

Aquariuses can also be very quiet people, and Ray’s pretty dang quiet for most of the series too. They’re the intellectuals you know are intellectuals even though they aren’t up in your face about it. Their reserved nature makes them 10x scarier when they’re genuinely angry, because boy can an Aquarius rage.

The thing about Aquarius Ray for me here is that while Ray does indeed have Aquarius energy, it’s not the Core of Ray. To me he’s so much more of an Earth sign, so therefore I diagnose Ray with Capricorn.

Compatibility and ships: ok this is a mixed bag again. Now if you got Aquarius Ray then of course he’s compatible with other Air signs (Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius) and Fire signs (Leo, Aries, and Sagittarius), which would make him compatible with Norman and Emma for sure, as well as probably Ayshe for you Rayshe shippers because my personal HC is Aquarius Ayshe.

If you’ve got Capricorn Ray, then Capricorns are compatible with other earth signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) and their compliment water signs (Cancer, Pisces, and Scorpio), though they’re best with Cancers and Tauruses. So yes, Anna is a Taurus, which makes Rayanna a compatible pair. But guess who’s a Cancer. Don. ALL MY RAYDON SHIPPERS GET OUT HERE YOU COWARDS IM CALLING YOUR NAME. YOU WIN THE SHIP GAME.

Gilda

Birthdate: May 13th

Sign: Taurus

Element: Earth

Overview: So again with the practical and grounded Earth signs. Tauruses now, are the most stubborn of them, which can be a little irritating at times, but it’s also a great asset when you consider how reliable they truly are. They’re bulls, which makes them solid and difficult to move, and you can always fall back on them when you’ve leapt too far ahead. Gilda is of course the epitome of reliable, and her stubbornness does show through at times—like when she’s the one person against Emma going out into danger all the time, constantly trying to talk her down into a more practical and certain solution. She’s also the first to attempt to bring Emma to see Ray’s side of the escape plan, which is very earth sign of both of them good job guys.

Compatibility and ships: I know I know I’m still upset Gilemma isn’t compatible astrologically but we can talk about other Gilda ships! Tauruses are most compatible with other earth signs (Capricorn, Virgo, and Taurus) and water signs (Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces) which makes her compatible with our other lovely Taurus, Anna! Gilanna shippers unite. But they’re best with Cancers and Scorpios, which means Gildon is is at highest compatibility.

Don

Birthdate: July 4th

Sign: Cancer

Element: Water

Overview: HEY YALL ITS TIME TO TALK ABOUT MY LEAST FAVORITE SIGNS: W A T E R. (I’m sorry my water friends, I’m sure you’re lovely, but as an air sign I am always extremely suspicious of water signs at first meeting because our compatibility is so low it might as well not exist) So the water signs are at the absolute highest emotional level. This can make them extraordinarily kind and nurturing, but it can also make them absolutely unreasonable and destructive. None is this more present than in Cancers, one of the most sensitive signs, but also one of the most empathetic. We can tell very clearly in Don that he wears his emotions on his sleeve—he’s unafraid to cry or show his anger, but he also takes very good care of his younger siblings and shows such an intense concern for them that it can become frightening.

He’s such a good boy 🥺

Compatibility and ships: okay so same drill, Cancers are generally compatible with other Water signs (Scorpio, Pisces, and Cancer) as well as Earth signs (Taurus, Capricorn, and Virgo) though their highest compatibility is with Tauruses and Capricorns. So again. GILDON AND RAYDON SHIPPERS R I S E.

God I’m so sorry if I cause a ship war. I rambled for too long and I’m very tired, so you only get these five characters for now. BUT! That’s why it’s a part 1. If you want more please feel free to harass me in my ask inbox about the characters you want me to overanalyze the signs of. Gemini out!

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master-sass-blast · 3 years

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Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.

I had to input every single italic you see in this fic by hand because Tumblr doesn’t hold text format when I paste it innnnnn. *pained smile*

Please give this chapter some love, because that was fucking painful to do.

Summary: The aftermath of capturing Allison proves messy -both in dealing with the teen's evident trauma, and in all the skeletons in various closets that get unleashed soon after.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: M for gun violence, depictions of death and injuries, depictions of emotional trauma, and gratuitous use of the word “fuck.”

Word count: 8.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

“What the hell were you thinking!”

“Ooh, careful there, Doohan,” Wade snarks, head rolling to indicate he’s rolling his eyes. “Get any more agitated and you’ll be saying all the no-no words.”

Scott scowls at Wade. “Stuff it, Wilson.”

“Every damn night, laser pointer.”

A mixture of grimaces, sighs, and groans go up through the crowd.

You’re all gathered in the medical wing of Xavier’s –the X-Force and nearly all of the X-Men. Allison’s off being examined by Dr. McCoy and Alyssa –to make sure she’s stable enough to be taken out of the handcuffs and the suppression band—and Frank and Karen are sequestered in a separate room until it's clear how everything's going to shake out.

Because, naturally, there’s been a wrench thrown in the situation.

Or maybe the whole damn toolbox, you mentally amend as Wade and Scott resume arguing.

“We cannot harbor a mob criminal here—”

“She’s thirteen, Summers!” Wade snaps. The eyes on his mask narrow into slits. “She’s not a criminal –and her parents’ choice don’t automatically make her guilty!”

“Murder, illegal theft and possession of firearms, assault, stalking, kidnapping,” Scott starts listing, ticking off each of Allison’s misdeeds on his fingers.

“She lost her family,” Nathan interjects, voice going to gravel. “Where the fuck were all of you when she needed support? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The room goes silent. Many of the X-Men members look away or hang their heads slightly.

“We had no way of knowing that Allison was a mutant,” Ororo speaks up. “Without the proper information, we can’t help. It’s unfortunate, yes, but out of our control all the same.”

“But you know now,” Wade argues. “You knew with Russell. You knew with all the kids at Essex house. You turned your back on him and those kids, just like you’re turning your back on Allison now.” He scoffs, disgusted. “Same shit, different day. You’re all a bunch of cowardly cocksuckers.”

“We do have limits,” Professor Xavier speaks up from his chair. “Russell and the other members of Essex house were considered wards of the state. Legally, that meant Essex house had custody of them until they turned eighteen. We wrote petitions. We did as much as we could to bring attention to the issue. Unfortunately, it got swept under the rug or stonewalled by anti-mutant members of the legal system. As for Allison…” He sighs. “Taking in wards with criminal connections put the school at risk. Not just for fear of retaliation –as would certainly be a risk with Miss Ricci’s connections to the mafia—but also our funding and licensing. As an orphaned mutant, she is certainly deserving of our help—” he pauses to glare sternly at Scott and a few of the more stubborn, self-righteous members present “—but we have to consider the needs of our other residents and students, too.”

“I think we’re overlooking that Allison is here right now,” Jean pipes up. “Whether or not she stays with us is one thing, but we need to decide what to do for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“She stays here,” you say automatically. “As far as we know, she has no other guardians, potentially even nowhere to go. I don’t think it’s gonna kill us to give her a bed and some food to eat.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott fires back –and, behind him, Angel and Iceman nod. “She’s far too aggressive to possibly put the students at risk.”

“She’s agitated and traumatized,” you reason, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to lash out at people left and right.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian of sorts?” Neena pipes up. “Artemis? Has anyone gotten ahold of them?”

“We reached out with the number Miss Ricci gave us,” Xavier explains. “The call picked up, but there wasn’t any verbal response for the duration of the call.”

Well, that bodes well. “What about her attorney?” you ask. “If we can’t keep her here, wouldn’t her attorney be able to arrange some sort of safe place for her to stay.”

“Thus far, we haven’t been able to reach her attorney.”

And that bodes even worse. You fight the urge to sigh or roll your eyes, and instead mentally curse monkey wrenches and whoever thought to invent the damn things.

“For the time being, I’ve contacted some of our external resources” –the glance Xavier shoots at both you and Piotr tells you that it’s your uncle and Alexandra—“to help with matters until the dust settles. They should be arriving soon, so—”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, the sound of glass shattering, and an angry screech that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you, Castle!”

You give into the urge to sigh before booking it towards the sound of chaos and rage. Great. Now it’s an entire toolshed.

***

Subduing Allison this time, at least, is easier for several reasons.

First, she’s still wearing the repression cuff on her wrist. Without her powers –without a way to pop in and out of this existence, specifically—she’s much easier to catch.

Second, she’s tired. It’s not just the bags under her eyes or the sweat glistening at her furrowed brow. She’s stumbling unevenly, panting as she tries to exact her revenge.

Third, Illyana happens to show up at the exact same time with your uncle and Alexandra (and Nikolai as well, though he has less involvement in the “subduing process”).

Alex reacts fastest. She hooks one strong arm around Allison’s waist, then scoops her away from Karen and a hangdog-looking Frank. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Allison, however, doesn’t seem to agree. (Though whether it’s due to general teenage contrariness or trauma-induced rage, the jury’s still out.

…Actually, it’s probably both.)

“You don’t even get it, Castle!” Allison snaps with a manic grin, eyes wide and haunted. “You killed a good man. My dad was getting out! He was going to testify against them—”

Alex clamps a hand over the teen’s mouth, making her cut herself off with a garbled grunt. “I said enough.”

Allison thrashes in the older woman’s iron-clad grasp –to no avail, unsurprisingly. Her face scrunches up, then her jaw starts flexing. There’s a moment where her expression goes slack when Alex doesn’t react, then her nose scrunches up again and her jaw starts working harder.

Alex sighs, then starts carrying Allison back down the hall (she’s astonishingly unfazed by been chomped down on). “Come on. Let’s get you calmed down, malen’kiy.”

At the other end of the hall, Neena pokes her head into the fray. “Someone who calls herself Artemis is at the front door.”

Professor Xavier nods, then says, “Please escort her back to Miss Ricci’s room,” before wheeling after Alex and Artemis.

You look between Neena and the Professor –then, in the interest of going where you’re actually allowed to be (and not being bored out of your mind because you’ll be literally shut out of the room), you head towards the foyer.

…

“Do you think Frank was set up to stop the trial?”

Your uncle shrugs; the two of you have taken up a spot at the back of the room, where you can watch things unfold and gossip like the two old ladies you are in spirit. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that it was retribution for Allison being a mutant. The Ricci syndicate is notoriously… intolerant.”

You grimace. You certainly understand just how far people will go against their own flesh and blood for intolerance’s sake. “Blood and water.”

Your uncle nods, expression equally sour. “You fucking said it, punk.”

There’s not much point in hashing it out any further –both from the standpoint of “forbidden knowledge” and digging up old trauma—so you settle back into watching Artemis go through the mandatory security check.

She’s tall, with broad shoulders. Her hair’s dark, just starting to streak with silver at the temples, and her eyes are deep, intense, borderline black color. Her nose is slightly crooked –comes with the territory in this walk of life—and she’s dressed in black motorcycle wear and combat boots.

She honestly looks so fucking familiar.

You frown, brows pinching together as you try and place her face in your memory. Failing your own abilities at recollection, you lean over and whisper, “Is she one of your team members? I swear I’ve seen her before.”

“Uh –no,” your uncle replies (and it’s too fast and shaky, but you’re too caught up in figuring out whom the fuck you’re looking at to notice). “I mean –everyone has a doppelganger, right?”

“I guess.” You squint at Artemis, as though physically narrowing your eyes will help your brain puzzle things out—

And then Alex strides into the foyer –wiping the hand that Allison bit, and if you look close enough you’re pretty sure you can still see a few bloody teeth marks—and the cloud of confusion lifts from your mind.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly. “That’s why she looks familiar! She looks like Alex.” You look from the Rasputin matriarch, to the other black-leather clad woman, then back again. “She looks… a lot like Alex, actually.” You laugh softly –coincidence is a hell of a thing—then keep rambling when your uncle doesn’t say anything. “Two women who love the color black and carry enough weapons on their person to stock an army. You’d think the universe broke the mold with Alex, huh?”

Your uncle shifts from foot to foot next to you, but says nothing.

“You really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘doppelganger’ thing, huh.” You cock your head to one side, then frown as another epiphany starts growing in your mind. “Actually… she kind of looks like you, too.”

Your uncle makes a quiet, pained choking noise. “Punk—”

“Yeah, she’s got more of your build…”

“Punk.”

“And her lower lip has that weird lopsided curve like yours—”

“Punk—”

You peer closer at Artemis’s face. “Actually, her nose looks like you took yours and Alex’s and mashed them together—”

“Punk.”

You finally look up at him and take in the pale, wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on his face. “What?” When he doesn’t say anything, you look at Artemis, then Alex, and then back at him—

Oh God.

Holy fucking shit.

You stare up at your uncle, agape. “Wait a second –you and—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” he hisses, panicked, before dragging you out of the foyer and into the nearest hallway.

“You and Alex had a baby,” you blurt –albeit in a voice no louder than a harsh whisper. “Artemis is your and her lovechild!”

He winces, then holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“I don’t think you can!” you hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me that I have a cousin who happens to be my husband’s half fucking sister! Oh God, does Piotr know? Do any of the Rasputins know?”

“I…” He trails off, then cringes. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually.”

You stare up at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not sure. How are you not sure? Nick knows who you are –what, you think Alex just kept a whole child from his knowledge—”

“I mean, he probably knows that there was a baby at one point—”

“The baby is in this fucking house!” you snap in a quiet growl, arms flailing wildly. “She’s a full grown adult who probably pays taxes and has a 401k going! Why wouldn’t Alex tell her husband—”

“Look,” your uncle interjects, cutting you off. “As far as Alex knows… she thinks she’s… dead?”

You gape. Then, as quietly as you can manage (given the circumstances), you exclaim, “What the fuck!”

“Keep your voice down!” your uncle hisses, gesturing wildly in panic. He looks over his shoulder, then when he’s certain no one overheard you, he sighs and looks back to you. “Look, it’s a long story—”

“I’m sure it fucking is!” You cross your arms over your chest when he winces. “How is it that you know your secret lovechild is alive, but Alex doesn’t? What, did she just abandon her?”

“No, no—”

“Didn’t think so. So what the fuck happened?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping, and runs one hand through his already disheveled hair. “Look –long story short, the people who ‘made’ Alex took the baby—”

“Artemis. Her daughter. Your daughter.”

He purses his lips, but concedes with a nod. “They took her away after she was born and told Alex she was dead –and that’s actually what prompted her to get out, but that’s another story for another day—”

“Okay, hang on a second.” You squeeze your eyes shut and hold up one hand. “Alex thinks her baby is dead –probably one of the most traumatic things in her whole life. You’ve known that she’s alive…” You open your eyes again and fix your uncle with a stern stare. “Okay, how long have you known for?”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “…well, the US took her, but she didn’t present early, so they turned her loose into the foster system because she didn’t have potential as an ‘asset’—”

“How fucking long?”

He ducks his head, carefully avoiding your gaze. “…tracked her down when she was ten.”

Your eyes widen –and then you slug him in the shoulder. “You fucking colossal asshole!”

He panics again, motioning for you to keep it down while checking over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Not only have you lied to Alex for decades—”

“She never asked—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!” you snap in a gravelly whisper. “So, not only did you lie to her, but you also abandoned your daughter to the mercies of the US foster care system!”

“My life wasn’t safe to keep a kid around!” he hisses back at you. “I couldn’t take care of you, and I couldn’t take care of her! If anything, it was safer for her if the government thought I didn’t know she was alive!”

You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose, and wave dismissively with your other hand. “Okay –fine. That still doesn’t justify the whole lying thing, but whatever. Does Artemis know that you and Alex are her parents?”

“…Yes. She tracked me down when she was in her twenties and I told her the truth.”

