#it was in fact the phrasing my brain came up with and I did try to figure out if there was another way to convey it as effectively but

[semischarmed]

River

River was a walking enigma. 

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him. 

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly. 

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness. 

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark. 

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night. 

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = = 

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out. 

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment. 

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements. 

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water. 

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs. 

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile. 

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk. 

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite. 

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval. 

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet. 

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped. 

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness. 

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school. 

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists. 

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!” 

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You’re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own. 

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River. 

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind. 

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me. 

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

#male possession #male merge #male corruption #male skinsuit

[essektheylyss]

Me recommending nonfiction to people is so funny. I've had people reference both I Contain Multitudes and Underland when I recommended them as "scary" in the last week as if they were horror novels. These books are so drastically different and their subject matter can freak people out in very different ways but in my head they're both just like... about aspects of the world. Many of them natural! Many of them also deadly.

Which is hilarious because I'm over here like, "What's scary is NOT delving into the unknown because you're more afraid of the potential of what you'll find rather than being prepared to handle it."

#if I ever give you a book recommendation you really gotta ask me explicitly about cws cuz I am so bad at even. noticing them ngl #not with fiction! fiction I will remember! #but for whatever reason nonfiction is just 'well this is facts and opinions. i can't be afraid of facts and opinions.' #also we are NOT gonna talk about the fact that yes this is like. most of an essek quote. #it was in fact the phrasing my brain came up with and I did try to figure out if there was another way to convey it as effectively but #this is unfortunately just also how I talk. #I was going to clown on essek for having more flowery imagery in his diction but like. you've probably seen my writing style. #megs is reading

[maximumkillshot]

Home

Warnings: There are a lot with this one and it hits close to home. Mentions of S/A. The R word is used, sobbing, anxiety and mental episode. mentions of self harm, mentions victim blaming and slut shaming. MDNI. There is fluff spattered around.

Pairing: BangChanxReader

Characters: Bang Chan, Reader, mention of the person who S/A, people Slut Shaming and Victim Blaming. 

A/N:  Okay so this one is heavy. The things you are about to read have happened to me. I had a mental episode a while back. I wrote most of this during said episode. This is what I think Chan would do for his S/O if they went through and go through what I did. This blog has always been a safe space. I use my fictions to entertain as well as a platform to have safe conversations. If you need me as always I will hang around after drop.

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ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

“YN?” Your husband called out to you. You couldn't hear him from the pressure of today. It created a seething pool of frustration and anger as you kneeled at the foot of the bed, wanting to pray, but now that you think about it the pain of being on the floor was a sweet torture in and of itself. 

Usually, anger like this wouldn't be a problem for you. You would go down to the basement and punch granite with your poorly taped hands, yes you were only a kid then, not knowing how else to get the anger out only stopping when you'd hear a crunch. Yes, that was the start of negative coping mechanisms, and yes you are trying to either bury that anger or let it consume you fast before Chris gets home. He's dealt with enough, we don't need to add on to it.  

Now you're no longer a child… as a matter of fact, you are now an adult, an adult with a hairpin trigger vaguely yet expertly disguised as comedic sarcasm. Depression that you don't remember not having… maybe when you were 8? You weren't sure. Not to mention a cast made of a myriad of physical and mental health issues…. Disabilities… and the cast of characters just keep growing! You have the medicine and the “coping techniques”, they called it, for success! Even those fail. 

Trying to talk it out just made you more angry, the injustice looking more and more ludicrous by the second. Okay, let's try breathing. Yeah no. That didn't work either, it just gave your brain more oxygen, so your brain went from quantum computer speed to Sonic the fucking Hedgehog. Oh… ok oh oh! Let's try soundboarding. You know, talk to people, not yourself. That ended in yet another game of useless catch phrases like “calm down” and “you shouldn't be thinking of that.” 

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THANK YOU! Oh, and I almost forgot the “Your method of thought isn't changing because you don't want to change '' DO YOU THINK I AM POKED ALL DAY AND SAY TO MYSELF…

‘OH I WANT TO FEEL MORE LIKE SHIT… I KNOW LET ME RUN MY FACE INTO A BRICK WALL OF ANXIETY REPEATEDLY UNTIL I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF ANYMORE.’

You reverted to hurting the people around you due to your anger and frustration, plus you darkened the mood, you've always been a multitasker. My friends were right. I'm depressing, I was only kept around because of my ex. That was before they kicked me out… because they didn't want to believe he assaulted me. You go back to that night often… 

“I didn’t want to do that, I felt icky” You told him after he came back from cleaning himself up in the bathroom, while you were left to clean the traces of himself from your own mouth. No aftercare, no thought about you. The ghost of a boy who used you, who was an on and off friend of almost 10 years…

“I know.” he answered with no emotion.

“Then… why?” You asked, your head cocked to the side.

“Because I really wanted it.” He puts his hand on your shoulder, “But I’m sorry you feel that way. Shit now I feel bad.”

Then it switched to those friends, on another night… “ I just don’t buy it. That DID NOT HAPPEN, I know him better than you.”

“I mean you did it anyway so you must’ve wanted it.”

You tried to explain that you were assaulted, it’s called coercive consent and it’s the most common form of assault. You were raped. You didn’t want to do it and he knew that but you wanted to make him happy. You tried to explain, to educate. They weren’t having it.This conversation at times whirls in your head. Making you itch to pull a trigger, do something to make the torture stop.

“You always overreact and you’re so annoying why don’t you just go the fuck away!”

“You’re so depressing just fucking go away! We only tolerated you because you are his girlfriend, just go the fuck away!” The intent in her voice. The reality. You trusted her most out of the entire group. She helped you emotionally… Now shaming you, blaming you.

Her boyfriend rendered you speachless when you called it what it was, it was rape via coercive consent:

“Oh I get the kind of person you are, you’re the type of person who gets felt up in the middle of the night by their significant other because they’re trying to get laid and you call it rape.”

You know the right method to take now, right… Yeah you do.

Isolate… process… torture yourself…cry… alone. Contain the monster, so it doesn't hurt anyone else… You're just a monster parading as a human. Don't forget it. This happens when you forget Y/N… stop being reckless. Always so fucking reckless… 

You started clenching your hands one over the other, wanting to rake the top of your hands until they bled, trying to ground yourself. Until subconsciously, you did. You rocked as you did it, trying to soothe yourself.

Sometimes you swear people don't see you drowning right in front of their fucking eyes. You know how to swim, you know how to get out, to scream, punch, fight. You want to swim, you really do. But you can only do so much in a rip current. The lifeguard sees you. But instead of helping they yell “PADDLE! JUST PADDLE YOU'LL BE FINE!” It's a different level of patronization. It just makes you want to let the tides swallow you. Because why fight when the waters are so warm?

“Y/N?!” Chris yelled as he saw your bag tossed haphazardly on the couch, never where you put it. He stopped and listened carefully. He thought back to the last text you sent him. “Shit hit the fan at work …I don't want to feel right now. I'll see you at home.” 

That middle sentence made his heart stop. He knows you… something was up. He tried texting you back, sending words of encouragement, calling, and leaving cute messages when you didn't pick up, and nothing was heard from you. As soon as he could get away from schedules he did. When he looked at the clock you had sent that message three hours beforehand, he never raced home faster. 

He knows what your mind does to you. He sees the battles every day. When he’d compliment you and you would look down, not shy, but contradictory. When he’d pick you up you would freeze and he’d remind you that you aren’t too heavy, that he loves you in every single way that you think is impossible to love you. He’d always encourage you to wear what you want, do what you want. He would caress every single curve, never being able to keep his hands off of you. Whispering into your ear in public as he tilts your head up gently after asking for permission. He’d kiss you so delicately in front of a sea of people. On the red carpet, on stage, it didn’t matter. You were and are his person, and he loved showing you off. He couldn’t win the war in your mind for you, but he damn sure would fight those battles with you.

He would fight away those negative thoughts, he’d wrap his arms around you and sing to you to will those images, the anxiety and fear away. Until those thoughts were rendered useless. He’d wrestle with them for control, as soon as he won your mind back he gave it to you. He reminded you that you are here with him for a reason. He adores you, and nothing would change that. 

It was something he promised you when he saw you breakdown while doing your medicines. You told him that you were ashamed of it all. All the illnesses, that you weren’t perfect and that you’d understand if he didn’t want you. He looked at you and helped with your medicines, learned about each of them, and their dosages. He was so gentle, smiling at you, wiping your tears. He looked at all the medicines and said, anything that keeps you alive is nothing to be ashamed of. You aren’t something to be ashamed of. He knows that sometimes you can’t hear him until he’s right in your ear. Now looked like that case.

You couldn't hear him calling out to you, your mind too loud, too vicious, bloodthirsty. When pain and self-deprecation are your main moods, all others seem like an abnormal concept. Something that is stolen, was it even real in the first place? You know one thing that was real… Chris. You hated being this… the medications, the constant fires in your mind, the barrage of hate aimed at yourself, of unbridled strength turned inward to rip yourself apart for no reason other than things piling up. He didn't deserve that. He deserves peace, the best… just like what he demands of himself, perfection. 

You got through the gauntlet at your job. People undermining your authority, people on a power trip of their own. Sending others to try to intimidate, embarrass you into submission… as if you weren't a bloodthirsty wolf that could snap any second, biting their heads clean off. “An Alpha through and through,” that's what Chris would say, “Even Alphas have to bite their tongue, Love.” 

That made you cry more because at this point you don't even know if your tongue is still existent, or if you swallowed the damn thing after you bit it off. Or worse… you still have it… but you lost your voice. You know that can't be it, we're too fucking stubborn for that.

But the hits didn't stop coming, traffic happened, then going to the doctor who said that the physical therapy you needed would eat into your personal time, your time to write, to cook for Channie and the boys, to spend time with Channie and the boys.. then you forgot the doctors note so you had to walk back in for it. Then you had to go home while you tried to talk about everything… and well now here we are. 

Even now you try to problem solve, try to nitpick at yourself, the person he loves so much. You collapsed more on the floor of your shared bedroom, cross-legged thinking of the ocean, the violent, dangerous, tumultuous ocean… something simultaneously so beautiful and scary. You want to say you are like an ocean, but you don't see beauty in yourself, only a beast. That's all we'll ever be.

Chris freezes in the hallway hearing a sob break loose from you. He hadn't heard a sob like that before, it chilled his core. How does he approach this? He sees the doctor's note thrown next to your purse… He was happy you were approved for physical therapy, you really were in a lot of pain daily from the muscle and tendon weakness, but he looked at the times…

He looked to the hallway, “Oh…Baby Girl.” He had one piece of the puzzle. He knew you loved to cook for him and the boys but this schedule meant you couldn't do that for the foreseeable future. You enjoyed seeing the boys eating, and staying fueled, knowing without that they'd opt for less healthy options. Then he saw the paper right under it. A typed log… a leger of interactions throughout your day… “No…” 

Right there, in black and white, was what you went through today, everything down to the sarcastic smirk your coworker had as you were barraged with pressure to break the rules… and you didn't break. He never would've expected you to. You are the strongest person he knows. Even under these conditions, Chris himself would break. In front of fifty plus people being berated, pushed to do something you knew you couldn’t do. 

Right at the end of it was a line, written in plain ink by hand. “Vacation not given as described by supervisor. No week off.” With tear stains smudging the ink. 

Chris started walking down the hall to the shared bedroom. As he walked closer he heard you mumbling as you sobbed. Things like “stop crying” and “it's nothing.” But one made him freeze right before he opened the door, “Chris is going to worry. You already take too much from him, get it together so he won't worry. It’ll hurt him. Stop hurting the people you love. You’re a monster.”

That made his eyes sting, you were worried about him above all else. He slowly opened the door and you couldn't find it in you to look up. You knew who it was. The aura you know and love, like salve on the holes you ripped into yourself. The small steps were only weighed down by his sneakers as he slowly spoke. 

“Hey…Baby Girl?” The tone was even more soothing. We don't deserve that. “Can you look at me please?” You just shook your head. Too embarrassed at the shambling mess you are. The real you that you hide. 

Before you knew it you saw two big hands undoing the laces on his sneakers, shortly after he toed them off. Slowly he sat in front of you groaning “Oooooookay criss-cross applesauce it is…” making you smirk as you wiped your nose with the inside of the collar of your shirt. Finally, as he settled he said “aaaaaughh” with a big puff of air… 

You just tucked your head into your chest as you hid as much as you could. He waited for a few minutes, until he said, “We can address what happened in a few minutes. But you need to know. You don't take from me.” 

Your tears kept falling as you listened, his tone calming the raging currents in your mind.

He looked at the engagement and wedding band on your left hand. He watched the tears fall, he saw the holes in you. He wanted to lunge at you, take that emotional knife away from you, smother you in affection. Hold you, his heart burned for it. Needle and thread ready to patch you up. To heal you.

 He spoke softly, “You are my everything, Y/N. You aren't a burden, a disappointment, you aren't a chore, the only thing you took from me was my heart, but you had that before I even heard your voice. The second I saw you… I gave it to you. I don't want it back either.” 

You hiccuped breaths as you listened. He scooted a little closer and he put his hands out, palm up into your vision… asking for your hands. That was when you realized you were scratching at them again. 

You unfurled them from one another, hissing where one nail was slightly deeper, the tiny droplet of blood following soon after.

He looked at your hands, humming in the back of his throat, “One second.” He didn’t want to show it, but he was worried. You feel so much and he just wants to be there to hold you, to love you. 

Then popped up and left. He came back with a first aid kit, “Oooooookay heeaarr we goar again... criss-cross.” That made you giggle the tiniest bit. Chris always loved to hear your laugh. Your laugh is infectious and it always never fails to brighten his day. He knew he was making progress.

You couldn't see it but Chris was smirking at your tiny cute form. And hearing that little giggle made him want to channel Changbin and squeal at the cuteness overload. 

“Okay my Koala Bear… hands.” When you both had started dating, he noticed you always hung on to him. You explained that he was warm and you were always frozen, especially in the colder months. You asked if it was okay for you to hold on to him like that. Internally he was trying his best not to giggle like a school boy at the prospect of you holding on to him like this naturally. He looked at you and said, “It’s no problem, you just remind me of a Koala Bear, so cute and tiny. Can I call you that? My Koala Bear?” And you nodded blushing. Since then, you’ve been his Koala Bear. 

You presented your hands to him wincing at the stretch of the new scratches and he said “So tiny… so cute. Okay tiny sting” he cleaned the bigger scratch and put a bandage on it, and checked the rest. Once he deemed it all good to have your hands back. He kissed them then returned them to your lap. “Thank you for letting me clean them.” 

You nodded and hummed. The voices slowed down. They always slowed down around him. He always was your safe place. Like home base in a baseball game. If you made it there, you’re safe. You’re home. That thought made you sad, surprisingly. How are you safe with only one person? You should have security in yourself not in someone else. Your brain was waiting to start assaulting you again. 

“Is it loud in there?” Chris asked. You've told him about all of this before, this is the first time he's seen it this bad though. The voices, memories attack you. You explained to him that sometimes your brain will do this, you try to hold it back but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

“Mhmm”

“People don't help… right?”

“mhmm”

“Can you tell me what's going on in there?”

You told him. Some.. not all. You also told him about that pesky intrusive thought about your ex and your friends. 

His body went rigid as he said, “No… they're the ones that are wrong, not you. Your ex…” He wanted to choose his words carefully. He knew that you blame yourself at times. The memory of you explaining why you were hesitant to go further when you were dating. He assured you there was no pressure. That he loved you for you, the rage boiled in him and it still does because you were never at fault for this. Especially when you trusted that asshole enough to experiment with him. He was going to be your first for everything but after what he did. The trust was gone, rightfully so.

