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darling--angst-archived · 9 months

Note

hmm I hope I did this right :'D

- Where's My love, SYML w/ Dazai :o + romantic !

Where's My Love?

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Gn! Reader

Type: Oneshot

Genre: Angst

Warnings: major character death, implied suicide, blood descriptions, mentions of death, cutting, implied death.

Synopsis: Dazai always tries to find his lover and when he sees them, he only says a 'hello' but never did he say his goodbye.

A/n: Thank you for requesting! Reader is refered to as 'them' or 'they'. Hope you'll like this! Dw you did it correct! Italic for flashbacks

Event // Ada.Masterlist // M.Masterlist

There was nothing he could feel, he held the cold and lifeless corpse of his lover; just as he did to his dear friend a few days ago. Cold pulse, it was the only thing he could find; coldness, just as who he was before he met them. How hard he tried to find the love they once held in their eyes. He didn't mind his bleeding hand, he could only focus on holding them. His bloodied hand was mostly theirs and a small mix of his. The tears that dripped to his scarred hand made it sting; just like a wound topped with salt. He tried to make their heart beat once again but it was hopeless, they only held him dearly—as if they were fine and smiled before their eyes completely shut; never to open again. He screamed their name at the top of his lungs before he slowly laid their body on the floor, just like they were resting. He walked away, numb tears escaping his hazel eyes. The room was illuminated by the warm sun they once loved, and the crimson blood was oozing out of the three bullet holes on their chest. He tightly clenched his hand, not minding how much it hurt from the wound. The rain started to pour while the bright and orange sunset was covered with dark, thundering storms. He walked away, turning his back on everything, the Port Mafia, Chūya, his crimes, Oda and you.

"Dazai-san? Are you there? Kunikida-san called me and told me to go to work with you." Atsushi knocked on a small apartment room owned by the Agency.

Dazai sat up and looks at his hand again. It was clean, no blood was leaving his body through a wound that once was. A mark was left there, a memoir that the day he got that wound was the one where he failed to save you.

"That dream again.."

A few tears escapes his eyes and landed itself on his hand, just as that day. He wiped them away after hearing Atsushi knock on the door again.

"Yeah I'm here Atsushi-kun!" He said through the door, trying to sound as cheerful as possible though his voice came out dry and hoarse.

"Are you okay Dazai-san? Are you sick?!" Atsushi asks, his tone full of worry and franty.

"Nop! I just woke up so please wait for me in a few minutes Atsushi-kun!" He said in his usual cheery tone making Atsushi sigh in relief. Dazai's words soon registered in his mind, and he began to panic.

"But Kunikida-san will scold both of us for being late!"

"It's fineee! Its just going to be the same old Kunikida!" He tried explaining while ramaging through his drawer, trying to find his bandages.

"But—"

"I'm gonna be quick Atsushi-kun, I'm just going to dress! You don't want me to go to the agency shirtless do you?" He said in a spiteful voice, wrapping his arms, hands, neck and torso with leftover bandages.

"eww no!"

"exactly" Dazai replied before wearing his shirt and vest. He glances at the scar again before opening the door and throwing in his overcoat.

"Let's go Atsushi-kun!"

He skipped to the agency with Atsushi behind him. They got scolded by Kunikida but it the end he was the one that took his hour long lecture and Dazai got punished by him.

The day passed again, and the moon showed in the midnight sky. Dazai was laying in his futon, staring at the dark ceiling, bottles of sake throws across the floor. He turned his head beside and saw them, a worried look was plastered on their face as they looked at him. He knew that his mind was playing games with him, despite that he came to caress their cheek to feel their warmth; but they disappeared, and his hand only met the cold and empty sheets beside. He clenched his fists tight before standing up and grabbing his overcoat and leaving his messy apartment. Walking in the dark streets lighted by the faint moonlight, was something both of them used to do. He gently smiled at the small memory before continuing to walk, he arrived at a small greeny fields in the outskirts of the city.

"Darling! Osamu! Wait up!" They said before panting.

"You really need to run faster my love!" He turned around and saw them with furrowed eyebrows. He chuckled before going to them.

"You're so unfair! I'm on my slippers because you called me and told me it was an emergency!" They pouted, taking his assistance and grabbing his hand for support.

"It is an emergency! I was bored and I missed you!" He pointed out.

"Haii.. whatever.. Don't you dare try to lie to me" They sighed shooting him a worried look before caressing his bruised cheek, and he leaned on her hand.

"What do you mean love?" He sent them a cheeky smile, trying to feign innocence and ignorance.

"Osamu." They said his name in a serious tone, and he only laid his head down.

"I-its nothing" He quietly muttered, getting closer to them, trying to feel their warmth.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here" The hand cupping his cheeks snaked it's way to the back of his head, as he leaned his head into their shoulder.

Their hand slowly and gently patted the back of his head while he hugged them. The silent crickets are the only thing that was heard. He felt scared, he didn't want them to know his line of job in fear that they would leave him. They were a civilian and he was a mafioso—no an executive of the Port Mafia, the rulers of the night. He needed comfort, he wanted to tell them how his friend betrayed them and now the other was dead; but he couldn't, he was afraid of them abandoning him too. Nobody spoke a word, they didn't bother to ask him more, they just waited for him to open up. They gently hummed a tune as they waited for him, their voice was like a lullaby that comforted a scared and crying child.

The event plays on his mind, seeing illusions of that day in the fields, he could not remember what happened afterwards. He put his hands on the pockets of his overcoat as his fingertips got colder and colder. Walking to a small cliff near the ocean, a name was carved in a rock just near the edge, beside it, was a fresh bouquet of roses. He leaned against the grave as he closed his eyes, reminiscing the old memories.

"Hello love... I missed you" He gently smiled, feeling the cold breeze pass.

A faint voice whispered comfort in his ear.

"I missed you too.. tell me.. is that little girl, the one you told me about—Kyoka, I think—is she okay?"

He felt his hair ruffle, as if someone was playing it just like they did. He wanted to open his eyes to know who it was, but he knew that they would disappear just as he looks behind. He knew that he was just thinking how they would respond but he didn't mind it.

"Mhm.. the conflict was over and the Moby Dick returned to the ocean... Kyoka's now home with the agency" He whispered, trying to feel their warm.

"That's good.. How is the agency treating you.?"

"hmm.. Atsushi-kun is as usually kind.—" he faintly smiled.

"—oh, Kunikida tied me to a chair earlier and beat me up because I was late, it hurt a lot. Ouch" He dramatically whispered and they faintly laughed in return. Silence once again came, the howling winds and the clashing waves are the only things that can be hear besides his lone heartbeat.

"Come back to me please.." His voice cracked. He heard no response, he opened his eyes and looked behind to see nothing but a view of the night sky and the dancing leaves. A part of the cloudy sky was clear, showing the moon perfectly, as if it made way for someone to go high above.

"I'll go to you soon love.. and if the heavens forbid it... I'll fight against God myself just to return to your embrace" He sat up and glanced at the grave once again before finally returning to his apartment.

He closed his door and muttered a small "I'm home" hoping for someone to respond. Taking off his shoes and overcoat, he took a blade from his bathroom drawer, and then made himself comfortable in the bathtub. He rolled up his sleeves and sat up, positioning the blade just perfectly on the veins in his wrist. With one quick and deep slash, blood started gushing out of his left wrist. He winced in pain, taking the blade once again, he slashed his right wrist; it was less deep than the cut in his other wrist but nonetheless, it was deep. Blood started to drip to his garments and bathtub, his vision started to blur and he leaned completely to the wall, closing his eyes. At the last moments of his life, he remembered what happened after that day.

"Hey... If you don't want to tell me it's okay, but don't ever try to hide your emotions from me.." They smiled at him, their fingers playing with his hair.

"What do you mean? I don't hide them—" He left their embrace and tried to put on a facade.

"Osamu. You don't need to hide them" They said, walking upfront, their voice was full of calmness, just like a lullaby. Their arms was behind them, their right hand holding their left arm

"Fine... But let me ask you this then." He looked at their back with a serious tone.

"Why did you come in the middle of the night to a cliff just because I told you to do so?" He asked, his gaze following them as they walked forward to the edge, admiring the moon. They continued to hum before they responded to his question.

"Because I love you" They turned around and smiled at him. They put a strand of hair behind their ear, as the wind passed by.

"mmm.." He opened his eyes to see their illusion planting a kiss on his forehead.

"I..finally..found..you...." His voice slowly faded into nothing but air.

It was as if time stopped for a mere second. The pain that engulfed him whole was now only faint. Their warmness returned to him and his vision completely faded to black, submitting to the sleepiness he held after hearing them hum his favorite tune...

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soapels · 1 year

Text

flash

john “soap” mactavish x female reader

your good friend soap’s been actin’ a lil weird lately… but as long as you keep pretending otherwise, it’ll be okay. right…?

tw: nsfw/smut, reader has this thing where she playfully calls him soapy, friends to lovers sort of, comrades to lovers, alcohol use, emotional?? mentions of and allusions to mental illness

notes: yall this one took a while to cook up, ngl. but soap doesnt get as much love as he should!! so please accept this tender lil fic and enjoy 😖 and tell me if u enjoyed lol i’d be over the moon ♡ once again, readmore is bugging so…. Sorry 🥲

all hearts, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated!

There’s not much in this world that can ease the trauma that war leaves behind.

You’ve been a part of the team for a while, long enough to walk in on things you shouldn’t have- conversations meant for the higher-ups, things your ears weren’t supposed to hear. And you’ve shut your mouth, zipped it up tight and threw the key to the bottom of the sea by silently walking away from it all.

Sometimes you stumble upon things that aren’t inherently wrong, either- like Ghost winding down one night to a bottle of whiskey, a glimpse of his brown, doleful eyes- but it somehow feels out of place, too.

Nothing ever feels right, around here.

But you don’t want to leave, exactly, truthfully you think a big part of you will always be stuck here with the military and blood and gunpowder, like some dirty stain you can never quite scrub away completely.

And even stranger- you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

You dropped the hypothetical shit a while ago, no more dreams of living at the edge of a city in New York or owning a cozy little cafe like that one Simon particularly liked. Stopped wishing over shooting stars and leaning on pipe dreams of your life after the war’s done.

Because the war’s never really done, and that’s why you can’t go. To suddenly walk away from it all, emerge from a cloud of orange smoke to the suburbs- that’d feel worse than suicide, because you never finished shit, you let it finish you.

You’re not gonna leave first, you decided on your fourth mission, at least not on your own volition. Either you go down with the chaos, or you’re lucky enough and don’t.

And… You walk in on things you’re not always supposed to.

Like Soap hunched over by his bunk one quiet evening, the horizon a burning mess of red and deep tangerine outside the small window, curtains billowing ever so softly in the breeze.

…Doin’ something you still can’t find it in you to say.

And you wanted to do something, upon the door creaking open- pull a lighthearted scare on him like he does you sometimes, but more importantly, tell him that your Lieutenant told you to tell him that he’s on cleaning duty tonight. (He never likes cleaning much, Johnny, but he’s damn good at it- fast, too, probably under the incentive of a good night’s sleep.)

But there’s something in the air- must be- because your knees lock up and you gape at the back of his head, one large hand bracing against the bar of the bed, the other… wrapped around his front, jerking jerking jerking.

Confusion kicks in, for a solid moment as you piece it all together- the lack of a lamp light in the sunset-bathed room, the odd quietness and the precaution stitched in the stiff muscles of his back, shirtless and slightly sweating- and then comes the slow realization.

Common sense strikes you next.

You shut your mouth, turn on your heel, eyes bulging and all, nearly trip over your laces-

“Ah-“

And as the door quietly closes, your petrified gaze meeting Soap’s hazy blue one through the diminishing slit, you know you’ve fucked up.

You hear him call your name just before you go, his voice thick and heady, his Scottish accent just a rasping breath as you blink away the mad blush and counter it back with a frail call over your shoulder.

“Uhm- sorry! Ghost- um- h-he said you’re on cleaning duty!!”

Fuck.

♡♡♡

“All water under the bridge, Soapy.”