“Well, it sounds like determination runs in the family,” you mutter. “But at least you two have kept in touch…” You look up, see your uncle’s grimace, and sigh. “You didn’t keep in touch with her.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Pretty sure ‘not like that’ is a good answer.” You sigh again, then shrug and put your hands on your hips. “Well, you’ve probably solved your own problem. She’ll probably just tell Alex who she is just to spite you, assuming she got the ‘petty vengeance’ gene too.”

Your uncle’s eyebrows spike to his hairline, and his expression goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “She –she can’t—”

“She can and she probably will.”

He hunches over, crouching, and grips the back of his head. “Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck—”

“Myshka?”

You and your uncle both jump, then whirl in unison and give your husband your best convincing, “we’re totally not talking about long lost, hidden family members and other poor life choices” smiles that you can each manage.

(Consider that you don’t look like you just shit your pants, you win.)

Piotr’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “What… is everything alright?”

“Just fine, baby,” you assure him, subtly kicking your uncle so he relaxes. “Just talking about what happens next.”

Piotr nods after a moment, likely picking up on that whatever’s going on right now isn’t life or death and that you’ll fill him in later. “I actually came to find you,” he says, gesturing to your uncle. “Professor Xavier still cannot reach Allison’s lawyer. He has asked for your assistance.”

“Right. Absolutely. On it,” your uncle says with a none-too-convincing smile. He shoots your husband a pair of finger guns, then books it out of the hall and towards the medical wing of the mansion.

Piotr stares after him, then shoots you a confused frown. “Is he okay?”

You shrug. “He’s doing about his usual.” You decide to further sidestep the issue by ambling over to him and giving him a gentle hug. “How are you?” Are doing okay?”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “I am fine now. Just a little sore.”

“Me too.” You nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest. “We really should invest in that hot tub we keep talking about getting. It’d be great for post-mission recovery.”

“Hot tubs are expensive, myshka,” he chuckles.

“Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. It’d be a good investment in taking care of our bodies.” You tilt your head back and grin up at him. “I thought you were all about that life.”

He sighs and shakes his head, feigning exasperation, but his amused smile is a dead giveaway. “Whatever shall I do with you, myshka?”

You grin wider. “You could kiss me.”

Piotr grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours—

Mikhail appears next to you out of thin air. “Ah. Gross. Big meeting is happening. All hands on deck.”

Piotr rolls his eyes when his elder brother teleports away once more, then looks back down at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, baby.” You unwind your arms from his massive trunk of a torso, then slide your fingers between his as the two of you walk towards the medical wing.

…

“—I am telling you, Charles, not being able to reach this kid’s lawyer is a bad fucking sign.”

You and Piotr walk into a conference room to find your uncle and Professor Xavier locked in a heated argument.

Wade, Nate, and Neena are leaning against the table to watch, occasionally leaning over to whisper bits of commentary to each other (or, in Wade’s case, speak at normal volume).

In the corner of the room, where a couple of armchairs are positioned, Nikolai sits with his two other children; they’re speaking in hushed Russian, but none of them seem too concerned about everything else going on.

“As I previously stated,” Xavier says, words clipped, “we cannot release Miss Ricci without speaking first to her attorney. The X-Men operate as a special law enforcement service, and failure to comply with criminal and civil statutes will have enormous consequences for the Institute—”

“There’s going to be a bunch of fucking ‘enormous consequences’ for the Institute,” your uncle interrupts, growling through clenched teeth, “if you don’t evacuate this building right fucking now! Fuck’s sake, Charles –you hired me as a security advisor; just listen to me.”

Piotr frowns and curls one hand over your shoulder. “What is happening?”

“What’s happening,” a new, strong, feminine voice interjects from the hall, “is that we’re leaving.” Artemis shoulders past your husband –a feat not easily achieved by many—with Allison in tow, then holds up the teen’s arm that has the repression cuff still attached. She glares at Xavier (and God, she really looks like Alex when she does that), then spits out through gritted, bared teeth, “Get this fucking thing off my kid.”

There’s a longsuffering sigh in the hall, and then Alex steps into the doorway. “She has that cuff on for her own safety –as I already told you—”

Artemis whirls, face contorted by a vicious scowl, and snaps, “I didn’t fucking ask for you input!”

(Boy, if that doesn’t just scream ‘repressed trauma and mommy issues.’)

Your uncle looks like he’s about to pass out again, but Alex seems remarkably nonplussed. She merely raises one eyebrow at Artemis, as if to say ‘that’s all you got?’

There’s no way she knows, you think as you watch the two stare each other down. Not with how much she cares about her kids. There’s no fucking way—

“Actually, we’ve got bigger problems,” your uncle pipes up, voice quavering slightly before he clears his throat. “We can’t reach your kid’s shark.”

“They have other clients,” Artemis retorts, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer. Her dark eyes smolder with barely constrained hatred as she tosses a withering glance in his direction (daddy issues, too, this chick won the whole lottery). “Or maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

Your uncle narrows his eyes at that (and now the two of them look so much alike, overcome by ire as they are). “You cannot possibly be that fucking stupid.”

Artemis sucks a breath through her teeth, eyes widening with rage and hurt. “You fucking dick—”

In the corner of the room, Illyana bolts upright before going stock still. Then, she gasps and reaches out towards her mother. “Mama!”

(The way Artemis’s face mars with a pained grimace makes your heart ache.)

Alex tenses, eyes glowing gold as she starts scanning the horizon (presumably checking for heat signatures). “Gde?”

The room goes quiet –and then you hear it.

The sound of engines rumbling –multiple engines—and car wheels crunching against gravel. Doors thumping open and shut, followed by footsteps. Hushed voices.

You scamper over to the nearest window and float up, just enough to see several men clad in black and Kevlar and carrying rifles stalking towards the front door and around the sides of the house in groups. “Guys with guns. Lots of them.”

“Then get down!” Nate hisses before yanking you back from the window.

“Lights out,” Alex orders before hitting the switch herself. “Get everyone to a reinforced room.”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Xavier says before wheeling himself towards the door.

Allison clings to Artemis’s sleeve, much like a baby koala. “What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Go with the Professor,” Artemis says. She quickly –but gently—frees her arm, then clasps the teen’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Listen to the Professor, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?”

Allison’s forehead puckers, and her lower lip starts trembling. “But—”

“Is alright,” Nikolai interjects with a kind, reassuring smile. He gently ushers Allison towards the door, then down the hall before she can protest further.

A few doors down, Karen pokes her head out of the room where she and Frank have holed up. She frowns as she takes in the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Mafia men with guns!” Wade chirps as he half-skips, half-jogs towards the mansion’s entryway. “Tell your boy to suit up!”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Neena adds as she runs after Wade.

Frank squeezes around Karen and kisses her temple before falling in line behind the two assassins.

You step to the side so Karen can run past you, then turn and press a hasty kiss against Piotr’s cheek. “Love you.”

He kisses your cheek in return, equally as brief. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

And then the two of you run towards the danger bearing down on your home.

***

In all the firefights you’ve been in, there’s always this moment of silence. A calm before the storm. A moment where everything goes still, while both sides wait for the other to make a move.

You duck behind a wall as the mafia gunmen continue hammering away at the front door, tucking yourself in a shadow. Your stomach tenses, breathing going quick and hard as your mind starts putting a plan together. Don’t want to risk collapsing part of the house by doing a pressure vacuum. Best option is to probably knock them to the ground so the others can jump them.

The door rattles. The wooden portal splits on one side, sending jagged splinters poking out into the air.

You slow your breathing, forcing yourself into a calm, focused state. Wait for them to get past the entryway so you can hit as many of them as possible.

In the back of the house, near the kitchen, you hear glass shatter.

They’re in. You clench your fists at your sides, watching as the front door slowly gives way. Three… two… one…

The door breaks open, swinging inwards as the first gunmen step into the foyer—

And then the door snaps off its hinges and slams into the men, taking them out like bowling pins.

Strike, a small, inane part of your brain giggles.

Shouts go up through the house. You can hear the sounds of rushed footsteps, shattering glass, and what sounds like people being bodyslammed through tables (and, given the type of people fighting for your side, it just might be that). Gunfire pierces the air –and is accompanied by the telltale, metallic plinks of the bullets ricocheting off your husband’s armor.

Angry screams emanate from the front step. Men barge in, firing down the hall, towards some unseen target (likely Alex or Nate, given the door trick).

You wait until as many men are piled into the foyer as possible, then send down a downdraft that blows out the windows on either side of the door.

The gunmen tumble to the floor, swearing in a mixture of English and Italian.

Nate, Wade, and Neena swoop in. They descend upon the mafia men like a pack of wolves, breaking bones, dislocating joints, and cracking skulls as they disarm –and, in some cases “un-alive”—the gunmen.

“It’s raining men!” Wade sings as he runs one of his katanas through the gut of one assailant. “Hallelujah! It’s raining men!” He ramps off a nearby wall, then t-bags another man before stabbing him through the temple. “Amen!”

You crouch, tracking the movement of the scuffle. You tense when you see a couple of the men jump Nathan, then charge towards the railing and dive over when a few more try to break past to run down the hallway. You flip in the air, land in the hallway ahead of them, and unleash a blast of wind right in their faces.

The mafia men fly out through the front door. They sail over half the front drive, then bounce off the gravel surface and roll several times before coming to a stop.

You let out a harsh breath, then dart down the hall towards the kitchen when you hear glass shattering and the sound of Frank bellowing angrily.

The kitchen and rec room are a mess. Glass shards from shattered windows coat the floor, glittering before being crushed underfoot. Doors are cracked from having people slammed into them. The rec room couch is overturned –and is sagging suspiciously on one side, hinting at a cracked frame. The entertainment system is shattered, with smoking bullet holes littering the TV, speakers, and media systems.

Frank has one of the guys pinned down over the sink. He’s snarling as he uses the lip of the sink to choke the guy out. There’s blood smeared his lips and chins, trailing back up to his chin.

Another gunman stalks in through the dining room, gun trained on Frank’s head.

You whip a blast of air at the second man, sending him sailing into the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

He drops to the ground, unconscious.

There’s some terrified shrieking –and then a gunman is punted up and out of the basement stairwell. He sails through the kitchen window headfirst, crumpling in a heap in the hedges outside.

Your husband storms up the staircase, teeth bared in an angry snarl. The waning daylight glints off his metal exterior, almost making him look like some sort of avenging angel. He stops short when he sees you, though; his irate expression vanishes, replaced by concern. “Ty v poryadke?”

You manage a smile and flash him a thumbs up—

And then a truck with a Gatling gun strapped to the roof rolls up to the back door.

“Get down!” Frank hollers before tackling you to the ground behind the kitchen island.

The room explodes into chaos. Bullets plow into the walls, sending up spurts of drywall dust in their wake. Wooden doorframes and floorboards crack, unleashing cascades of splinters in every direction. Glass shatters, raining down upon everything in its reach.

Frank positions himself over you, shielding you as fragmented bullets rain down upon your both. He cups your head with his hands, doing his best to protect you from the hellfire.

Over the din, you can just make out a loud, angry bellow –and then the sound of bullets hitting metal. Heavy, deliberate stomps make the floor shake.

The gunfire cuts off. A shriek pierces the air just before you hear what sounds like a car being tossed into a tree.

(As you’ll discover later, that’s precisely what you heard.)

Frank lifts his head, then carefully rolls off you. He crouches next to you and holds out a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got glass shards and splinters in your hair, but you’ve been worse. You take his hand, flinching when you hear the sound of more gunfire outside.

Frank peers over the lip of the island. “Reinforcements. At least five more cars headed our way.”

You suck in a breath. “Piotr—”

“Is holding his own for now,” Frank says.

“I’m gonna help him,” you rasp out. “Make sure everyone in the house that’s not on our side… stays down. And that we’ve still got all our people.”

Frank nods, then runs off towards the foyer.

You catch your breath, then creep towards the back door (better safe than sorry). You flatten yourself against the wall next to the doorway, then peer around the broken frame.

Piotr’s facing off against the new influx of cars. He’s got one hand on the hood of one Range Rover, arm extended out like he’s fending off a five-year-old. With his other hand, he flips another SUV over, causing the thing to land on its roof and putting the vehicle squarely out of commission.

Your stomach sinks when five more Range Rovers tear across the lawn, leaving deep, muddy tracks in their wake –and are followed by three more trucks with Gatling guns attached to the roofs. You sprint out the door, take a flying leap over Piotr, then send out a shockwave of air when you land on the ground.

A few of the cars fly backwards, rolling across the lawn like tumbleweeds. A majority of them, however, manage to stay upright or bump into each other and recover.

Your eyes widen when one of the Gatling gun operators aims directly at you. Shit.

Piotr leaps in front of you, whirling so his back is to the gun. He curls his body over yours, shielding you as gunfire rains down on you both.

You grit your teeth, grunting. You can feel the impact of the gunfire resonating through your husband’s metal body. Worry clutches at your heart when Piotr lets out sharp, ragged groans; he’s largely invulnerable in his armor, not to mention his sense of touch is severely dulled, but you know that with shit like this he’s still feeling some sort of pain –and there’s nothing you can do. You’re both pinned down, and as powerful as your shockwaves are, they’re not enough to stop or even skew the trajectory of a bullet—

Blue light washes over both of you. The sound of the gunfire wanes, replaced by warbling, pinging noises instead.

You peer around Piotr’s side to see Illyana standing between the two of you and the oncoming cars. She has her arms outstretched, palms facing the onslaught of adversaries. A shimmering, sky blue shield with various magical incantations floating through it surrounds all of you, stretching into the sky for at least forty feet.

Illyana grunts. She’s being shoved backwards from the force of impact from the bullets. Her feet are digging into the ground, leaving ruts as she tries to hold her stance. “We need new plan!”

“How about ‘stay alive?’” Piotr shouts back as he digs shrapnel out of the grooves on his arms.

Wade, Neena, Nate, and Frank come barreling out the back door, faces streaked with soot and blood. They dive for the ground, covering the backs of their heads and necks with their hands—

An explosion goes off inside the mansion. The shockwave shatters windows on both the first and second floor, blowing out window frames and trim.

Piotr covers your body with his once more. He cups your head with his hand, shielding you from the falling debris and the worst of the shockwave.

You cough and hack as smoke billows out the broken windows and doors. You do your best to make a vortex to suck the smoke away and send it up into the air. Your lungs burn, and your ears are ringing like a bell from all the gunfire and the explosion—

Four more gunmen emerge from the smoke pouring out the back door.

You snarl, then whip blasts of air at them, slamming them into the exterior walls of the house.

One of them goes down, while the other three are merely stunned.

Mikhail comes barreling out next. He lets out a guttural battle cry, then sucker punches one of the men in the back of the head before aiming a blast of rust colored energy at another’s gut.

The man screams as he sails into the air, arcing over the tree line and disappearing somewhere in the canopies.

The third man aims his gun at Mikhail –then staggers and drops to the ground when a beam of golden energy sears through his chest.

Alex storms out of the smoke with Artemis and your uncle trailing close behind her. She glares down the remaining gunmen and cars, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Blood is flecked across her face and spattered over her leather jacket. “House is clear!”

“Yeah, except now we’re about to be cleared out!” Wade hollers back. “As in, ‘all sales final, no returns, no exchanges!’”

“If we could make plan,” Illyana screams, voice strained with the effort of holding the shield, “would be very great!”

You look over to Alex –and see her eyes widen. You whirl towards the gunmen just in time to see one of them aim a rocket launcher at all of you. “Oh, for the love of—”

The first hit is technically deflected by Illyana’s shield, insomuch that the projectile and the shield both shatter the moment they meet. The force of the magic breaking sends out a shockwave of blue energy that flies backwards into all of you, knocking those who managed to get up back off their feet and stunning the rest of you.

You groan, head reeling. Your vision clears slowly, casting double images when you move too quickly. Shit.

You can make out Piotr, just next to you. He’s lying face down on the lawn, grunting and moving in slow, clumsy movements. He turns his head, brow furrowing when he sees you, and reaches out towards you.