Chris continued, “He took advantage of you, and coerced you into consent, that is not love. That is not okay? That is sexual assault. The way that your friends acted was disgusting, the way he acted was sub-human… You are not depressing, you are one of the most beautiful, talented, funny, caring, loving people I have…” his voice gave out and he cleared his throat, “You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life. I love you so much and I know you feel like you're a burden on me but being with you has been the most amazing thing I've ever experienced.”

He tilted your head up and you let him, he had tears in his eyes as he said, “You have never been nor will you ever be a monster.” Your tears picked up as you looked into his eyes. You could tell, Chris doesn’t lie. He’ll tell you the truth. His tears started falling as you leaned forward, reaching for him, needing contact. When you saw him you needed his warmth, you need him to heal you. You were losing hope, faith, everything as you watched the holes in you. Seeing him holding the needle and thread. By holding you, being with you, just being himself, it heals you. You whimpered, “Need you…” As your tears switched from self-hate to desperation… you needed him and he could tell. 

He untangled his legs and scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he rocked you petting your hair back, “You are my inspiration, my eternal love, you are the best part of my past, my present, and my future. You are the future mother to my children, the woman I'm going to grow old with, my forever and always. You are my Y/N, and I am never going to let you forget who you are and why I love you, okay?” He started crying, shielding you in his chest, protecting you. Stitching you together as you heard his heartbeat. You cried on him, relieved that you were with him.

You pulled back from him nodding. He tried to kiss your lips but you said “I'm all snotty” and he giggled. Leave it to you to be worried about snotty kisses. You looked so adorable, cheeks and nose red, nose running, tears stopping, the twinkle coming back into your eyes as he looked at you. 

“Are you denying me my snotty kisses?” He giggled as he said “Okay fine. There's no snot on your forehead” he pecked your forehead, “none on your cheeks”, and laid another peck, this pattern continued for any expanse of skin he could get his lips on as you giggled at him and his barrage of affection. When he stopped he wiped your nose with his sleeve and he kissed you gently on the lips. He savored moments like this, being able to heal you, to pick you up. He looked into your eyes as he said, “now I am thinking I’ll draw up a bath for us and I’ll give you a nice massage. After that we order take away, from your favorite place, then we watch something, Hm?” He looked at you for an answer as he kept wiping tears.

You nodded and gently, he placed you back where you were and went to get the bath ready. You'll always have hard days, but those days turn into amazing nights with Chris. Your home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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···

**read chapter one here** - **read chapter two here**

Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader

In Your Dreams

Chapter 3

“A heart without dreams is like a bird without feathers.”

-Suzy Kassem

You didn’t sleep for the rest of that night. You couldn’t. How could you when a being like that was trapped beneath your feet?

You still weren’t sure if you were frightened by him, or by how much you wanted to be near him.

You rolled onto your side for the millionth time, leaning up to punch your pillow again. You slammed your head back into the normally-comfortable fluff that, for whatever reason, felt hot and scratchy tonight. That ethereal man’s eyes flashed through your brain like a sight you barely caught out of a speeding car window. The sketch of the hauntingly beautiful face flitted through your mind’s eye.

A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on the back of your neck.

You climbed out of bed with a frustrated huff and took a warm shower, trying to wash the night’s events out of your head and off of your skin. By the time you shuffled out of your bathroom the light of dawn was beginning to peek through the foggy grounds. A bird began to chirp outside your bedroom windows.

You tried to doctor the dark circles forming beneath your eyes with a cool eye mask and some concealer, but they were there to stay. You hoped that your obvious exhaustion wouldn’t raise any suspicion with Alex or Paul—after all, how long could jetlag be a viable excuse?

To avoid Paul or Alex getting a good look at your tired eyes that morning, after you prepared their tea you volunteered to give the mansion a good, thorough cleaning. They seemed quite happy that you mentioned it, in fact.

“You’re a godsend, you are,” Paul whispered to you, putting both his and Alex’s teacups in the sink. “If I mistake another dust bunny for a mouse I think I may have a coronary.”

You chuckled as you opened the door to the closet adjacent to the kitchen that contained the cleaning supplies. “Just doing my job.”

While the house actually was in desperate need of another one of your cleaning sprees, you really just wanted an opportunity to go into every room and snoop—especially the library and its adjoining study. There had to be some forgotten book or neglected journal hiding in the crannies of this house that told you more about the man in that basement.

A physical therapist would be coming later in the morning to see to Mr. Burgess, and you knew that Paul was always present for those appointments. That would be the best time for you to look around in their bedroom, something you hadn’t yet had the opportunity to do.

You started in the library just in case you’d missed something in your previous excursions, but you came up emptyhanded. You organized the papers that were strewn across the burned desktop, keeping your eyes on the doorway to the study and your ears peeled for any approaching footsteps.

After giving every wooden corner a thorough rub with your dust rag, you gently pulled open the drawer that you knew housed the only thing of importance you had found. You gave the doorway another glance and pulled out the aging scroll. You spread it across the desk. As it always did, the sketch of the man’s face pulled your gaze. You gingerly stroked the drawing’s cheek with your finger, your chest tightening.

The parchment was covered in faded words, phrases, and chicken scratch that you were still unable to decipher. The crude sigils held no meaning for you. But your eyes settled on the word you first noticed when you originally found the paper.

Dream.

Did the powerful being encased in a prison of glass and magic below your feet have something to do with this word? After a moment, you returned the scroll to its home and ran upstairs to your room. You pulled out your laptop, plopped onto your bed, and waited for your home screen to come to life. When it came to the Burgess house, Google had always been your friend. It was time to see what you could find.

You pulled up the familiar search engine and typed in that fateful word.

Meaningless articles about the purpose of dreams and scientific studies on the subject were all you could find at first, so you searched for the phrase “dream man” instead. Artistic renderings of handsome men lined the top of the page, followed by dating site advertisements for finding the man of your dreams. You rolled your eyes.

You chewed your bottom lip.

Then, slowly, you typed “Roderick Burgess dream man” into your search bar.

Blogs on Roderick Burgess and Aleister Crowley appeared one by one, but you spotted a post that you weren’t familiar with. You clicked on it. The screen went black before pictures and blood red text began to emerge. The blog post was called “Roderick Burgess: Dream or Nightmare?”

The beginning of the post was filled with background information about the Burgesses and their mansion that you already knew and read a thousand times before. A few quotes followed from some of Roderick Burgess’s followers, claiming that they’d seen something unnatural in the home of their beloved leader but were unwilling to divulge more detail. The writer theorized what kinds of creatures Burgess could have trapped to cipher away their powers, including the devil. You groaned, having seen all of this before.

But then, the writer began a new thread.

            I come to you all with newly-acquired information from a former employee of Roderick Burgess’s only surviving son, Alex Burgess. This man claims to be a security guard that was hired to watch over the “entity” that resides within the dark bowels of the Burgess mansion. When I asked why he was sharing this information with me, he divulged that he’d been sacked for getting sleepy on the job.

“So you’re a disgruntled ex-employee, then?” I asked him.

“No, that’s not it,” he told me, shaking his head. “I don’t care that I was sacked. I had a new job lined up with me uncle already.”

“What, then?”

“If your boss gets mad at ya for gettin’ tired on the job, it’s ‘cause they’re pissed you ain’t doin’ your work, right?” he asked me. I nodded. “It was bein’ sleepy that was the problem. They didn’t give two shites about me doin’ anythin’ important while I was there. They didn’t know that my wife just had a little one and we weren’t gettin’ much sleep between the two of us.”

I told him that I still failed to see his point.

“It’s the SLEEPIN’,” he told me again, insistent. “Alex Burgess caught me startin’ to nod off and threw me outta there screamin’ “You can’t sleep around ‘im!””

Your eyes narrowed. No one was allowed to sleep in the being’s presence? Why? What did that mean?

You thought back to the parchment. Dream.

“Not skiving off, are you?”

You jumped. Alex Burgess had rolled into your open bedroom doorway.

“What? N-no, no,” you said quickly, your heart doing its best to rip its way out of your chest. You slammed the lid of your laptop. The old man’s eyes looked at your closed computer then back to you.

“Relax, Y/N, it’s all in jest,” Alex smiled, rolling a foot further into your room. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything. The door was open.”

“Oh,” you faltered, forcing a laugh. “Yeah, right. Sorry. I was just… emailing my, uh, mom.”

“I’m sure you miss her.”

“I do.”

A beat.

“I never really knew my mum.”

You smiled sadly, slipping the locked computer behind you and out of Alex’s field of vision. You weren’t sure what to say.

“I’ll just, um, get back at it,” you grinned awkwardly, grabbing the dust rag and cleaning spray from your nightstand. Alex nodded and backed out of your doorway, giving you room to exit.

“Think you could make me another cuppa before you do?” he asked you.

“Of course.”

_______________________________________

That night was colder.

The pajamas you brought didn’t cover enough skin to keep you warm, so you grabbed a knitted cover off the back of the sitting room couch to wrap around your shoulders before hiding behind the grandfather clock to wait. The guards’ shift change was approaching.

As they always did, Hattie and Randy emerged from the basement at exactly ten o’clock. While Hattie was pulling on her thick coat, Randy groaned.

“What?” she asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Randy hissed, shaking the cell phone that he had just pulled from his pocket. “I just got a text from Edwin. He ain’t comin’.”

“At all?!”

“No, he quits.”

“Bugger,” Hattie spat, planting her hands on her wide hips. “Well, what the hell are we supposed to do? I’m not workin’ a double that I’m not gettin’ paid for!”

“They don’t pay us enough to deal with this shite,” Randy agreed, pulling on his coat anyway. He lowered his voice. “It don’t sound like Mr. Burgess is wise. Let’s just pop off and we’ll tell him in the morning.”

“We shouldn’t tell ‘im now?” Hattie asked.

“That old codger’s asleep by now. Anyway, he’d ask us to stay. I don’t wanna give ‘im the opportunity.”

Hattie hesitated, looking at the closed basement door with disdain, then to the front door longingly. She sighed.

“What Mr. Burgess don’t know won’t hurt us, right?” she conceded hopefully. Randy chuckled and followed her to the front door.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Edwin wasn’t coming. You had nearly eight hours before the next shift.

Joy was a new spring flower blossoming in your chest. Could this be the night you helped the man escape? Every moral fiber in your body told you that it had to be done. However, the possibility of sentencing yourself and your employers to almost certain death was holding you back. You certainly weren’t ready to die.

But you knew that if it wasn’t tonight, when would it be? Alex and Paul would know by morning that they needed to hire a new night guard, and there was no guarantee that whoever they hired would run late enough to give you your valuable time window.

Then a horrible thought occurred to you. What if Mr. Burgess changed the security combination every time an employee left? It had taken you weeks to get that code, and you didn’t know when or if you would ever have an opportunity to return to the basement if that happened.

You chose not to think about that now, not yet.

The familiar hum of the mystery man in the bowel of the basement began to strum through your bones, making you sigh. In a strange way, at this distance, it was almost a soothing sensation.

You pressed the carving of the amulet on the nearby wall and the keypad appeared.

Four.

Zero.

Seven.

Three.

Seven.

Four.

As it did the night before, the intensity of the entity’s presence knocked the breath out of you as soon as you opened the basement door. You knew to expect it this time, though. A wall of freezing air hit you as you reached the bottom of the steps, soaking through your thin blanket. Winter had seeped into the ground.

Undeterred, you gently pushed open the glass doors and stepped forward with more confidence than you had the previous night. The vibrations in your chest seemed to hum in approval as your eyes settled on the unnaturally striking man that was curled inside the translucent orb. He was sitting in the middle of it now, upright, chiseled face as stoic as ever.

His gaze was hooded and pierced through yours. Your memories did not do those fathomless eyes justice.

In steps, you were centimeters from the edge of the intricate summoning circle. The pale light of the basement cast his cheekbones in sharp relief. Your nerve endings felt like they were on fire and his relentless stare was making them sear. Goosebumps erupted in a tickle over your skin, but whether it was the cold or his smoldering stare you didn’t know.

“I told you I’d come back,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. It hit you just how much you’d been longing to be in this exact spot all day long.

He rested his forearms on his knees, ankles tactically crossed to cover his manhood. He barely cocked his head, studying you. You again had the suspicion that he was carding through your every thought. You sincerely hoped that he didn’t have the ability to do that, or you were going to be incredibly embarrassed.

Despite the chill, you could feel your cheeks beginning to heat.

“So,” you offered lamely, clutching the thin blanket around your shoulders, “I realized that it wasn’t very fair of me to ask you for your name without telling you mine.”

His chin lifted ever so slightly, looking down at you through his thick curtain of lashes. You took that as a signal that he was listening. You licked your lips.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, offering a gentle smile.

His intrusive gaze raked from your face to your feet, and back up again. You tightened the blanket around you even more. You felt very exposed, which was ironic, considering that the only naked one here was him. The heat had spread from your nerve endings to your cheeks now. You knew he was noticing.

“I—I still don’t know your name,” you said, doing your best to gulp down your blush, “but I don’t expect you to tell me. I get the feeling you’re not much of a talker.”

At that, the corner of his full lips twitched. It was almost imperceptible but you got a rush from his brief moment of amusement nevertheless.

“I get why you don’t talk,” you continued. “You don’t owe them anything. Especially with… all of this.” You jutted your chin toward the glass orb in question. “But if all you had to do was make a promise to get out of there, I have to admit I’m a little confused as to why you won’t just do it.”

His lips pursed at that. His steely eyes were hard.

“Unless… you know that when you do get out, you’ll hurt them. You want to hurt them.”

It wasn’t a question. The flash of anger across his face confirmed it for you. He was waiting to take his revenge, but was holding onto his honor enough not to lie in order to get it. Fear trickled down your spine when he glowered like that with so much barely-contained rage, even if the fury was for Alex Burgess and not for you.

He’s dangerous, you reminded yourself. You need to remember that.

Even though your logical mind knew this, your heart ached for him nonetheless. You weren’t the one responsible for his imprisonment, but you had the power to end it. If you just stood around and did nothing that made you no better than Roderick Burgess, in your opinion. This being was not meant to be here. Whatever ancient power he possessed was meant to be out in the world, not in the dead Demon King’s basement.

“I may not know who you are, but I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you said, desperate to change the subject and get that furious gleam out of his eyes. You watched the placement of your feet as you began to pace around the golden circle of sigils. His head turned to follow you.

You stopped to watch him.

“I found this old scroll rolled up in Roderick Burgess’s study. I think it’s about you,” you told him. You licked your lips again, always feeling your mouth turn to cotton when you held eye contact with him for too long. “I couldn’t figure out much, but I could still make out one word: Dream.”

His head lifted fully now and his pale body turned to face you. You were on the right track, then.

“Is… is that what you do?” you asked measuredly, beginning to pace again. His unrelenting attention trailed you as you walked. You returned to the front of the circle. “Do you have something to do with dreams?”

His countenance was as stony as ever, like unyielding white marble, but he leaned toward you the same way he had the night before. His face was an inch from the glass. You wished so desperately that you could touch it, that you could get even closer. You wanted to caress his cheek like you had his drawing many times before.

You searched his endless eyes for answers. It seemed like he wanted to give you something but he was waging an internal battle with himself. You leaned toward him, matching his motion, but your toes stayed in place. You hoped that he could see—feel—from you that you were worthy of his trust.

For the first time since you first laid eyes on him, he blinked. There was emotion there. His forehead gently touched the glass with his imploring orbs searching yours. His lips barely twitched open, like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. You could see every dark lash that surrounded his beautiful eyes now.