You tell him confidently after a whole week of awkwardly skirting around him, pretending he was nonexistent sitting across of you in the truck or plane. Truthfully, you were too embarrassed of your mishap to do much otherwise.

But none of that has to be known, so if he spots the nerves in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it, and you’d like to think your little grin is convincing enough.

“Y’sure, lass?” He says uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck as his oceanic hues flit between you and the wall behind you. You nod, sparing a cautionary glance over his shoulder to your comrades swaying around with every bump of the gravel road, bodies knocking together, shoulders brushing and—

“Lass…?”

“Oh,” you blink owlishly, mentally returning back to the male before you, “sorry, guess my mind wasn’t all there.”

“All on good things, I hope?” He offers a half-embarrassed little chuckle there, and when the sentiment clicks, you huff fondly and look away.

“Good things,” you confirm, ever bashful.

And there’s a stretch of peaceful silence; the muted crunch of gravel beneath the big tires, some mild chatter and exchanged banter between your Captain and Gaz (albeit, it comes mostly from Price), and the light rustle of bodies brushing together.

Your mind wanders away in that wordless reprieve, and though you vaguely register Soap’s presence still there- those blue, inquisitive eyes hovering over you- he’s no more than an afterthought as you slowly zone out.

Far. Away.

The glint of the steely rafters overhead. The ripped fabric of the seats. Camo and black and bleakness, everywhere, all the time, no color. You can’t feel your body.

Gunfire. Chaos. Your ears ring, a perpetual bell of terror in your head as adrenaline courses through your veins, fear making its daily rounds within you.

No escape, no red exits or arrows to an end- just you and the field of sand, endless and dry, swarmed with enemies that you can’t find it in you to leave behind for another.

It’s over, something weak and brittle-boned screams inside you, wailing, in the high-pitched voice of a child hiding under the bed. It’s over It’s over It’s over.

It’s over again.

…But he’s there, in all your trembling, concerned sapphire and a boyish sort of gentleness, a gloved hand reaching for you.

(Gunfire, gunfire, gunfire. Something’s nicked your leg, maybe.)

“…You good?”

You gasp inaudibly. Wide, deer-in-headlights gaze meeting a vaguely worried one.

His hand, idly sliding over the length of his gun, almost jitters as he quietly searches you for a sign of response, for a familiar smile or a pleasant little laugh that serves as a salve to his soul.

And for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Soap looks earnestly for life in those e/c hues, and finds grains of sand in his boots.

Your lips curl, ever so slightly, and that curse is broken.

“Yes,” you breathe, lashes fluttering down to the gun in your own arms— much too big for you, heavy, full of bullets named home (because you can’t feel safe without them)— and then your eyes fall to your legs, the camo hiding the healing mass of bandages there.

Soap wrapped most of them.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

When his cheeks dust over an unsuspecting red, you realize you’ve fucked up for the second time this week.

Because nobody calls him Johnny. Nobody but your headstrong Lieutenant.

…Jerking your chin away, wordless and tense in the direction of the vehicle’s driver, Soap can tell you’re sorry.

And he sighs then, exasperated- just as you- yet soft, too. His eyes follow yours, equipment jostling quietly in the droning lull of the long trip ahead.

“…No harm done there, lass.”

There’s a trace of a smile on his lips. Exhausted. True.

♡♡♡

Bruises, cuts, heavy fists and evil intent— literal bullets to the skin- you’ve taken it all, yet none of that seems to matter now, every bad memory bleeding into the swirl of your glass, ice tinkling together as you slowly relax into Soap’s sofa.

It smells of him, you think. Something woodsy and unexplainably Johnny- perhaps a trace of minty aftershave…

You feel nice, slumped back into the cushions in a haze- happy, even. Or perhaps not happy, exactly, but dazed and dumb and good. The sweet-tanged concoction too dizzying to think.

You can’t think; good, it must be.

Soap’s sat next to you, clad in faded denim jeans and a white top that clings loosely to his built muscles. His legs are spread somewhat, long made himself comfortable, thighs thick and strong through the rugged-blue material.

His condition’s not far off from yours, sporting a glass of his own, approaching his fifth of the night, though you suspect he holds his alcohol much better, because you hardly ever drink, and you’re already feeling tipsy after the second shot. Meanwhile, he’s still managing to articulate a sentence, a dopey grin occasionally showing on his face.

Sat at the armchair across the coffee table, Ghost is a stoic wreck of fatigue and relief, steadily nursing a bourbon as Soap babbles on about some old highschool story of his.

It’s probably something funny, something the sober you wouldn’t want to miss, something you’d tuck away in your brain for later to poke harmless fun at your pal with. But you’re so tired and lost and intoxicatedly stupid right now, and for the life of you, you can’t convince yourself to turn over and hear him out.

Later, the hopeful part of you whispers, when you’re less fucked up and leaden. (Later never comes.)

Ghost’s brown eyes are glossy beneath his balaclava, a sort of look kin to post-nut clarity glinting in them as he witnesses the two of you slowly. Processing, processing, processing. As if he’s looking through a pane of glass, not really there, but he feels every crippling sensation all the same and his mouth feels awkward, he’s drunk and his tongue is heavy.

He shouldn’t take another sip. He does anyway.

Maybe he’s not listening to Johnny half-coherently list off fables from his youth, maybe he’s simply existing and basking in the otherwise quiet moment-the temporary peace. And maybe Soap knows his Lieutenant zoned off a while ago, that now no ears in the whole entire world are listening to him spill the humorous side of his heart.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. None of it.

…There comes a point, though, where Soap looks over to you.

Those eyes, a murky, inscrutable sapphire, drag over you. Slowly. There’s something on his mind, something heavy and wild and that he can’t control, yet he doesn’t tell a word of it, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

(You’re drunk anyway, you’re done and over with for the night. So what’s it matter anyway?)

(But it’s Soap, so you want to know.)

Finally, those hazy blues settle on your empty glass, clasped loosely in your fingers.

“…Pour y’another?”

You snort halfheartedly, mustering up a joke. (‘Cept, it’s not really funny, and your words are slurring. You sound stupid, you can’t feel your body. Pop pop pop, gunfire in the distance, playing like a broken vinyl cd in the crook of your head…)

“Soap… I don’t think I can take another…”

His chest rumbles low at that.

“S’pose yer right.”

He’s reaching forward, leaning into the coffee table, snatching a bottle and gesturing to your mug anyway.

You’re smiling like a plastered, exhausted bimbo when you obediently proffer it out to him and watch him fill it up. Slowly, but his strong arm’s a little uncoordinated as he pours it, and he almost spills some.

It’s more than you can ever hope to drink right now, you realize as he sets the whiskey back down, pressing the glass back to you. You think with enough ambition and torturous silence, though, you’ll be able to find way to swallow it all.

(The lot of you are good at that.)

It’s when you take your second sip that Ghost rises from the couch.

“I’m done-in for the night.”

He’s fucked up too, bad, you can tell. But he hides it well, always has, hardly a stumble to his step as he spares you a tired, mutual nod and turns in the direction of the hall.

“Sure, Lt,” Soap calls after him, the two of you watching Simon disappear into the dim glow of the hallway. “There’s blankets in the hall closet if y’get too cold.”

And it’s when you hear the soft click of a door, a bed promptly groaning under a foreign weight, that an unprecedented sense of drunken boldness takes over and you rise.

“Lass-?”

(He’s already poised to reach for you, prepared to follow right behind you should you say the word, if something’s wrong.)

Pop pop pop.

You tip your head back, gulping down the liquid- an evident bit of spice that sears your throat, a complimentary vanilla, too- ‘til you’re staring at an empty bottom.

Turnin’ back to Soap.

Jaw slack, eyes a glossy mess of intoxication and confusion- maybe even worry- Soap looks up at you with knitted brows. Ready to sit you back down, perhaps noticing the quiet war behind your dopey blinks- eager to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of- he shouldn’t have poured you another, it’s time to hit the hay, maybe—

“Johnny,” you say, and it knocks the very breath out of him, “More.”

…More it is.

He belatedly takes your emptied mug in his hands, almost trembling as he snuffs out all of his internal turmoil and brims your glass with more of that addictive substance.

Pours himself another, too. (Figures he’ll need it to sleep tonight. Though, it’ll hurt like hell in the morning- that’s when he’ll truly pay for it.)

Settling back into the sofa (admittedly not in best shape, leather worn-in, a few scratches), he watches you tap in and out of your beverage, and when your hips start to sway- thin fabric of your nightgown shifting along your thighs- a good piece of him (the last of his rationality) burns with the whiskey at the back of his throat.

Oh, you want to butcher him tonight, don’t you?

There’s no sound, just the pleasant backdrop of rain dripping off the apartment’s roof and the occasional car whistling down the city streets, yet you move like it’s your favorite song.

Lazy, loosely-controlled, like every sentiment flows through you like a conduit.

Brokenness there, Johnny finds snapped twigs and bullet shells and the screams that catch deep in your lungs after another close call. But he discovers hope there too, a courageous peace and a beam of your forgiving moon…

Wants to swim in your waters.

(But you don’t bleed the same chaos he’s realized he can. You reek of immovable innocence; he’s beheaded men and liked it- he’s imagined you outside of your hellish job and shimmied out of those thick fatigues- pictured you naked and happy on his cock. And that lovely gown you’re in now makes you so fuckin’ precious in his eyes…)

(It frames you like an angel. You are, Soap knows. You are. And he deserves no part of it.)

Your body ebbs like a tide.

A gentle, hypnotic lullaby that Soap thinks is awfully inviting, jaw stiff at the way your perky ass tempts him beneath the pale silk, jeans growing a touch tighter as the seconds tick by. (Has he been watching you for forever? Have you been swaying for only a moment? He doesn’t know, but—)

It’s enough.

He rises too, then, large hands meeting the curve of your hips, settling there like he’s belonged for some time, eyes hooded as they sweep over the expanse of your neck and collarbones, point of his nose scraping against the column of your throat.

“Want t’kill me tonight, d’you, lass?”

You almost pause for a moment at his touch, he can feel it in the way you stiffen, the faint shiver of your spine. But you don’t let his presence stop you, and for that he’s ever thankful.

“No,” you breathe, and it’s just as soft as it is drunk.

Slurred, and falling apart, still you’re a sight for sore eyes, the callous pads of his fingers slowly riding down the plush of your thigh… “Never, Soapy.”

Soapy. What a fucking nickname. Probably one of the stranger things he’s gotten hard at- not that he’s complaining, because though for anyone else it wouldn’t slide, it sounds so sweet leaving your lips.. makes warmth furl out in his chest…

Hands roaming, roaming, and roaming some more.

Stopping midway, where the frilly hem of that tantalizing gown lies…

Testing your waters, though he wants nothing more than to pull the fabric off you and dive right in.

“Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs back, this time into the side of your jaw, his lips smushing into your cheek as he insinuates himself behind you. Wonderin’ if you fully realize the persistent bulge at your rear-side and if you do, whether or not you like it.

(D’you want him, too? Oh, fuck, he hopes you want him, too. Don’t know what he’ll do otherwise…)

When his thumb grazes against the smooth skin of your belly and you offer no rebuttal, he relaxes some behind you, blood roaring through his ears (down south, too). Hoping you’ll be impossibly generous with him, even if just for tonight, even if you’ll both forget it all by the morning and this little daydream of his will be swept under the rug ‘til he stumbles again and needs to revisit it.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass…” he sort of groans. “Sway those hips s’more for me, yeah…?”

You’re too good, he thinks as you lean back into him and give him just what he asked for, you’re too good and now he’s hot and needy for you. Only you. (Why’s it only ever you?)

The alcohol’s getting to his head, his mouth feels fuzzy and his throat is cotton but he likes it- the embers licking at the pit of his belly doing no favors for his intoxication.

M’ drunk off you, lass. He wants to say, or at least something of the sort. But his lips are sealed, and the patters of rain stay steady outside. And not a word comes out.

Not until his hips start grinding against yours, hands hungrily groping up to the mounds of your tits, and you mewl. You fucking mewl. A soft whine, hardly a breath, really- but it’s somehow satisfied and greedy all at once and Soap knows right then that you need him just as he needs you.

(You need him.)