You extend your hand to grab his –but he’s just out of your reach, no matter how far you strain. Your body feels heavy with fatigue and pain; everything inside you is screaming to get up, to fight, to keep moving because death is knocking right on your door, and you’ll be damned if this is how you go out—

Alex recovers first –no surprise there. She shoves herself to her feet, seething and growling like a feral beast. She hurls a blast of energy at one of the cars –and, from the sounds of the carnage, makes a direct hit. She storms towards the sea of mafia men like an avenging angel, hell bound on vengeance and blood.

Audible gasps go up from the amassed assassins.

You lift your head to see several of the gunmen backing away from the mansion and crossing themselves with shaking hands. You chalk it up to Alex being Alex, and make to drop your head back against the ground once more—

And then you see Allison standing in the ruined doorway.

She’s glaring down the gunmen with a viciousness that doesn’t suit the youthful roundness of her face. Her brows are knit together, and her mouth is twisted into an ugly scowl. Her eyes are glowing a brilliant shade of blue and give off little wisps of azure colored smoke. Her skin and hair are smoking as well, creating an aura around her body. Blood drips down from her nose and onto her shirt –which is stained with ash and soot. There are burn marks and indents on her wrists from where the repression cuff and the handcuffs used to be, respectively, but the restraints themselves are gone.

The ground begins to shake. Two patches of cerulean light appear underneath the grass, growing larger until they form swirling vortexes of magical energy. The ground begins to crumble at the edges of the portals, eroding away and growing wider until they make gaping tunnels that channel so deeply into the earth there’s no telling how far they truly go.

You recoil when the smell of sulfur and smoke blenches forth from the tunnels. Shit, did she hit a gas line? Fucking dammit, like this day can get any worse—

Echoing, blood-chilling howls emanate from the tunnels.

Your eyes widen –and then your heart starts working overtime when you see two, then four massive hellhounds (like the ones Allison summoned at the mall) crawl out of the tunnels.

Shrieks of terror sound from the gunmen. Several take off running, while others try to shoot the beasts.

The hounds snap and snarl at the gunmen, then charge at the group. Two of them go off after the runners, while the other two start lunging after the assassins like they’re rabbits.

You stare at the chaos in disbelief –and then a set of strong hands grab you underneath the arms.

“Get up.” You uncle tugs you to your feet, keeping you steady when you stumble. “You can’t be in the flow of traffic for this.”

Behind you, Allison is panting like she’s run a marathon. The aura of blue smoke is growing around her, trailing into the air and floating over the ground. Veins of light spread across her face and arms, glowing the same shade of vibrant blue as her eyes. Her breathing grows louder and more ragged, until she’s growling and shaking with each exhale— and then she screams.

Much like the first confrontation in the cemetery, all those months ago, the scream unleashes a shockwave of blue energy. This time, though, the shockwave is far from a decoy for escape. It washes over you, the X-Force, your uncle, the other Rasputins, Frank, and Artemis harmlessly enough –then slams into the mafia forces and vehicles like the wall of a hurricane.

Alex charges after the shockwave, carefully trailing behind it. She waits until it clears the first line of gunmen, then slams her fist into the face of the man closest to her. She blocks his attempt to strike her, then twists his arm –dislocating the shoulder, which makes him shriek in pain. Then, she wrenches his rifle away from him. She shoots him once in the center of his forehead, then turns the firearm on his fellow men and keeps firing.

Mikhail and Artemis go after the one surviving Gatling gun. Mikhail teleports onto the truck bed; he sweeps the back of one man’s jacket over his head, effectively blinding him, then kicks the other man present in the balls before shoving him over the side of the truck.

Artemis, on the other hand, stops a few feet away from the truck. She uses her telekinesis to rip the Gatling gun off its mount, then yanks the driver out through the windscreen –headfirst, no less—and dumps him on the lawn.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Come on,” your uncle says, pointing towards the further reaches of the property, where some of the gunmen are still trying to outrun the hellhounds. “Let’s give the dogs a helping hand.”

The two of you reach out, creating a wind current that slices through the air and slams into the stragglers.

The men careen into nearby hedges –and the hellhounds have it from there.

The familiar sonic blast of Nathan’s gun rips through the air. The shot slams into the last remaining SUV, rendering the vehicle to little more than glass shards and mangled metal.

The back lawn and gardens fall silent, save for the sounds of groans of pain and the hellhounds chewing on various gunmen.

Mikhail takes a fall off the back of the truck bed. He flops onto the ruined grass below, limbs splaying like a rag doll’s. “Alright. Is time for nap. Wake me… never.”

Illyana scoffs from where she’s sat next to a smoldering bush. She picks up a nearby stone, then chucks it at her eldest brother’s head (and hits her target, no less). “There is still clean up. Bezdel'nik.”

Mikhail flips her off, then groans as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“She’s right,” Alex lectures her eldest as she picks her way through the carnage. She nudges one body with the toe of her combat boot, then shoots him through the temple when he groans.

“Mama!” Piotr gapes at her, expression scandalized. He sputters, looking between her and the body at her feet.

“Chto? Vy khotite yego zhivym? Chtoby on mog dolozhit' svoim khozyayevam? Chtoby on mog obrushit' adskiy ogon' na etu shkolu i vsekh, kogo vy lyubite? No –no.” She holds up her index finger and stares sternly at Piotr when he tries to argue. “You do not leave enemies on your six o’clock, medvezhonok. First rule of survival.”

Piotr swallows hard, then says softly, “X-Men do not kill.”

Alex shrugs. “And I am not an X-Man.”

“We’ll handle it,” Nathan says. He holds his hand out for Alex’s rifle, nodding when she hands it to him after a moment’s hesitation.

(Wade and Frank are already working their way through the sea of dead and wounded. Frank’s traversing the chaos methodically, sticking to minimal shots to kill the survivors, while Wade’s alternating between singing “Dancing Queen” and getting post-mortem revenge.

“You shot my dick off inside!” Wade gasps as he peers down at a –slightly chewed on—corpse. “Extra bullets for you!” He then shoots the dead body several times before resuming his pitchy serenade.)

“What now?” Allison asks, staring out at the carnage with a slightly shocked expression.

“‘What now?’” Artemis repeats, laughing incredulously. She stomps towards Allison, pulling a pack of tissues out of her inner jacket pocket. “What the hell are you even doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the safe room—”

“They had cameras in there,” Allison says with a roll of her eyes, as if that justifies her decision to join the fracas. “You guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“We would’ve handled it.”

“Yeah, except you weren’t,” Allison fires back. She scrunches up her face when Artemis starts wiping the blood off her face, but otherwise takes the mothering without any complaint.

“It’s not your responsibility to deal with this shit,” Artemis says, voice and expression softening for a moment. She cleans up Allison’s face –then scowls. “And where the fuck are your cuffs? How did you even get out of them?”

Allison shrugs. “I used my powers to short the repression cuff out and ash it off.”

Illyana’s, Alex’s, and your uncle’s heads all snap around to stare at Allison.

“Are you kidding me?” Artemis hisses through clenched teeth. “You could’ve fucking killed yourself!”

“Or caused magical paradox that ripped hole in space-time continuum,” Illyana snaps.

“Ruptured blood vessels in your brain and caused an aneurysm, made the cuff deliver a lethal electrical shock, turned your magic against your own body and rendered yourself to ash,” your uncle continues, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Well, I didn’t do any of that!” Allison snarls, glaring at the others while Artemis keeps cleaning up her face. “And I made sure you losers won the fight –so fuck off!”

“Get her something to eat and drink,” Alex says. “Her blood sugar is bound to be low after pulling a stunt like that.”

Artemis glares at Alex and opens her mouth to respond—

Across the yard, Wade lets out a pained shriek. “My balls are not fetch toys! Bad Fido! Bad!”

Your eyes widen as you watch one of the hellhounds swing Wade around by his legs. You bite down on your lip, holding in a shock-induced laugh.

“Where’s this mutt’s off-switch –hey, hey! No!” Wade wriggles in the hellhound’s mouth, panicking as another beast bounds towards him. “My spine is not a tug toy! Can someone get rid of Fido and Rufus before they rip me in half!”

Allison snorts –then, before anyone can stop her, holds out her hand and flicks her wrist.

All four hellhounds melt back into the ground, disappearing to the depths of hell from whence they came.

Artemis swears under her breath, then catches the teen when she stumbles. She moves frantically, grabbing more tissues as blood starts pouring out of Allison’s nose once more. “You fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? When are you going to fucking learn that you’re not invincible—”

Allison lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh –then passes out.

…

The wreckage inside the mansion is heartbreaking.

You stare at the ruined furniture, the scorched walls, the splintered doors, the ruined rec room and kitchen, and you have to wonder what was the fucking point?

Part of you understands that the mafia came prepared for war; they were going up against powerful mutants, so –naturally—they would want to be prepared. Having the strongest, most powerful weapons available increased their chances of success. Logically –from a strictly tactical standpoint—it makes sense.

Glass crunches under your shoes. You stare down at a litany of fallen picture frames, heart wrenching as you stare at the ruined pictures of graduates, students, and workers inside. We’re just a school. We work with kids. What was the point of trying to wipe us out?

Piotr ambles up behind you. He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Cleaners and repairmen will be here in less than one hour.”

You feel numb. You place your hand on his arm. “That’s good.”

“We have back ups of pictures,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek. “Insurance to cover replacing damaged items. We will be fine.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back against your husband’s chest. “We’re just a school. What… what was the point? Why try to wipe us out?”

“I do not know.” Piotr kisses your other cheek, hugging you reassuringly. “Perhaps they believed we knew information about ‘family business.’ Or that we were protecting Allison for some reason.”

“She’s just a kid,” you argue, voice breaking as your grief and exhaustion wells up and threatens to overtake you. “She’s only thirteen…”

Piotr says nothing, merely holds you closer.

You sigh—

And then a door slams. Hurried stomps echo down the hall. There’s creaking as a door opens again, followed by more footsteps and exasperated shouts.

Allison storms past you and Piotr, heading towards the kitchen. Her jaw is set, fists clenched at her sides.

You and Piotr look at each other –then follow after her, if only to be sure that nothing else is going to explode today.

She slams her hands down on the island counter –and, on the opposite side, Frank and Karen both flinch and stare at her warily.

Allison glares at Frank, jaw working convulsively. Her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, making the bags underneath seem darker and deeper by comparison. She trembles, expression flickering wildly between grief, white hot rage, and the neutral mask she’s trying so desperately to hold. She sucks in a breath that sounds more like a pained sob, then stares Frank down and spits out through gritted teeth, “You leave my people alone, I leave yours alone. Deal?”

Frank sighs. He nods, expression heavy with grief and eyes shining with remorse. “Yeah, kid. You got a deal.”

Allison clenches the edge of the island so hard her hands go white. She lets out a strangled, angry laugh as the tears finally start to fall. She ducks her head briefly, then glares back up at Frank. “I fucking hate you.”

Frank grimaces, but nods and says, “I know kid. It’s okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That ain’t worth shit.”

“I know… believe me, I know.”

Artemis –who’d previously been watching at the kitchen threshold—steps forward and puts her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Allison clenches her teeth together, but still lets out a choked sob. She presses her lips together, looking around the room to try and regain her composure, to stop the flow of tears. She manages a deep breath, then takes one last look at Frank and snarls, “If I have to see your fucking face again, I’m ripping out your guts,” before storming out of the room.

Frank, to his credit, doesn’t respond (though you suspect he feels too guilty to even consider arguing). He merely hangs his head, expression that of a kicked dog.

Karen leans against him. She interlocks her fingers with his, murmuring in his ear (likely about how it isn’t his fault, and while it looks like that may technically be the case, you’re glad you don’t have to walk the spider’s silk of a line those facts lie upon).

What a shitshow.

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders and gently leads you out of the kitchen. “Come on, myshka. Let’s go find spot to rest.”

…

Frank and Karen leave shortly after “making the deal” with Allison.

Allison and Artemis hang back for a bit to talk to Xavier. You don’t get all the gorey details but from what you can tell, it’s essentially an offer to help train Allison’s powers so she doesn’t hurt herself rolled in with a warning to keep her nose clean, stay on the straight and narrow, etcetera etcetera.

The sun’s just starting its descent from the sky before the two of them walk out of the meeting room.

Allison is wearing Artemis’s jacket and looks downright haggard.

Artemis has her arm around the teen and is gently guiding her while she talks to Xavier (though, perhaps the term “talk” is too generous, considering most of her responses are nods or terse, one-to-two word replies).

The rest of the Rasputin family, you, Piotr, and your uncle are all gathered in the foyer to make sure Allison and Artemis leave without too much trouble (or causing more trouble themselves).

Your uncle is sweating bullets and looks like he just shit his pants; he’s glancing between Alex and their daughter so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t given himself a headache yet.

Now or never, you think, watching him with pursed lips. Tell your secrets before they’re told for you.

Alex kneels down next to Allison. “Are you okay?”

Allison’s gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “The fuck do you think?”

She quirks her mouth to the side. “Not all that good.” Alex ducks her head lower, trying to catch Allison’s gaze. “You remember what we talked about?”

Allison’s eyes narrow. She moves her gaze away from Alex. “Go to hell. I know what I know.”

“Sometimes… it’s better to not,” Alex says. She stares at Allison for a moment longer, then pats her shoulder before standing and walking away.

Artemis stares after Alex, expression morphing rapidly between fury and shock. She sputters for a moment before snapping, “What –that’s all you have to fucking say?”

Alex pauses, turning slightly so she can see Artemis. She raises one eyebrow, otherwise looking unbothered. “Is there something else I should be saying?”

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” Artemis presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you want me to say to you?” Alex fires back, smirking slightly.

Artemis stares at Alex for a long, hard moment. She shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears, then turns her glare onto your uncle. “You really didn’t fucking tell her.”

“What?” Alex’s expression sobers, going wary as she looks between your uncle and Artemis. “What didn’t you—”

“This really isn’t the time or place—” Your uncle tries.

And here it goes.

“I’ve gotta do all the work, then,” Artemis snarls with a vicious smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, considering I’m not your favorite,” she tacks on with an angry glare towards you. She storms towards Alex, one hand outstretched, with a cruel, angry smile stretched across her face. “Hey, mom. How’s it going?”

Alex’s eyes widen. She stares at Artemis, eyes tracking over the younger woman’s face. “What…”

“You fucking heard me.”

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail look at each other, then at Alex, then at Nikolai. They explode into confused Russian, gesturing between their parents, Artemis, and your uncle—

Realization dawns in Alex’s dark eyes. Her expression trembles, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at Artemis’s face.

And then she uses her telekinesis to yank your uncle over and decks him.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #nathan summers x wade wilson #frank castle x karen page #alexandra rasputin x nikolai rasputin #love me some soap opera style drama #and frankly so does marvel #and honestly if marvel can have whatever tf infinity war and endgame were i can have this #probably shouldn't have built alex's whole backstory and have it be outside the scope of this series bUT OH WELL #deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

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cobertaddict · 2 years

Note

My day was alright. I finally drove home after an unexpectedly extended visit at my family's place. Now, I have to face uni reality again when I actually only want to listen to music and read lol

I'm also feeling a bit empty since my brother had a car crash at New year's Eve. Luckily he's alright and up and about again already. But it had left me quite burdened because I had to take care of everything while my parents were worried for my brother (and the insurance and stuff). I'm not sure if my way of showing love by unburdening everyone else so that they can be soft and emotional is really seen. I'm often seen as the moralistic one who expects a lot of herself and the people close to her, but nobody seems to see when I just keep quiet because I do care about stuff apart from doing things right. And I do love. It just shows differently. I'm not cold-hearted and I hope my brother and my parents were able to see that.