“You… you control dreams?” you asked, your voice a wisp of its former self. The sheer feeling in those eyes directed at you stoked the searing flames in your gut. That pulsating hum was so very strong now.

His eyes were shining. Pale forehead still against the glass, he nodded. Your connection to him in that moment felt inexplicably intimate.

You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. His unworldly beauty made sense now. You remember thinking that you could only dream up someone like him. It was fitting.

Your eyelids fluttered, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill at the intense emotions that were congealing in your throat. His imprisonment was the greatest tragedy you could imagine. Dreams were such an important thing. Dreams made humanity what it was, made people strive to be better.

“How could they do this?” you whispered, a profound hate boiling in your blood for Roderick Burgess. “How could they do this to you?”

Your empathy still seemed to confuse him, but his expression had softened. It occurred to you that very few, if any, people that he saw every day for countless years ever showed him any kindness or care. Alex Burgess, Paul McGuire, the guards… they all regarded him with nothing but contempt, entitlement, or fear. You had eavesdropped on enough conversations to know that.

You doubted that this man wanted your pity, but you felt betrayed by Roderick Burgess. You were betrayed on behalf of humanity for depriving you of him, of this ethereal being—this man of dreams.

Ever since your childhood, you’d had the most vivid of dreams. You always remembered them, but more importantly, they were almost always lucid. You knew that you were dreaming while you were still in the dream, giving you the ability to change things, people, places. You were the master of your own universe.

You slept often and for long periods of time because your dreams were always so much better than your reality. If you’d had it your way, you would have stayed in bed for the rest of your life just to continue your fantastical imaginings. It sparked your curiosity for all things unexplainable. However, when you overheard your parents one day discussing sending you to a sleep specialist, you knew that you had to come back to the real world.

Your most recent dreams had been of this house, of you finding your way to it and walking through dark, candlelit hallways with hooded figures darting in and out of sight. You thought that it was just your obsession for the paranormal history of Roderick Burgess and his ancestral home swimming through your subconscious, but maybe it was something more. The sorcerer and his infamous magic wasn’t why you always felt drawn here, that was clear to you now.

It was him. Maybe you were meant to find him.

Once you made that realization, something inside of you slid together like a puzzle piece. The Burgesses had made their bed, and even though you never wanted harm to come to anyone, your purpose was clear.

“I’m getting you out,” you choked.

The emotion on the dream man’s face was unfathomable, his limitless blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. He breathed a disbelieving sob that made the aching lump in your throat clench. His pale hands pressed desperately against the glass on both sides of his head. A rogue tear slid down his sallow cheek.

You gulped down an empathetic cry that was threatening to tear through your throat and threw the blanket off of your shoulders. You ignored the intense chill that encased your under-clothed body.

“First things first, I have to break this circle,” you murmured. You positioned yourself at the very front center of the golden sigil and pressed your socked foot onto the most outward line. You looked up. The man was standing now with his forehead and hands still glued to the glass. His taut chest was heaving up and down, his tongue darting between his pink lips. His eyes were stirring with an emotion in their depths that you couldn’t name, but whatever it was pulled the fiery blush back to your cheeks.

Slowly, deliberately, you put pressure on your toes and slid your foot backward. The most outward line was broken.

You could tell instantly that the air had changed. The effervescent power that until that point had only thrummed inside your body was overtaking the entire basement. It was like a trembling bass that had been pulsing in your earphones alone was suddenly reverberating through a massive amplifier.

You didn’t stop there. You knelt and rubbed your outstretched hand over the remaining lines and sigils that you could reach.

The summoning circle was broken.

You closed the distance that you’d been longing to close and pressed your hands against the invisible barrier. The dream man dropped to his knees, head thrown back toward the ceiling and arms outstretched. It was like he was a ravenous traveler that had been stranded without water for years, and he was finally getting a drink. His chiseled chest was heaving faster now, his nostrils flaring.

Abruptly, he dropped his head and pressed his face against the glass again, right in front of yours. It was the closest you’d been to him yet and your body was singing. His ghostly palms went as far as they could, thudding against where yours rested on the other side.

You had to tell yourself to breathe.

“Can you break it?” you asked him desperately. He shook his head once, but tilted his chin toward the corner of the basement closest to the door. There was a small guard’s desk there covered in computer screens.

You bolted toward it, sweating palms searching for anything you could use to hammer against the glass. There were papers, two keyboards, and trash leftover from someone’s dinner, but nothing you saw that could be used to break a thick glass prison.

“Fuck it!” you exclaimed. You grabbed one of the wooden chairs and dragged it toward the orb unceremoniously. “You might wanna stand back.”

He didn’t listen to you.

He was unmovable with hands pasted to the barrier and eyes on fire. You lifted the chair, and with all your strength, threw it against the glass. You weren’t surprised when it didn’t break but you tried again. You hurled the chair a third time, but it didn’t even leave the faintest of cracks. You wanted to scream. You were so close!

You took a step back, your chest now heaving as well. Your eyes darted all around the glass prison, looking for a weak point, looking for anything.

“Wait,” you grinned. Your smile was alight with the promise of a new idea. You didn’t know why you hadn’t already thought of it. “I know where they keep their guns.”

For the first time, a true smile tugged at the unearthly man’s lips. You tore yourself away from the addicting sight and ran toward the glass doors. With a speed that surprised you, you were up the stairs and out of the basement door in seconds.

With light but hurried feet, you ran down the dark hallway and toward the study, heart hammering against your ribcage. You stopped underneath a hideously eerie stuffed deer head and swung open the doors of a large wooden cabinet. There, the Burgess family’s old hunting rifles sat behind glass. You didn’t have the key and you had no idea where it was, but this glass looked much thinner than whatever was incasing the being downstairs.

You prayed a quick prayer to whatever god was listening that you wouldn’t wake up the sleeping elderly couple and seized a nearby fire poker in your hands. With one strong swing, you shattered the glass. You dropped the metal tool at your feet and grasped the first rifle you could reach.

You sped toward the basement door, not even bothering to look upstairs to see if you’d woken anyone. There was no time.

Your quick feet trampled down the flight of stairs. Within seconds, you were blowing through the glass doors and toward the last barrier between you and the otherworldly man that overtook your senses.

You hoped against hope that the gun was loaded.

With a deep breath to steel your courage and a whispered prayer, you lifted the gun to your shoulder and slid off the safety. You cocked it, and with relief, you heard the click of a round sliding into the chamber.

“I won’t hurt you, will I?” you asked abruptly, dropping the barrel toward the ground.

The man showed no sign that he heard you. He was bracing against that glass, every muscle tensed, jaw clenched and eyes ablaze with something primal and barely-contained.

You raised the gun back to your shoulder, aimed, braced yourself, and pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

The moment the bullet hit the glass, the entity inside jumped with something that was akin to pleasure. His forceful eyes were dark and zoned in on you, commanding you to do it again. With a fire that licked your innermost soul, you pulled the trigger a second time.

His muscles contracted, his mouth falling open in a way that was sinful as a crack began to snake its way in front of his face. His scorching glare was black with furious expectation, imposing his will upon you once more. Again.

···

BOOM!

You heard it before you saw it.

The glass was shattered.

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@harmonygrant @masterobiwan279 @ollyoxenfrees @lexivalentin3 @theylettheirwingsdown

**read chapter 4 here

#the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus/dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #the endless #the dreaming #dream #morpheus #tom sturridge #neil gaiman #slow burn #romance #dream x y/n #morpheus x y/n #reader insert #in your dreams #dream x you #morpheus x you #dream the endless

[akystaracer22]

Free the Bird from its Gilded Cage

Synopsis: Lucifer would tell anyone who asked his greatest regret was letting humanity eat the apple. Better than admitting what he really regretted.

Notes

Golly gee good thing affairs didn’t exist back then huh!

In which Lucifer’s tism hurts his best friend, the fic.

I think I can tag this as Edenpoly considering the conversation between Lucifer and Lilith.

I give my greatest thanks to my good friend Hat who uttered the phrase “I raise a glass to the friend you could have been and drink to the monster you became” (Or something of the sort) which has not left my brain 2 years later.

No shade on other people’s depictions of the ancient archangels. I love good archangels as much as you guys but… this is very much bashing.

I’m so sorry Michael. And Azrael, and every single angel who’s characters I butcher in this AU. It’s not you guys I swear.

God on the other hand fuck you I’m not sorry.

I have been told by many people irl that I have religious trauma. I didn’t think I did but fuck it we ball.

I am so sorry this came out late but I had two assignments and I'm moving houses, I'll try not to have a repeat.

Word count: 1957

Fic under cut!

Lucifer felt Lilith before he saw her, the first woman’s aura screaming frustration and hurt louder than the tears in her eyes.

She was sitting under an aspen tree with her legs tucked to her chest.

Lucifer didn’t need to guess why she was upset; it could really only be one thing these days.

“Adam did something again, didn’t he.”

Lilith huffed and lifted her head to meet Lucifer’s gaze, “We fought, again. He still doesn’t get it.”

Lucifer sighed and sat down next to the first woman, not for the first time the little voice in his head bemoaned Adams chronic inability to listen to anyone other than God. It was really starting to cause problems in Eden.

“He’ll regret it.”

“He always does, but he still does it.”

Lucifer nodded, “He needs to learn that God isn’t right about everything,” His siblings would murder him if they knew he was spreading this kind of blasphemy, “But I do agree, it’s a little irritating.”

“It is!” Lucifer jerked as Lilith stood up abruptly and began to pace, “He’s great most of the time don’t get me wrong, but he’s just increasingly growing more and more insufferable! It’s like every time he gets better he just goes straight back to being worse!”

“Truly the trials and tribulations of the first humans.”

“I just wish he would listen to me! Not some stuck up self-important know it all who thinks I’m worthless.”

Lucifer wisely held back the instinctive defence of the Creator, “Especially when you are so much more than that.”

Lilith seemed to finally run out of steam, falling back into Lucifer’s arms and holding him tightly, “I hate this… I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t… I hate the man God wants him to be.”

“I hate that man too,” Lucifer admitted, “I hate how he hurts everyone.”

Because it wasn’t just Lilith that was left hurting. Lucifer hated how he was losing track of the near silent breakdowns of Adam’s.

God created humanity different from the grand design, and every day Lucifer loathed that fact more and more.

“He’s going to win, that man.”

“Neither of us will let him.”

“He’ll let himself,” Lilith hissed right by his ear, the sound sending a shiver down Lucifer’s spine, by the choirs that felt good “Adams an idiot.”

“Yep!” Call Lucifer blasphemous, but he was so tempted to-

Lilith opened her mouth to say something, and Lucifer listened to the little voice in his head once again.

He caught her mouth with his own swiftly before pulling back, face flushing as he realised what he just did.

That was something only Adam and Lilith was supposed to do with each other.

Lilith blinked, taking time to process before giving her response, “Do that again.”

Lucifer didn’t need to be told twice.

The bark of the aspen tree was lit up by Lucifer’s wings as he pressed his lips to Lilith’s again.

And again.

And again.

Lucifer had never felt so good. He could see why Lilith and Adam like doing this. This felt so good.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

It was hours until Lucifer disentangled himself from Lilith, still not having quite recovered from the experience. Sadly, he could feel the mental tug attached to his halo signifying his siblings wanting an audience with him. The last thing he wanted was to have them come down and see him with Lilith.

The moment he returned to heaven however, he had the distinct feeling that he might have messed up regardless.

Michael was pacing and muttering angrily under his breath, sharp sounds grating Lucifer’s awareness. When the archangel saw Lucifer, his wings physically bristled as he lunged forward and grabbed the Morningstar by the robe.

“You are so very fortunate that God was already growing tired of Lilith’s rebellion!”

“What?”

“Michael,” Lucifer turned to see Azrael landing nearby, “I highly doubt Lucifer knows what he has done, as impulsive as he is.”

“What? What happened,” Lucifer demanded, mantling his wings to make himself look larger as he stared down the other archangels.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what!”

“God decided to give the first man a new wife,” Michaels words cut through Lucifer’s anger and left only shock, “Made from his rib.”

“… what?”

“Yes, I had to tear it out myself,” Michael huffed, Lucifer noticed the dried red still dusting the angels gloves, “Adam tried to flee.”

“…”

“What Michael means,” Azreal shot the other a look, “Is that Adam didn’t take the information well, and saw it fit to attempt avoiding the situation entirely.”

“He was awake?!” Lucifer screeched “By the choir what is wrong with you two?!”

“It was the Creator’s wishes, none of us knew it would bring pain,” Azrael sighed, “However, it would encourage not repeating the situation…”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Michael scoffed, “The Creator ensured Adam wouldn’t remember.”

“It would taint him.”

“It would motivate him.”

“What?”

“Our Creator has decided to take a more… hands on approach in ensuring the situation does not repeat itself,” Azrael looked uncomfortable, “Xe employed the use of divine power to keep Adam and Eve from straying from the grand design.”

Lucifer took a step back.

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but Lucifer couldn’t hear over the roar of nothing in his ears.

No.

Nononononono.

Lucifer ran.

He broke into a sprint before diving back down to Earth, landing on the soft grass of Eden he looked around desperately.

“Adam!”

“Yes?”

Lucifer turned around as Adam’s figure came into view from behind a tree, “Adam-”

His eyes were gold.

Lucifer stumbled back as he took in the first man’s appearance, Adam’s eyes were no longer the colour of earth. The familiar dark brown orbs that bore the gold of honey and of leaves in the sun were gone. In their place was the brilliant gold of divinity, of heaven, the same gold of the-

The chain attached to his wrist.

Lucifer lunged forward and grabbed his friends arm, pulling him forward and running a hand along the softly glowing cuff on Adams wrist.

It was definitely the Creator’s doing.

“Adam what have they done to you.”

“Ah, apologies, but have we met before?”

Lucifer’s golden ichor froze as he looked back up to meet that accursed golden gaze, “What?”

“It is just that… you seem familiar with me, but I do not recall ever having met you. I apologize.”

Lucifer stepped back from the first man, “What.”

“Were you present for my creation? That day was such a blur I hardly recall all those present.”

“Adam- Adam look at me,” Lucifer grabbed Adam by the shoulder, staring desperately into those too gold, too inhuman, too holy eyes “Adam. You are my best friend. You remember me don’t you?”

Adam’s eyes flickered for a moment, that familiar beautiful earth brown peeking through for a moment before being swamped by heavenly gold.

“You are an angel; how could I ever be friends with someone of a higher status such as you?”

Lucifer wanted to cry.

The Creator truly was cruel.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Lucifer couldn’t do this.

Lucifer shoved Adam away and ran like a coward, stumbling through the bushes and past trees as he ran away from the puppet wearing his best friends face.

He didn’t even talk like Adam.

The Creator just stripped his best friend of everything that made him… him.

Lucifer collapsed under a willow tree as he sobbed into his arms.

He didn’t move for a long time after that.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Lilith found him in the dim of night, her eyes sharp and he teeth bared in a rueful grimace even as she took him into his arms.

“We’re not letting them get away with this. Not this time.”

A hot flame of righteous anger sparked in Lucifer’s heart as he held onto Lilith. She was right, this crossed a line.

Lucifer wanted to rush in, to steal Adam away and find a way to break that chain.

Lilith told him to wait, to watch and observe as she would.

“Right now, heaven does not know about our rebellion, if we move too quickly we will both be destroyed.”

She was right, of course she was. Lucifer hated it though.

They had to watch Adam go through the motions of what his life used to be. The way he would no longer wander the garden without reason.

He wouldn’t play with the animals anymore or sit and relax under the sun.

Lucifer almost broke the trunk of a tree when he saw Adam tear out a plant Gabriel considered ‘too imperfect for the garden’ even though Lucifer knew that it was Adams favourite flower.