“Fuck, Y/n,” he grunts, voice thick with arousal, low with remnants of exhaustion. “Let me take ya to m’ room… Please?”

And you do, obedient as he flips you around, carefully hoisting you up, palms cupping the unders of your thighs as he heads off in the direction of the hallway.

He wants to kiss you, to twirl his tongue with yours and taste the sweeter option of liquor you let him pour you tonight, he wants to do everything he’s ever wanted to with you- but he doesn’t.

Sex is one thing- to fuck you is already worse enough but at least he could chalk it up to just blowing off some steam. But kissing... That crossed a whole different line and leapt over into something far more personal.

You two will be in big trouble should Ghost suddenly emerge from the guest room and find you- you’re certain this isn’t allowed, but Soap’s arms are setting you down on his bed and his mouth is suckling at your neck and you like it.

But—

“Johnny,” you whine breathlessly. He somehow, amidst the inebriation and the heady poke of your breasts against his chest- the sin of his name on your tongue- recognizes the hesitance there and finds it in him to pause.

“What?” Voice all raspy and fucked-up. Impatient, slightly harsh.

(But his heart is running so fast it echoes in his brain.)

“This is-…” you swallow. “This is wrong.”

Johnny sighs. “Lass,” the backs of his knuckles brush over your cheek, up along your jaw ‘til his fingers are stroking back your hair, and his eyes are a tsunami, roaring waves folding over a gentle tide as he peers at you.

(Fuck, he sees you. He totally, fully sees you.)

Pupils a blown-out mess of adoration and tenderness and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“M’fraid it all is.”

His lips ghost over yours- for a moment he almost sinks his teeth into the softness there, but at the last second they shift gears and descend upon you, placing a flurry of pecks on your tummy. Down down down, ‘til he’s rucking up your gown and the tip of his nose is burrowing into the dip of your panties- the wetness there exacerbating his raging hard-on.

You shiver violently at his touch, lazily propped up on your elbows as you gape down at him. Your fingers find his head, tangling into his mohawk, grazing against the shaved hair. His eyes glow like a beast, large palms dragging your hips in, bracing into your thighs.

His eyes roll back some at your touch. The gentleness you regard him with in those shimmery eyes of yours- you’ve had him on a tight leash for a while now. He hopes you know, and wonders if you’d loosen his chains a little, just to free him some. (Does he even want to be free?)

“Johnny, I…” (The intensity in his gaze so heady and endless you can’t muster up a proper sentence.)

“…Can make y’happy,” he huffs out, then, his hot breath melding against your clothed pussy- needy and aching for your usually-cheery comrade. “Can make ya cum on my tongue, if that’s what y’want.”

The moon slivers in through the still curtains. His words are slurred. Johnny is so drunk. You are, too. You’ll regret this tomorrow morning if you remember. And you will, of course you will, because you remember everything. (Least, all the things you shouldn’t…)

Johnny, though- cheeks a ruddy mess of infatuation and tender, overwhelming arousal- is worth all of it.

“I jus’ want you,” you breathe incoherently after a belated beat of silence.

There’s a split second of nothingness- where Soap has to piece together your sloppy (yet no less sincere) whisper-

And then there’s a broken little whimper on his end. His fingers hooking into the hem of your panties and tugging ‘em down- vicious, almost. No more waiting. You asked too nicely for him to turn you down anyway.

“You’ll get me.” He whispers coarsely. He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, fumbling flat onto his tummy- still, somehow careful of the bandages around your knee- and doesn’t waste any time.

Diving in, placing a preparatory kiss to to your clit before nuzzling into your folds—

Your head immediately thrashes into his pillows, jaw gaping as you stifle a desperate moan, eyes pinned to the ceiling.

“Oh, Johnny,” you whine, and your voice is so thin- skin so glassy in the flicker of the moon- that he’s sure one wrong touch will break you entirely.

(And he wants to break you, maybe. If only to put your pieces back together, bring you to beautiful ruin on his cock and tongue and fingers and soul, just so he can recombine you after all is said and done. Be the one to kiss away your tears, pocket them like souvenirs- whenever he feels particularly awful he can pull them out and remember how they made your eyes shine like magic 8balls. And for a moment, all the wrong will fade.)

“That’s it, pretty gal,” his palms hold your quivering thighs apart, keeping you mostly steady beneath him. But when he shifts, teases his index finger at the core of you and sinks it in- so deep- so much longer than yours- you let out a shivering moan that the back of your hand can’t hold.

He hushes you, briefly pulling away from your pussy, and you think you hear something close to love there. “Hush, lass,” he whispers. “Much as I want t’hear ya, word gets out to Shepherd and we’re done for.”

Soap gets a shaky, long exhale in return, and from where he lies between your legs, he watches your tummy stutter with every breath, breasts torturing him with every jostle.

“I don’t think I can take it.” You confess.

(Fuck, he has to ruin you.)

He sighs deeply. “You will…”

You beg him a lot; small fingers fisted in his stripe of hair, unwittingly tugging and whining as quiet as you could, that he’d save you the hell and give his cock to you already. But it’s only after you’ve come undone on his tongue that he finally indulges you- though he’s more than willing, fumbling for his slacks as he settles you back down, nose brushing against yours as he lines himself up.

“Tell me you still want it…”

“I want you,” you breathe.

He’s kissing you, cock pushing in with a feral little growl that rocks the both of you, muffled in the swirl of your tongue as his hips meet the underside of your thighs. He pushes ‘em to your chest.

“Fuck, lass, wanted to do this for a while,” he confesses in a breathy sort of whine, and when you whimper confusedly back he pulls away some, gives you a shaky nod. His balls are tight already, belly flipping with arousal and lust and the pure need to fill you up.

“Mhm,” he hums, all reassurance, gentle, uncoordinated fingers smoothing back your hair as he drinks in the sight of you. Perfect beneath him, eyes hardly meeting his, lashes dewy with pleasure- all given by him- breasts jostling like a treat as he drives himself into your warmth.

As tender as he can make it, as good as he can hold back.

“Thought about this for too long. Was so afraid that evening you walked in on me— ah— but… suppose you wanted it too, yeah?”

He’s kissing you again. Why’s he kissing you again-?

“I want ye,” he murmurs against you, and you’re trying so hard not to make a peep, gnawing on your love-swollen lips when Soap finally pulls away for oxygen- but perhaps something inside him snaps, looking down at you, ruined by his hand, because the next thing he says—

“Fuckin’ hell- don’t hold back, lass, don’t care who hears anymore,” he near begs, low voice rubbed raw with alcohol and, well, the sight of you, raising a pitch.

“Y’sound so pretty, so fuckin’ good, just let me hear you…”

And the pathetic part is- he’s already getting close, already feels that niggling, simmering sensation clutching in the pit of his belly as he rams his length in and out of you, watching your pretty face contort with pleasure— all given by him— and—

And when you finally unhook your bottom lip from your teeth and loose a whimpering, wanton moan for him, he comes on the spot.

Witnessing the twisted, cloying expression he makes as he lets out a long, feral groan, you think you come, too.

(Sure felt like it anyway- on Soap’s end, too. Fuck.)

But he just collapses over you, letting your sweaty skin fold against his as he burrows into the crook of your neck, suckles little red and pink marks that’ll linger tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…

“Yr’gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning away some to look you in the eyes.

His glitter with warmth- you suspect he might’ve hidden a tear in the juncture of your neck- and they harbor this unmistakeable, eddying flash of love.

“You know that, yeah? …How gorgeous y’are?”

His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up a ring of baby blue. His calloused palms hold you close. So close. You can’t leave, you think, can’t squirm away even if you wanted to— not in Johnny’s grasp.

You muster up the sweetest, most fatigued little smile, and send it his way. “I-I know, Johnny.”

He shifts one final time, grinning tiredly (still, he’s won a medal, tonight, the best he could’ve ever aspired for) as he makes himself comfortable behind you- still tucked inside you- and wraps his strong arms ‘round your torso.

The bed creaks once more- loud, may you add, because Johnny stopped—

“Bloody hell! Go to sleep, will ya?!”

#call of duty #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap smut #soap mw2 #soap cod #ghost #simon riley

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sanyu-thewitch05 · 9 months

Text

Honestly the levels of degeneracy that some Twst characters displays just reaffirms my little headcanon that some of the characters would definitely be going to jail and or prison in their adult years.

Here’s my list and reasons why:

Idia Shroud:

He’d do some crazy shii like digging up bodies to recreate his first love. Or making a robot flesh suit for his virtual lover.

Probably end up in jail for stalking a person he follows online

Either that or it’s because he doing some Frankenstein type of bs.

Or he doxxed and swatted a person

Honestly there’s multiple things he could go to jail for

Including that Chris Chan like sweater.

Rook Hunt:

Do I really need to explain for this one?

It wouldn’t even be a day out of his graduation from NRC before he ends up in jail for stalking someone beautiful.

Or just stalking the beastmen in Sunset Savannah.

Probably had his computer and phone searched through only to find secret photos of people.

Now that I think of it, he’s definitely capable of kidnapping someone. His family is rich and has a lot of houses.

He gives off Misery energy at times.

Azul Ashengrotto/Jade Leech/Floyd Leech:

Again, do I need to explain for this one?

All three of them would end up in a jail cell together.

Azul for financial crimes. The Leech brothers for murder.

On the other hand, if you’re looking for a mafia boss and his cronies to be your boyfriends, you’re in luck!

Probably has people’s bones in his house.

Meanwhile, on land he’s most likely a narco/drug maker. Got a couple of dudes from Pomefiore to stick around and now they’re making and shipping illegal potions and powders across Twisted Wonderland.

Literally do not sign his contract. You’ll be his slave forever.

Luckily, Jade is the more sensible one.

Malleus Draconia/Sebek Zigvolt:

Malleus would go to jail because he kidnapped someone and refused to let them(Yuu) leave him.

He says Yuu is living their best life back home in their world.

Meanwhile Yuu is actually in a room that can only be accessed by him and Sebek with only Grim to keep them company.

He’d only get found out because Grim escaped and told on him to his grandma, who’s trying to live her best life in the East with Lilia. Only to find out her grandson is doing this.

Sebek would go to jail right with Malleus because of his obsessive loyalty.

It’s on suicide bomber levels. If Malleus told him to blow up a building he’s do it.

Luckily, Silver was spared from being near these two as he’s spending time with his father in the East.

Malleus would 100% pay Idia to make him a Yuu robot so that he’d always have us in some way.

Yuu has best hope Malleus never figured out the art of cloning and how to perfect it.

And last but not least.

Trey Clover

He’s the one making drugs, potions, and powders for Azul.

And you now who’s right next to him? Rook.

Trey may seem like a normal family man, but little does everyone know he’s making drugs on the side

Never should’ve trusted that smile of his

Thats why his bakery is booming

He puts little doses of crack with the sugar-

Only got busted when Azul and his crew got busted.

He serves his time, and just lives a normal life

Plus the community he’s in mainly believes Azul suckered him into the drug making like he did all the other works.

Little do they know, he did it voluntarily.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #twst headcanons #idia shroud #trey clover #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #sebek zigvolt #rook hunt

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moonxmagix · 7 months

Text

MCR Songs & their vibes

MCR songs and whether I think they’re day, night, sunrise, or sunset songs. Also adding seasons. If you get it, you get it. If you don’t then idk what to tell you homie. I do get carried away & include scenarios I personally picture with the songs. It took me a couple hours to write this so please read. This might make more sense for my fellow autistics though:

First album: Bullets

As an overall album I don’t have a set season for it BUT if I had to pick it would be a transition from Summer to Fall. It’s also more of a Day album for me but not ever sunny. With exception of sunsets.