But that was not particularly about my day today, so I'm sorry 😅 It was more about my start of the year but it's part of me feeling a bit hollow so I hope you endured my rambling. I hope you had a great day. Take care!

First off, do not apologize my dear friend! There's no need to apologize for speaking your mind and unleasing a burden of stress, that's what I'm here for. So, you should not feel compelled to say sorry, I'm happy you got this all out rather than repress it. And I'm more than happy to provide a listening ear.

Secondly, I hope your brother continues to get better and has a speedy recovery. I'm sorry you have to deal with the aftermath and the stress of the situation. You handling the situation of your brother shows many admirable traits about you I must say. For one, it's shows great responsibility, courage, and maturity. I know many people who would hesitate taking on the responsibility role to help out in a situation like yours. And just thinking of handling insurance companies and such is giving me a headache & anxiety, and I must applaud you for that. Secondly, it shows you love. You love very deeply I would say. And no, you are not cold-hearted, you're far from it. Anyone who stands up to the responsibilities of life for their family demonstrates great love. Displaying love does not always include saying those three little words, 'I love you', or hugs or even kisses. It's often expressed, and more loudly, through actions; and in this case through an act of service. I'm sure your family notices, and appreciates, your great effort of helping out during this difficult time. I certainly recognize your love and expression of it for your family when reading your message. It takes a lot for someone to take on such a burden, especially before returning to school, and I'm proud of you for doing so when not many people would stand up to the responsibility.

It's times like this I wish I wasn't some stranger typing away on the other end of the world. If I were to see you in person right now, I would hand you a cup of tea (or alcohol of your choice 😅 it's up to you & you deserve it either way lol), and pat you on the back and tell you everything will be alright and I'm proud of you. Despite your 2022 starting off badly, I hope it only gets better from here and this was just a terrible storm before a rainbow. I'm wishing the best for you and your family. I'm sending you virtual hugs and hope things get better before the new uni semester begins. Stay strong my friend 💕 :)

Here's some cobert cuteness to cheer ya up (because you deserve it!)

#love ya and i hope things get better for you soon :) 💕

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shadowqueen1220 · 3 years

Note

as someone who very much do had the gifted kid experience, you’re statement has just made me realize that you’re one hundred percent correct- i would love hearing your specific thoughts on it 👀

Anon I love you and thank you so much for letting me do this you have made my day!

Disclaimer: all rp stuff and I'm talking about the characters and the plot lol

This got super long so it's under the cut

Okay so starting out from the beginning of L'manburg,,Tubbo helped Wilbur and Tommy bc they asked and he even went above and beyond what they asked of him (blaze rods, villagers and end crystals) and joined the revolution. Already we have the overachieving and can't really say no part of his character down.

I think during Eret's betrayal is such an ignored part of the lore and honestly I don't blame everyone bc it's been forever and Eret has mostly redeemed themselves but I feel like having someone you look up to dissapoint you is another gifted kid experience.

Next fast forwarding to the elections, tubbo's hope for the best plan for the worst thing may just be paranoia from war but his need to be prepared for anything and everything also reminds me of gifted kids.

Finally the schlatt administration where I think it all piles up. He's secretary of state and a spy, he can't say no and he's overbooked himself and was under a lot stress where his superiors constantly berate him and his told that he has to repress his emotions and so this era really set the base for tubbo we know now.

Quick note, during this era we see how tubbo's "yes man" attitude, formally a help to the revolution now becomes a hindrance and now I'm thinking how tubbo's trauma response is usually fawn compared to tommy's fight and ranboo's flight

Okay and then the execution like that allow as traumatizing and all but tubbo immediately forgives technoblade bc that's was he's expected to do and he represses it again and moves on with life, wilbur even calls tubbo mature because of this

Tubbo being painted as responsible and mature really comes together with his presidency. At first everything is alright bc things are going well. However, he is easily talked over and never really stands up for himself and his cabinet notices this and tends to take advantage of this and this all comes together with the exile arc

The exile arc from tommy's pov is heartbreaking but it's also tragic from tubbo's pov where he feels so much guilt for all his mistakes but has to be the president so he can't show anything and he is blamed for all the problems but can't and won't defend himself bc he really does blame himself. When he finds out tommy is "dead" he represses it and is busy trying to distract hismelf and when he finds out that tommy is now working with technoblade it is just one for thing he has to accept now.

It just keeps getting worse from here as he is yelled at for everything he does in the battle of the community house and at this point tubbo agrees that he is a bad president. Everyone always glosses over that Dream admitted to manipulating Tubbo but even tubbo himself hadn't processed that. He blames himself for the destruction of L'manburg and thinks he is the worst president of L'manburg bc of his failures.

At first tubbo making snowchester seemed out of character. However, it shows that technoblade was unable to teach tubbo that government was bad bc tubbo like most gifted kids have had it easy education wise so they have trouble when they actually hit a road block. So tubbo does what he does best, which is take things logically so he starts from his mistakes and tries again. I think that is very admirable of him but shows how desperate he is for a stable home that will stay.

Finally the disc war finale. He is goes into the battle projecting hopefullness for tommy's sake when in reality is convinced he is going to die. When tommy offers him a space to express how he's feeling, tubbo does not take the opportunity. When dream offers the ultimatum, he is ready to die bc in his eyes he has done enough with his life and is surprised when tommy places value in his life. The disc war finale gave us a glimpse into how truamatized tubbo really is from all of the events on the server. However, right after the war he goes back to repressing everything that happened and puts all of his effort into defending what he has.

It is also interesting to note how child like tubbo acted when put under the influence of the egg but I realized I have rambled alot so to sum it all up:

C! Tubbo is the former burnt out gifted kid who has repressed and internalized everything to the point where his quiet acceptance of the horrible things happening around him makes him seem "mature" and fit for leadership roles as a result, he has so many problems but since he doesn't express his emotions often, they are brushed aside and it seems he will never get the support he needs.

I actually would love to contrast this with c!tommy who is like the kid who society has abandoned bc he doesn't cope in the way society views as acceptable,,he's loud he's brash and rude and violent at times but that makes him resilient and has kept him alive in the cruel world.

It's actually interesting to consider the similarities between tommy and tubbo.

They both lack the "maturity" to express their thoughts in a clever way that makes others around them understand their thinking and reasoning.

Their world views violence as a commonplace so that their developing views of morality just get so skewed and they can't find their place in the world,,,and therefore have carved out their own little places (ie snowchester and hotel)

I totally rambled and I apologise but I have so much thoughts about the clingyduo as characters and just the dream smp lore as a whole bc it is so cool thank you for letting me talk about this

#dream smp analysis #tubbo #dream smp #tw trauma mention #tommyinnit #clingy duo #c! tubbo asks #c! tubbo

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darling-dummy-blogs · 3 years

Text

A Dummy's Heartbreak- Victor Li (PT 1)

Summary: Cassie and Victor broke up 4 months ago and haven't spoken to or seen each other since they went their separate ways. The day of their anniversary comes around and after realizing the importance of the day, Cassandra is hit with intense and conflicting emotions. She ends up irrationally calling Victor and admits...

Paring: Victor Li x Cassie (OC)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of break-up and alcohol use.

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen's Choice

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes:

Backstory; After Cassie and Victor broke up, Cassie left Loveland City and moved back to her hometown, she found a job at a production company and lives in her (now deceased) parent’s house with her aunt (who took over as the head of the house to care for Cassie’s younger siblings after their parent's death ( and yes she has siblings))

This part will be Cassie’s POV (1st Person View)

Here it is! The first part! So Sorry for the delay! I appreciate in all the support everyone has given me to write this piece and I'm feeling even more encouraged to write more again! Enjoy the angsty ride my lovelies! <3

Today was just not my day.

As it usually isn’t. The week was barely starting and I already felt as though the weekend needed to arrive quicker. Although...To be fair, everything has been a mess ever since he walked out of my life...

To start off, I missed my alarm this morning. What a great way to start the day...

I quickly rushed to get ready and ran straight to work, feeling frantic and anxious for being late. Only to see that work had begun to pile up on my desk. Just by looking at the huge pile of papers, I already felt drained.

“Looks like I might be working late tonight…” I muttered to myself and held back a resigned sigh and frowned.

“Cassie! How come you were late? Everything okay?” A voice, filled with concern suddenly spoke out, making me snap out of my thoughts to find where the voice came from, only to look at one of my co-workers, Lillian, who just so happened to also be a close friend of mine.

Me and Lillian were friends in high school, we had connected and bonded pretty well, she was like a sister to me. However after we graduated, we sadly lost contact.

I didn’t think I’d get to see her again, however when I started working for this production company just a few months back, I found out that she worked here too. We instantly connected again. It felt as though we never lost contact.

I gave her a small exasperated smile as I shook my head dismissively, sitting down at my desk which was across from hers.

“Ah.. everything is fine, I just slept through my alarm this morning. That’s all, no need to worry about me.”

“No need? You know, I always worry about you silly.” She frowned, she held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands, setting one down on my desk for me.

I let out a breath of relief giving her a small nod, as thanks for the coffee. I didn’t have time to stop for breakfast or get some coffee. I let out a small laugh. “You sound just like my mother. I’m okay, there isn’t anything to worry about.” I gazed at her, taking a sip of the coffee she gave me.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile replaced her frown, “I might as well be your mother, because you gave me a scare!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m sorry.” I gave her a sweet smile and pleading eyes. “Forgive me?”

“...Fineeee, you’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again!” She huffed, lightly ruffling my hair. I nodded with a grin, “You got it. It won’t happen again. Come on, let's start work before the boss scolds us for slacking. Wouldn’t want to set her off now would we?”

I giggled out as I mustered up my courage and got to work immediately, Lillian did the same, her face now filled with less concern and more happiness.

This is where my day suddenly takes a turn for the worse…

I tried my hardest to get through the heavy workload throughout the seemingly long day, however my mind kept slipping up and I gradually kept making mistakes over and over again. Now the day was almost over and yet I still had piles of paperwork to sort through.

I let out a huff as I stared down at my work, feeling frustrated.

Lillian looked up from her seat, seeing my frustrated gaze. She spoke out to me in a gentle tone. “Cass? You okay?”

I looked up at her, after a moment, running my fingers through my hair as I nodded slowly after a moment of silence. “Y-Yeah.. I’m just.. frustrated that I’m noticing more errors… I don’t understand why I’m like this today… I’m not usually like this…” I let out a heavy sigh as I rested my head on the desk, shutting my eyes.

What could it be…? Why am I feeling so weird today...?

“Is something on your mind, maybe?” She stood up from her desk, walking over to mine, leaning against it as she gently stroked my hair, knowing that it was something to help soothe me whenever I felt down and anxious.

“I… I honestly don’t know….” I muttered quietly, I then looked up, resting my chin on the desk, my eyes trailed across the clutter of stuff around me, frowning as I tried to figure out what was truly bugging me. My eyes then land on the calendar.

I eyed the month. June…

“Lillian…” I suddenly croaked out, my voice coming out as a mere whisper. “What is today’s date?”

“June 1st … Why do you ask?” She spoke clearly, confusion evident in her voice.

Crap… How could I forget about this day….

A sudden wave of sadness hit me, and I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, I blinked them back as I looked away, sniffling.

Lillian immediately noticed something was wrong and grew concerned once again. “Cassandra… What's wrong?”

I took a moment, shutting my eyes tightly, wiping at the oncoming tears. It’s only been 4 months but it still hurts… I let out a shaky breath, clearing my throat as I gazed at her. “Today is… mine and my ex’s three year anniversary today. We broke up four months ago… It still hurts… I-I’m sorry…”

My voice became hoarse as I tried holding back sobs. Lillian frowned as she then pulled me into a warm embrace, she rubbed my back, she then spoke out. “I am so sorry to hear that… I never knew you were even in a relationship before… why didn’t you tell me about that?”

I sniffled, hugging her back after a moment I spoke out again. “The pain was still too fresh… It was hard to talk about him with anyone.” I let out a small sob before continuing.

“W-When… When I came back home, it was just days after the break up. I moved back into my parent’s house and into my old room… and it was harder because I brought my ex back to my home nearly every holiday and special occasion… We made memories there with my family… It hurt so much…”

My voice became a whisper, she listened silently as I rambled on. “And what makes this worse is, I still love him. I miss him so much… But since the day we broke up, I have not spoken to or seen him in four months…”

I shut my eyes, sobbing quietly against her, hiding my face from her view. I couldn’t bear to look up and see her sad expression, it would only add more fuel to my sadness.

“H-he meant the world to me… I thought I would be with him f-forever… It h-hurts so much...” My voice trailed off, all the repressed emotions I’ve tried holding back all those months ago came rushing out in quiet sobs and rivers of tears.

Lillian continuously stroked my back, before speaking gently. “I know it hurts, it will hurt for awhile and that’s okay. You need your time to heal…” After a pause she added.

“Why don’t you head home? You look like you could use the rest and working right now isn’t what is best for you. I can cover the rest of your work and I’ll tell the boss to hold on the workload for you, okay?”

I tried to compose myself. Shaking my head, stubbornly. As much as she was right, I needed to do something today, anything to keep my mind from wandering back to him and this day. “N-no… No I can’t ask that of you…”

“But I want to. You clearly need the day off to cope. Throwing yourself into work isn’t going to help you Cassie.” She looked down at me with a serious expression.

Hah… at that moment, she reminded me of him. That was something he often told me when he felt as though I was overworking myself. At times, I did.

But only because I wanted to make him proud…

I wiped at my tears, giving her a small smile, as I gave in. “Alright…” I spoke in a soft tone, my voice barely coming out due to all the crying I just did.

She released me from her hold as I gathered up my belongings, gazing at her once again with a bittersweet smile. “Thanks Lillian, I owe you one. I’ll see you later.” After waving my goodbyes to her as I left the office with my head hung low.

Not wanting others to see my depressed state, I quietly yet quickly made my way back home, thankful that the office was just a good twenty minute walk from my home grabbing my keys from my bag. I walked in.

The house was quiet, which was a good thing. It meant my aunt wasn’t home. Although I had already known that she wouldn’t be home.

I moved in with my aunt four months ago when I returned after leaving Loveland. I was grateful that my aunt took over the house after my parent’s passing. She took care of my younger siblings when I couldn’t. I was forever grateful that she was so accepting of me coming home.

If it wasn’t for her… I wouldn’t have a place to live.

However, I knew she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow; She was out of town on business and left the house to me for a few days. I let out a breath as I dropped my belongings on the table, dragging my feet into the living room, plopping down onto the soft cushion of the couch, staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Unsure of what to do to occupy my time.

The more I stared up at the ceiling in silence, the more I got trapped in my thoughts. He began to fill my head once again. I shut my eyes, feeling the build up of my tears once again. No. Not again.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about him?!” I spoke out loud, my voice echoing throughout the large room, I was beginning to grow frustrated rather than sad at this point.

I lightly tugged on my hair, as I tried to compose my emotions which were only drastically changing with every thought and memory I made with Victor. As if that wasn’t enough, images began to flash within my mind.

His soft smile…

His loving gaze…

Hearing his gorgeous laugh and the way he’d affectionately call me a “dummy” every time I did something silly or stupid. Oh how I wish I could hear him call me a dummy one more time...

I really am just a dummy… A dummy still hopelessly in love with him

I didn’t even realize the tears that began flowing down my face once again.

Goddamn you, Victor Li. Why did you make me fall so hopelessly in love with you?!

Peeling myself off of the couch, I made my way over to the kitchen, the only way to drown my sorrows and feelings for him was with alcohol. I didn’t even care if it was too early in the week for this.

I need to get him out of my head.

I sniffled as I pulled out a wine glass and a large bottle of red wine. I then made my way back to the living room, sitting myself down once again, filling my cup to the brim of the glass before turning on the tv. I needed distractions. Maybe playing a movie will help.