That flame of anger grew every time that damned shackle glowed and chained Adams will.

It took a little time to figure out, but if there was one thing Lucifer was sure would free Adam and Eve, it was the apples of knowledge.

They had to.

Lucifer and Lilith also watched Eve through everything. She seemed meek through the control of the Creator, but in the few moments the attention of heaven faded and the gold in her eyes let a little bit of reddish brown through, they got to know her.

She was gentle and sweet to the animals but there was a steel in her spine.

She was vibrant and wild as she chased the cheetah’s around the garden or buried her head in a grizzly bears side.

Lucifer grew to love her in a way. As little of her as he could see. But she was the one the Creator paid less attention to, and why would xe? She is supposed to be subservient to Adam.

Lucifer shifted into the form of a snake and curled through the branches of the tree of knowledge as she came into view.

Showtime.

“Eve my dear, may I borrow your attention for but a moment?” Lucifer sing-songed, drawing the girls eye as she stopped at the base of the tree.

“What is it you require of me, snake?” Eve asked, Lucifer watched intently as the telltale hint of red brown filtered into her gaze, this was the shot he needed.

“The fruit of this tree, could you tell me how it tastes to you?”

The woman flinched back as if struck, and Lucifer’s eyes narrowed at her response.

“I couldn’t, God said-”

“And have you not wondered why xe demands such things of you? Have you not questioned why xe forbade this?” Lucifer hissed, snapping off an apple and letting it fall to the ground at Eve’s feet, “I know, and that is why I ask this of you.”

Eve’s will fought with Heaven for a moment as she picked up the apple, but she was not gone yet, “God said that if I ate the fruit, I would die.”

“And the Creator lies to you,” blasphemy dripped off of Lucifers tongue as he all but snarled at Eve, the white-hot flame of fury envenoming his words, “To eat the apple is not to die, but to be freed. To have your eyes opened to the truth around you.”

Eve held the apple in her hands, the reddish brown in her eyes traitorously present.

“How do you know I won’t die?”

“Because my dear, I have had my eyes opened long ago. To open them is a freedom the Creator keeps from you on purpose,” Lucifer hissed, “You will not die, of that I can promise.”

Eve bit into the apple, and the chains snapped under the weight of knowledge granted.

#hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #worldbuilding #writing #angst #hazbin hotel lucifer #adamsapple #fluff #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer x lilith #lilith hazbin hotel #lilith morningstar #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel eve #eve hazbin hotel #eve x adam #edenpoly #garden of eden #archangel michael #archangel azrael #god hazbin hotel #apple from the tree of knowledge #the bible #ashes to ashes dust to dust

[olderthannetfic]

With all this talk about AI, the one perspective that appears missing from the discussion is that of someone who actually uses AI writing tools in production of their fanfic. So here I am, stepping in to provide my (anonymous) two cents.

I've been using a generative AI program especially made for creative writers for several months now. Initially, I had a lot of the same reservations I'm hearing form others, but I was curious about the tech and wanted to try it for myself. I quickly discovered that it's insanely useful, and I truly believe it has improved my writing. 

I also believe these tools will become commonplace among creative writers in the near future. In fact, I've heard that generative AI is coming to a writing software near you (MS Word to be exact), and I suspect that that once more people have actually tried it, use of AI will begin to seem no more remarkable than the use of spelling or grammar checkers does now. 

In the meantime, as you can see, I am staying anon, and there is absolutely no way I would tag my fanfic as AI assisted given the current environment. People are very quick to make assumptions about what a statement like that means, and are all too hasty in reaching for their pitchforks.

As far as I can tell, the main concern seems to be that Ao3 will be flooded with 'bad' fanfic as a result of AI use. But 'bad' fanfic has been a thing for as long as I've been in fandom (decades, at this point), and in my experience, human beings are perfectly capable of writing poorly without any help from machines. Readers are, as always, advised to curate their own reading experience. The 'back' button works the same as it always did, and someone's possible use of AI changes nothing about that. 

But the general assumption that AI input automatically leads to 'bad' writing seems rather short-sighted. Yes, obviously if someone were to go to ChatGPT and tell it to write them a fanfic in 'x' fandon about 'x' pairing, the output would be bland, generic and probably a bit rambling. AIs are not great storytellers; they can't maintain narrative logic. 

If this hypothetical person then copy-pasted the unedited output directly onto Ao3 and called it a story, the result would most likely qualify as 'bad' fanfic. Whether it would be worse than a story the same person might have written on their own is debatable. Our hypothetical protagonist obviously decided that the output was good enough as it was, and chose to post it without bothering to edit, which suggests (at least to me) that they would have similar standards about a story they'd written without an AI.

Since the above seems to be the scenario everyone has in mind when talking about "AI fic," I would like to point out that what I just described is not the only way to use AI in one's writing. My own use is more akin to using an online thesaurus; a very powerful thesaurus that can make suggestions for things like phrasings, descriptions, dialogue, and so on. The key there is that it makes suggestions. 

My AI assistant is smart enough to 'read' the scene I'm working on and tailor its suggestions to the mood, style and context of what I'm writing. But it's still my story. The AI doesn't write it for me. I'm the one who sifts through those suggestions, takes the bits that work, and shapes them into useful text. Sometimes the AI comes up with amazing things. I wasn't kidding when I said it's improved my writing - and my rewriting. It knocks me out of those mental ruts we writers tend to get into, coming up with descriptions and turns of phrase that I wouldn't have thought of on my own. 

But it's still just a tool, and at the end of the day, I'm still the writer. The words that end up on the page do so because I chose them. Those writerly choices are what make the story mine, regardless of where the words might have originated from. And whether they came from my brain or the AI, they are still subject to the same standards of rewriting, editing and proofing.

So no, I don't think I'm going to be tagging my fic with an AI disclosure statement any time soon. Not until the current moral panic dies down to the point where people don't read that and automatically assume it means 'copy-pasted from ChatGPT.' And for anyone who's curious about AI... I suggest you try it for yourself. Play around a little and find out what it's about before making judgments. I think you'll find it's a tool like any other - and just like any tool, it can be used well or it can be used badly. That's entirely in the hands of the human being using it - which is one thing that hasn't changed, and never should.

--

Yeah, I fail to see any major issue with more sucky fanfic getting posted. That's just the default for big fic archives.

The actual problem problems we're seeing are with paid markets with open submissions that get flooded beyond what staff can handle and big corporations replacing humans they already try not to pay.

The main potential issue I see with other uses of AI is that it may end up with samey suggestions, but it's hard to know how much that's 1. a thing and 2. an actual issue when writing genre stuff that often sounds samey on purpose and where that's a desirable characteristic.

[yyyuyuyu]

Hi.👋🏻

If you are taking requests, do you mind if I ask for a prompt or headcanon with a Yandere Albedo with a darling with just came back from a reasearch trip with a vision?

(Sorry if this sounds to demanding, this was rhe only translation to english that my brain could come up with, and sorry if I acidentaly broke one of your rules)

Have a good day/night, and continue to follow your dreams no matter the work.

~Anon🌙

DARLING GETS A VISION. || Albedo.

It's been a while since you left. Time drags slowly, so much so that Albedo begins to think that your should not have let go. What if something happened to you? An attack by the Order of the Abyss? Injury by negligence? Oh, but sweet sweet you. That spark and aspiration that he saw in your eyes. You wanted to go on a research trip. And what was your happiness when, after some persuasion, he agreed to let you go. Albedo doesn't know why he decided to do this. Maybe it's your happy smile when you were able to convince him that you can stand up for yourself. Or maybe the fact is that if something happens to you, he will have a reason to be around under the pretext of protection. He knows it sounds wrong, but can you blame him? After all, you don't have a vision. And while your fighting skills are commendable, you won't be able to defend yourself with them alone.

Walking through the streets of Mondstadt, Albedo hears a voice calling him. Turning his head, he sees you running towards him, waving your hand as a greeting. His gaze slides over your figure, trying to find any injuries. Not finding it, he was ready to breathe a sigh of relief, but his attention was attracted by something slightly glowing on your bag.

Pyro vision.

Albedo is not sure what he should feel. You look so happy talking about how you got a vision.

“Now I'll be able to go on research expeditions or even travel more often, and you won't have to worry about me!”

At this phrase, a chill went through his artificial skin. This is definitely not the result he expected. It took him some time and effort to get close to you so much that you voluntarily stayed with him on Dragonspine, and did not visit him occasionally, as you did before. And now all this can become in vain, just because you now have a vision?

Smiling gently, he says that he is happy for you. During your monologue, you mention that you saw a traveler who recently returned from Inazuma. In less than a minute, a solution appears in Albedo's head.

It is probably worth asking the traveler about the withdrawal of the vision.

I'm sorry it took so long!

٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

#genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere albedo #yandere albedo x reader

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 31 **Prompt Orgy - I used all four!** “emptiness, I thought I was getting better, take it easy, setbacks”

After a minute, John pulled Sherlock’s hands off his face, lowering them onto the bed and intertwined their fingers. He retreated his head a bit so that he could look Sherlock into the eyes again.

“You are right. But apart from this and in order to really move on we also have to keep talking to each other. Like we did here. As in actually talk, saying what we mean and feel. I know I am shit at it and so are you but this…,” John struggled to phrase, “this emptiness for words has to stop.”

“And here I thought I was getting better at the talking thing.” Sherlock deadpanned, not altogether jokingly.

“You made a brilliant start. I’ll give you this.”

“Thanks to Ella’s advice, that is.”

“Anyhow. Let’s keep this up, shall we? Maybe avoid a lot of misunderstandings in the future?”

“So, John, what do you imagine our future would look like?”

“Bright, I hope.” John grinned. “Seriously though, I thought a lot about this when I sat waiting beside your bed.” John let go of Sherlock’s hands and pointed his thumbs at himself. “Look at me here, telling you about my feelings.” He waggled his eye brows a bit, trying to make light of the situation because deep down he was very nervous about what he intended to say.

“I want to move back into 221b. I want to live with you again. I want to bring Rosie. I want us to be family. We could renovate 221c and use it for additional living space. I want to keep working at the clinic but only part-time so that I can help you with the cases and blog about it.” John took a deep breath. “What about you?”

There, I’ve said it. What I truly want. I’ve been given another chance and this time I will make good use of it. I swear! Restart our friendship with a clean slate. And maybe, eventually, there might be more, we could become more. I think I could be more than a friend if Sherlock wants. But no need to rush this. There will be time to figure this out if we take it easy with ourselves.

Sherlock looked at John, gaping, his mouth literally hanging open while all the blood in his body rushed into his head seemingly having decided to have a surprise party in his brain.

“I, I…” Colourful stars exploded behind his eyes and an incandescent shower of joyful sparks buried Sherlock’s heart in a thick layer of blissful warmth. “Yes! Yes! John, I want this too, very much!”

Oh God, yes! Come back to me John, we can be happy together, as friends and family. It will be more than I could ever have dreamed of when I came back after the fall. Let us take it slow and maybe I can show you how I really feel about you, carefully and safely, some time in the future. Maybe then we can be more than friends. But for now, it is more than enough. Much more.

“I have an idea.” John waited for a sarcastic remark but Sherlock just listened. “Let us both take a vow. There will be setbacks, you know. With us. We’re both not good with talk about feelings. We’re both not an easy person to live with. But we already know the worst about each other. So, I promise to do my best for making this work and not stop trying.”

“Yes, me too, John. I promise to never stop making 221b our home.”

Their words kept hovering in the air between them, heavy with meaning and full of promise. Much more than mere words in fact.  Both were intensely aware of the significance what had been said and both thought that their promises had an uncanny resemblance to the marriage vow John had taken.

They hugged for long time after this, keeping each other close, unwilling to let go of this magical moment where their future together was about to start.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

chapter 7 "Dedication" is up (prompts 28-31)

—

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

#whumptober2023 #no.31 #emptiness #I thought I was getting better #take it easy #setbacks #Sherlock #fic #my sherlock fanfics #slowly suffocating

[justaboutsnapped]

Just another day of losing it over brocedes... Thinking about their dynamic in terms of winning/losing.

Warning: long ass (900-word) post ahead. Lowkey just over-the-top wailing but I!!! *said like a madman* have connected the dots!!! This is definitely subjective–hopefully not unbearably so because I did reference Actual Lore™ and shit.

In another unnecessarily lengthy post I listed some instances of Lewis and Nico being unbelievably competitive over every little thing, including Lewis stating on two occasions that his favourite and least favourite thing about racing were winning and losing. Therein lies the tragedy of it all...

I was digging around trying to soak up more Lore™ and I came across this Lewis quote:

“I think for me, my whole life has been about winning. I have been racing for 29 years, so I think having that mentality of always knowing you can be better... but I think during this time, realising that winning is not everything. Sometimes, when you lose, you actually win and grow.”

This is great!! It demonstrates how Lewis' mentality has matured. What's there to be sad about? Unfortunately for me (it would've been so nice for my sanity if I didn't make the connection), the phrasing in the first bolded part immediately reminded me of this Nico moment @box-box-blorbos had brought up in the tags of my aforementioned brocedes brainrot rant post:

"The fact it was Lewis I took the title from is extra sweet as well because to me it feels that I've been racing him all my life and all my life he's just edged me out for the titles," added Rosberg.

"I've been racing him all my life" "my whole life as been about winning" I'm going to start fucking crying. Not because of the flimsy connection I just made based on the quotes having a couple of words in common, but because of the brothers-cedes’ difference in mentality.

People always talk about how hung up Nico is about Lewis, which is sometimes overblown, but in this case it's absolutely true that Lewis had an indelible presence in Nico's mind. For a large part of his career, his winning/losing was defined not only by his own performance, but by the success of his friend slash rival slash a lot of other things. The opposite is of course true, but I think Lewis generally was better at dealing with that–taking that coveted title in 2008 and "edging" Nico "out for the titles" later on at Mercedes probably helped. Lewis has had significant championship battles with other drivers, whereas for Nico, Lewis was proclaimed by everyone (including himself) as his One True Rival of sorts. Not "I've been racing to win all my life", but "I've been racing him all my life". Winning wasn't just about getting to the top anymore, it was equally about surpassing Lewis.

Here have a Florence And The Machine line appropriate for the topic at hand:

And everything I ever did Was just another way to scream your name

It was such a terrible way for Nico to look at things. He took the pressure intrinsic to the sport and increased that shit tenfold by developing a devastating mindset which zip-tied together winning/losing and his relationship with Lewis. Really, the deterioration of the worsties' relationship was inevitable.

As a freshly minted Nico Rosberg Apologist™ I of course occasionally bemoan that it seems impossible for people to talk about Nico without bringing up Lewis (yes I'm aware of my hypocrisy here). However, Nico just proves it again and again that Lewis occupies a special place in his heart deranged little brain. Here's another quote from Nico after winning the WDC:

“And I took the World Championship away from him which is a phenomenal feeling.”

Truly, this is a mind-blowing insight into his psyche. Insert screeching and sobbing. Of fucking course he didn't see the WDC as something that started anew each season! Of course he saw it as something belonging to Lewis that he had to earn the right to take away!! Nico Rosberg you were a sick, sick man–not that he isn't now, but he's decidedly less maladjusted (being, as the joke goes, the most therapised man on the planet does wonders for one's mental health).