Romance - Sunset but when the sun is almost down, Summer but transitioning into Fall

HTMIBHFTBOU - Night but just after Sunset, still that Summer to Fall transition

Vampires - Night, but sometimes fits a cloudy rainy day, Fall

Drowning Lessons - Night, probably around 9pm, then again I get rain vibes, Fall but exceptionally chilly this day

Our Lady of Sorrows - Night, Fall, i imagine being aggressively drunk to this song in some small shitty venue

Headfirst for Halos - Day but slowly transitions into sunset, nice fall day

Skylines and Turnstiles - Day but super rainy/cloudy to where it looks night, Fall

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville - Day and night because it starts off nice then progressively gets darker, winter

TITBDE - Sunset/night but like right after the sunset, i imagine being at the fairground & setting the firewheel ablaze, Summer transition into Fall

Cubicles - Day but cloudy, Fall but getting close to winter, being miserable at a shitty corporate office job, coffee & cigarettes

Demolition Lovers - Day into night, Winter, blood in the snow

Second Album: Revenge

Easily a Fall album with SOME Winter exceptions. From the story we know I get lots of vibes of murder and suicide. I get lots of screaming and yelling between a couple vibes too. Definitely a Night time album overall.

Helena - Day but rainy & cloudy, funeral vibes but that’s so obvious, peak Fall

Give ‘em Hell Kid - Day but very cloudy it’s almost night, Fall, definitely ‘just got out of school 4 the day’ vibes

To The End - Night, a very eerie night somewhere in the woods bc you & your friends found a vampires mansion and the lore to the house is that a husband & wife lived there but they killed each other, Fall

YKWTDTGLUIP - Night but you're in prison so you don’t care what time of the day it is, Fall but it’s a bit chillier because it’s ALMOST winter

I’m Not Okay (I promise) - Day, cloudy school day with light drizzle, Fall but a bit warmer but it feels like summer because the gym teacher made you run laps outside & you threw up on the side

The Ghost of You - Day/night but cloudy (Kinda going off MV), Winter probably

TJLIGKY - Late Night, downtown somewhere sketchy in a hotel, missing person vibes tbh, rain, Fall transition into Winter

Venom - Night but early on, I imagine fighting for something you want/to keep living/fighting for love even if it’s not necessarily romantic love

Hang ‘Em High - Day, Sunny fall day, emo cowboy vibes idc!, Sunset later on in the song though, very sinister & hungry eyes, possession comes to mind here

Fashion Statement - Night but just turned, graveyard, crawling out of coffin in ground, Fall but foggy

Cemetery Drive - Day but cloudy and rainy, when you were found on the bathroom floor though it was night, staring out the window like a movie, Fall

INTYWIDFAL - Dead of the Night, lots of mania & killing, Staring at the mirror with blood on your hands, Fall

Third Album: Black Parade

This album is Winter through and through! Definitely a transition into Day from Night. Themes of death obvi and incompletion and self hatred. Lots of fire and potentially setting stuff ablaze, so arson! Memories on memories.

The End - Day but you’re in an auditorium watching a play/musical until Night, lots of screaming & agony, Fall but just about Winter

Dead! - Day but it’s cloudy, lots of dreaming & being taunted by death, Winter

TIHID - Night, being in the woods late at night, walking in snow barefoot & blood trailing behind, seeing ghost, Winter

The Sharpest Lives - Night but it’s 2am, drunk, cigarettes, trying to comes to term w/ your career & how you won't achieve anything, Winter

WTTBP - Day into Night, cloudy, dead of Winter but lot’s of fire to keep warm, seeing death finally

I Don’t Love You - Day but cloudy & rainy, Fall transition into winter, painful breakup but we knew that

House of Wolves - Night but downtown vibes so the lights keep everything alive, running from cops vibes, personal rebellion against church & religion, reminiscing on running the streets with friends when young, the memories are Summer but song is Winter

Cancer - Right after Sunrise, patient dies early in the cloudy morning, body stays in bed until Night though so family can visit, lots of flashback of memories, Winter

Mama - Night, arguing with family, lots of anger, war flashbacks, rainy Winter

Sleep - 4am Night, nightmares, sleeping in shitty hotel, haunted hotel, creaky floorboards, sleep paralysis, Winter

Teenagers - Day, Fall, zombie like & judgy teenagers, reminiscing on teenage years, violence

Disenchanted - Night, drinking yourself away, disappointment, feeling like you didn’t do enough, Winter, around Christmas

Famous Last Words - Night 12am, realizing your memory will forever live on, coming to terms w/ death, Winter but the fire is enough to keep you warm

Fourth Album: Danger Days

If you say anything else but Summer you're just wrong. Blazing summer heat & just sweaty musty & dusty mf’s. Themes of fighting for what’s right, the power of friendship & love. Partying in the desert. Obviously a Day time album.

Na Na Na - Day, blazing hot in the desert, partying at some underground rave, hanging head out window to shoot the corporation ppl, robbery, Summer

Bulletproof Heart - Sunset, lots of smiling & laughing w/ crush, trying to runaway with crush to somewhere better, one of the lovers dies because of Korse, Summer but it’s very breezy

SING - Night, “I’m gonna save the world” vibes, sneaking around, cool Summer night

Planetary (GO!) - Sunset but it’s just about to be night, partying, lots of colorful lazerbeams and strobe, very sweaty, Summer

TOHFMIY - Sunset, fighting for friends & showing them love, taking pictures with friends on a desert cliff, Summer

Party Poison - Day, pompous ass character, fighting for what’s right, protest, Summer

SYIHTB - Day into Night, fighting off the Exterminators, stealing cars & sneaking off, sneaky make out session, helping friends get away from Exterminators, Summer

Scarecrow - Day almost Sunset, feeling safe, finding a place to rest & collect thoughts, maybe mourn the people you lost, being found & have to keep moving, Summer but it’s not humid

Summertime - Day into Night, so much love, finally got with crush, telling story of them, sappy, laying in the desert/on-top of car & staring at the stars, hot Summer day but chilly night

Destroya - Day, horny, so hot you had to get almost naked, fighting against corporation by holding a concert of sorts to raise awareness, borderline dehydration, blazing Summer heat

The Kids From Yesterday - Sunset, reminiscing hard, missing childhood/younger self, living in the moment, hand holding w/ friends, realizing you’re not actually alone, Summer into Fall

Vampire Money - Day, causing chaos with friends, so many crimes, more crimes, scary teenagers, selling soul for fame, Summer in Los Angeles

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aftgficrec · 9 months

Note

Can you post fics where Andrew and Neil argue but make up in the end?

Enjoy this walk through andreil feels, anon. The previous asks mentioned lead to a bunch more asks and fics. -A

also see:

andreil arguing here

new andreil breakup/make-up here

fave break up and make up here

andreil or jerejean kiss & make-up here

miscommunication leading to near-breakups here

angst w/happy ending: miscommunication or pining here

andreil enemies to lovers 2 here

Andrew makes Neil cry here

Neil snaps ‘not nothing’ here

‘quicksand’ here

‘low quay, no pressure’ here

‘transience’ here

‘transmission’ here

‘Tumblr Headcanons - Andreil’ Ch 11 & 12 here

‘Neil worried that Andrew cheated’ here

‘Home for Christmas’ here

‘Wake Up to Your Sunset’ here (completed)

‘All I Wanted’ here

‘Some Kind of Disaster’ here

‘I’m Not Dead Yet’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’ here (completed)

‘nice to see your face again’ and ‘Dawn Won't End the Night’ (updated) here

‘please come back, save me from myself,’ ‘ghostin',’ and ‘I ran out of every reason’ here

‘but i don't think i can ever learn how to love just right’ here

‘Shared Custody’ and ‘Shared Custody (The Blame the Cat Remix)’ here

if you really love nothing by seasy33 [Rated M, 39713 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew finds an interesting piece of paper. He's not quite sure how he feels about it.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: flashbacks, tw: alcohol

Undefined Roommates Code by Helpisneeded [Rated E, 56760 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

Punching your roommate is not a very smart idea. Starting a friends with benefits relationship with said roommate is an even worse one. Setting up a string of rules to keep it purely physical and make sure you don’t catch feeling but catching them anyways is certainly the stupidest thing you could do in that situation. Luckily for Neil, he never claimed to be smart.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced suicidal tendencies

Regrowth by Mystrana [Rated E, 4836 Words, Complete, 2021]

It goes like this: Neil's giving therapy a chance. He's dealing with every emotion he's ever pushed down trying to leak back up. When he gets hurt during a game, Andrew gets upset and they get into an argument. And then Andrew apologizes. A fic in which Andrew and Neil work on healing together and cry and have the softest sex in the world.

tw: explicit sexual content

An intimate moment with someone you hate by krasmataz [Rated E, 7414 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil and Andrew have their first fight after trying something new in the bedroom. Hope they figure it out before they destroy too much school property!

tw: implied/referenced self-harm, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced suicidal tendencies

over/under by likearecord [Rated E, 9506 Words, Complete, 2023]

He’d thought Neil, with his smart mouth and his wild eyes, would be satisfied with what Andrew was offering. He guesses he’d thought Neil was used to living on scraps—and Andrew has never had anything meatier to give. He’d been wrong.

tw: explicit sexual content

Only Fools Fall. by Random2002 [Rated T, 19789 Words, Incomplete, Updated Feb 2023]

Neil tests how faithful his clients partners are. Roland is a client; he's worried about his boyfriend. It isn't long until Neil notices some serious rifts in the relationship he is meant to test.

tw: child abuse

Cold Cookies by Preludeno3 [Rated M, 11583 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2023, Locked]

It starts off as an abstract, incomplete thought. Andrew’s on his knees on the rug in his Columbia bedroom, going to town on Neil’s dick. Or Andrew wants to try face fucking, trauma is a bitch and Neil is almost too understanding

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

First fight by Olympyas [Not Rated, 3265 Words, Complete, 2023]

"There is no this, you are nothing and nothing doesn't exist." It hurt. A lot. Especially when you spent the whole day feeling like nothing. So he wanted to hurt Andrew in return. He wanted to get, even the slightest, reaction from him. "Well, at least you can't hurt 'nothing' like you destroy everything around you." —hurt him— "You'll still run away like the rabbit you are. Tell me, Nathaniel, why are you staying?" Neil hated this name in Adrew's mouth "For nothing. I shouldn't have stayed in the first place." And he left.

tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: assault, tw: attempted rape/noncon

A Substitute For Please by cadkitten [Rated E, 1911 Words, Complete, 2018]

Please is a word built to make things easy and life has never been easy for either of them. Please is meant to smooth things over, but they're all rough edges. Please is a final ditch effort when hope is lost and, Neil, he knows there's still hope here.

tw: ptsd, tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: alcohol

NB: find more about Nicky’s state of mind here

To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself by jostenskeys [Rated E, 20359 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew has always been a protector at heart despite how often he bullies Neil for his martyr complex. The summer before Neil's second year, however, he begins to feel the impacts of his life finally crash down on him just as they were finally safe from harm. Andrew fights with himself and doesn't know how he can help. But he soon realises, in order for him to help Neil, he needs to help himself too. Or The Convincing-Neil-To-Get-Therapy Chronicles. Written by Andrew Minyard and edited by Betsy Dobson.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: self harm, tw: urge to self harm, tw: blood, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: depression

Stay series by jaydreamz [Rated M/T, Collection with 2 complete works, Updated Nov 2021]

Part 1: Was Sorta Hopin' That You'd Stay [M, 25740 Words] Neil and Andrew have HATED each other since an incident in college. They really, really do. The Minyard-Josten rivalry is not a sham. But now Andrew's transferring to Neil's team and all hell is about to break loose.

tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: explicit sexual content

Part 2: Before I Hated You [T, 5974 Words] Before the Minyard-Josten rivalry was on, there was something else entirely. *** Andrew and Neil's first meeting in college that ended up starting the feud between them.

Bittersweet by Mercey [Rated M, 8370 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021]

‘Why would Neil want to be with someone who can’t even care for him the right way? Why would he want that life for himself? He’s not a runaway anymore, he’s not so desperate for affection that he’ll settle for my meagre offerings, and good for him. It’s better that way.’ Andrew's spiralling with graduation coming up, and beginning to question the very foundations upon which he and Neil are built.

tw: depression

Hold Each Other by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Collection Rated T/E, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 12: Stranger [T, 2854 Words] Sometimes, love comes easily. That's the problem.