After scrolling through what seemed like countless channels, I settled on a random movie. It wasn’t like I was going to pay much attention to it. I’m too busy crying my eyes out. I took large sips of wine, my eyes still blurred with tears.

No matter how much I drank, he still was on my mind. Even the alcohol didn’t seem to help me in my time of need. I downed what seemed like my fourth or fifth glass. I didn’t bother to keep track. Setting down the now empty glass on the table, I laid down, curling up on the couch, my head suddenly spinning. I let out a small groan.

Perhaps having too much wine after crying so much probably wasn’t a good idea… I rubbed at my eyes, drying up my tears. After a moment of regaining my eyesight, my eyes gazed over to my phone, laying flat on the table beside the glass.

...Should I call him…?

No… No I shouldn’t. We haven’t spoken since we split. It would just be weird to suddenly contact him out of the blue after everything that happened between us.

As much as I knew my mind was trying to be rational and reasonable about the situation. I couldn’t stop my hand from grabbing my phone, scrolling through my contacts and finding his contact. I took a shuddering breath before pressing the call button.

My heart anxiously churned within my chest, as I sat up properly, chewing on my fingernails while the phone rang… and rang.

It kept ringing. I began to think that maybe he would not answer. He probably blocked my number or something… Yet, on the last ring, he picked up.

There was a moment of silence before a quiet voice could be heard on the other end.

“Hello…?”

My heart skipped a beat, I swallowed as I tried to muster up the words to speak. What am I doing?! Why did I think this was a good idea!? Gosh, I really am an idiot…

I scolded myself mentally, as I shakily spoke out. “H-hey… Hey Victor.” I took a pause, before adding. “I-It’s been awhile…”

“It has… Why did you suddenly call me, Cassie…?” His voice came out soft but it also had a hint of sadness to it. Was that just my imagination..? Is he still hurting too?

“I-....” I swallowed, tears filling up my eyes. “I just….” My voice wavered. In order to feel better, I needed to tell him.

“I Miss You. I Miss Us..."

Author's Note: Part 2 will be out hopefully by the end of today if not Thursday morning! It will be in Victor's POV and will include more detail about why they broke up! Thanks for Reading <3

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mr love victor #victor mlqc #mlqc angst #mr love queen's choice

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years

Text

cause after all this time (i’m still into you) - taywhora

so i finally finished this fic and it came out LONG for me but we got there and i'm very proud of it and happy to get more taywhora out so enjoy this domestic fluff roommates to lovers fic they're a bit dumb <3

thanks to pink-grapefruit-cafe for betaing :) love ya lottie

title from still into you

ao3 link

Before they were living together, A’whora thought Tayce to be flawless. Literally, where were the flaws? It wasn’t that she had any issues, far from it, but she had one vulnerability and she rarely showed it.

She was terrified of bugs. More specifically, spiders but any insect around her and A’whora could see the sense of unease in her eyes.

It took a screaming Tayce bolting into her room to take her eyes off her sewing machine. The noise made her jump, messing up a stitch in the action. Her roommate stared at her, eyes wide with a mix of fear and shock.

“A’whora! I went to get in the shower but there's a spider in there, can you please get rid of it.”

A’whora stared back blankly, shrugging before returning her attention to her work. As much as she wanted to help Tayce at any opportunity, her work held most of her attention at this time of day.

“Don’t ignore me, lass! Please, Aurora.” The pleading tone in her voice caught her off guard. A’whora frowned, she wasn’t keen on bugs but she could throw a shoe at a spider if it pleased Tayce. It helped that she was utterly adorable, nervously staying behind her as they walked to the bathroom to get rid of it.

“Fucking hell! It’s huge.” A’whora recoiled, she’d expected something stupid like a daddy -ong-legs but this spider was around the size of her hand. Staring it down made her feel nervous but the terrified Tayce muttering words of encouragement made her remembered what she was doing this for.

She held the shoe in her hand, whacking the creature with all the pent-up fury she had from years of repressed lesbianism. She hit it repeatedly for good measure, glancing over at Tayce to gauge her reaction before erupting in giggles at the shock on her face.

“Fuck, you look like you need therapy.”

“Don’t we all?”

A’whora glanced back at the mangled corpse of the bug, she cleared it up with some toilet roll to her disgust. Picking pieces of dead spider wasn’t her ideal Thursday afternoon activity but seeing the gratefulness of Tayce’s face made it worth it.

“Oh, you’re such a doll. Thanks ‘Rory you’re a lifesaver.” With the affectionate nickname, Tayce pressed her lips to A’whora’s cheek before heading off to prepare for her shower.

Oh. She enjoyed that a little too much.

---

Tayce was a private person by nature. She was fine with being expressive, it was something she couldn’t control. But she didn’t let people push past her boundaries. It had worked for a long time until A’whora came around and melted everything with a flutter of her lashes.

She’d never admit it, and risk boosting such an ego, but Tayce’s weakness was the rude blonde she lived with. Something about her felt comfortable. She was home, someone Tayce never felt a need to fake things around. If she wasn’t into a conversation or just wanted to be alone, A’whora understood. Sometimes she got lonely, it was something that went unspoken for months. Just the occasional day where Tayce was all over A’whora much to the latters annoyance.

For her part, A’whora never pushed her away. She’d whine a bit about not being able to do her work before returning the attention and trying to keep down a smile when Tayce would lay her head on her shoulder, quietly making her desires known before wrapping her arms around her waist to pull her into a long embrace.

You know. Normal friend stuff.

It happened to be one of those days, Tayce could feel herself going too far into her head. She needed someone next to her to take those thoughts away, but A’whora had been complaining about how busy she was for days. Tayce had barely seen her, and it hurt to think that she would shake her off if she went to find her.

She tried to reassure herself, this was ridiculous. She wasn’t dependent on her roommate. She had a life and friends, but something about being with A’whora soothed her to her core. The internal debate kept on, though her feet decided for her as Tayce realised she was stood outside the door of A’whora’s sewing room

She opened the door to see her roommate hunched over her sewing machine, brows furrowed as she concentrated hard on constructing the outfit. The creek of the door caught her attention, her eyes flying to Tayce stood in the doorway.

“You alright there lass?” A’whora looked the woman in front of her up and down. Something felt different but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Tayce walked over silently, perching her head on A’whora’s shoulder as her arms wrapped around her waist. They sat there, soundlessly embracing without much care for the world. A’whora was vaguely aware of the work in front of her but the warmth that Tayce radiated was intoxicating. She could never fight being held by her arms.

“Is today one of those days where you need attention?” Tayce let out a hum of agreement, not quite able to find the words to describe her feelings. A’whora understood enough, lightly pulling at her wrist and leading them to the couch. Her instinct was to reach for a comfort snack, grabbing the jar they kept of Percy Pigs for things like this.

Though she tried to ignore the growing feelings, she wasn’t against something happening between them.

That was an understatement, her heart stammered when A’whora turned to her with a small smile and shining eyes. The smaller girl had a resting bitch face, her natural state was sourer than most people could handle but Tayce never found her looking like that unless she was annoyed. When they were alone she was a different person, so much more sweet and loving than anyone else could know.

She envied how easily A’whora opened up to her, it took some time but she’d fully let Tayce in within a few months of living together. It’d been almost a year and a half and that was still something the brunette struggled with. She wanted to tell A’whora everything, about the loneliness and the way she felt unfulfilled despite her cool demeanour.

“Rory, can I tell you something?”

“Of course, you can tell me, anything babe.”

“You’re the only person who doesn’t make me feel alone.“ Tayce tried not to show hesitation in speaking her feelings, instead, leaning her head into A’whora’s shoulder. The warmth of her roommate was enough to distract from most things going on in her head. Though she loved the affection, A’whora realised it was a defence mechanism. If she couldn’t see a reaction then she wouldn’t have to deal with it. That was an interesting way to think but she wasn’t really in a position to judge.

“Tayce, if you ever feel alone, I’m here alright? We get each other better than anyone else. I’d never let someone I genuinely love feel like shit if I could help.”

Tayce let out a muffled sigh, moving her head to still lean into the blonde’s shoulder but be able to speak clearly.

“Someone you genuinely love huh?” Despite clearly being meant as a quip, Tayce’s voice was far too fond, dripping with so much affection it made A’whora’s heart swell. She was thankful Tayce couldn’t see her reaction from where her head was, she wouldn't live down the blush that took over her face from the comment.

“I love you too, don’t think too hard about it. I can feel you blushing.” Tayce laughed, poking her in the ribs to a delightful giggle from the smaller girl.

It amused her how they’d occasionally get like this, separate from the world stuck in the bliss of each other and yet not wanting to speak a word of their actual feelings. It was painfully obvious there was something between them. Lawrence loved to comment on the sexual tension but Tayce thought it ran deeper than that. There was so much comfort in their relationship, it didn’t make sense to most people.

From how flustered she got, A’whora had to have some kind of feelings for her. Tayce never wanted to pry, she liked where they were at.

Or she was scared to lose it and didn’t want to risk it on the off chance she read it all wrong.

A’whora saw the thoughtful look on Tayce’s face and wanted nothing more than to kiss it off. The timing felt wrong, another day they may have closed the gap but the emotions were too raw. It felt like she would take advantage of her roommate finally letting her feelings out.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. It was late by the time A’whora realised Tayce had fallen asleep, arms still tightly holding her. Moving would be cruel, seeing the taller woman so peaceful was rare. She enjoyed the warmth that Tayce always emitted, it always put her in a near euphoric, calm state. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep with her, content to cuddle like this for a long time.

---

Tayce felt groggy, noting where she was situated on the couch with A’whora in her arms before anything else. She realised they must have fallen asleep at some point, cuddled together in something heart-achingly domestic.

She grabbed her phone, realising it was almost 3 am and that her body would kill if she slept the night on a couch that was too small for her. It could just about fit A’whora when she reclined on it but Tayce’s feet always dangled over the edge uncomfortably.

She lightly tapped A’whora, who let out a sleepy murmur before placing her head back onto Tayce’s chest.

“Get up A’whora, we need to go to bed.”

The smaller girl hummed, finally sitting up. The sight of her rubbing her sleepy eyes was enough to make Tayce want to squeal. Maybe it was the tiredness but she just wanted to hold A’whora close to her until the end of time and hear her let out her little sleepy noises and cuddle into her chest.

The blonde stood up, about to walk to her room before Tayce tugged at her hand.

“No, with me.” Her words came out softer than she meant, her voice tender and tired. A’whora just nodded, letting Tayce lead them to her room and nestle into her bed.

The smaller girl poked her leg with a small laugh, eyes lighting up in amusement at the jeans still on her.

“Are you really going to sleep in jeans?” It took Tayce that long to realise she still had denim clung to her legs. The fatigue had gotten to her, brain too fuzzy to process it. Begrudgingly she got up, throwing some pajamas on, glad the darkness masked her body. She threw a shirt and short A’whora, muttering that she should get changed too.

The darkness wasn’t only hiding Tayce, her roommate held the clothes, sleepily blinking at them before she realised what was happening. She felt grateful that the blush on her face wasn’t visible, the feeling of Tayce’s clothes on her made A’whora’s heart tighten. Soft, little domestic moments that her roommate wouldn’t think about in a few minutes. They were what she cherished most.

The brunette made her way back to the bed, pulling the smaller girl into a tight hug before letting her head settle back onto her chest. She was slipping from consciousness but quietly hoped this wouldn’t be the last time something like this happened. She’d like to sleep next to A’whora more often.

The morning came quicker than either would have liked, wanting nothing more than to stay cuddled up but not ready for the implications that came with that. Tayce woke up first, nestling herself back into the warmth of her bed after attempting to move only to find a sleeping A’whora curled into her.

The blonde didn’t wake up as gracefully, she stirred shortly after but bolted up at the realisation of what had happened. Tayce wanted to put her head back down and cuddle more but the blush that erupted on the other woman's face told her all she needed to know.

“I asked you to, don’t start freaking out and apologising. It’s fine.”

A’whora shrugged, hiding her face in Tayce’s shoulder with a slight grumble. She wasn’t ready to deal with the day and gave in to the warmth the brunette provided.

They got up later, not thrilled to separate but knowing they needed to. The previous night left unspoken. Maybe that was better for now.

---

Though she was just as bad, Tayce found it hilarious how long A’whora took to get ready. It wasn’t because she took a long time doing everything. She just faffed around while getting ready and ended up taking an hour longer than she meant to.

The time wasn’t for nothing, A’whora finally came out of her room looking so beautiful it left Tayce speechless. Her outfit was nice, a black blazer and trousers. It wouldn’t be that amazing on anyone else but the way it fit around her curves made Tayce’s heart speed up. She looked hot, blonde hair in its natural wavy state that looked like it would be euphoric to run her hands through.

“Tayce? You’re awfully quiet there.”

“You look ethereal.”

A’whora looked taken aback by how sincere Tayce sounded. She would tell the smaller woman if something was off but seeing her speechless was something new. She must have done a damn good job.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, when aren’t you breathtaking though.”

“Little old me? Breathtaking? You’re too kind, Aurora.” Tayce played coy, batting her lashes with fake innocence as her roommate let out a soft laugh at the act. It was something she’d do all the time, but that never meant A’whora’s heart would stop fluttering every time she did it.

Taking another glance at her as they prepared to leave, Tayce wondered how she was going to get through a dinner with her notoriously teasing friends and A’whora looking like that. She could hear the remark Lawrence would make about their sexual tension, maybe a small comment from Tia about how, for her namesake, A’whora didn’t look like a whore. The usual fun things.

She’d make it through, somehow.

---

“Christ, Bims, I've never seen you so covered up.”

Tayce was greeted by the sight of a modest-looking Bimini sitting with a few of their other friends as she and A’whora made their way to the table. A modest outfit for them was just not having much skin out, though their legs were still out it was something different.

“Tayce, you look like a rich bitch who’s about to go kill her husband and run off with her new girlfriend. Speaking of the new girlfriend, hey A’whora.” Bimini shot back, the table erupting into laughter at the quip. Tayce glanced at the girl next to her, whose eyes had fallen to the floor trying to hide the blush quickly forming on her cheeks.

“Who me? That’s quite a high compliment. Though I wouldn’t trust this bitch to keep a secret like a murder plot when she can barely keep her mouth shut when someone wears something ugly.”

A’whora laughed at the comment, despite being unable to manage a reply. She huffed a bit, lightly jabbing Tayce with her elbow and praying it came across that she just didn’t care for the joke.

“Oh lord, we can’t go out for anything with these two without the sexual tension following them. How’s that been going for you ladies?” Lawrence interjected, getting another round of laughter from their friends.

“I’m just trying to look at this menu, you all are hounds, get your minds out of the gutter.”

“The only sexual tension Lawrence knows is watching Ellie with her Monster can,” A’whora paused, “and being jealous of the monster can.”

Tayce let out a howl of laughter that caught the attention of their table and the other people surrounding them. She didn’t care for the eyes on them. Her attention was on the blonde looking proud at her joke. There was something about the way A’whora would puff out her chest when she made someone laugh like that, she couldn’t take her eyes off her.

Ellie arrived soon after, utterly bewildered by the taken aback look on Lawrence’s face and the giggles coming from the rest of the table.

“What happened here?”

That was a hard question to answer. No one wanted to out Lawrence’s feelings, though there was nothing else to explain it. Bimini just shrugged, saying something about A’whora being surprisingly funny. Tayce didn’t pay them much attention, she felt a hand make its way onto her thigh. A’whora wasn’t looking at her but she could see the small smile creep its way onto her face as a hand came to rest on top of her own.

The night went pretty easy after that, jokes aplenty but no one paying too much attention to the way Tayce kept sneaking glances at A’whora or the way their hands hadn’t moved until they’d gotten their food and found their way back after.