Of course, Nico's decision to retire was motivated by multiple reasons, and it's disrespectful to say he did it solely because of some twisted desire to deprive Lewis of the chance to get back at him, but it's not a reach to say that having beaten Lewis, to some extent, enabled him to say goodbye so early. Nico has said that he gave up a core piece of his "identity" by deciding not to race anymore. Racing meant trying his damndest to win; winning meant having Lewis Hamilton, the subject of his love and hate right there on the podium with him. Borrowing some of @box-box-blorbos 's tags here, as it was the brilliant words she left under my piece that inspired me to write another one:

#But something something it seems like everything came easy to Lewis but it didn't but that doesn't stop Nico from resenting it #I've loved you my whole life #I've been racing you my whole life #I cannot separate the two

To end it on a less depressing note, at least we can rejoice over the fact that while Nico has gotten over f1 racing he clearly hasn't gotten over Lewis... Taking a step back and adopting a more detached grid role has helped him make the distinction between the Lewis that was his rival–who won and won and won against him why couldn’t he just lose for once–and the Lewis who he once promised to, under Greece's night sky, that one day they would conquer the world grid together. In his heart, Lewis is still his best friend–this was of course a joke, but don't jokes always have an element of truth to them?

#nico rosberg #oh the beautiful mess you were... a house on fire that the world couldn't look away from. #brocedes #f1 #em speaks

[caspersickfanfics]

Oops I thought of more

Sickie is handed a bowl of soup or cup of tea, or is trying to get up and get something and take it back to the room or bed. But then the sickie drops it and it spills everywhere or all over them. The sickie cries, cuz one ouch that was hot- and two they have made a huge mess now, and have given the caretaker so much more work to do and it’s just the end of the world.

the phrases that echo the theme of “breath love if you keep crying you’re going to make yourself sick again” something in that world.

AND imagine, it was GOING to be tcg night. Like, idk how long this fic will be but if it’s a two shot, the second chapter nari completely forgets that it’s the night kaveh and alhaithem are meant to come by to play cards. Cyno, fucking, LOVES, tcg nights. And he’s just, a ball of pout over the fact that they have to cancel. Maybe they forget so much that the other two show up and nari has to apologetically send them away? Or maybe he writes to them a head of time to let them know that Cyno is really sick and there’s just no shot. Cyno feels guilt, and sick, and just oh so sad. (Forgetting that rescheduling is a thing and his friends don’t mind completely)

Oh.... my gosh.............. all of this is such absolute gold *-*

The dropping something bit... I wanna do that to Cyno so bad TTvTT Not only does he drop it but he tries to clean up the mess. Tighnari is out trying to gather medicinal herbs for him or something and gets caught up with a minor forest ranger emergency that he thought would be a much quicker ordeal than it turned out to be. When he gets back, he finds Cyno on the ground, cuts all over his hands, trying to clean up shards of glass. He's having an especially tough time because he keeps getting lightheaded/having coughing fits/etc., and he was so determined to get it all cleaned before Nari got back, not wanting to cause him more trouble. Instead, Tighnari is so shocked that he gets a bit too loud, "Cyno! What are you doing? Stop that!"

And that's when Cyno starts crying ;;-;; because 1) he broke Tighnari's glass/bowl/thing whatever idk 2) he failed to do this one simple task to help Tighnari out 3) he's bleeding and it hurts 4) he's bleeding and it's making the mess even worse and 5) he's managed to upset Tighnari on top of it all and he's so out of it that he doesn't even know why. Is it because he made a mess? Because he didn't clean it? Because he's sick? Because he's bleeding? Because he can't figure out what he's done wrong and he should just know? Because he's crying?

Tighnari sees him tearing up and immediately apologizes, scooping him up into his arms. Cyno goes limp and lets go of the glass and cleaning supplies, sobs wracking his whole body and he's just really confused. Nari explains that he was just worried but he shouldn't have raised his voice, Cyno did nothing wrong, etc. etc. Maybe merge this into the next bit about the crying making him nauseous again. He starts hiccuping and Nari hates it but he knows at that point there's no going back, so he offers the puke basin at the risk of upsetting Cyno again, because the alternative is an even bigger mess.

TCG night being cancelled is so genius - never would've thought of that, but like. YEAH. Of course, this is Cyno, he's gonna be distraught. And. Gosh a part of me is tempted to add that to this fic specifically because Cyno's brain will immediately go back to Nari telling him he's ill because he didn't take care of himself, and so not only is he upset about not being able to play his favorite game, he's blaming himself and his "poor self care" for ruining everyone's fun. Even worse if Alhaitham and Kaveh came all the way out to Gandharva Ville ;;-;;

#cas chats #relevantlucidity #<333 #I LOVE THESE #your brain oml <333 #headcanons #sick cyno hc #tighnari hc #genshin hc #genshin impact hc #cyno genshin impact #tighnari genshin impact

[nerves-nebula]

So my friend recently told me a story and it led to a very interesting moment.

She told me a (presumably true?) story about a psychologist or something who was studying psychopathy in people and noticed that he had the similar traits or brain scans or something and he asked his loved ones if they'd noticed any kind of psychopathic traits. And they said that yeah, he seemed generally kind of distant and cold. So he tried to perform the motions of Caring More in the ways that they consider more normal i guess.

And he came up to them and was like “I'm trying to make you feel more loved but you can probably tell I’m just going through the motions. It probably doesn’t feel genuine I should just stop.”

and they said that NO actually it was really nice, and made them feel better that he was trying and doing those little things and affirmations to show he cared even if they didn't come naturally to him.

my friends takeaway from this was that it was very sweet. it was a nice story about a guy learning to communicate his affection to people around him. and like. here's the thing. i get that, I do, it's sweet he's making an effort for them. I'm not trying to disparage the idea of making efforts for the people you love and doing things that don't come naturally to you for the sake of making them feel better. that's sweet, i get it.

but my immediate reaction was like. GOD. how depressing. his loved ones didn't care about how he showed affection, like, at all. they felt he was cold, and once they realized he was different, instead of trying to understand him and the fact that he wasn't being intentionally "cold" or whatever to them, they encourage him to go through the motions of something that feels awkward and insincere.

like they didn't teach themselves to learn that when he does a certain thing he means it a certain way, they just wanted him to go through the motions with them. and it's sweet that he did, but what about them? what are they doing to understand him?

and obviously im reading a lot into this story, and i'm putting a lot of myself into my interpretation. i'm sure he was fine with it, or else he wouldn't do it. I don't know the specifics because this is just a story i was told, so there's probably all kinds of stuff i'm not considering.

but to me it's such a depressing story. because all I've ever wanted was to not have to put up a front around the people i care about the most. i want to be able to be myself and not have to go through any of the socially accepted motions, or put up the kinds of walls that exhaust me when im interacting with people who don't know me well.

the idea that people could know me for years and never try to understand the way i show affection? the idea that they think it would be BETTER for me to go through the insincere motions of mimicking their signs of affection, instead of being genuine with how i love them?

like, what do you people even want. do you want friends? do you even want to be close to someone?? because it just sounds like you want someone to confide in, who will be fake with you as long as it comforts you. it sounds so miserable.

it sounds like being told that your love isn't enough, it's weird and wrong and not worth it. it isn't what anyone who isn't like you would want, and it isn't acceptable to believe that THEY should make an effort for YOU, even if YOU make the effort to understand THEM more.

i have made the effort. i've trained myself into saying more "nice" or "polite" things. i'm still working on my habitual cruelty, which i do without even thinking. i'm not very good at it yet but it's an ongoing process and i'm working on being more considerate. and it's not enough. it's not enough to be better, because my love and affection is still wrong and bad. because I show my dedication through actions, and I don't say enough of the meaningless phrases that are supposed to comfort you. and i'm so tired and bitter about it.

cuz even my closest friend expects me to be fake. forever. or until i've faked it enough that it's second nature to me.

i wonder if I'll be "fixed" enough for everyone by then.

#nnstuff #rambling #ableism tw #<- maybe??? idk #im pretty sure i have a personality disorder. which is kinda what this is about. idk which one tho. #vent

[adachimoe]

Yukiko as a vehicle for Persona 4's slapstick humor

I talked about this a bit in the post about Yukiko's "cluelessness", but Yukiko doesn't take well to dirty talk. This is likely a result of her being objectified by every other person in town and also whatever customers say to her at the ryokan. In fact, her saying that they've had gross customers at the ryokan after her TV interview and her Midnight Channel "show" aired might imply that some of them only came to the ryokan to see her.

It's only after her experience in the TV world that we see her try and stand up for herself, but it's continuously presented as a form of dumb anime slapstick comedy with her misinterpreting what the guys are saying as being dirty talk. This is why the game shows her slapping Yosuke when he asks for "private lessons", why she doesn't give Yosuke her phone # after Chie mentions that Yosuke calls at night to tell sex jokes, why she pushes Kanji into the water after she sees his nose bleeding, and also why she slaps Kanji when she misinterprets him as saying "Did you show everyone [your tiddies]?" (*)

While this is played off as anime slapstick comedy, the place where it comes from is really not funny at all IMO. She constantly goes, "Oops, my hand slipped" after these moments, like it's an automatically activated self-defense mechanism. And I think it's self-explanatory as to why: You can tell just from what we're shown in the beginning of the game that she has grown up as some kind of small time celebrity in town with dudes harassing her and saying stuff to her. Like, the game is very blatant about showing you that.

What people have said/done to her has had an effect on her. It's big enough that she starts physically lashing out in retaliation as a means to stand up for herself, which one might want to take a step further and use to assume that people have gotten physical with her or touched her inappropriately in the past. But even though I say this, I also find it all a bit cringe. Because while it is part of her character, what the player sees in the game is that "Yukiko was harassed while growing up" is being used by the writers as a vehicle to help deliver the aforementioned anime slapstick humor moments.

Like, what got me thinking about this is how Katsura Hashino talked about his contribution to the camping trip part in his Persona Club interview. And the two brain cells I have left are split between, "Really? That's her catharsis for that part of her backstory?" and, "If Atlus is going embrace stupid anime tropes, then I hope she gets to continue beating up dudes as a little treat; you go queen". ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(*) This isn't really the point of this post, but uhh I guess I do need to note that this line was completely different in English.

The term "coming out" does exist in Japanese as the wasei-eigo phrase "coming out" (カミングアウト). But during this scene, Kanji is not saying カミングアウト. He says "lay bare" or "expose", so Yukiko is misinterpreting it as being a double entendre for "get naked" which is why she slaps him.

#persona 4 #yukiko amagi #localization #persona club p4

[drabbles-mc]

Cuidate

Horacio Carrillo x Diana Turbay

Written for the other half of my brain @ashlingnarcos as part of the Rare Pair Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, major character death, angst, language, alcohol, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: These two. THEEEESE two. Much to think about.

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @purplesong1028 @narcolini @cositapreciosa

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

That was one of the first things that Carrillo ever remembered Diana saying to him when they first met. She said it with a warm smile on her face and a firm shake of his hand. Despite the softness of her features, the level nature of her voice, Carrillo could still see the glint in her eye.

As time went on, it became her favorite thing to tell him. It was amusing at best, infuriating at worst. The most infuriating thing about it was that she wasn’t ever really wrong when she said it, although most times Carrillo wished that she was.

Because he had to see things as simply as possible. For the sake of his job, for the sake of what little sanity he still had left, he had to try and see things as plainly as he possibly could. He wished that he could be more like Diana, although he’d never actually said that to her. But it was true. The fact that she still could stay so hopeful, so level-headed while trying to see more than both sides of everything that was going on, he truly didn’t know how she did it. He wouldn’t be able to. It was hard enough for him to listen to her own trains of thought on it some days. Again, not because she was wrong, but because she more often than not raised very good points. He couldn’t imagine living with so many textures and layers going on in his head all the time, not when it came to the state of the world around him. He admired her for that and so many other things.

But the first time she said that to him, he had no idea that he was going to be in for all of that. The first time she said it was after they’d introduced themselves, and Carrillo had made a bit of a slick remark about everyone already knowing who Diana was at that point, like her introducing herself was a bit redundant. In short, he deserved the statement and the look in her eyes that had come with it that day.

Since then there had been a lot of late nights, early mornings, and long conversations. Carrillo had learned more about Diana than he ever thought possible, learned how little the rest of the world actually knew her. She was never a woman who seemed to lack depth, but the more time he spent around her, the more he realized the sheer vastness that she had to her, and the best he could do was try to keep up.

There were nights that Carrillo would come home to find Diana sitting in the living room, the television playing news being reported by anyone other than her. She’d have the paper from earlier in the day open in front of her, soaking up what everyone else had to say. Every now and then Carrillo would try to get a rise out of her, just to see if he could. He’d poke and prod, knowing that there were plenty of reporters in Escobar’s pocket and the things they wrote would reflect that. Others were just scared, and who, besides Carrillo, could blame them?

Diana didn’t, though. She didn’t blame them, not really. Even her criticisms of other reporters, politicians, the narcos, they hardly ever actually sounded like criticisms. More often than not she would phrase things as questions, or statements that masqueraded as almost perfectly neutral but Carrillo could tell by the look in her eye that there was venom hidden underneath it for anyone who was willing to try and sink their teeth into her.

Some mornings Carrillo was up and almost out the door before Diana had even started to stir. Other nights they’d be fast asleep and one of them would get called away. On really bad nights, both of them got called away for the same reason. No matter who was leaving, or why, there was always a softly spoken direction to stay safe. The type of thing that Carrillo would’ve found futile to say in any other circumstance, knowing that safety was something that was largely out of their own hands at any given moment. But then he would look at her and the words would just come tumbling out. Or she would say it to him and he’d be helpless to do anything but nod and promise her that he’d try. She gave him more depth all the time.

Even with that, in Carrillo’s mind it was logical for him to try and brush off Diana’s attempt to humanize everything that was happening around them. It didn’t do him any good in a way that made his life any easier. But there were nights when he would come home, weary from wounds that were never going to show on the outside except for the flecks of gray hair coming in too early and the dark circles beneath his eyes, that her softness and understanding felt like home. She knew things that he didn’t have it in him to say, understood it without making him suffer through trying to articulate it.

She saw the burden that he carried on his shoulders. More weights added with each officer that he lost. He tried his best to compartmentalize it, knowing that if he didn’t it would break him in a way that he wouldn’t ever be able to come back from. He tried to bury it in late nights and drown it in liquor, keep the edges from fraying however he could.

There were more nights than either of them wanted to admit when they would go to bed together, only for Diana to wake in the middle of the night to find the other half of the bed empty. She would wait, and listen. If she didn’t hear anything, she would force herself out of bed. There was the checklist of things that she would look for along the way, signs that pointed to whether or not he was still home.

Sometimes when he was still there, she would find him sitting at the table. Some nights he would have reports and photographs spread out in front of him. Other nights, all he would have was a bottle and a glass. Sometimes it was hard for Diana to tell which was worse.

She would take the bottle, close it without asking for permission or saying much of anything to him. She’d put it away, coming back for the glass next. Holding it in one hand, she would rest the other on his back or his shoulder.

“Ven a la cama,” she’d tell him, her voice gentle and tired.

He would shake his head, like he was going to make the next big break sitting alone at the dining room table at 2AM. “Tengo que—”

“Qué tienes que hacer ahora? Mm?” she’d challenge lightly as she squeezed his shoulder.

He knew that he could try to give her an answer, but he also knew that it wasn’t ever going to be one that was good enough to sway her. One person he was hard-pressed to win an argument against.

For all of Diana’s steadiness, Carrillo could still tell when things would start to shake her. She somehow found a way to balance it, being honest about her feelings, her fears, and yet still being professional when she needed to be. A balance Carrillo was fairly certain that he wouldn’t ever strike. She wore it well. Articulated it even better. It was how she got a security team making sure that she got to and from scenes safely, because she’d be damned if someone was going to scare her away.

It wasn’t necessarily uncommon that the two of them would end up needing to go to the same place. When it came to Escobar, their jobs were entwined in a way that made things more complicated for them both on and off the clock. They adapted, adjusted—there wasn’t much of an alternative. It was another night of the same, separate means to the same end. Carrillo had beaten Diana and her team to the scene only by a few minutes. He and Valeria had that in common.