I took a breath and took the knife by eeveepkmnfan [Rated M, 2271 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew and Neil argue. Or, Neil is still struggling through the aftereffects of being drugged. Andrew is forced to confront the consequences of that decision.

tw: transphobia, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced involuntary drug use, tw: ptsd

Spring Cleaning with a Man on the Lam by SugarLime [Rated G, 2240 Words, Complete, 2019]

Neil glared at the wrapper Andrew had tossed on the floor next to his chair. He stalked over with a nasty frown and leveled a glare at Andrew. Andrew met his glare with an empty expression. “What?” He asked, following Neil’s gaze as it tuned to the discarded wrapper, “it’s a wrapper,” he said wisely. His gut did a small flip as he tried to figure out why his boyfriend was mad.

I Won't Be Home For The Rest Of The Night by CasTheButler [Not Rated, 1039 Words, Complete, 2017]

Neil and Andrew have a fight, Neil learns to let someone new in.

Stars and Moons by sonyathefairy [Rated G, 1111 Words, Complete, 2017]

Neil ponders about the stars and his fight with Andrew. Or in which they both realise that they can't live without the other anymore.

Where We Belong by conniptionns [Rated T, 1374 Words, Complete, 2017]

prompt: andrew and neil get into this huge fight while andrew is driving so he tells neil to get out the car and walk the rest of the way.

Still here by theresnothis [Rated T, 2779 Words, Complete, AFTG Summer Exchange 2022]

After a fight with Andrew, Neil ran off into the night (but he would go back). Andrew found him and of course with Neil’s luck a robbery would occur.

flashes of intimacy by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2023]

Chapter 3: conflict resolution [385 Words] Chapter 4: space [507 Words]

tw: mild self harm

Chapter 16: picking fights [554 Words]

tw: mild self harm

“I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.” by markonasurface (idwir) [Not Rated, 1627 Words, Complete, 2018]

After the freshmen find out about Neil and Andrew, a terrible practice leads to Neil saying things he shouldn’t.

tw: involuntary outing, tw: homophobia, tw: scars, tw: anxiety attack, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: victim shaming, tw: self harm

“So much for not getting involved.” by markonasurface (idwir) [Not Rated, 769 Words, Complete, 2020]

“I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.” pt 2

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa

“don’t call me that”-andreil prompt fill by @markonasurface [Tumblr, 2017]

Neil heard the door to the roof open and knew it was Andrew. Annoyance flooded his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to hit him. Instead he lit another cigarette and let Andrew pluck it from his fingers even though he hadn’t offered it to him.

62 notes · View notes

lavenderhhaze · 1 year

Text

解体愛好家 - DEMOLITION LOVERS

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: angst, 00's alt rock band!au

words: 4.3k

warnings: recreational drugs, profanities, toxic relationships, manipulative behaviour, underage smoking and alcohol consumption, alcohol poisoning, attempted suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of guns and violence, allusions to sex, blood, both hyunjin and y/n are toxic mfs

A/N: inspired by robbers by the 1975. hyunjin is literally matty healy. SO many MCR and 1975 references sprinkled in there. took a long time to escape my drafts but hey. really dark topics, do read the warnings, please.

For Hyunjin, you began with a feeling of inevitability. Since his eyes had crossed yours, that one fateful encounter opposite the big screen re-run of The Street Fighter, he knew you. You were meant to know him a little bit better than everyone else; to know him as more than just the lead-guitarist of the latest face of the alt-rock scene. Two lives meant to converge.

And so you were; lovers meant to find each other time and time again, despite the world coming in between. Repeated patterns of lost and found. His heart yours to break and yours would be his — robbers of each other's happiness.

Twin flames? If he believed in that sort of thing.

You came to him — a face he had never seen and a voice he had never heard; an unexpected surprise and a defining moment.

"Mind filling me up on what I missed?"

"In that movie, he didn't give a shit about anything. Exept live fast, die young and leaving behind a good looking corpse."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

It was strange, how one girl and an empty theatre was no less than a collision of stars, slamming into him so hard that it sent his relatively neat looking world descending into this sort of madness.

Hwang Hyunjin's neat looking world is tiny, crowded and anomalous — just how he likes it. From the very beginning, it has always been Minho, Jisung and Felix. Despite the ups and downs, all the broken glass and the screaming matches, he is their's and they are his.

Hyunjin's neat looking world is art and music. It is his white Epiphone Les Paul guitar, Mahogany body and Rosewood fretboard, he would announce proudly. It is the scribbled lyrics in his notebook which would make it to the second verse of their next single. His love for music is a stroke, a heart attack — both sudden and complete.

"Hwang, what is this mystery girl bullshit I'm seeing?"

“As the dust settles on disbandment rumours and drug scandals, The Muse guitarist and frontman: Hwang Hyunjin spotted with mystery girl in AMC, Jersey.”

Felix laughs, head tipped back with his dimples at full display, his chair only balancing on its last two legs, "Apparently Hyunjin is a hopeless fucking romantic now."

It had been everywhere. Perhaps, maybe, the ever stone-faced lead guitarist has an ounce of romanticism in his body? A little bit more than his facade—he air of confidence and cigarette smoke that surrounds him, that moves with him, that often times was him?

Perhaps he is one of gentle touches and tactile love — one to find music in laughter, to make music of laughter. One to find his lover's face in the sunset, love songs blasting loud on the stereo while he sings along—

"Bullshit."

Minho only watches — Hyunjin now a subject to his curiosity, with an eyebrow raised. He knows him through and through, his washed up past, all the cliché rock star origins and the stacked up liquor bottles. And of course, he knows when Hyunjin is lying.

"It's a good look, though," Felix reasons, his crossed legs now tipped up on the table, his smile grows smug by the second. "You seem less. . .untouchable. The movie dates and holding hands type, you know? The boyfriend kind of guy."

Jisung chips in," And with that face of yours, it means more fans you bring in. As long as the Manager doesn't fucking mind, of course."

Minho hasn't said a word yet. He doesn't have to. The all dark singer is the picture of a menace. Inky hair and inky eyes, earings glinting as they catch the light, he doesn't even need to try. And he keeps it up, day through night; because this intimidation is the only thing holding the group together.

For Minho, it has always been simple. Words come to him and he writes them. Taste of Blood, Contagious, Sonder. It has been hit after hit for the singer-songwriter. He doesn't abridge; his words are raw. And that? The reason he could fetch the limelight.

And after that, it had been easy. Signing to Black Records, so much paperwork, managers and P.R., and marketting and recruiting. He had his three boys and his past well swept under the rug. So terrifyingly easy.

His past doesn't exist anymore. Unless he wants it to. Years of abuse swept under the fucking rug, because he needs to be indifferent. He is indifferent. Being raised by a single mother coming home drunk every morning didn't matter because he can do what he loves. Raising Felix himself, sheltering him from the fucking hell he lived through doesn't matter because they both can do what they love.

Because now, he doesn't have to deal with pain that's grotesque and raw. No more bleeding himself dry just to feel something, winters spent in a thin knit sweater, tired and hungry out of his fucking mind. Now, his pain was the kind to be dealt with quietly. Polished smile against the polite corruption in this white collared industry. Because he learnt to get up and leave.

And that's what he keeps doing: leaving, leaving and leaving.

Minho is what he wants to be — arrogance personified. And his past doesn't slip through the cracks; not to a single interviewer no matter how hard they try to dig. Because he's perfectly good at leaving. Hyunjin can't, he could never.

Indifferent, arrogant and a charmer — that's who Minho is for anyone who cares to know. And a mystery for anyone who tried to find out.

And finally he speaks: Hyun, I don't want you to fuck it all up.

The next fifteen months follow, fifteen months where they are expected to churn out another album, with a long line of managers and promoters and agencies with their hands around their necks. Fifteen whole months where Hyunjin's life has been you, you and you.

It had started that one February evening, the end of the European tour, all four had been brought back to Newark. Italy and Paris seemed like a distant dream; mornings and evenings and nights — all bleeding into each other. Days spent at the studio — the boys, their cigarettes and their booze.

Cigarette in hand, Hyunjin only hopes to smoke himself to death.

"Your coping mechanisms don't seem real healthy, Hyun."

A deep breath, Hyunjin hopes he won't say things he'll come to regret, he prays.

"I don't think yours are that healthy either, darling," he glances pointedly at his Felix's arms, now covered up in that silk button up he bought him for his birthday. His words are sharp, tied up neatly with a nickname despite having the same effect.

That's who Hyunjin is — he bites back.

The pair stands in solidarity outside the entry sign of a club, awaiting the eldest. Minho had wandered off with a girl — his girl; doing god knows what.

Unlike Hyunjin, Minho was free to love — or fuck, he really didn't know what went on between the two of them. All he knew was that Minho counted days to meet this girl. Despite the half hearted one-nighters he had pulled all around Europe — the blonde in Paris, the freckled-brunette after their show in Oslo and that obnoxiously loud red head in Vienna — he found his way back to her. They held this strange fucking gravity for each other.

Felix is quiet, no longer fazed by Hyunjin's harsh words. Although his arms are crossed, fingers digging into the exact spots the elder had pointed out seconds ago and Hyunjin already regrets everything he has said.

But he won't apologize. He hasn't, ever.

The streets, earlier thick with cars and people have now thinned out, slowly sinking into the calm of the late evening. The wait for Minho has been getting maddening, the seconds between him and his drugs, girls and booze far too long to handle.

"Fuck it, Felix. He can get in by himself."

He shoves past, a sideward glance of acknowledgement at Felix, asking him to come along.

"Take care, Hyun," Felix whispers, grabbing at his collar and his voice low. "I will fucking cry if I find you lying half dead on the sidewalk again."

Again, he's quickly dismissed. Hand on heart, with a promise from Hyunjin. But he's never one to keep promises. He never did.

He's been at it for hours; Felix and Minho lost in the drunken haze and the red lights diffused by paper lanterns at the bar. He throws back shots as if it's water, enjoying the numbness that he subsides in.

And then, he sees you — a vision in red, drawn in back, you fit right in. Hyunjin's world is in pieces : your eyes, your hair, his hand on your shoulder, slowly engulfing you so close that he can hear your heartbeat. His world is shattered and he couldn't be happier.

"Hyunjin?"

He's far too mesmerized to answer. You — in flesh, in front of him. Your eyes the colour of midnight and your skin the shade of sunset, you — his very own north star.

"It's me."

"I read about you in the newspaper last week. Is it true? Are you okay? This hiatus, the hospital photographs— shit, are you fucking okay, Hyunjin?"

That article. That week. When he had drunken himself to near-death, the feeling of death's fingers on his neck still so fresh. And Felix had found him, lying on the side walk; breathless, hopeless and lifeless. It haunted him.

And the paparazzi had followed him all the way, eager to catch glimpses of Minho and Jisung carrying him to the hospital. They had cashed in on everything — Hyunjin's lifeless body, a crying Felix on the verge of a panic attack, Jisung's shaking hands and Minho — still stoic and impassive.

"Ask me again, darling. One by one."

After his third shot, he had kissed you. Hands in your hair and your shoulders and your waist, your skin so warm under his fingertips. The first time he had kissed you — under the red lights of the bar, liquor on his tongue and glitter in your hair. One kiss and he was already hooked.

He would follow you across the fucking world to find you again.

You're the same as him — broken, and he held you so, as if you're glass waiting to shatter. He sees it in your smile, in the way your eyes glimmer under the muted red lights as you withdraw from him.

You're peace to him — a getaway from the three months he spent cooped up in the crammed studio. So he holds you close, deathly afraid of losing whatever he has.

"I wrote you a song."

"You did?"

He did. He fucking did; and for once, he was proud of himself. Midnight's spent hunched over his guitar and that notebook so that he had something tangible of you.

So, at 3:05, back pressed against the cool counter of the bar, you within his reach and drunk off his fucking mind, he sings.

You're cold and I burn, I guess I never learn.

Hours later, he's at the same bar, hands and feet too heavy to move. And you're gone, all that's left of you being the phone number scribbled on his wrist. Dissapearing into thin air like sand slipping from his closed fist. All he remembers is your laugh — ringing through the air like music to his ears and then suddenly — nothing.

He had spent the rest of the night pushing through the crowd, looking for Minho and Felix and then giving into this solitude — breathing in lines of powdered dust from sticky tabletops and alcohol ridden fingertips. He is burning, his fire fuelled only by the endless list of failures.