Bimini had given her a curious look at some point, they clearly knew something but left it unspoken. Tayce didn’t know if she could handle another comment about them looking like a couple and the utterly flustered A’whora that would look to her to throw something back.

She’d have to get A’whora better at handling comments when she was flustered. It was cute how she lost the ability to speak if it was particularly bad, but the brunette hated to always be the one to deny things and keep the banter going.

---

Tayce felt light as A’whora leant against her, sat on a bench in the station waiting for the last train to bring them home. They’d both drunk a little too much, sober enough to walk and talk but minds fuzzy with the wine and a light fog of tiredness. The blonde had her head leant on her shoulder, trying to let her brain rest from attempting to stay social while progressively getting more drunk.

The wine did interesting things to her, it didn’t taste as bad as most alcohol though she still didn’t like it. Drinking enough left her floating, consciousness a little fuzzy but still attentive enough to navigate herself home. Her reaction times slowed, Tayce found this very amusing as she took a second to blink and realise she’d been tapped on the shoulder. It was cute to see the cogs whirring in her brain as things happened around her.

Tayce herself wasn’t near sober either. She could hold herself together better than A’whora but a much softer side of her came out with the wine they’d had with their meals. She wasn’t acting on it but seeing the fuzzy state of her roommate made her want to squeeze her into her arms and protect her from the world. A’whora was always cute but the curious glances she gave everything was enough to make anyone love her.

A’whora felt another poke on her shoulder, turning to see a laughing Tayce mimicking her confused expression before laughing harder.

“Bitch!” The smaller girl shoved her lightly, making Tayce fall into the arm of her chair mid laughter.

They progressively got a little more aggressive with their game. It started with Tayce pushing A'whora back, the latter scurrying off to avoid it before lightly shoving Tayce as she stood up to chase after her. Pushes were punctuated by uncontrolled giggles from the pair as they continued.

Tayce saw a chance to win, shoving A’whora into the wall behind them, leaving her pinned to it with Tayce in her face. She realised the implications of this but the pure look in A’whora’s eyes was enough to sway any doubt. She really was adorable.

Though it took a second to realise exactly where Tayce was and how close their faces were, A’whora moved her hand, running it through Tayce’s hair with a loving smile adorning her face. She leant into Tayce’s hand as it cupped her face, lightly inching their faces closer together until she could the warmth of her breath on her face. There was a slight smell of wine on Tayce’s breath but A’whora knew she had the same. It didn’t dissuade her as Tayce closed the gap, pressing their lips together in a kiss that had been a long time coming.

Things moved, they deepened the kiss, ignoring the world around them. The only thing that A’whora saw was Tayce, her beauty effortless and the loving side spilling out of her the longer they stayed that close.

Tayce jolted out of the kiss eventually, leaving a shocked A’whora frozen to her spot. Tayce grumbled something, whipping around to the train behind them and pulling A’whora in before she had time to blink.

The taller woman let out a sigh of relief as they managed to board just before the train left the station. She turned to the blonde to see her still staring at the door of the train, confused about how quickly everything had transpired.

Tayce pulled her to the seats on the train, sliding into the window seat to let A’whora lean on her. It was then she realised her hair had stayed soft and wavy, and finally listened to her heart and started running her hands through it. A giddy feeling built up as the smaller girl leant into it, such a soft smile on her face that Tayce just wanted to kiss her and get her to grin more and more.

So she did.

Tayce took her face up from its resting place on her shoulder to let them have another go at a long kiss without being interrupted by transport. A’whora leant into it, kissing Tayce back with her heart pounding in her chest.

They broke apart for breath, A’whora’s face in a smitten smile. Something in her eyes was the most tender thing Tayce had ever seen and it made her pull the girl into a tight hug.

“You’re so cute,” She mumbled into the top of A’whora’s head as she cuddled into Tayce.

They stayed entangled together until they had to get off, Tayce peppering A’whora with kisses as she smiled giddily and giggled at the rush of compliments Tayce would spout when they broke apart. It was messy and drunk but that made the feeling feel more sincere. It didn’t have to be perfect, to be kissing A’whora was enough for Tayce to feel like she was levitating.

A’whora was too distracted by the warmth of the taller woman to realise when they pulled into their stop. It took a light tug at her hand for them to get off, though A’whora wrapped her fingers around Tayce’s hand, refusing to let it go. They stayed hand in hand for the short walk home, the blonde was surprised she was walking fine but the cold evening air started to sober her enough to walk straight and navigate with Tayce rather than being pulled along.

Getting in was another matter, the door opened fine but the minute she walked through the door Tayce felt A’whora’s hand leave hers. She wanted to go tug on her hand once more, cuddling into each other in the warmth of her bed but something left her rooted to the floor, staring helplessly as her roommate walked into her room.

Or she would have, had she not noticed Tayce still stood in the doorway staring at her.

“Tayce? You just gonna stand there? At least make sure you take your makeup off.”

The sudden words made her jolt up, realising she was still fully dressed with a full face of makeup planning to faceplant into her bed. A’whora took the initiative to take the lead for once, leading the taller girl by hand into their bathroom and handing her some makeup wipes before getting to work on her face.

It proved to be a difficult task, Tayce leaning over to kiss her as she took it off and getting her lipstick on her cheek every time.

“Tayce! If you want to kiss me at least take your lipstick off first.”

“Oh so if I take it off I can kiss you as much as I want?”

“Yes just stop leaving lipstick on my face.”

Tayce turned to her with a sly grin, pressing her lips to her cheek once more but making sure to make a mess of it, placing softer kisses across her face with a giggle. The annoyance A’whora felt subsided with the quiet laughter that bubbled out of Tayce. She couldn’t be mad at anyone that cute.

Thankfully the brunette began to take off her makeup, focusing on that rather than pestering her roommate. It didn’t take long for the tables to turn, as A’whora turned to her after finishing with an unreadable expression.

“You’re so pretty. You’re so fucking pretty.” Her words sounded completely smitten, something Tayce was sober enough to notice but nowhere near brave enough to address.

“You think so? Like this? I wouldn’t call sitting in the bathroom tipsy with no makeup on my best moment” Tayce let out a soft hum, she felt pretty all of the time but of all the times to comment on it why now? Why while they were still tipsy and with her freshly taken off makeup, she didn’t feel particularly pretty, but the look in A’whora’s eyes said everything she needed to know.

“Yeah, I like your freckles,” A’whora said quietly, moving to place a soft kiss on Tayce’s cheek before making a daring dart for her lips.

It was different from before, they were both sober enough to know exactly what they were doing but neither wanted to stop it. Tayce wrapped her arms around A’whora’s shoulders to steady them as they deepened the kiss.

When they parted, A’whora let out a soft yawn, reminding Tayce of the time, and the fact they were both tired from everything. She picked up the smaller woman, carrying her over to her bed, throwing some pajamas at her, and cuddling into her when they both were changed out of their smart clothes.

Lying there with A’whora curled into her side was when she realised something. She’d avoided her feelings for this long, not reading into things. But being here with her felt so right. All the kisses and little compliments they’d thrown at each other over the night making them both feel warm and fuzzy inside.

She wanted this, to fall asleep next to the blonde and wake up to her, groggy with sleep and not wanting to get up just yet. She wanted them to stay in bed, cuddle up and maybe doze off and sleep more if the day allowed it.

She wanted A’whora. That was all Tayce needed.

The smaller girl hadn’t spoken a word since they cuddled up together, her breathing was quiet and rhythmic, she looked to be sleeping, so Tayce didn’t mind speaking her thoughts.

“I love you.”

A’whora didn’t respond at first, continuing to stay put in her spot in Tayce’s arm before she got a muffled reply.

“I love you too.”

---

Tayce felt her heart flutter at the sight before her when she awoke. A’whora was cuddled into her side, head laid on her chest with an arm flung over her stomach. Her leg followed suit, flopped over Tayce’s, locking her into a close position that she didn’t have the heart to disturb.

She wanted to soak in the warmth of the person cuddled with her but the sharp headache became more obvious the more she sat there. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to get pretty drunk on wine but it ended well enough. Her memories were fuzzy but she could make sense of it all. They’d kissed. A lot. Tayce wished she could feel the sensation sober but that carried too many implications for her hungover brain to handle.

There was one downside to sleeping next to A’whora, she was a light sleeper. Tayce knew the minute she tried to get up no matter how careful she was, the smaller woman would groan about it being too early and proceed to notice what had happened. She couldn’t find it in herself to deal with that right then and there but the throbbing in her head demanded her attention anyway.

Sliding her way out of A’whora’s grasp hurt. She wanted nothing more than to pull her in further, pepper her with soft kisses to wake her up, and stare at her adorable sleepy face.

Somehow Tayce had avoided waking her up, maybe the alcohol had taken a toll on her too. Whatever happened she’d complain about it soon enough, it would be for her own benefit if Tayce grabbed her a bottle of water with the painkillers she was getting.

A’whora started to wake up with Tayce out of the room. She felt like something was missing. Someone. Her tired mind couldn’t quite figure it out but the sound of someone walking into the room was enough to satisfy her, grabbing for the person as she sat on the bed.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Tayce murmured as A’whora leant over to go back to cuddling into her. She assumed the smaller girl was still asleep but the way she nuzzled into her chest and let out a muffled yawn.

“Rory?” Tayce felt her heart start to race. She was awake, she’d heard Tayce calling her cute and was making the conscious decision to stay cuddled into her.

Looks like she’d have to deal with this, no matter how prepared she was.

A’whora let out a hum of acknowledgement that Tayce felt vibrate into her chest. Her position was going to make any attempts at conversation a lot harder.

“Tayce? Cuddle me.” Finally letting out some words, the blonde curled up closer to her. Tayce felt her heart skip a beat as it came out as a muffled whine. Not a question, not the demand she might have meant it as, a quiet question that pulled at her heart that was followed with a sleepy sigh that melted it.

“I will, but you need to take these pain killers for me, this hangover will kill you when you wake up properly.”

Tayce laughed at the face A’whora pulled as she begrudgingly moved from her position to take them. She grumbled something incoherent before looking at Tayce with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

She leant over, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before going back to her place on Tayce’s chest.

A’whora kissed her like it was nothing. Was it something? Was Tayce overthinking it? Absolutely, but that wasn’t the point.

A’whora kissed her. Her roommate. The adorable little blonde was cuddled into her, having kissed her cheek like they were dating. It was too perfect, so domestic it was all she ever needed.

It only took a few more minutes for a soft grunt to come from her chest. A slight pout formed on A’whora’s lips and she muttered about a headache and lifted herself from the comfort of Tayce’s chest.

“Hey, Tayce?”

The brunette turned her attention at the call of her name, staring at A’whora who sat there silently. She stared back for some time before doing something a lot more daring than Tayce ever thought her capable of.

She kissed her again, this time on the lips. Tayce deepened it, one arm falling around A’whora’s waist while the other fell through her soft hair, keeping her close.

Her theory was right. Sober kisses were just as incredible as the drunk ones. The perk was that she’d remember this one.

“Good to know you like that, helpful information.” A’whora giggled, she delighted in the way Tayce’s eyes widened as she pressed another light kiss to her cheek. Her head felt fuzzy, whether that was from the hangover, the tiredness, or Tayce she couldn’t quite tell.

“You hound, You’re going to be chasing me for kisses every hour of every day now I just know it.” Tayce felt lightheaded at the affections. Something about the ease of it all made her stomach go fluttery with feelings she wouldn’t be too quick to disclose.

“That’s your fault for being so kissable. Not my fault.”

The cheek of her roommate was amusing, the brunette held back a snicker. She wanted to laugh it off, the flirting was fairly common between them. The kisses threw her. She just wanted to take a second, process everything that was happening before continuing but a certain blonde loved to keep her on her toes.

“You’re so dumb.”

Tayce could hear the tenderness in her tone, painfully loving and sappy. It would disgust her if she saw it in anyone else, that level of lovey was not something she wanted to hear. But it was A’whora. The little idiot who could brighten her day with a smile, the one who she bounced off of better than anyone. The person she would trust with her life. She couldn’t stop the way her heart pounded at the littlest affections between them.

So why should she?

“Cool it, lass, I know you love me.”

“Maybe so, wouldn’t you like that”

“Yeah. I'd like that a lot actually.”

“Aurora…” Tayce melted at the hopeful eyes staring at her. They broke through any walls she had left. She couldn’t find the words. She loved A’whora but saying it was something else entirely. So she showed it, pulling her in for a longer kiss.

A’whora felt all her feelings without the need for words. It was told through actions, the way Tayce’s hand ran through her hair, before circling to her jaw to stroke it softly, angling her into a deeper kiss. Her love was in the way their foreheads stayed pressed together as they fell apart. The shine in her eyes as her face lit up in an unconscious smile.

The way she let go, letting her love flow into everything and not trying to hide it.

“I love you too, Tayce.”

That was it, those were the words she’d wanted to hear for so long. It was a wave of warmth and euphoria that she never wanted to stop feeling.

“Come on, I love sitting here with you but I'm hungry and I think it’s time for beans on toast.”

Tayce finally moved, hanging her legs over the edge of the bed. If she didn’t attempt to move now they never would. Though she would come back later to cuddle up with A’whora for as long as she could, eating was important too.

“You’re insatiable! It’s always beans on toast with you.”

“If you act like that you won’t be getting any.��

With that, Tayce stood up and started walking to the kitchen only to be stopped by a sudden weight leant onto her back. A’whora laid her head on her shoulder with a content sigh.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The quick response surprised both of them. Tayce hadn’t expected it to come out so soon, it would still be time until she could say it with the ease A’whora did, but that was fine.

A’whora loved her, that was all she ever needed.

#taywhora #rpdr fanfiction #tayce #a'whora #awhora #this is so fucking fluffy god DAMN

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thevioletjones · 3 years

Note

48. “You make me want things I can’t have.” 💜

Thanks for the inspiration! 💜

Prompt 3

Buffer

Ian Gallagher was starting to become a problem.

And the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even a problem that Mickey wanted to resolve. No. He just kept holding Ian closer and refusing to push him away like he should. He was just letting him ruin Mickey’s mediocre life. Because something about Ian was unshakeable. It wasn’t just that Ian kept coming back no matter what Mickey ever said or did, either. Ian was definitely persistent, but Mickey had formed an attachment too, even though he did everything in his power to hide it. It was still there, buried under layers of caustic remarks, aloof expressions, and occasional lashing out. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, but it was just who he was, and remaining unchanged in his ways was easier than the alternative.

Ian was definitely too good for him. Sure, he was hood trash too, but they were on two different levels. Ian was buffed up with a certain surface shine that Mickey lacked. Although, he would admit he’d come a long way in his style and hygiene game since his early days as an unwashed miscreant. Mickey was a gay man after all, and not immune to gaying certain things up, despite his tendency to flout homo conventions. If he wanted the ability to get a decent dick in his ass, there were standards that he’d learned to push himself to meet. This was the glossiest Mickey was ever gonna get, and it still came with a pinch of grime and hostility.

Maybe he’d developed enough sense to give a fuck, but he still didn’t give two shits either; a concept that walking contradictions the world over could likely comprehend.

The thing about Gallagher was that he was sweet. Not in an annoying, cloying, obvious way that was anathema to everything Mickey was about, but in a low-key, casual, incidental kind of way that somehow managed to be attractive, even to someone with Mickey’s abrasive nature. Ian played tough, and he genuinely was in many ways, but he had a gooey, marshmallow center that evened him out. Mickey didn’t see himself as having that sort of balance.

But there were these unsettling moments like this, usually in the middle of the night or early in the morning, when Mickey would catch himself watching Ian unawares. Unawares because he only ever did it when the redhead was deep in sleep. Suddenly, Mickey would be Mr. Contemplation, burning a hole into the face of the dude he was banging, daring to wonder what could happen between them if he wasn’t an emotionally stunted asshole. And then he’d reflect on what Ian’s life was like whenever he wasn’t around; the things Mickey acted like he didn’t care to know.