It wasn’t Carrillo’s place to insert himself into whatever was transpiring between the two women. That wasn’t what he was there for. But he also couldn’t pretend that he didn’t notice it. He could see the tightness in Diana’s jaw, the stiffness that only took over her body when she had her hackles up. It happened so rarely that Carrillo instantly felt anger flash through him, directed at a woman who he didn’t particularly care for sure, but he didn’t really know her, either. He knew better, though, than to think that Diana couldn’t hold her own.

He saw the smug grin on Valeria’s face as she turned and walked away from Diana. What he noticed even more was the way it took a bit for the edges in Diana’s features to soften again. She took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling from the intensity of it, the effort put in to get herself back in check. There was work to do. For all of them.

“I don’t know how she sleeps at night,” Carrillo said when the two of them got home in the small hours of the morning.

Diana chuckled as she wiped the makeup from her face. Her amusement at his reaction replacing the anger that had been coursing through her earlier in the evening. “Yes, you do.”

His eyebrows shot up at her response, looking at her through the mirror above their bathroom sink. He cracked a brief smile before returning to undoing the buttons of his fatigues. “Not what I meant.”

She smiled, still looking at him even though he was no longer looking at her. “I know.” She shut the faucet off, patting her face dry as she said, “Everyone is willing to accept different things, Horacio.”

“No one should be willing to accept that.”

Diana shrugged, giving a small nod. “Maybe not. I don’t agree with her methods, or the fact that she chooses to keep his company.”

He shrugged off the outer layer of his uniform, leaving just the green t-shirt that he had on underneath. He could hear the way her sentence trailed off slightly. “But?”

“But,” she turned around, leaning back so that the sink counter was keeping her propped up, “when all of this started?” She shrugged. “Pablo Escobar was someone that the people of this country could root for, stand behind.”

Carrillo scoffed. “Paisa Robin Hood.”

“You didn’t see the appeal?” she questioned.

“I see all the dead bodies trailing behind him since,” he replied. “Why should I give a fuck about his potential, Diana? After everything he’s done? Everything he’s still doing?”

“It’s not that simple,” she cut him short. She watched him shake his head and waited for him to look at her. “Ya lo sabes eso.” She could see the disdain in his features. Not directed at her, necessarily, but at all of it. The state of things. “If you want to understand why people will still help him, you need to acknowledge that potential. Even Valeria—it’s far past that now but that potential is what drew her in at first too.”

His only response was an unintelligible grumble and a shake of his head. After a beat, he told her, “I saw the way you looked at her.”

Diana smiled small at the callout, the way it doubled as a diversion. With so much else going on, the only two people who saw her expression during that conversation were Valeria and Carrillo. Fitting. “I’m not perfect. It gets to me sometimes. She gets to me sometimes.” Stepping in, she rested her palm against his chest. “All the good it does me, hm?”

Carrillo brought his hand up and rested it over hers. He wished he could level himself out that easily. He watched in real time as she worked through her feelings. Sometimes the work went quicker than others, but she always came out seemingly balanced on the other side of it. Even if it was just a façade for work, even if it was just a mask temporarily put in place to get her to the next thing. It worked. Carrillo wished that he worked the same way. He’d have fewer warpaths in his wake.

“Come,” she pulled both their hands away from his chest, tugging him towards the door. “It’s been a long day.”

He let out a tired hum of agreement. Letting her pull him away, he swiped the button-down of his fatigues on the way out. He flipped the lights off along the way, letting everything fade into darkness as the two of them finally got to retreat to their room. Sleep was hard to come by, but he at least had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t struggling to find it alone.

One night faded into the next. It was relatively quiet until it wasn’t. The phone ringing sounded nearly deafening at the late hour. Diana beat him to it, tangling her fingers in the cord of it as she held it to her ear. Even though he could only hear her side of the conversation, Carrillo knew within the first couple exchanges that it was not only a call for her, but one that was going to take her away for the rest of the night.

“Gracias,” she brought the call to a close, already taking the phone away from her ear as she said, “Hasta pronto.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at her from where he was sitting on the couch. He couldn’t tell by the look on her face how she felt about whatever had just been said to her. “Todo bien?” he tossed out in hopes of gleaning a little more from her.

“No,” she replied honestly, already looking around for her shoes and jacket, “pero, es lo que es, sí?”

He frowned at that. He knew that it had all been weighing on her, the way that everything felt like it was happening closer and closer to home as time went on. She had more hope in her than most, but it didn’t go untested. “Qué puedo hacer?”

She gave him a tired smile, shaking her head. “Nada.” Walking over to him, she leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips. She felt his palm against the side of her face and she soaked it up for an extra moment. “Te quiero.”

The edges of his mouth lifted slightly. Not quite a smile, but not the worried frown that it had been a few moments before. “Te quiero.” He brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Cuidate.”

Her smile was warm as she pulled away from him and made her way for the door. “Siempre.”

It wasn’t long after she left that Carrillo got called away as well. He wasn’t home to see that she never made it back.

“They got another one,” Javi said as he came striding into the room.

“What?” Steve asked, looking up from the map that he and Carrillo had been pouring over together.

“Escobar’s men,” Javi elaborated. “They picked up another hostage.”

Both men were looking at Javi now, but it was still only Steve speaking as he asked, “Who?”

Javi’s lips pulled down into a deep frown at the question. He knew that it was coming. If it wasn’t Steve that asked, it would’ve been Carrillo, or anyone else who was lingering around and caught wind of the news. There was no getting out of saying it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be the one to break it to them. Especially not when Carrillo’s eyes were practically tearing through him already.

“Who, Javier?” Carrillo pressed.

He wanted to look away but he couldn’t—he owed the Colonel that much. “Diana.”

Silence washed over the small room. Steve couldn’t bring himself to look at the man standing next to him, meanwhile Javi felt like his eyes were all but glued to him. Both of them were waiting for something. An implosion, for the concrete walls to crumble around them, something. It was so silent they were sure that no one was even breathing.

Carrillo’s fists were clenched so tightly as they rested on the tabletop, Javi was surprised that his knuckles didn’t break the skin. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t, the air getting stopped about halfway down before he grit out, “We have to fucking find him.”

Javi nodded. “We will. We’ll find him. Everyone—hey,” he waited for Carrillo to look at him, “Everyone is coming home.”

It almost looked like Carrillo nodded, but before he really committed to the action, he bailed on it. Walking over and blowing past Javi, he uttered on the way out, “They need to be coming home alive.”

Carrillo had more freedom with the Search Bloc than he’d had in a long time. But he was the only one out of the three men who really had the ability to do anything close to what he wanted to do. Javi and Steve were more than willing to dive into the thick of it, but the DEA and the CIA both had their hands tied. Judging by the look on Carrillo’s face, however, the two agents had a feeling that the Colonel was going to be bringing them along for the ride. Red tape be damned. Some people said they’d rather ask for forgiveness than permission, but Carrillo wasn’t really in the habit of asking for forgiveness either. Whatever needed to be done, whatever that looked like, he was going to do it. And he was going to do it unapologetically.

Steve and Javi lingered behind even after Carrillo left. Steve was on the far side of the table from Javi, nearly a whole room between them as he lingered close to the doorway. They looked at each other, neither of them saying anything for a moment as they tried to figure out what was going to be next. They could try to sit there and be logical and say that this didn’t change the game at all, that yes there was another hostage in play now but that it wasn’t new circumstances. But that would’ve been a lie and they knew it. Carrillo was objective until he wasn’t—they all were.

Steve shook his head, finally breaking the silence. “If we don’t get her back, Jav—”

“I know,” he didn’t even want Steve to finish the thought. He walked over, looking at the map spread out on the table in front of them. “So, we’re going to.”

Days ticked by with nothing to show for it. It was infuriating, and it felt like with every passing hour that held no update, no tangible win for their operation, another stitch of Carrillo’s seams began to rip. One of the only people capable of smoothing them over and pulling the strings back together now taken off the chess board.

Then they received the first tape.

Carrillo was in the second wave of people to see it. Diana’s parents, Sandoval and Gaviria, they saw it first. It was delivered directly to them. It was handed off to Carrillo afterwards, and not because of any respect to his relationship to Diana, but because they were hoping that there would be something he or his team could glean from it. Carrillo hoped the same, or at least, he’d get around to hoping the same eventually once he worked through the slew of anger and fear that went through him at the sight of her on his television.

That was how the whole country knew her—staring into their homes and hearts from the other end of the camera, the other side of the TV. Despite that degree of separation, all of Colombia had fallen in love with her. She had that way of making people feel like they knew her, like she was a friend or an acquaintance breaking the news each night rather than a woman most of them had never met in person. And most times, when the television was playing at the base and Carrillo would hear Diana’s voice in the background while he was working, there was a sense of pride there, sometimes even comfort. There was distance, sure, but at least he could still hear her. But now, in that moment he had never hated the gap between them more.

Javi and Steve were in the room with him, all of them gathered around the television as he played the tape. Carrillo was aware of their presence when the tape started. But by the end of it, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away.

The television screen went to static at the end. For a moment, no one moved, no one said anything. Steve and Javi were afraid to even breathe. Carrillo’s eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, jaw clenched tight, fists clenched even tighter.

Javi mustered up every bit of bravery he had left in him and broke the silence. “Carrillo—”

He didn’t let Javi get to whatever the second word of that sentence was going to be. “I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He opened and closed one hand, like undoing and redoing the action of making a fist would somehow satiate the need to put it through something. “I’m not waiting around any longer.”

Steve was about to speak up and say something, but Carrillo disappeared from the room in a flash, static still going on the television. Javi let out a deep breath, chin dropping so that he was staring at the floor. Steve watched him, waiting for some sort of cue.

“What more is there to do?” he finally asked. “Carrillo’s already got his guys kicking in doors. Never does us—”

“There are plenty of doors he hasn’t kicked in yet, Murphy,” Javi told him with a shake of his head. “Now those are gonna go too. Come on,” he motioned for Steve to follow him, “we’re gonna make some friends.”

Calling the agreement that formed between the DEA and the CIA a friendship was more forgiving than any of them deserved. Still, it was mutually beneficial for two groups of people who hated feeling like they were just sitting on the sidelines, hands shoved in their pockets. They just wished that it was yielding more tangible results.

The second tape came and it was the last thing that that television was ever able to play.

In the aftermath of the second tape, one of the only wins was that everyone was granted more leeway by Gaviria. The stakes of the game continued to change, getting more intense with each passing day. For all of the differences and opinions between them, Carrillo had a small pocket of space in the back of his mind dedicated to being thankful that Diana’s parents had their thumb over Gaviria’s pulse on this. He never said it, hardly ever even saw them, but he felt it in passing moments and that was the best that he could offer for the time being.

“We got a hit,” Javi said as he got out of the car, sat-phone in hand, relieved to finally have some good fucking news to share.

The relief was palpable, radiating off of everyone except for Carrillo. He had gone on too many wild goose chases over the last weeks. He would continue following up on the leads that were given to him, he was drowning in desperation after all, but he was worn out enough to allow himself a moment of hesitancy.

He saw it on Carrillo’s face, too. Hopefulness hadn’t ever been one of the man’s most notable attributes, but in the wake of Diana being taken, Carrillo had never felt the strain between wanting to have hope, and feeling like it was constantly being taken away from him like that before.

“Where?” he finally asked.

“Not far.” Javi made a vague motion around them. “Round up your guys—let’s go.”

That was a direction that Carrillo followed without wasting a moment. He relayed the information as Javi was giving it to him, already getting back into the car.

The instant sound of gunfire when they showed up let them know that they were in the right place. With the number of sicarios that were lingering outside, Carrillo wouldn’t have been surprised if Escobar was hiding out in the house somewhere.

Carrillo and all the men that were with him descended on the house. Silent and quick efficiency. There was no noise outside of the scattered gunfire. Carrillo couldn’t hear the voices of anyone. Not Escobar, not sicarios, and certainly not hostages. He felt that strange pang in his chest, the feeling of hope being pulled out of him. There wasn’t time for that in moments like the one he was in. The stakes were too high—too many lives on the line. He tried to stuff it down. He’d get around to feeling it later. Or he wouldn’t.

A bullet whizzed by his face and snapped him back to the task at hand. He fired back instantly. In that moment, all the years that he spent compartmentalizing came into play. He shut everything else out. The only thing on his mind was what was in front of him. Which was one of Escobar’s men with a gun pointed directly at his face.

He followed him down a short hallway, into a nearly-empty side room off of it. The man continued to fire, but Carrillo barely noticed the bullets coming toward him as he started to shoot back. A couple missed their target, burying themselves in the walls, in the standing wardrobe that was pushed into the back corner of the room. Carrillo barely noticed the strays when all of the others landed right where they were supposed to. Sent the man stumbling backward before he finally crumpled to the floor.

The Colonel didn’t even allow himself a moment to breathe. Killing sicarios wasn’t what he had shown up there for, although it was a side-effect that no one including him was upset about. He was there to find Escobar. He was there to find Diana. Anything else was secondary.

Gun still at the ready, he strode over to the wooden closet in the back of the room. He could feel Trujillo lurking behind him, ready for whatever was going to happen next. Or, as ready as either of them thought they could be.

When Carrillo pulled the closet door open, nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for what he saw inside. His hold on his gun instantly laxed, the mouth of it dropping to point at the floor. The entire world around him came to a standstill for a moment as he took in the sight of what he’d done. The only sound he was able to register, was the deep sigh that Trujillo let out behind him. No amount of prayers would ever clear Carrillo’s conscience of this.

He dropped to one knee, gun clattering against the ground as he went. His elbow dug into the knee of his bent leg, hand coming up to cover the lower half of his face as he looked at Diana, looked at what he’d done to her. All the countless hours of panic over what Escobar and his men might be doing to her, and he was the one who did this. Catching Escobar at any cost was an ideal that slipped completely from his mind in that moment. As he looked at her, trying to reconcile how she looked in that moment with how she looked like the last time he saw her, the last time he held her, he couldn’t help but to think for the briefest moment that he couldn’t keep going if she wasn’t going to either.

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it. It was a herculean effort to speak any words at all as he tried to update the entire team on what happened without actually telling them what happened. “We have a problem,” he forced out, his voice devoid of any emotion despite the tidal wave of them flooding his chest at the moment.

He was instantly met with others asking what happened, what the problem was. But he wasn’t able to answer. Those four words were all that he had in him, the sight in front of him gluing his feet to the floor. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Truijllo’s voice was static behind him, words garbled in his ears even though the man was only a few inches away from him. It was probably better that way.

Everyone continued to go through the routine that they’d all established so well. The only one who was frozen in place was Carrillo. He could feel the way that he wanted to crumble completely to the floor. The trembling in his hands hadn’t been there while they were all crashing through the house.

It was all a blur after that. The only thing that clearly registered to Carrillo next was the desperate voice of Diana’s mother after the news had been delivered. Carrillo wasn’t even the one who told her. Word had spread to her before he even made it back from the raid.

“Qué hiciste?” she stormed up to him, some people hesitating like they were about to stop her but no one quite committing to the action. No one could blame her for whatever she was going to do next.

Carrillo felt the burning sensation of tears in his eyes, something that he hadn’t been acquainted with in a long time. Still, he managed to meet her gaze. It was the least he could give her. “Lo siento, señora, para su—”

“No,” she cut him off, making a sweeping gesture with her hand, “no quiero sus disculpas.”

The cruel words that followed barely registered, not because he wasn’t listening to what she was saying, but because nothing that she could tell him would ever stack up against the thoughts that had been running through his mind ever since he pulled back that wooden door. If anything, it was a reprieve, because no one else could ever measure up to the things that he was saying to himself in that moment. However, as he looked into Nydia’s eyes, he had the thought that she was a close second.