He almost laughs, remembering his promise to Felix. Like always, he never keeps them.

The hospital again. Felix is absolutely sick of the hospital — the white tiles and the smell of bleach, the awful silence weighing down the air and the undertone of sickness running through and through.

And still, he wouldn't leave.

His eyes are only on Hyunjin — his friend, his brother, his fucking lifeline — lying limp and lifeless under the crisp white sheets, held back by a network of IVs and tubes. Hyunjin is a strange sort of calm, his skin now porcelain white, purple veins branching and scattering under his eyelids and on his neck.

It has been three days. Three whole days since Felix was met with a broken promise. Three whole days since the paramedics arrived and Hyunjin was carried away from him, dissapearing amidst all the shouts and ambulances and the paparazzi. Everything was a haze — the mechanical beeping, the latex gloves against skin and the clicks and flashes of cameras.

Felix was shoved out of the way, his arm held firmly by Minho as he cried. He tried to reach for Hyunjin, his fingers combing into his dark hair only to be slapped away by a nurse.

"Sir, please."

For the first time, he seen a tear slip past Minho's eye, only to be swiped away by the sleeve of his shirt. His brother had cracked. And he was fucking terrified.

Felix hasn't given death much of a thought. The last one was his mother's, and he didn't care much. Dead; death; dying. It was nothing but a fleeting thought — a nightmare he was too young to care about. But suddenly, as the elder lies before him, his chest tightens and his heart sinks.

He can almost see death looming in front of him. And truth be told — he is terrified.

Hyunjin's life has always been a nightmare — absent mother and absent father. Then a gun pointed at his head at fifteen. 0.357 Magnum, execution-style; he had said. Then came the cigarettes, the alcohol and finally the coicaine and heroine. And now finally, it was this mystery girl from the theatre. A drug of choice, I choose my poison.

But Felix always believed he could be the sunshine to Hyunjin's moonlight. It isn't his job to heal all his wounds, he is aware. But it is more of a responsibility. And he had failed. Fucking miserably. Twice.

He exchanges shifts with Jisung, leaving the crammed white room to sit in the hallway. It's a void — white, white, white, with misery and sickness. Felix needs air, he needs his guitar, he needs to be held.

Fucking weak, he chuckles at himself. Making everything about yourself.

"He's back, he's back. He's fucking back, goddammit."

And there he is — eyes the shape of cresents, honey coloured and tired. Almost a smile, he sees. The white of the hospital doens't seem to faze him, like he expected this, as if he's used to this.

"You asshole, Hwang."

A ghost of a smile haunts his lips as he's surrounded again. Nurses checking his pulse and his oxygen in a rush. But Felix feels peace. He's alive.

"You stayed the whole time?"

"I can't fucking leave. Even if i want to."

The second time was in March, when Hyunjin was out of his fucking mind, deprived of any uppers and downers. Even his last dead resort — prescription medication, was heavily monitored. By the managers, by Minho, by the entire fucking world breathing down his neck.

Your phone number was an imprint in his mind, and his fingers with a psyche of their own as he dialled it up. His heart erratic — hoping, praying and pleading.

"I want to see you," his voice breaks. So does he. "Please."

And suddenly, it's you, you, you again. You don't ask about that February night. The newspapers were talking again, pictures and articles and quotations, all about that goddamn scandal. He knows that you know.

Peach and honey in the air, sunlight and your skin. Sometimes Hyunjin wonders if he has ever truly loved. You're lying on his stomach, your hair a wild display his hand runs through.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" You ask, eyes faraway.

"Nope."

"Did you know that when they're done with all those neon lights, they just dump them in this big graveyard in the desert? Don't you think that's sad? Abandoned. Never lit up again."

"I could light them up."

Hyunjin has never been a romantic. He has never dreamed of promises rolling off your breath — you in your cocaine coloured wedding dress. Summer wind in your hair and wedding photographs tied up neatly in his attic.

And yet he dreams of you that night. An overhead conversation with your name mentioned. A half read book of yours on the coffee table, you were right there — minutes before. He finds himself walking down the street, catching a glimpse of you, only to find out it wasn't you at all. It has always been like that; always reaching for you but never quite touching.

"Do you love her?" Minho had asked that morning.

He's empty. He wonders, do I? Or is she the same chemical happiness the drugs brought him. Ten minutes of numbness that subsides as soon as you're gone.

"Of course, I do."

"Stop fucking lying." Minho's words are venom, his eyes dark. He has never cared so much. "If you did. If you gave a shit about her — about us, about me — you would get up and fucking fix yourself. Get off the fucking drugs, stop drinking. Would you?"

Hyunjin is silent, his face a dark shadow. The words are heavy. And Minho is screaming, his facade off. He can't keep up his arrogant calmness any longer; not when his friend is dying — killing himself the longer they go. He's crying, for the first time in fifteen years, hot tears running down his face. Burning. There is something so delicate about this time, so fragile.

Because he's been there, seen everything through and through. Being held back in rehab because the sight of those little white pills terrified him. He refused to take them, crying and throwing up at the mere thought. Eventually as he was broken down piece by piece, he started downing them unthinkingly — sometimes holding them under his tongue or between his teeth.

And he is reliving his nightmare. Seeing his best fucking friend ruining himself on the floor, his past slipping through the cracks.

He holds on to him by the collar of his shirt, his grip so tight his fingers sting. This time, he can't just get up and leave.

"You wouldn't. So don't you fucking dare tell me you care about us until you've fixed up this goddamn mess."

And he's gone. Leaving. Leaving. Leaving.

Leaving Hyunjin abandoned and weak. He rubs his face, holding himself for once. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. He was a self fulfilling prophecy — a tragedy writing itself. Broken home, unrequited love, another soul subsiding to chemical happiness, a broken fucking rockstar — such a cliché.

Fix yourself, goddammit. Sometimes he wishes love was enough.

That evening, a mid-March sunset, Felix had found everything in place. Hyunjin's shoes neatly arranged by the entrance, the bedsheets folded and crisp, notebook half open on the bed with overflowing lyrics.

"He'll skin us alive if we're late to the recording again," he had warned, bass slung on his shoulder.

Two knocks on the only locked door — the bathroom, and hope fucking extinguishes.

Panic settles deep in his bones, his maniac heart beating a disgruntled rhythm against his chest. He's screaming, shouting, his words a bleeding mess. Hyunjin, don't you do this to me a third time. Time is still, he's floating.

Hwang fucking Hyunjin, I hate you.

It isn't supposed to go like this. Nothing is supposed to go like this. The industry is stressful, sure; but he was promised money, fame and most of all his fucking friends. It's supposed to be years of their bullshit catastrophic friendship, their patience stretched so thin, it's yet to snap.

Hyunjin — his skin pale, his jaw slack, drenched. A pale arm limp, hanging off — reaching to him; reaching for him. His best friend — a beautiful fucking tragedy.

"What the fuck. You're kidding me, this is a fucking joke."

He's screaming, Minho is screaming. Jisung joins the turmoil. The eldest has the sense to dial up the number. He's still screaming, grabbing at his friend — his cheeks, his neck, his arms; looking for a pulse, for any sort of life.

The paramedics are here, guiding the three through the last ten minutes of panic. Hyunjin chokes and chortles. He's alive. He's fucking alive. Perhaps an awful figment of his imagination, the subtle heaving of his chest: he's breathing. But fuck, the time between each breath too long — excruciatingly long.

"Hurry. Please, fucking hurry."

And yet again, Hyunjin is taken away from him. All Felix can do is stare at him with a look of distant horror. It's all a dream. A bad fucking dream, he convinces himself, hardly aware of the chaos surrounding him.

Hyunjin had said he wanted to kill himself. And Felix? He just let him.

Felix has always been the fragile one, the one who needed to be taken care off, the delicate one. A dandelion inflorescence losing a part of himself to life with every passing year. And Hyunjin is the one who did the caring — Minho, his brother but Hyunjin, his twin flame.

And this being the third straight week he has spent at the same hospital, his best friend lying motionless in white for the third time broke his heart.

And then there is you, Hyunjin's girl, appearing and dissapearing from thin air none the same. You had come to the studio shaking, talking about some letter. A suicide note. So you got the privilege of a suicide not, not his brothers, his own bandmates. And Minho had talked some sense into you — both of your hands held in his, earnest.

He doesn't wake up for two days. Two whole days driving Felix fucking insane.

He still spends the hours on his bedside, with you. It is driving him insane. The constant beeping of the machines, the drip of the IV, the day melting into night and the night into day.

And the first time he sees movement, your hands are already sliding across Hyunjin's cheeks, holding him through blurry vision and the tears on your face. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Hyun."

Felix is next: "Why didn't you tell me, Hwang? Fuck you for doing this to me thrice."

Liar.

Hyunjin seems to panic, his cresent eyes now wild and scared : he's lost, despite being with the two he cherishes the most. And as another crowd of nurses takes over him, Felix sees the articles writing themselves, adding him to the list of fallen stars in the likes of Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.

After fifteen minutes of checking his vitals, the nurse speaks again, a pointed glance at Felix although his words are directed at Hyunjin, "Press the button if you need anything, if anything happens."

And she leaves, the door closing as the pale white uniform dissapears from sight, leaving the three alone.

Three people. Three stories.

The silence is heavy and fragile — and you the first to break it.

"Hyunjin."

"I know. I told you, it's a mess — I am a mess. I can't do this.”

Felix just stands, uncomfortable. A thousand words on the tip of his tongue but with the intensity of the way Hyunjin looks at you, he feels like he's interrupting. He's different. You're different. And Felix is a thousand times more careful.

"No, Hyun," you continue, your voice terrible, broken. "You tried to kill yourself."

"Do you hate me?"

You ponder, looking at him over and over, studying him, looking through him. "Yes. You broke my fucking heart, Hyun."

Hyunjin burries his face in his hands, as if she told him what he already knew. His heart in his own hands — broken like a promise. He's an insolent child, reprimanded by his mother.

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't?" you breathe, voice dry, tone incredulous. "It doesn't matter! You still did it. You love me, Hyun? And you still drowned yourself in that fucking bathtub. You broke my —" a sideward glance at Felix, "you broke our hearts. It doesn't matter, you didn't mean to."

Hyunjin flinches, recoiling within himself. He falters, swallowing his words.

Next is Felix, leaning over to catch one of his wrists in his hands. He feels the pulse against his thumbs, rhythmic and assuring — alive, alive, alive. He stands sniffling, tears dripping down his chin, but only frowns, not gathering his best friend up in his arms and smoothening his hair.

"Feli—"

"No you don't." He interrupts, unable to hide the bite in his voice. "You put me through hell, you know that? If you died, you know what would be left of me?"

Hyunjin is silent again, only his hand outstretched asking him to take it. And with him in his arms, Felix is a child again — used to being taken care of. He's heaving, all his sobs hidden in the mess of the elder's hair.

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still mad at you. You're a goddamn mess."

Hyunjin laughs, his voice so full despite the sound being muffled, "I fucking hate you, Lix."

Minutes pass, minutes of nothing but them holding each other. And you watch, content and complete, the reassurance a constant chant in your mind: alive, alive, alive. Felix won't look at him; not yet. He can't. But he'd take a bullet for him, and he'd never say it out loud.

"Hyunjin. Rehab. Do it for us."

And for once, Hyunjin doesn't care. Beyond the tightlit hospital chamber, beyond Felix, Jisung, Minho and you; perhaps the world thinks of him as aimless and a little bit mad. But for now? Hyunjin doesn't fucking care.

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befickleforever · 5 months

Text

If you liked [inside no 9 episode] watch [film] : a guide. Part 1

(Some of these films go off vibes alone, whilst others are the films that directly inspired the episode. For example, we all know where the wicker man will be included)

If you liked ‘Simon Says’, consider:

- Misery (1990). After a serious car crash, novelist Paul Sheldon is rescued by former nurse Annie Wilkes, who claims to be his biggest fan.

- Sunset Boulevard (1950). An aging silent film queen refuses to accept that her stardom has ended. She hires a young screenwriter to help set up her movie comeback.

- Perfect Blue (1997). A young Japanese singer is encouraged by her agent to quit singing and pursue an acting career, beginning with a role in a murder mystery TV show.