These circular thought patterns never led anywhere good, because at the end of the day, Ian wasn’t his. And Mickey could never be Ian’s. He’d long ago resigned himself to a certain destiny that involved long-term solitude until his dying day, which he’d always been fairly certain would come prematurely and most likely in violent fashion. It would be ridiculous to drag someone else into his vortex of apathy for life and the general traditions of living it. Especially someone like Ian, who was good; who helped people because he genuinely cared about, like, the well-being of humanity and shit. Despite the occasional soft look or revelatory comment that Ian would throw his way, he knew better than to think he’d want to be saddled with Mickey’s non-reciprocating ogre-y ass.

Usually when one of these intense, one-sided staring sessions would take place, Mickey would overcompensate for silently slipping by adding an extra dose of rudeness when he kicked Ian out after the fact. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why Gallagher still bothered with him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get laid elsewhere. Ian was the type that would never have trouble finding a willing ass. Yet somehow he kept coming back to Mickey and ignoring all the negatives thrown in his path. It didn’t make much sense on either of their parts… allowing each other in on any terms. Probably meant that Ian was just as fucked up as he was, really.

Blowing out the last hit off his smoke, Mickey glanced at the bedside clock and stubbed out the cigarette butt. 3:26 AM and he was wide awake, just gawking at his slumbering ginger fuck buddy, and trying to repress the multitude of emotions swirling within him. It was truly pathetic.

He could just get the hell up and drag his ass to the living room to play video games or watch late-night TV, but no. Apparently he liked suffering and feeling conflicted. What a pussy.

Not ten minutes went by before there was slow movement from the other side of the bed... Ian turning over in his sleep, reaching an arm out, and searching. Searching for the warmth of Mickey’s body, it would seem.

A big hand landed on his thigh, rubbing it softly as tired eyes blinked open, and a groggy voice sounded, “What’re’y’doin’?”

Oh, just fuckin’ lying here starin’ at your pasty ass for some reason. “Can’t sleep.”

“Didn’t wear you out?” Ian asked with a breathy titter, squeezing the sensitive flesh precariously close to Mickey’s groin.

Maybe it made his dick twitch a little.

“When did one round ever wear me out?”

“Pretty sure there were two rounds. Did you forget about the couch?”

“Random handies while watchin’ mediocre porn barely counts as a round, carrot-top.”

“A, it wasn’t that mediocre, and B, do you only consider it sex if penetration is involved?”

“I mean… it helps.”

“What about blowjobs, then? How would you classify them?”

“Sex act, but not sex, sex. Know what I mean?”

Ian laughed. “Not really. What about lesbians?”

“Definitely don’t wanna have my cock anywhere near those.”

“Har har. I mean, what would you call lesbian sex?”

“Gross? Boring? I don’t fuckin’ know. Never had it, don’t plan to.”

Ian laughed harder and it made Mickey feel good. “Pretty sure lesbians don’t want fuck all to do with you either, bottom boy.”

“Hey, likin’ what I like don’t make me a bitch.”

“No, but you seem pretty hostile toward anything but a real live human cock poking you in the asshole. I mean, naysaying getting your dick sucked? That’s a bold bossy bottom stance to take.”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man with simple kinks. Aren’t you glad I don’t need any freaky extra shit to get me off?”

“What kinda freaky extras are we talkin’?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher. Don’t act like you don’t just live for stickin’ that big red dick inside any tight manhole that’ll accommodate it. Does that make you a hungry top just begging for it?”

“I prefer ‘brutal top,’ since it’s so big, as you were so kind to mention.”

Mickey rolled his eyes into tomorrow. “Gotta remember to stop accidentally complimenting it. You get so fuckin’ uppity about it.”

Ian rolled over and boxed him in, nuzzling around his face and neck, while Mickey tried to bat him away.

“Come on,” prodded Ian. “Big hard cock seeks tight little hole for another round of deep penetration.”

Mickey could feel said big hard cock firming right up against his hip. “Ixnay on the cutesy man seeking man dirty talk, fuckhead. I will make you take that hulking boner elsewhere.”

“No you won’t,” Ian replied, humping down against him.

Of course he wouldn’t, but he had to front at least a little bit. That was the nature of his inner beast.

While they were fucking, Mickey could just let himself get lost in all the appropriate heightened sensations that really good sex immersed him in. Immersed him and Ian in. Ian and him. Them. Reveling in the pleasure of carnality was totally kosher… as long as it limited him from basking in that additional Ian stuff. That feelings stuff that he had no idea what to do with. That unfathomable connection that existed between them.

He let Ian kiss him a lot too. Like, a lot, a lot. That wasn’t customary for him with other dudes. In fact, it barely ever happened. It was just another habit Ian had slipped under the wire to form with him when he wasn’t paying enough attention. Mickey was pretty sure he’d kissed more girls in his life than boys, because that was always an easy, less disgusting way to publicly appear straight during the years he’d spent in the closet. With guys, there was nothing to prove and everything to hide, so it just wasn’t something he incorporated into his casual sex routine.

Before Ian, he hadn’t exactly attracted the kind of dudes that warranted sticking around for in any capacity, or who made any kind of effort to stick with him. There were never any near-miss boyfriends, or pine-worthy hookups. Sex was always transactional and he’d been perfectly fine with that arrangement.

The truth was that once he’d fucked up and invited Ian in for repeats over and over again, he started to figure out that the sex just kept getting hotter and hotter. That when two bodies really took the time to get to know each other, things fit better, motions got smoother, and orgasms got a thousand times stronger. Turned out that one-night-stands were not where the fuck it was at. Those were always crapshoots with odds that were at best 25/75 in favor of mediocrity. With Ian, it was guaranteed total fulfillment 100% of the time.

That was the only explanation he could find for this unexpected addiction he was stuck with. An addiction to Ian and his stupidly perfect cock. The rest of his body was alright too. And when he spoke, he wasn’t completely fucking annoying. His personality and his nature were tolerable. Mickey didn’t want to gouge his eyes out every time he got sucked into a conversation.

They didn’t really hang out, though. Outside of the bedroom, that is. It was like the whole game changed when they were in bed. They could fuck, they could goof around and have a laugh, they could wrestle, they could accidentally say something profound once in a while… but if Ian had a bag of food when he dropped by, Mickey wasn’t about to sit on the couch and watch TV with him while he ate it, and he definitely wasn’t going to accept a portion for himself.

Until tonight, that is. Or last night, or however the fuck time was identified when you were a natural night owl.

Tonight, they’d crossed another invisible line in the sand, and Mickey had found himself chowing down on tacos, while heckling some shitty 90s action film; his part-time lover chuckling next to him with a sloppy mouth.

It was fucking terrifying.

So as soon as he’d realized what was actually happening, and how much he didn’t hate it, Mickey had switched over to some hardcore porn. They’d cracked jokes about it at first, but it’d done the trick of quickly leading to the familiar comfort of sexual gratification. With that justification, Mickey could just sweep the whole ‘watching a movie and eating together like they were on a date’ thing under the proverbial rug without further examination.

At least until Ian had fallen asleep around 2 AM. Then it was dwell city.

By 4:30 AM, Ian had fucked him into the mattress once again, and promptly fallen back asleep without a care in the world. Mickey was more than sated, but felt even more awake than he had an hour ago, his brain full of fresh bullshit about the man next to him and what was happening between them.

He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his stash, knowing the high would fog up his brain enough to go off on thought tangents, and eventually shut down for at least five hours. Within ten minutes, he felt a little better, or at least more distracted. He was still very aware of Ian’s looming presence in the darkness, though. He wanted to be comforted by it, but he just couldn’t relax.

There’d always been a buffer between them, which Mickey had been diligent in maintaining, and he could see it slowly falling away now. If he didn’t step up and push back, pretty soon there’d be no barrier left standing. Who the fuck knew what could happen then.

He hated it. He felt so fucking out of control, when it should be the easiest thing in the world to control. All he had to do was break it off. He knew exactly what to say and do to make that happen. Knew enough to be able to really hit Ian where it hurt, both literally and figuratively.

But goddamn it, he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to make Ian sad, and he didn’t want to give into his own desire to try for more. He would always fuck it up, because he was a fuck-up by nature. His goddamn knuckles spelled it all out in block letters.

He wanted Ian, but he didn’t want the responsibility. Didn’t trust himself, because no one had ever trusted him before in his entire life. What kind of dumbass wanted that kind of damaged douchebag for a boyfriend? No sane one.

Against his better judgment, Mickey rolled closer to Ian and wrapped an arm around his middle, spooning him the way he secretly liked it when Ian spooned him. He held him close and breathed in his scent.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he murmured to himself, exhaling heavily against Ian’s neck.

He fell asleep swiftly, and in the morning, he didn’t ask Ian to leave.

#ian x mickey #fanfic #gallavich #fanfiction #asks #answers

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Guilt and Consequences Pt2

So yeah, one shots are apparently not possible for me. Here we go again, no idea where this is headed so your guess is as good as mine.

AO3 Beginning Next

This had to be the most uncomfortable thing Lila had ever experienced. And that included all the times creeps had yelled at or propositioned her at the events her mother insisted on taking her to. Sitting next to Marinette while she explained everything to her parents was torture. Lila did her best to stay silent, but she couldn’t help but break in when Marinette went too easy on people. She absolutely refused to make eye contact though.

“So you managed to turn the entire class on my daughter in an attempt to get expelled?”

“Yes Ma’am.” She was pretty sure the woman wouldn’t want her calling her by her name anymore. Honestly she was surprised she hadn’t been thrown out yet. Marinette was currently in her father’s arms, trying to keep him calm so she was feeling the full brunt of Madam Cheng’s attention. It honestly felt worse than her mother’s constant disappointment but that was probably because she wasn’t used to it from anyone else.

“And at what point did you decide that you needed to target my daughter specifically?” Well that sounded like a trap but it wouldn’t do any good to lie at this point.

“After the napkin incident.” Her tone was dry and Marinette actually giggled. Lila could only shoot her a confused look. Nothing about this was funny.

“Napkin incident?” Madam Cheng just looked confused and Lila sighed. There had been so many lies and issues that Marinette had left a few out. This was going to be interesting.

“I said I sprained my wrist in another attempt to get the teacher to ask for a doctor's note. She didn’t. Marinette threw a balled up napkin at me and I caught it as a reflex. I made sure there was a large gap between me actually using my wrist and pretending to be in pain. Knowing that wouldn’t be enough I made up some ridiculous garbage about seeing someone lose an eye to a napkin. The class ate it up. I still can’t process that kind of stupidity.” The boy was wearing glasses for fuck's sake! What kind of moron wouldn’t question that?

“You’re kidding.” The woman’s tone was flat and Lila could only shake her head. She wished she were making this stuff up. She wished she’d never set foot in that school. She wished for a lot of things that were completely beyond her reach unfortunately. “You were out of school for a period of time weren’t you?”

“Umm… yes.” What did that have to do with anything? She shifted uncomfortably and waited for whatever was next. She hoped there wouldn’t be follow up questions but she knew she wasn’t that lucky.

“Obviously you weren’t traveling, so why were you out of school and why did you go back?” Lila hunched in on herself and tried to keep her emotions in check. When Marinette hadn’t asked about it she’d hoped that meant she wouldn’t have to deal with it. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her and just kept staring at the table. She counted the lines in the wood to try and keep calm for a moment before answering.

“After I was Akumatized my mother pulled me out of school to send me to a therapist so I wouldn’t embarrass her again.” Yet another lecture that had repeated over and over for months. “The first one told her that school was a major problem for me and that it would be beneficial for me to go back to homeschooling and use extracurricular activities to interact with other kids to ease me into it. She didn’t like that, so she fired them and hired another.” Her mother really hated being told she was wrong. “Once that happened is when I started video calling into the class and pretending to be traveling. I put minimal effort into making it look like I was in different locations and thought someone would pick up on it. I didn’t know they hadn’t until I got back.”

“So the second therapist said it was okay for you to go to school?” LIla shook her head. Madam Cheng’s voice was oddly devoid of emotion and that worried her.

“No they said the same as the first. So did the third one. She finally found one to agree with her without actually seeing me.” She still hadn’t seen him actually. There were days she wondered if her mother had made him up, but she was getting prescriptions from somewhere so there had to be someone.

“I’m sorry what?” Lila cringed at the disbelief in her voice. She’d just admitted to lying about pretty much everything, so it only made sense they would question her about something like this.

“It was on Heroes day. She sat me down and said she found a doctor that said my problems had nothing to do with school and with the proper medication I would be fine. I tried to argue with her but it did just as much good as every other time I’ve tried. I was so mad and worried and… I remember locking myself in my room and then the next thing I knew I was in an alley near the Eiffel Tower watching an Akuma fly away from me.” She’d seen the footage later and had actually thrown up. When her mother yelled at her for sneaking out she didn’t correct her. It would have just led to another rant about how she should be able to control herself better. She didn’t need another reason for the woman to be disappointed in her.

“Are you telling me that some random doctor is prescribing you medication solely because your mother told him to?” The repressed fury in those words was enough to make Lila start counting again.

“Yes. I don’t even know who it is.” The words were mumbled but they did actually make it out so she was happy about that. Madam Cheng reached forward and forced her chin up so Lila had to look her in the eyes. She expected anger but what she saw seemed more like pity, or maybe concern. That didn’t seem right.

“I think I need to have a chat with your mother.” Lila just blinked at her in confusion for a moment.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, at least not until you decide what you want to do about the school. She’s not going to care about the effects of what I’ve done, she’ll just try to make it go away.” She’d seen it enough times to know exactly how things would go. Normally it didn’t worry her but given the principal’s current track record, her mother could probably get him to agree to anything. Madam Cheng’s expression softened further. That really didn’t seem right.

“Why don’t you call your mother and ask if it’s alright for you to spend the night here?”

“I’m sorry, what?” If the change of topic wasn’t enough to throw her having Marinette’s mother, who should hate her, suggest she stay under their roof would have done the trick. “She doesn’t like it when I disturb her at work.”

“Won’t she want to know where you are?” She hadn’t even agreed to stay. She was so confused.

“I can text her, but she is too busy to actually talk to me.” Wait, did she just agree to stay? The feeling of being in an alternate reality came up suddenly again. Nothing about this place made sense. Maybe Hawkmoth had something to do with it.

“I’d still like you to try.” Why was she pushing this? Lila looked down at her hands trying to figure out what was happening. Was the woman trying to catch her in a lie? That seemed the most likely. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and fiddled with it for a moment before pulling up the contact for her mother’s office. She definitely wouldn’t answer her personal phone while working. Probably didn’t even have it turned on. She set the phone on the table as she hit call and put it on speaker. It would just make things go faster.

“Ambassador Rossi’s office.” A professional voice answered and Sabine raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hello David, it’s Lila.” Silence. She sighed. “Ambassador Rossi’s daughter.”

“Your mother is very busy young lady. Unless this is an emergency you’ll need to wait.” Yep this was going to go exactly as she thought it would.

“I just have a quick question for her. If she can’t come to the phone perhaps you could relay it to her?” Silence, followed by an annoyed breath.

“One moment.” He put her on hold and she just waited. She knew the others were all looking at her but she kept her head lowered. She didn’t know why but seeing people’s reactions just made everything worse.

“This had better be important.” Her mother’s stern, annoyed voice broke into her thoughts and she had to swallow before she could talk.

“I’m sorry to disturb you but a classmate’s parents invited me to stay over and they want to make sure I have your permission. So can I?” She could practically feel her mother’s annoyance through the phone.

“Lila, I’ve been in back to back meetings all day and you just interrupted a call with a very important government official for something you could have handled yourself. You need to grow up and start taking responsibility for your life. I won’t always be here to hold your hand.” The click as she hung up seemed to echo in the complete silence that followed.