“Tu hiciste esto,” she said, her voice shaking, tears staining her cheeks.

“No es tan sencillo,” the words fell from his lips and instantly left a bitter taste in their wake. Diana always made it sound true, even in the moments when he wanted to tell her she was wrong. She never was.

“Sí,” she argued, “lo es.”

All he could bring himself to do was nod, knowing that much like her daughter, Nydia wasn’t telling him anything but the truth. He could try to come up with a million things to say in an attempt to placate her. He was no stranger to confronting grieving family members, grieving spouses. The argument could be made that he should feel guilty about all of those deaths leading up to this one, that he had a hand in each of them. And from a certain perspective that would be true. They were his men, his responsibility. Perhaps he did hold some of the fault.

But this wasn’t anything like that.

His involvement in this wasn’t some vague distant thing. It wasn’t just a sense of commitment and duty that wasn’t enough. This was his fault because of something that he did. Diana’s death was a direct result of his own actions. And sure, he could listen to others saying that there were a million other factors that contributed to it, things preceding the event that were just as much to blame. Those statements weren’t inaccurate, but Carrillo knew that they didn’t absolve him. Yes, if Escobar’s men hadn’t kidnapped her in the first place they wouldn’t be in the situation they are now. But also, if he’d been more careful, if he hadn’t pulled the trigger as many times as he did, they also wouldn’t be dealing with the loss that they were now. And the Colonel only had control over one of those sets of circumstances.

Eventually the room emptied. Both of Diana’s parents were escorted out. Where they went, Carrillo had no idea. He was given permission to leave, to go home if he wanted. But he didn’t want to. He left, because there was only so long that everyone could simply stand in that room together looking at each other in sad and uncomfortable silence.

His office was empty and he had never been so thankful for it. He shut the door behind him, the click of it barely audible. Looking around the room, everything felt like salt in the wound. All the photographs, maps with routes diligently mapped out that ended up leading him nowhere. Tapes stacked and filled with conversations that did him no good now. The broken television on the far side of his office was still there, cracked and falling apart, just like everything else at the moment.

Slowly walking behind the desk, Carrillo pulled out his chair. He looked at it for a moment, but his legs wouldn’t let him sit. Instead, he paced. He could feel the burning sensation deep in his chest, emotions that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. They were always there, lurking just a few layers below the surface, but he never had the time to deal with them, so he didn’t. But now here he was, pacing in an office that was getting darker and darker by the minute as the sun continued to sink out of view of the windows, and he had all the time in the world to try and feel them. Still, he paced. Instead, he grabbed the bottle from the bottom drawer of his desk and opened it, not even bothering with a glass.

He’d lost track of the time when he heard someone knocking at the door to his office. He froze, bottle clutched tightly in his hand as he leaned back against the side of his desk. He still hadn’t sat at his desk, but at least he was giving his legs the slightest bit of a reprieve.

The door opened despite the lack of a cue to enter. When Javier walked in, whatever surprise Carrillo had been feeling faded away. The annoyance didn’t though.

“What are you still doing here?” Javi asked, knowing that there was no way in hell Carrillo was going to give him a straight answer.

“Working,” Carrillo responded, his voice not sounding at all like his own.

Javi scoffed, shaking his head as he walked deeper into the room. He took the bottle out of Carrillo’s hands, finding the cap and setting it out of reach. “Yea, looks like you’re getting a lot of work done.”

“What do you want, Javier?”

“Nothing.” It wasn’t a lie, not completely anyway. It wasn’t as though he came here to ask anything of Carrillo, wanted anything from him. But when he was about to leave and he saw the Colonel’s car sitting in the parking lot still, he knew that he couldn’t just leave.

“I did this,” he whispered after a tense minute of silence between them.

“C’mon,” Javi said, a waver of uncertainty in his voice, “you know it’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” he snapped. He shook his head, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment. “Diana...she didn’t…she didn’t deserve this.”

Javi frowned, nodding. “I know.” He paused. “But you can’t blame yourself for it.”

“There’s no one else to blame,” he said, his voice heavy, like he only knew there was no one else to blame because he’d tried to find someone and came up empty.

“You need to go home.”

Carrillo shook his head, waiting for Javi to look him in the eyes before saying, “Why?”

Javi’s frown deepened at the question. He knew that, “Because Diana is dead and you look like shit and you can’t just sit here drinking yourself to death all night,” wasn’t going to be the appropriate or acceptable answer.

“Because she wouldn’t want you here doing this.” Javi saw the way that Carrillo’s eyes dropped to the ground at his words. “You owe her that.”

Carrillo closed his eyes, unable to handle the weight of those four little words. He owed her so much more than that. He owed her things that he would never be able to give her, never be able to say to her. And somehow he was supposed to learn to live with that. He owed her a lifetime that he wouldn’t ever be able to have with her. There was nothing that he could do about it now, no way to fix it, no way to undo it. So, instead, he did the one thing he could do, and he grabbed his jacket to leave.

#narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo fanfiction #diana turbay #horacio carrillo x diana turbay #diana turbay x horacio carrillo #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[asukamood]

Confession

***

Previous part

First part

***

You know, I’ve noticed that I’ve never really made Nightmare properly ask Dream out in the Sweammare mini-series so there we go.

I apologise for any… weird phrasing or so during your reading, I haven’t written in a good month and my brain has been completely fried by exams. Also somehow this came out as a sick fic???

***

Warnings: Homophobia (Heavily implied with execution), past violence and strong language

Synopsis: “Dream was in the middle of changing the towel on Nightmare’s forehead when said man finally deemed the wait enough and called him. He turned toward him as he squeezed the tissue in his hands over a bucket, water escaping from it and dropping inside. He glanced at him sideways. “What is it?”

“I’ve… been meaning to tell you something.” He watched as confusion spread on Dream’s features.

“Alright… what is it?” Nightmare marked a pause.

“I love you.””

***

The villagers now know not to try anything fishy on Dream, that was out of the way at least. However there was still one big problem. How the hell was he going to ask Dream out?

That question had made him stay up all night yesterday (albeit he always stays up) and has been haunting him since then. When he was out with Dream running some errands, he was thinking about it. When he was absently writing a fanfiction about him killing the villagers in a gory way with blood and organs everywhere, he was thinking about it. When he was eating lunch with Dream, he was also thinking about it.

Due to what happened before, he was very reluctant to confess or to be the first one to do so at least. He stared at the man who has been living rent free in his mind as he began preparing dinner, pretty much devouring him with his eyes.

That timeline was different, he knew that. Dream wasn’t acting like he did the last time so he probably wouldn’t have the same reaction as the last one did to his confession. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety clenching at his chest like a vulture. But at the same time, he knew that if he didn’t do it, Dream wouldn’t either.

He liked to think that despite all that time away from each other, he knew the other better than anyone else could ever dream of (hah). But, funnily enough, this timeline’s Dream was even more predictable than his original Dream, and the fact Dream would rather die than confess first was so obvious that it was physically painful.

So he’ll have to endure some more anxiety it seems.

“Nightmare?” His friend snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, successfully tearing him out of his thoughts. “Have you been listening to me?” His hands folded into fists as they were put on his hips, a questioning look on his face.

God, he was so pretty.

It only made him want to keep him for himself more than he already wanted to.

“No, I was too busy grieving over that cup castle I took a few hours to make.” As if to enhance his pain about this event, he gestured toward the corpse of the monument spread out unceremoniously on the floor, some cups having yet to stop rolling. “The worst thing is that you did this. How could you? What has it ever done to you?”

Not the least impressed, Dream rolled his eyes as he turned away to stir up the content of the pot. “I didn’t mean to destroy it but if it did, then you probably deserved it.”

An offended gasp escaped Nightmare as he dramatically put his hand over his heart. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t do anything wrong, how dare you!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong.” Dream repeated, closing the pot again as it continued boiling. “As if I would believe that, you have the look of someone who stole a cookie jar from the founder of a company and got away with it by distracting them with the sudden arrival of birds.”

Nightmare raised a questioning eyebrow. “That… is strangely specific.” He noticed the obvious way Dream was avoiding to look at him. “Have you done that before Dream?”

“… Listen, it was an accident.” Two seconds of silence passed before Nightmare’s body started to rock with chuckles. Another moment passed before he fell off his chair, holding his stomach because of how much he was laughing.

“HOW DO YOU DO THAT ON ACCIDENT?” He asked between breaths, having trouble looking at him.

A few hours. A few hours and he would tell him for sure.

Then, he'll be truly his and his alone.

***

"Hey Dream." Nightmare called out eventually, his head resting on Dream's lap. Dream looked away from his thriller novel, his attention turning toward his friend. "I'm bored."

"..." He went back to his reading.

A pout was drawn on Nightmare's face as he suddenly sat up, knocking the book out of Dream's hands. The latter blinked in surprise, his hands extended as if he were still holding the covers of the literary piece, but it was too late.

Dream turned his head just in time to see a piece of a cape disappearing around a corner.

"Nightmare!" Dream shouted, jumping onto his feet. "Come back here, you jerk!" He sprinted after the other, his irritation evident. A maniacal giggle was heard in the halls of the tiny house.

That little…

That game of cat and mouse lasted a good hour in which Dream practically lost his voice because of how much he was screaming. Eventually though, Nightmare let the other catch up to him and gave him back his stolen book.

The other sucked in a big breath as he snatched the book from him, glaring at him with flushed cheeks. “That was unnecessary and childish, we’re 18 already Night, you have to stop pulling those sorts of things.”

“Where is the fun in that?” Ah fuck, he was so pretty blushing like that. “Besides, you know you love it!” Nightmare smiled stiffly, an uncomfortable feeling surrounding his brain as goosebumps spread on his skin. What the fuck is that again? It feels familiar but he can’t recall what it was.

Dream scoffed, rolling his eyes at him, not quite noticing his discomfort. “As if! Enough of this childish nonsense, let’s just go to sleep already, I’m tired.”

“You’re already tired?” Nightmare raised an eyebrow before glancing at the clock at the wall. “It’s like, 8 pm-“

The other shrugged, letting out a soft yawn afterward. “Fatigue does not have a set schedule, I’ll be going to sleep anyway.”

“Yeah I guess that’s fair, I’ll stay up a bit more if you don’t mind.” Dream nodded in acknowledgement as he stepped into their common room.

“Do as you wish, try not to sleep too late though.”

A grin spread across his face. “Of course.”

He didn’t say from whose perspective the conception of ‘late’ was, which meant that he could stay up as long as he would like.

The uneasiness grew before he realized it.

***

Nightmare felt horrible.

Well, that wasn’t really unexpected but today he felt even worse.

His lungs felt like they had been set on fire as he heaved for air desperately, thrashing around his sticky blankets. His lungs weren’t the only thing that had been set ablaze, his brain had been too, which was a huge contrast to how cold his entire body felt at the moment.

His head was also ringing and he just wanted to tell the annoying buzzing to shut the hell up but he knew that it would be pointless anyway, nothing was ever that easy. He tried to focus on the numbers displayed on the clock but it only made his eyes burn like the rest of his limbs so he gave up pretty quickly.

He was so tempted to move over to his Dream but he couldn’t get himself to move a single muscle, it fucking hurt. A groan escaped him as he let his head fall on the pillow below him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but the moment he refocused on his surroundings, he heard Dream’s distant voice calling out to him.

“…mare? … okay?” The other words sounded like gibberish to him, the other’s voice seeming to waver. He did hope that he wasn’t going deaf again, the last time it happened, he definitely wasn’t having a good time.

From the corner of his blurry vision, he noticed a sort of figure coming closer before hovering over him. He felt a cool hand rest on his forehead and he sighed, leaning against it. That cold felt good.

“Ah!… not good… burning.” An entire sentence couldn’t be heard. “… back, okay?” Before Nightmare could try to figure out just what the other was trying to tell him, the hand on his forehead retreated as the figure stepped away, footsteps accompanying the movement.

Nightmare tried to go after him but he just ended up back on square one and lying in bed. As the footsteps started to come closer again, black dots suddenly invaded his vision before hiding everything and sending him into unconsciousness again.

***

When Nightmare opened his eyes again, he was no longer on his bed but Dream’s. A cool towel had been neatly folded and placed on his forehead in order to make his temperature go down a bit, it felt nice.

He turned a bit and ended up staring at the owner of that bed. He had brought a chair to the side of the bed and was currently busy finishing up the book the sick man had stolen from him the night prior, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed him being awake yet, which just gave him even more time to admire him.

Ah right, he was supposed to confess today.

No wonder he felt so sick.

It wasn’t even funny but he ended up chuckling anyway, bringing Dream’s attention to him.

Fuck.

“You’re awake.” Dream said, closing his book and putting it on the nearby nightstand. After he did that, he brought the chair closer to the bed and leaned over the other, studying his face. “How are you feeling?”

Like I want to kiss you.

“Like shit.” Dream hummed, feeling the towel on his head.

“No wonder, I’ve checked your temperature and you were dangerously close to 40°C. I almost had to get you to the hospital.” Nightmare audibly gagged, a disgusted expression painted on his face.

“Yuck.” The other shook his head in approval.

“I know but thankfully we avoided that.” Dream turned away and brought a cup to Nightmare’s face. The latter raised an eyebrow, his pupils' attention switching from Dream to the cup.

“Medecine. Don’t make that face, I know that you don’t like the flavor of it but it’s necessary for you to finish it.” The other hissed, putting distance between him and the streaming cup Dream was handing him.

He sighed in exasperation, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Don’t force me to make you drink that. You’re an adult, Nightmare.”

“Doesn’t make it taste better.” He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’ll be fine, I don’t need it.”

“…” He started staring at him wordlessly.

“… You know just staring into my soul isn’t going to change my mind about that right?” He kept on going. “Dream?” A blink. “Are you seriously ignoring me now?” He looked away from him, still without saying anything.

“Oh my- FINE!” Nightmare snapped eventually, grabbing the cup and shoving the contents down his throat. His nose scrunched in displeasure as the taste invaded his mouth but he kept quiet about it, a smile materializing on Dream’s face.

“See, it wasn’t that hard.” The sick man glared at him, flipping him off verbally. He dismissed his comment with the back of his hand as he stood up, taking the cup back. “I’m gonna be washing that and getting lunch then, I’ll be back.”

“I hope you stub your toe on the way for making me do that 🖕”

“I’m ignoring you.”

***

Dream was in the middle of changing the towel on Nightmare’s forehead when said man finally deemed the wait enough and called him. He turned toward him as he squeezed the tissue in his hands over a bucket, water escaping from it and dropping inside. He glanced at him sideways. “What is it?”

“I’ve… been meaning to tell you something.” He watched as confusion spread on Dream’s features.

“Alright… what did you want to say?” Nightmare marked a pause.

“I love you.”

The other’s eyes widened as he froze, his hands letting go of the towel in his hands. It fell in the water, ripples and waves disturbing the water’s surface as droplets painted the walls of the bucket.

Dream’s mouth opened as he turned to him, several emotions pushing one another in his eyes. He stuttered inaudible words that he didn’t even seem to understand himself. “You… what?”

“I love you.” He repeated, looking as serious as ever. He didn’t let it show but the sheer amount of anxiety he was feeling made him want to throw up, he clearly did not miss that fear of rejection.

His lips quivered a few more seconds before Dream laughed nervously, finally able to look away from the other as he picked the towel back up. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He said, looking like he was more trying to convince himself than Nightmare. “It’s the illness making you say random stuff. Yeah, that must be it.”

At this point, he had squeezed out the last droplets of water out of the poor tissue he was almost tearing but he had stopped paying attention to it long ago, merely repeating the action like a robot.