- The King of Comedy (1982). Rupert Pupkin is a failure in life but a celebrity in his own mind, hosting an imaginary talk show in his mother's basement.

- The Human Centipede 2 (Full Sequence) (2011). Martin, a mentally disturbed loner that obsesses over the film The Human Centipede (First Sequence), kidnaps a group of people to create his own 'human centipede' to act out his perverse sexual fantasies.

If you liked ‘The Understudy’ consider:

- Sleuth (1972). This mystery finds Andrew Wyke, a wealthy author of detective novels and game aficionado, facing off against his wife's lover, Milo Tindle, a middle-class hair salon-owner.

- Richard III (1995). A murderous lust for the British throne sees Richard III descend into madness.

- Throne of Blood (1957). Returning to their lord's castle, samurai warriors Washizu and Miki are waylaid by a spirit who predicts their futures.

- Theatre of Blood (1973). After an unsuccessful attempt at suicide, Lionheart sets out to murder all of his critics, each with a different style of death taken from a Shakespeare play.

If you liked ‘The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge’ consider:

- Witchhammer (1970). When a beggar is caught hiding her communion wafer, the hunt for witches begins.

- The Witch (2015). In 1630 New England, panic and despair envelops a farmer, his wife and their children when youngest son Samuel suddenly vanishes.

- Witchfinder General (1968). When Matthew Hopkins is appointed Witchfinder General by the Puritans under Cromwell, he is empowered to travel the countryside with his henchmen and collect a fee for each witch from whom he extracts a confession - a policy which is exploited to the full.

If you liked ‘The Harrowing’ consider:

- Carry on Screaming! (1966). An investigation into the disappearance of several young women leads two bumbling Victorian detectives to the home of Dr Watt and his vampish sister Valeria.

- A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014). Residents of a worn-down Iranian city encounter a skateboarding vampire who preys on men who disrespect women.

If you liked ‘Mr King’ consider:

- The Wicker Man (1973). Sergeant Howie arrives on the small Scottish island of Summerisle to investigate the report of a missing child.

- In The Earth (2021). A scientist and park scout conduct a routine experiment while the world looks for a cure to a lethal virus and as the night progresses, they experience unexplainable things.

- Midsommar (2019). Dani's psychological trauma affects her relationship with Christian, her lover. However, when they visit their friend's ancestral commune in an effort to mend things, it changes their lives forever.

- The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971). Ralph Gower and a local judge are on a quest to get a bunch of possessed kids with a strange fur on their skin under control after they end up killing the locals.

#inside no 9 #in9 #films #movies #film Recs #letterboxd #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton #lists of mine

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ten-shi-fandoms · 1 year

Text

"Let's die together."

___________________

Cw: Nagito Komaeda x Reader, Gender netural reader, Reader is suicidal, double suicidal, mentions of derealization, jumping off a bridge, mentions of a past trauma, mentions of bad habits (it's left vague), ending is vague, post-game, angst no comfort, 3rd person pov

______________________________________

It was weird..

Everyone noticed how weird (Y/n) had been acting these past few days and frankly it made everyone nervous.

Usually the (h/c) haired individual would at least talk to everyone but it seemed recently the only person they talked to was Nagito.

Everyone at one point tried to get Nagito to tell them what was wrong with their (h/c) haired friend but funny enough he didn't say a word.

He was even able to completely change a conversation whenever it got brought up.

It was strange.

Nagito had always held (Y/n) at high regard and when they got together (albeit a shock to everyone who thought (Y/n) could do better), everyone knew they were in good hands.

Nagito wouldn't hesitant to ask one of his former classmates for help whenever anything went wrong with his (h/c) headed lover.

Simple things like them feeling sick he would ask Mikan, or if they wanted a certain food item in particularly that wasn't available he would ask TeruTeru.

He even asked Hajime how to know if he made (Y/n) upset.

So why was he being so secretive about the (h/c) head's recent attitude?

In truth it seemed Nagito himself was also acting weird (weirder than usual).

He was less talkative, he even cut down on his hope talk and self degradating.

It freaked everyone out.

What was going on?

While most worried about their (h/c) haired friend, Nagito didn't.

He knew what was wrong and he knew he just needed to be their for his love.

Recently (Y/n) had begun to spiral.

Spiraling back into some old habits they had back he first met them.

Bad habits that Nagito at the time had tried his best to help with.

But it seems that his help wasn't enough lately and it hurt a bit.

He tried everything he could.

From praise and validation, to cuddling and kissing, even to trying to let them take their frustration out on his body however they wanted..

And yet nothing worked.

As the days continued (Y/N) seemed to be spiraling farther and farther down a rabbit hole until Nagito heard something that made him pause in the middle of wrapping up a wound he recently received.

"Let's die together."

It came so naturally from (Y/n)'s lips as if it had been waiting them to slip for a long time.

Nagito glanced over at his (h/c) haired lover who sat idly beside him staring uninterested at the wall infront of them.

"My hope, are you saying you want to commit a double suicide with a piece of scum like me?"

Even though Nagito spoke with happiness almost glee at the thought the (h/c) head didn't glance at him only nodding to his words.

Nagito's expression brightened a bit before it dulled. You seemed so empty.

Like you were looking for something that no one else could find.

Like you were falling in a endless pit that sucked you up whole.

Nagito finished wrapping his wound and wrapped his arms around (Y/n).

His hold was surprisingly firm around their form, which caused them to look at their white haired lover.

Nagito's eyes spiraled.

His greyish green eyes stared back into (Y/n)'s (e/c) ones.

"I would love to commit a double suicide with you! If a piece of trash like me can fulfill that wish I'm sure it would feel everyone with the hope to overcome us!"

Once more all the (h/c) head did was nod, their voice soft as they shrugged off Nagito's touch standing up infront of him.

"Alright then. Meet me at the bridge right before sunset don't be late." Before Nagito could say another word (Y/n) walked away from him leaving him alone in Mikan's quiet office.

Right before sunset (Y/n) sat on the edge of the bridge right infront of the railings.

Dull (e/c) eyes stared at the ground, that seemed the dance with droplets of water.

It was raining.

The rained looked beautiful against the ground. Small droplets collected on the ends of their (h/c) colored hair.

The sound of footsteps took their attention away from the gentle rain.

The (h/c) head looked up, (e/c) eyes meeting green almost grey eyes.

"I made it, my little hope" yeah he did, Nagito actually did even with the blood dripping down a few scratches that were most likely due to his 'bad' luck.

(Y/N) stood up, holding their hand out towards Nagito to take.

Nagito grabbed ahold of (Y/N)'s (s/c) hand intertwining his fingers with theirs, a act he only begun to believe made him less filthy.

(Y/n) carefully moved over the railing of the bridge helping Nagito stand on the ledge.

Beneath them was a river. Under the sky it looked endless.

Suddenly (Y/n)'s hand tightened around Nagito's causing him to looked at his lover.

"You know, this month has been rough. It reminds me of something that happened a while ago. It was a very unsavoury predicament. I thought I got over it but I guess not.. It's made it so hard to want to live as of late.."

Nagito only nodded deciding to stay silent as his lover talked.

They had mentioned a event to him before. A event that left terrible scars on them. They might not have been physical but the mental scars always hurt the most.

Slowly (Y/n) turned to look at Nagito, their eyes almost sparkling like the water below, a small snile on their face.

"I'm glad that if I die I get to die with you." Nagito's eyes widened.

He always told (Y/n) that he would die if they told him to. That he would take his own life if it brought you pleasure. Yet here you were. You were telling him you were happy to die with him.

Why?

Why would like to die with a waste of space like himself?

He couldn't think anymore when he felt a gentle tug on his hand.

"Let's go Nagito. Let's say goodbye to this hopeless world and be reborn in one full of hope. One thats suitable for you." Nagito didn't even think before he nodded, a small smile gracing his own features at (Y/n)'s words.

"Yes my hope, let's go."

With hands intertwined (Y/n) jumped first pulling Nagito along with them.

They were laughing. (Y/n) was laughing.

Laughing so happily that it made Nagito chuckle at the beautiful sound.

Soon soft lips crashed against Nagito's, both hands intertwined with his as (Y/n) kissed him so gently he felt as if he would melt.

As the water enveloped their bodies, making it's way into their lungs Nagito smiled happily.

The darkness was quick to close in.

The air in both their lungs leaving as water replaced it.

It was suffocating.

But it felt good.

The red hot feeling of water forcing it's way into them, their lips never parting until the last few air bubbled begun to dissipate.

___________________________________________

"Do any of you know where Nagito and (Y/n) went? I haven't seen them all day." Hajime looked up, his eyes locking with Naegi.

Naegi was right. Hajime didn't they he'd seen the two since the afternoon prior.

Hiyoko shrug stuffing a piece of candy into her mouth as she leaned against Mahiru.

"Who cares about those freaks? They'll show up eventually, so stop worrying about those-" before Hiyoko could finish her sentence Mahiru shoved another piece of candy into her mouth.

"I agree with Hiyoko, those two are probably off somewhere sleeping like last time." Soda chimed in.

Yet why couldn't Hajime knock off this feeling that something bad had happened..

Oh well.

Guess, it was just his imagination.

#x reader #angst #danganronpa #gender neutral reader #nagito x you #danganronpa nagito #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #angst no happy ending #angst no comfort #no comfort

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insoukokuhell-434 · 8 months

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Soukoku Fic Rec - First Kiss <3

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link) Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Additional tags (Tags in bold added by me for extra info) TW

Some fics have parts of the summary/ comments added for additional info

Only for You - StormDew2

9.9k MAFIA SKK (Post 15) Literal Sleeping Together, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Kissing, chuuya gets banned from drinking so dazai gets him some wine, Underage Drinking, Light angst

give me a kiss like a kick in the teeth - communist_sasuke

3.5k MAFIA SKK (Pre-Dark era) Kissing, Dazai is Whipped, Dazai is oblivious correction: Dazai's not oblivious he's just in denial, Chuuya Is So Done

Summary: "Not that Dazai thought Chuuya was beautiful, because that would be a bit much. He was attractive, objectively. Not that Dazai was attracted to him.

(Or, more accurately: Dazai was, in fact, very attracted Chuuya.)"

Threats Made in a Hotel Room - Moonyeyes

2k MAFIA SKK Kissing, Making out, Drinking, Sexual Tension, POV Chuuya

Cross-reference - chuuzxi

2.6k MAFIA SKK Fluff and Humor, Bickering Lots of it, Bets & Wagers, Gay Panic, Dazai Osamu is a Tease, Developing Relationship, Mutual Pining, that tag runs HARD here, Denial of Feelings, chuuya goes thru the 5 stages of grief in thirty minutes

Stitches - orphan_account

11.3k MAFIA SKK (Post 15 and Dark Era) First Kiss, Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realization, Denial of Feelings

it's always been you - devantsun

2k 22 SKK Love Confessions, kind of???, telepathic soukoku strikes, Fluff and Angst, Rated T for language, softer than the tags imply lol, this is very soft in general, blink and you miss it fukuzawa x mori TW- Dazai-Typical Suicide References

of sunsets and first kisses - Bl34ry

2.5k MAFIA SKK Fluff without Plot, very soft, Fluff and Angst, Maybe a little angst, But it's very soft, and there's kissing, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, this is set to before dazai met oda actually…

Fireside - littlewritergrl

1.9K MAFIA SKK First Kiss, Light Angst, Internalized Homophobia, but just a little??