AO3 Beginning Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@readeracctagmepls @aestheticnpoetic @akana-sama @schrodingers25

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupen chang #lila rossi #lila redemption #bad parenting #wth am I even doing?

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thekavseklabs · 3 years

Text

Pros / Cons of Dating My Muse

Name: Vynathr (or Vynathra) Levnahra, Al-ke Roha Alria

Species: Aquatic/Sea Kei

Sexuality: Pansexual

Pros:

He is incredibly strong. You weigh nothing to him. If you wish it he can literally just carry you around the entire day and not really notice. Not so mention his other powers. For instance he can self-duplicate and become a hive mind at will, so he can go to work and can stay in bed and cuddle at the same time, no problem.

Considering the fact that he's constantly boiling with rage, he's shockingly patient. If Vynathr cares about you, he will literally wait for eternity when it comes to anything important. He has that time, and you are worth it. And if the answer isn't what he hoped for, that's alright. He will always, always accept your needs, wants, or lack thereof.

Cuddles! He wants them pretty much all of the time, and, well... World hard and cold? Vynathr's tiddies soft and warm, Vynathr's arms strong and safe. If he has his wings out, he can curl them around you both, so you can have a cozy dark room to snuggle and nap in at any time of day. And he purrs and rumbles and will stroke your hair and in general is just really nice to snuggle.

Vynathr is limitlessly determined and, depending on verse and timeline, Hella Fucking Rich And Powerful. If you want a thing, you are getting that goddamn thing, whether the rest of the world likes it or not. He will throw hands with the entire planet on your whim, and he will win. You are dating a man who is relentlessly shoving and blurring and breaking the boundary of godhood without even trying, expect no less.

His singing is lovely, and so is his art. When Vynathr is content (and he is, he loves you very much, and you make his life so much better just by being there), your life is full of beautiful things. Soft, low rumbling wordless song and hums lull you to sleep at night, clever hands play guitar in the morning, and you will recieve many little hand-carved figurines and sketches. He'll write songs for you, surprise you with them in quiet moments through the day.

Vynathr understands the need to go out and Do Things. He won't get offended if you prioritize your life or go out often or spend time with friends. He might not socialize with said friends if asked, but he lives a very solitary lifestyle, that's not a surprise. He mostly just dozes through their visits to avoid them.

He's easy to please. He has access to all the grand things- give him something small. He doesn't want much, and just time spent with him makes him happy- material things don't have to be fancy either. He'll appreciate and keep just about anything.

Cons:

As stated above, Vynathr is constantly shoving on the boundary between mortal and god, without trying. He has buried subconscious memories of times before mortals existed, before this body's birth. He is immensely powerful, and it's impossible to understand exactly whats wrong sometimes. Often he doesn't know either. All you can do is be there, and that's upsetting.

Vynathr has had an intensely fucked up time. Even if his curse is cured there are lingering effects. He is angry, often absolutely enraged over nothing at all. He has the hunger and drive to destroy planetary systems. Don't expect that to just go away, even if he stops.

On the subject of fucked up, he has a lot of trauma and emotional baggage. Vynathr considers himself to be the worst, most disgusting and harmful and just fundamentally awful thing that could possibly exist. A couple soft words wont get rid of that either. He will try to leave you for your own good, he will insult himself, he will refuse affection that he desperately needs.

He reacts explosively to small things if they set him off. If he feels something he doesn't understand (aka anything at all, he's a special kind of emotionally repressed), he might lash out or shut down or scream and fight about it. The man has no healthy coping mechanisms, at all. The majority of his vitrol may be directed at himself, but it's still a huge and at times dangerous mess.

Vynathr can be strange at times, and kei in general have some concerning ways to convey affection. Their sound for intense anger and deep satisfaction or pleasure is the same (a deep rumble low in the chest, distinct and different from a purr), and even by that standard Vynathr expresses himself strangely. His expression is generally harsh even when in bliss, and his ears are pinned back or lowered nearly 100% of the time. That vicious looking snarl and growl when he sees you is affectionate. Don't mind the huge claws and teeth.

Sharp boy. You will be bit. He might break your collarbone and mangle you a bit in the process. It's 'cause he loves you. He tries his best to remember to Not Do That, but instinct is a powerful thing at times. In general he is animalistic and scary and dangerous. Even the supposedly harmless stuff line shoving his face into you like a cat wanting to be pet has potential to knock you over.

Most importantly Vynathr is a fucked up man from a fucked up society. You are dating a monster, first and foremost, and that won't change. He's a harsh and violent person with a set of morals that aren't always going to align with yours. Even when he tries he is often blunt and harsh. You can't fix him and if you try to, you'll only break him further, make him more traumatized and untrusting and angry. You can only accept who he is in this reality, violence and all.

Tagged by: I stole it from @lxgatus a month ago and then forgot

Tagging: YOU. Say I tagged you

#Dash games; you're next #Man poor vynathr he just wants to roughhouse :(#i long for the day vynathr has a partner he can finally roughhouse and play all he wants with #let vynathr have someone who can take getting barrelled into with the force of a train #let vynathr have someone who can barrel into him with the force of a train in return

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straycat-writes · 4 years

Note

i saw that you write for ikemen vampire as well, so if it's alright with you i was wondering if you could write headcanons for mozart, vincent, comte, and arthur with a depressed/suicidal s/o who's main coping mechanism is humor? like they joke abt suicide a lot + make jokes abt feeling shitty when asked since they dont wanna worry anyone much but their jokes start getting increasingly concerning bc its smth i do a lot lol,, u dont need to do this if ur not comfortable.. thx and love your work!!

anon added: wait fuck i just remembered only three characters for headcanons so just do it for mozart, vincent, and arthur. thank u!

notes: Whaaat, come on, you cannot just do my husband dirty like that, of course I’ll do all four 😆 Before we begin, since everyone experiences stuff like this differently, our experiences might not be exactly the same, so these might not be universal. In any case, I hope you feel better 🥺💕

trigger warning(s): depression, mentions of suicide, and suicidal ideation.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

He did notice the jokes each time, but at first, he didn’t necessarily feel the need to intervene.

Once was alright, he thought you might just have a different sense of humor. Twice was morbid, but he brushed it off. But thrice was downright worrying, and he was starting to suspect something might be wrong.

He observed you make increasingly dark jokes for weeks on end, and brush off anyone who tried to ask you about them, before he decided that enough was enough.

“What is wrong with you?”

It’s a blunt question, completely tactless, but only because he’s actually quite concerned and doesn’t how else to put it. Nonetheless, it catches you off-guard.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t play dumb with me, (y/n). Have you been spending too much time with shitty Dazai again?”

When you don’t say anything, the scowl on his face melts into a concerned frown. He wants to help, he really does, but it’s hard for someone like him to deal with such heavy feelings, whether his own or someone else’s. After all, words have never been his preferred medium of expression.

So, he decides not to use them. Instead, he envelopes you in a long, silent hug. It’s a little stiff, but when you start crying softy on his shoulder, he gives in and pulls you even closer, gently stroking your hair.

Up until then, you had no idea that the stern, ice-cold Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart could ever feel so…familiarly warm and soft, with his arms around you.

“I’m not asking you to confess anything, (y/n). I’m not even asking you to tell me anything. I…actually have no idea how to fix any of this, but…Just…know that you don’t have to deal with this on your own.”

Vincent van Gogh

Out of everyone, it would probably take Vincent the least time to notice when something is wrong with you.

The morbid humor is one thing, but what really concerns him is how hollow your laugh has started to sound, and the glazed…empty look you get in your eyes when you think no one is looking.

He notices because he knows what to look for, because he has already seen too much of it, in himself.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes, of course, Vincent. Why do you ask?”

“…Why do you think?”

There is a certain look in his eyes, so wistfully sad, as if mourning something he hasn’t even lost yet, and you just know that he knows. There is no use lying to him. In hindsight, you think, you should have known you could hide it from anyone except him.

When a lone tear slips down your cheek, he gently wipes it away and holds your face with both hands, looking into your eyes. To your surprise, and immense pain, his own are glistening with tears too.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“…Because it’s my problem and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

You realize it doesn’t make much sense now when you say it out loud, but you knew he was all too familiar with this complete and utter despair, this emptiness you felt inside of yourself, and you never wanted him to feel it again, even if it was by proxy.

But now, he stands in front of you, hands on either side of your face, and he places a chaste, gentle kiss on your forehead. He doesn’t say anything, but you realize what he means. I’m here. I understand. You’re not alone.

(note: for those who don’t know, Vincent van Gogh committed suicide at the age of thirty-seven.)

Le Comte de Saint-Germain

He is used to the residents of his mansion having…strange sense of humor and habits, honestly.

Even so, when you make a jest about killing yourself for the fifth time in a row, he can’t help but be worried. There are only two explanations, you either just have a very, very dark idea of humor, in which case there was nothing much he could do except gentle advisory, or there was indeed something very wrong.

He keeps hoping it’s not the latter, but days pass and your jokes keep getting more and more morbid, and any attempts to talk to you about the issue are only met with smooth elusiveness.

“I’m only kidding, Comte. Of course, I’m not going to throw myself off the roof. Probably.”

“…I think we need to talk, ma cherie.”

That sentence in itself is enough to scare anyone half to death, and when you have so much to hide, even more so.

The talk is long and tedious, with quite a lot of repressed emotions involved. On your part, first there is the defensive anger. Of course, there isn’t anything wrong, how dare he imply otherwise? Then there is the desperate denial, because ‘ignore the problem until it goes away’, right? Except, this problem isn’t going away on its own, and you both know that.

Finally, there is the reluctant acceptance, and a lot of crying. Throughout this, he is as calm and collected on the outside as he always is, even when you grip the front of his coat and cry in his embrace. You’re barely holding yourself together, so he needs to be your support.

But on the inside, there is a storm raging. You were supposed to be his responsibility. He was the one who brought you here, and he was just watching you wither away like this in front of his eyes? What kind of a person did that make him? Just how much of a failure is he?

“I’m so sorry for not noticing sooner, ma cherie. I have failed you.”

“Wh-what?”

“I was supposed to protect you from everything, including yourself. Evidently, I have failed at that, and my heart aches at the thought of you suffering all on your own. But I intend to rectify my fault a thousand times over.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, and without a warning, more tears spill.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Peculiar taste of humor is kind of Arthur’s brand. He enjoys his shamelessly perverted jokes, so he assumed you enjoy your dark ones.

Even so, he does get a little worried when he notices how your first instinct to almost anything is self-deprecation and jokes about killing yourself at the slightest provocation, and how you laugh a little too loud and too much when asked about any of it.

The more he notices, the more concerned he gets, and the more confused about just what to do about it.

At first, he tries to deflect your morbid jokes with some of his own, just to see how you would react. But the moment he talks of killing himself, you go pale, asking him to stop with such distress in your voice that he ends up feeling guilty.

But even after that, it doesn’t stop you from doing it yourself.

“Welp, guess I’ll just go drown in a river somewhere.”

“Ahahaha, but consider this, how about you…don’t?”

He’s always so playful, and even fickle that it almost slips your mind that he is a writer, after all, and a very observant one at that. He is intelligent and notices every little thing, even if he doesn’t show it. That includes the fact that your laugh has been sounding more and more empty lately, your smile seeming more and more like fake plastic.

So, when he confronts you about it, it takes you by surprise.

“Whatever do you mean, Arthur? I’m fine.”

“Right…Stop lying to me, (y/n).”

You frown. You should have known how hard it would be to hide anything from Arthur for too long. How long did you really think you could keep up this façade? The realization comes like a slap to the face, and it’s almost like your metaphorical mask drops. You start crying.

He is distressed at the sudden turn of events, but tries his best to console you. As he hugs you to his chest, gently rubbing soothing circles on your back, he wonders if he could have done something to help you sooner.

“Listen, sweetheart. I don’t claim to know what you’re going through, but I do know that you need help. I know I cannot just fix whatever…this is, but I can promise that I’m going to be here with you, through everything”

You laugh bitterly, “It gets ugly.”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “I’m going to be here with you, whether you want me to be or not, and I promise to hold you together as you scream your throat raw trying to hold yourself together, promise to…stand by you as you save yourself. You do not have to do this alone.”

He kisses you softly, only for a moment, soft and true on the lips.

“Show me every dark and hideous, every bitter thing about your soul…and then, let me love you anyway.”

#wolfgang amadeus mozart #vincent van gogh #le comte de saint germain #arthur conan doyle #mozart x reader #vincent x reader #saint germain x reader #arthur x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire #headcanons #imagines

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Cause After All This Time, I'm Still Into You (Taywhora) - Winter

a/n: it’s been a lil while but i decided to start posting here again, i put this up on ao3 and my blog but i figure i’d cross post for the anons i saw wanting taywhora, hope y'all enjoy <3

thanks to pink-grapefruit-cafe for betaing :)

She was terrified of bugs. More specifically, spiders but any insect around her and A’whora could see the sense of unease in her eyes.

“A’whora! I went to get in the shower but there’s a spider in there, can you please get rid of it.”

A’whora stared back blankly, shrugging before returning her attention to her work. As much as she wanted to help Tayce at any opportunity, her work held most of her attention at this time of day.

“Fuck, you look like you need therapy.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Oh, you’re such a doll. Thanks ‘Rory you’re a lifesaver.” With the affectionate nickname, Tayce pressed her lips to A’whora’s cheek before heading off to prepare for her shower.

Oh. She enjoyed that a little too much.

—

You know. Normal friend stuff.

“You alright there lass?” A’whora looked the woman in front of her up and down. Something felt different but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Though she tried to ignore the growing feelings, she wasn’t against something happening between them.

“Rory, can I tell you something?”

“Of course, you can tell me, anything babe.”

“Tayce, if you ever feel alone, I’m here alright? We get each other better than anyone else. I’d never let someone I genuinely love feel like shit if I could help.”

Tayce let out a muffled sigh, moving her head to still lean into the blonde’s shoulder but be able to speak clearly.

“Someone you genuinely love huh?” Despite clearly being meant as a quip, Tayce’s voice was far too fond, dripping with so much affection it made A’whora’s heart swell. She was thankful Tayce couldn’t see her reaction from where her head was, she wouldn’t live down the blush that took over her face from the comment.

“I love you too, don’t think too hard about it. I can feel you blushing.” Tayce laughed, poking her in the ribs to a delightful giggle from the smaller girl.

From how flustered she got, A’whora had to have some kind of feelings for her. Tayce never wanted to pry, she liked where they were at.

Or she was scared to lose it and didn’t want to risk it on the off chance she read it all wrong.

—

She lightly tapped A’whora, who let out a sleepy murmur before placing her head back onto Tayce’s chest.

“Get up A’whora, we need to go to bed.”

The blonde stood up, about to walk to her room before Tayce tugged at her hand.

“No, with me.” Her words came out softer than she meant, her voice tender and tired. A’whora just nodded, letting Tayce lead them to her room and nestle into her bed.

The smaller girl poked her leg with a small laugh, eyes lighting up in amusement at the jeans still on her.

“I asked you to, don’t start freaking out and apologising. It’s fine.”

A’whora shrugged, hiding her face in Tayce’s shoulder with a slight grumble. She wasn’t ready to deal with the day and gave in to the warmth the brunette provided.

They got up later, not thrilled to separate but knowing they needed to. The previous night left unspoken. Maybe that was better for now.

—

“Tayce? You’re awfully quiet there.”

“You look ethereal.”

A’whora looked taken aback by how sincere Tayce sounded. She would tell the smaller woman if something was off but seeing her speechless was something new. She must have done a damn good job.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, when aren’t you breathtaking though.”

She’d make it through, somehow.

—

“Christ, Bims, I’ve never seen you so covered up.”