Nightmare frowned, leaning toward Dream and brushing the top of his hand with his fingers. The other didn’t try to push him away. “Dream, I’m serious. I’ve been repressing those feelings for a while now but I’m done doing that. You make me happy and I want to be with you, it’s as simple as that.”

He was about to continue until Dream shook his head, a sort of pained expression on his face. “Nightmare…”

His eyes focused on his face as he spoke, contrasting with the way Dream was avoiding looking at him. “You know that I…” He shook his head. “We can’t be together, not like that.”

His heart dropped. “Why?”

“Because if somebody were to find out— Hell, if they even figure out that you said that and I didn’t… report anything then we would both be executed!” He exclaimed, frowning as if the image of them both tied up to burning wood was already engraved in his mind.

Nightmare inched closer to the other, the hand on the other’s brushing past his knuckles to grip his wrist. “I know that but I’m willing to try anyway, if it means being with you I don’t mind—“

“No!” Dream shouted, making him flinch. He pulled his hand back from Nightmare’s, finally looking in his direction. “We can’t—“ He bit his lip before sucking in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “We can’t take the risk.”

“Dream—“

“No, listen to me this time, Nightmare. We can’t. If we’re caught, I would lose you and we wouldn’t be able to do anythin—“

“DREAM.” He yelled, gripping his shoulders. That effectively got him to shut up, not expecting that. “Calm down alright? Take deep breaths.”

He listened, still looking like he had seen Death itself waiting at his doorstep. “Good, now listen carefully. They won’t find out and even if they do…” Nightmare’s eyes darkened as he reminisced about that woman he stabbed a few months ago. “They won’t do anything.”

“How… can you be so sure about that?” Nightmare merely smiled, hugging the other.

“Just trust me, okay?”

“… Alright, but let go of me, I don’t want to catch your cold.”

“Dude fuck off, why did you have to ruin the moment? Also hug me back I’m freezing.”

“You’re literally burning.”

“weLL IT SURE DOESN’T FEEL LIKE IT. NOW HUG ME.”

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT, STOP SCREAMING IN MY EARS.”

#dreamswap #ds dream #angst #fluff #ship #sweammare #ds dreammare #ds dream x ds nightmare #ds nightmare #just ds noot being gay and having trauma #crack #sickfic #somehow #they’re in the 1800’s don’t be surprised to see mentions of homophobia- #even if it’s still here as we speak #anyway #them #dreammare

[theladyofbloodshed]

I struggle with a similar situation with my partner where his low mood really impacts me and in constantly trying to keep up both happy which is draining… how do you cope with it? Do you have any advice?

I'll put this under a read more.

For us, I have to be quite blunt sometimes. We have a phrase "miserable blob". Sometimes I'm like baby are we going to be a miserable blob today or do something about that? I call him that because at weekends sometimes he will just sit there and stare at nothing or it takes him 30 mins to motivate himself to like make a drink. He hates being called that so it snaps him out of it a little bit, or he makes a conscious effort to try and snap himself out of it.

Sometimes I have to be tough and say get on with it, do x, y, z that you need to do then you can zone out.

For my partner, a lot of the issues come from the fact he doesn't like our flat (or England, hence the upcoming move) so some days I just need to get him out of the house. We go for a walk, go for a cup of tea, or visit my sister, just so we aren't in the house but then it's like a big, grey cloud is descending when we get close to home again. Some times, I nurture that depression and we will have a day watching films and cuddling up or we will try and talk about things.

When we first met, he started to experience panic attacks and he used to call me. I was quite firm that I cannot be his only support as the guilt I'd feel if I couldn't get to the phone and something happened would drown me. I made him go to the doctors despite him not wanting to. But I think you just have to be firm. In his country, mental health isn't really talked about and he would not let any of his family know. He eventually went on medication and hated it. It was a battle to get him to take his tablets and in the end he took himself off of them, which I wasn't happy with, but he knows his body best. I did make him tell his family too because I reiterated that I can't be the only one responsible for him, and that his family love him and would want to know about this. I think I used the analogy of a broken leg - nobody would expect you to walk on it and people would want to help you.

He did do online group therapy and hated it because every week was a battle to get him to log on, but after 2 suicide attempts I told him that I couldn't stay with him unless he went to therapy. I cannot be responsible for my mental health and his. He needs to take ownership of it. It was a hard conversation but I got through to him!

A lot of his stress came from owning his own business. When he quit that, it was even more stress because he literally went home for 2 weeks and was like okay i'm not doing it anymore, came back to England and had no job/income. He'd also invested all of his money into the business so he had a lot of feelings of failure. Now he works a 9-5 job he doesn't really enjoy but he isn't stressed about ensuring he gets an income every day, he is turning off his work brain at 5 rather than spending all evening on the phone calling customers and re-arranging his whole day to suit them, no weekends etc. Removing that stress has had a big impact because he could be very irritable and snappy with me then regretful of his behaviour.

We've had a lot of ups and downs due to his mental health and it is hard. I grew up with a mum who had depression and also made several suicide attempts, so it wasn't really anything new to me. I'm always calm in these situations and quite rational which I guess helps when my partner is having panic attacks. He'll tell me he can't see and his heart has stopped beating, and I'm like yes you can, it's in your head, you need to breathe in.

Sometimes I'll just say to him can you go for a long bath or a walk when I know he needs that to chill out - or if I need time away. We've been together long enough that I can say I'm going for a walk and if he asks to come too, I can say no I'd like to be alone and listen to music.

TLDR: be firm with your boundaries, be calm and rational, look after yourself too.

#anon asks

[kirkirk]

Charade Maniacs Tokuten Translation - キミとの一日

Before you read: Second time translating for Charamani! I’m really in love with this game, FD now, please. Again, if you spot any mistakes, let me know right away and I’ll change it asap!!! I had a hard time with Ebana’s part because his rough Japanese can be hard on my little brain, if you have any notes for his part I'll be more than glad to fix it. This tokuten features Haiji, Ebana, and Dazai. They each have their own short scenario, but the three scenes happen chronologically on the same day. It’s up to you if you only want to get to your man or if you’re listening to the three of them. Enjoy!! This one is really really cute.

PART 1 // SPOILER WARNING

DAZAI: Oh, you’re here… I feel bad since you took the trouble to come, but… this CD is a tokuten for Charade Maniacs, you know?

EBANA: To cut to the case, that means there could be spoilers from the main story. If you haven’t finished it, play it and come back then.

DAZAI: Ebana, couldn’t you really phrase it more nicely?

EBANA: If they had played it, they would already know I’m always like this. There’s no problem, right?

HAIJI: Is that so…? I thought I heard earlier that this CD would be a little sof-…

EBANA: Shut up, you little-!!!! Don’t you dare say a single word more!

(Ebana running away SFX)

DAZAI: Ahh, and he’s gone. Well. To sum up, there could be spoilers ahead, so, if you haven’t done it, come back after finishing the main story.

HAIJI: We will be waiting for you right here. Finish the game and come see us, okay?

DAZAI: Then… Charade Maniacs store tokuten CD – The whole day with you.  I hope you have fun.

PART 2 // TAKUMI HAIJI

(Moving bedsheets SFX)

Oh, good morning! You finally opened your eyes, didn’t you…

Sorry for entering without permission. I tried calling you a thousand times and I never got an answer. Don’t worry though! I only saw your sleeping face, so it’s okay.

Your expression while sleeping was very cute, I couldn’t take my eyes off… I don’t really know how to put it, but, for some reason, the fact that you were sleeping got my heart all excited.

Oh? Your face is red, are you okay?

(More bedsheet SFX)

Ah! You hid.

Are you still sleepy? Today’s breakfast was…errr, croque-madame! I thought it would be nice if we ate together, so that’s why I came wake you up.

The fried egg on top of the bread looked really tasty! Come on, if we don’t go quick, it will get cold…! So pleaaaase… wake up!

Aww, this is a problem… Eating breakfast alone is very boring! Hmmm…

Oh! I got it!! Then I can sleep with you! Huff…

(Haiji lies on the bed SFX)

It’s very soft… and warm! There’s also this amazing smell coming out…

If you are that sleepy, forget about breakfast and let’s laze around together all day long. I think that could be fun too. Also, since we are like this, I feel like I have you all for myself.

Aaaah… Hey, can I squeeze you as we are?

(Bed escaping SFX)

Huh? Did you finally wake up? What a shame, just when I was starting to get comfy…

Since you got up, that means you’re coming for breakfast, right?

If you have to get ready, can I help? I really want to do it, can’t I?

Really? Then I will comb your hair. Here. Sit!

It’s very pretty... So silky and soft! It feels great to the touch and smells really nice. So this was where the smell I felt in bed was coming from…

I kept wondering how it would feel if I touched your hair…, I’m very happy I finally know!

Hey, since this is a special occasion, can I try to go for a different style? What would be good…? I think you would look good with anything though.

I can do whatever I want? Ummm, then, how about something like this…?

Okay, it’s done! This is called ‘ponytail’, right? I read about it in a book before and wanted to see it for myself. I hope it came out good…

For real!? Your compliments make me happy…! You always wear your hair down and I like it, but I think having it tied up like this also suits you.

It’s reaaally cute… The cutest in the world.

Oh? Your face got even redder than before?

(Running and hiding in bed SFX)

Ha? You hid again…

Heeeey, come on out, quick!! Breakfast!!! You were going to eat it with me, weren’t you?

What happened? Ah, maybe…, did you want us to sleep together after all? Okay, I got it. Let’s do that then.

(Haiji gets into bed SFX)

I knew it! It’s so soft and warm…! I’m really happy that we’re together, let’s stay the whole day like this, okay...?

PART 3 // EBANA

(Cooking SFX)

What. It was you… What did you come here to do? Huhh?! You were ‘running away’? So now you play tag.

Playing in a situation like this… You sure have got some nerve. Whatever, it’s time for lunch and I’m already started with the preparations, so you should just-…

Hey, what’s with that? Your head… Ooh, so Haiji did it? Well, you have a different vibe than you usually do, maybe even a better one…

(More cooking SFX)

What? Can’t you tell just by looking? These are leftovers from yesterday’s spinaches, I’m mixing bacon in and cooking quiches. I made one before and it’s already baking in the oven, it won’t take much longer. After, I’ll get the plates and warm up some soup…

Anyways, there’s nothing else left to do. You’re free to please leave until it’s ready. You were late, to begin with.

What are you doing? Dessert? I haven’t done that yet, but… No, it’s not like you can’t… Are you really doing it?

What do you even pretend to cook? Milk gelatin? Well, I doubt you could fail at that.

Hey. If you are really doing it, use these strawberries. They’re leftovers so it’s alright. Also, those canned fruits aren’t bad either, just a little insipid.

Just so you know, I’m not doing this for your sake. I dislike wasting leftovers.

I should eat that too? If you ask like that, I can try to check how they taste, but I won’t show mercy if they are bad.

(Dishes SFX)

Hey! Mix that properly!! With that method it’s getting ruined. No, wrong! Not like that! Just give it to me for a second! You fix the pan in place like this and mix it thoroughly.

Huh?! You don’t have to worry about bubbles, later, we'll heat it up and they'll all disappear.

Anyways, you’ve already understood how to do it, right? WHAT?! I didn’t approach you with any intentions! I just thought you would understand it better if you saw me do it right in front of your eyes.

Ugh! It was nothing so keep moving your hand!! If you aren’t quick enough, it won’t solidify cleanly.

Yes, that’s alright… Then, next you need a mold. I recall there was one around here that would fit just right… there it is! Once you’ve placed the strawberries in here, pour over the pan’s content. If you let it cool in the refrigerator, it will be able to thicken.

(Music changes)

By the way. Why do I have to eat alone with you? I know there are some things left to do outside, but I can’t believe there’s NO ONE here. Especially, when I was thinking about letting them eat my freshly baked quiche.

It came out tasty, right? Baking pies is my forte, so that’s why. Well, if you want to eat it that much, I guess I could make it again… My repertoire isn’t over yet though…

Are you curious about the gelatin? If so, it shouldn’t take much time for it to harden. You can eat it too, as always, I left some for the others. You have a big appetite, so I worried ahead and made more.

Nevertheless, you look really satisfied while eating that… It always annoys me how you pretend to be a goody in front of everyone, but I can’t say I dislike th…

Huh?! No!! This is UNACEPTABLE. I HATE people like you. WHAT?! It’s not like I said I hated you?! Don’t be a fool! Shit. Your stupid smile and your stupid hairstyle are both getting on my nerves.

Aagh, enough! Eat it already and LEAVE!

PART 4 // MEI DAZAI

(Walking SFX)

What happened? Why are you here?

I couldn’t sleep so I came to get some water. I assume you can’t sleep either…, I see.

(Water SFX)

Well…, just if you are okay with it, we could talk here until you feel sleepy. Are you sure? Then, what do I pour you? Tea? Got it. I’ll have it done in a minute, wait for me.

There you go, it’s hot so be careful. I’m starting to get used to this… How do I put it…., it’s been a while since we got here, I think I’m getting used to this life.

Yes, that’s true. It’s not like we could get used to this situation that easily… If something happens, tell me right away. You might think I’m not very reliable, but if there is anything I can do to help, I will do it.

Instead of putting up a façade and pretending everything is okay, it would make me happier if you asked me for help.

By the way, what’s with your hairstyle? You always have your hair down… Ahh, you do have a different vibe to you, I think it suits you.

Actually, well…, I think it’s really cute. Oh, so Haiji did it for you… I’m a bit jealous, you know… No, nothing.

Hey, could I touch it too, just a little bit? Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. This, it’s only a hair clip, but I wondered if you could put it on. I thought you would like the design… Looks like I was right.

Before, I wondered if your fringe would get in the way while you were cooking. Today, I happened to see this in one of the stores of this world and it reminded me of that.

I didn’t know when the appropriate time would be to give it to you. When I talk to you, I completely forget, so I’m happy I managed to do it. It seems like I was sleepless because I was worrying too much about this. I’m really lucky. Because I found you here…

Hey, would it be okay if I put it on your hair? Okay, then…, I will touch your hair just for a sec.

As I thought, it does really fit you. I’m flattering you? No, I say it from the bottom of my heart. Your hairstyle before was good too, but… I think this is even cuter than your usual style.

Heh…, just teasing you…

Oh! Look at the time! We should return soon. Hah… You really look sleepy now, did talking with me help you relax? Since you couldn’t sleep before, this is a good thing, but… Agh, I’m conflicted.

I enjoy talking with you too, I want to keep going, but… You are definitely falling asleep on me. No, no, you WILL fall asleep, you should go to your room…

Hey! Don’t fall asleep there! Do not sleep on my shoulder, please! Oooh, hey. Anyways, please wake up now. I’m begging you.

She fell asleep.

Come on! If you don’t sleep in your bed, you will get a cold.

Poor thing, I’d feel bad waking her up. She’s sleeping with such a calm expression… What would I do if someone saw us like this…?

Okay… Since you are sleeping with such a face, I will carry you to bed… afterwards, but… just for a little while… It’s so warm…

It would be nice if we could stay like this forever…

end.

Personal comment: This CD is so cute!!!!!! Definitely one of my favorite tokutens from the game. They are all a great group, but their one-to-one scenarios with Hiyori have me on a chokehold. Their charasongs CDs come with two more of this kind of scenarios for every one of them, they are still around 5 minutes each. They really left me craving your typical hour-long drama CD. Also, being able to see them having a normal quite chaotic day for once is too wholesome for my poor heart. As always, I’ll be here lighting up candles for more Charade Maniacs content.

#charade maniacs translations #charade maniacs #takumi haiji #otome #keito ebana #mei dazai