Fics with good first kiss scenes

(less focused on first kisses)

the moments in between - hellcatspangledshalalala

3.7k ALL AGES Hurt/Comfort, Post-Corruption, pining, fluff, angst, fluff at the end, character study, Dazai POV, getting together, dazai’s depression

I'll Make A Home In Your Gut Because its Somewhere Warm to Sleep - arahabakii

8.9k 22 SKK Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realization, Making Out, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff, Touch-Starved Dazai, Dazai needs a hug, Chuuya needs a hug TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

A chance to start again - Root (Fyki)

4.4k 22 SKK Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Fluff, Introspection, they work they shit out

hey look, the sky's falling apart - saffroncassis

24.8k TEEN SKK (16/17) AU - Canon Divergence Hurt/Comfort, Protective Nakahara Chuuya, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Developing Relationship Found Family (the Akutagawa siblings, Oda's kids, Kyouka, Oda, Ango) TW- Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and discussions of both these, also cw food for the whole fic

a piece about tensions unresolved - acuteguwu

2.1k 25 (AU) Alternate Universe - No Powers Fluff, Friends to Lovers, chuuya is a mess, dazai is no better tbh, kinda unrequited crush, First Kiss

Summary: "Chuuya’s been into Dazai for so long that it doesn’t seem relevant anymore."

the same groove - halfbloom (diphylleias)

11.3K MAFIA SKK (16), 22 SKK Feelings realization, Pining, Love Confessions, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Growing Up

Summary: "Dazai always knows too much, and too fast, whether it be for the better or for the worse. But for Chuuya, the realization comes slower, gradually, clumsily over the years"

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know <33

Soukoku Fic Rec Masterlist

#soukoku #soukoku fic rec #skk fic rec #soukoku fics #skk fics #14 in total :D #sierra’s recs

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2smolbeans · 7 months

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Meet The Disasters <3

(Meet the characters, shitpost addition)

Second generation:

Marco Sangwook: The Yandere COO who may or may not be a golden retriever in a suit. Also he likes bugs, so he's a weird nerd as well.

Hyun Sangwook: Typical Manwha Yandere CEO with daddy and mommy issues. That's it. Boo him for being so boring lol.

April Sunset: Just your regular bisexual disaster. He hasn't felt the touch of another man or women in years. Seriously, give him a hug- he needs it. But then again he reads fanfiction, watches K-dramas, and listens to vocaloid- so maybe it's deserved. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Paige Nieman:

Your typical dead lover's trope. Also, she's a singer/streamer. May or may not be on thin fucking ice thanks to Hyun and his expertise at framing her for murder. Also, Hyun might murder her as an extra bonus point.

Matheias Garcia:

Marco's first and last best friend. Was the first one to witness Marco's true colors and bullshit before Marco decided to pull a pro gamer move.

Angela Ginto:

fucking died by brown sugar butter. Thanks for giving her a honorable death Marco. 😐

First Generation:

Edward Ridley:

April's homophobic closested alcoholic bisexual dad. Thanks to Mr. Sangwook, he's also traumatized for life! May or may not be banned from Disneyland.

Garida Sunset:

April's single mom. May or may not have committed tax fraud in the past

Raven Nguyen:

Garida's emotional support bird. Also, she's rich - ig that's cool, idk lmao. Her favorite shirt to wear is the "I ❤️ Hot single mom's." she bought when going to a convention.

Ethan/Mr. Sangwook:

Hyun and Marco's biological/ father of the fucking year award.

Mrs. Sangwook/Aria:

Hey mom..Dead mooomm--

Joe Pereira:

Marco's adoptive father. Sir, you raised a monster :D

Lily Sartoretto:

"Is this say yes to the dress- or say yes to THE SLUT?!"

Marco's biological mother and young mistress of Mr. Sangwook. She may have also been the main cause of Mrs. Sangwook's suicide..So whoops

Lmao

_______________________

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hyugaruma · 3 months

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Hi! Are matchups still open? If not, then it's totally okay.

If so, could I submit....myself? Haha

So... I'm Ryuu (not my real name tho). I'm 20. My zodiac is Virgo, my MBTI is INTP.

I'm a quiet person, an introvert, who likes to spend most of the time alone, writing, listening to music, drawing and watching movies. People say I'm sometimes cold, someone even told me they were hesitant to talk to me because I looked scary (🤷). I might look like that with my rbf but trust me, deep inside I'm not haha. When you get to know me, I'm kind and helpful. I'm a therapist and mom friend. I might have suicidal ideation, I have depression and anxiety (saying that not for a pity or smth like that). But I don't let it take a hold of me, I'm trying at least!

I'm a horse rider and an animal lover. I like baking while listening to music. I'm quite creative, I write and draw in my free time.

I love MOON, sunsets and night sky.

I might not show many emotions but when I care about someone, I'll show that by doing small things like asking how they are, or giving them something I made.

I hope that's enough.

Have a great day and amazing Christmas 🎄🎁🖤

Thanks for the req, and thanks sm for your patience :-)) happy late Christmas oop

I match you with… Odajima Yuken!

Yuken is not someone who is put off by any sort of rbf or initial “coldness.” He believes in getting to know someone before making impressions about them. He loves any kind of calming or relaxing activities (like fishing), so best believe he’ll constantly be dragging you out to gaze at the night sky with him. You might be the therapist or mom friend, but Yuken himself is pretty good at taking on those roles too when need be. Expect him to ask to see the things you write or draw (but he respects it if you say no). Also, Yuken’s love language that he likes to receive is acts of service, so he would love those small things you do for him. If you made him something, it would send him into orbit.

Alternate Matches: Mashii “Mercy” Takehiko, Kohaku

#high&low matchup

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danpuff-ao3 · 2 months

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Snarry-a-Thon 2013 Recs

Snarry-a-Thon is an annual fest of Snarry goodness that always brings so much creativity and joy in the Snarry community. I am forever blown away by how much talent and passion Snarry-lovers have. With that in mind, I wanted to create some special recs for a fest near and dear to my heart.

With that, here are my Top 5 picks for the 2013 fest! But first...

Disclaimer: my rec lists are created based on my personal experiences and preferences. There are plenty of other stories and authors who are quite good and deserve just as much love. This is not meant to be an objective “best of the best” list, but the subjective opinion of a longtime reader and fangirl.

Miles to Go

by accioslash. Rated: M. Words: 1,879. Depression. Recovery. Hurt/Comfort.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep. ~Robert Frost

A Hermitage of Two

by babygray (@babygray). Rated: G. Words: 4,792. Injured Snape. Recluse Harry. The Cult of Harry Potter. Bookstore Owner Severus.

In the months after Voldemort's death, both Severus and Harry have retreated from the Wizarding World at large. This, however, doesn't stop others from visiting. (Snarry-a-Thon '13, prompt #30: Tired of all the attention after defeating Voldemort, Harry withdraws to the house on Grimmauld Place. He's changed the wards to keep everyone out but doesn't know Severus built his own 'back door' into the house years ago to use as a disaster escape if he needed. Harry's friends convince Severus to go after him.)

One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

by elmyraemilie. Rated: E. Words: 21,507. Romance. Mystery. Podfic available.

A tale of chance and change in two parts; written for two prinicpals, several secondaries, a choir of children and a bird.

Going Green

by emynn. Rated: E. Words: 14,517. Romance. First Time. Jealousy. Hurt/comfort.

It was all Harry ever wanted for Severus to be recognised by the Wizarding world for all he’d done. But when Severus’ newfound popularity leads to a potential love interest, Harry becomes all too familiar with the old adage, “be careful what you wish for.”

The Atrocity of Sunsets

by Writcraft (@writcraft). Rated: T. Words: 6,305. MCD. Mental breakdown. Schizophrenia. Suicide. Romance.

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity One morning, Kingsley visits Grimmauld Place and tells Harry a secret about Severus Snape. From that moment on, Harry uses every strength he has to keep Severus safe.

Snarry-a-Thon 2013 Masterlist

#danpuff recs #snarry #snarry-a-thon 13 #thon recs #snarry-a-thon

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kelpie-bael · 1 month

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Alternatives WIP Dark Urge x Emperor

One of the prompt WIP I feel is ok enough to post my progress on! Involves a new Dark Urge character that has class and race vague for reader decision. Details may change upon full completion.

Enjoy! For @theemperorweek

TW: Violence and blood as expected of a Dark Urge, attempted suicide

Summary: After defeating the Netherbrain and having been unable to escape her blood heritage, Basira decides to finally let go. But when it should end, she finds that she is given another chance to redo it all. The urge is gone, but the remnants remain and she struggles to keep her cool with her old lover and protector.

At the end, they fall. It’s a beautiful sight to behold. The bright burning red and orange of the sunset against the pink and purple of the dying Netherbrain. Picturesque enough to be a priceless painting. Basira would capture the image in her if she wasn’t plummeting to her death. A mercy for an unwilling slayer. Her end will bring peace to the city, saving them from the gruesome carnage of her dark urge.

She looks toward her free falling friends. A pity that they’ve all come so far and she’ll be leaving them. She locks eyes with each other of them. Different meanings are held in each of the looks and she smiles. What a wonderful future she pictures for them without her.

The Emperor is no where to be found and its a blessing. She falls closer and closer to the surface of the water with every second. She knows what needs to be done and seeing her...lover would falter that conviction. But as she finally slams into the water and allows her self to sink down into the depths, she wishes it the best.

The water is cold, siphoning the heat from her core. A cold lonely death is what she deserves. So she breathes in.

Her lungs burn with the water rushing inside and then, so too does her blood. Or her father’s blood as it writhes through her veins, tunneling like molten lava to the surface to evaporate into red fog. It is excruciating, agonizing pain, worse than the drowning, worse than any she had ever felt before. She can only succumb to the torment as Bhaal’s essence is ripped from her, rampaging through her body one last time. Her mouth open with silent screams that she can’t even utter as the torture rips her life out. And then she sinks into a black abyss.

A calm silence, no urge of violence or screams of her victims. It is a peace she could only dream of. Joy overwhelms hernow that she can rest in peace. It’s a surprise that she would be allowed such after the horrible deeds she plagued Faerun with, but part of her is relieved all the same that she is allowed this forgiveness. She never asked to be a monster, Bhaal’s chosen. Never a choice she was given, yet she still regrets not fighting harder.

She closes her eyes and embraces the end. Yet as she feels her essence begin to drift away a warmth wraps around her, pulling her up. Divine radiant energy bundling her in a comforting embrace as a voice calls out to her.

“Devout believer, succumb.” It says.

The energy and light swirls around her, wrapping itself into a ball and sinking into her chest. Just like before, it burns but this time it flows through her with the breath of life.

It’s gone just as fast and she jolts awake gasping as her heart beats once again. Her surroundings are dark, fiery, with the scent of sulfur in the air. Behind her lays the mindflayer pod that held her.

She’s back in the nautiloid. Possibilities cross her mind one after the other, a hallucination after her death, coma, personal hell for her failures? Any of them just as likely as the next.

“A new chance.” The voice whispers to her.

So she tries to believe that she is deserving of this. That it isn’t just a trick to give her everything she wants. A chance to atone and be different from her past self.

She takes this opportunity with clenching fists. Meeting her companions, escaping the nautiloid, finding the druid grove, all of it goes exactly as she remembers. She uses more of her charm this time, leading her team right where they need to be, saving Mirkon and Faendal, finding Kagha’s guilt, slaying her down. Moving faster and faster to give them all more time. Fitting all the right pieces into place for the best future. And enjoying the lack of bodily need for slaughter. Even if it calls out from deep within her mind.

The first crack appears as Basira lies down for the nth night. Her companions rest in their own tents, all of them hopeful of their progress. The goblin camp is slain and the grove saved. This time Basira has proven herself an efficient leader and they trust in her ability. When she wakes up to a familiar plane, a heavenly yet wrong voice calls out to her.

The dream guardian holds out his hand to her with a visage that should be appealing.

“I came just in time. You are transforming.”

“What?” She stares at the offered hand, larger than it should be.

Her head spins under the onslaught of forced images in her head. It is all wrong. Before the visitor had been different, she knows that, yet the details elude her. She could swear the disguise had been feminine before. Yet gazing upon his face, she watches his features shift and change at random. Too quick and subtle to be horrifying, but still ever changing. The only constant is his heroic armor.

He preaches on about protection, trust, and the power of the tadpole, but she can’t focus on it this time. The dream visitor, The Emperor, a mind flayer. It should know everything, shouldn’t it? It had been in her head from the start of waking up. It knew her every thought if she didn’t try to hide them. And she isn’t now. No, she focuses on the memories of the final battle, working together with it and her companions and the weak bond they had eventually developed. She pushes it forward as best as she can, hoping for part of their connection back, even if it was one sided.

The visitor stays ignorant and soon she is cast back to the real world before she can stop him. And so she sits and stews; longing for more. But does she have the right to do such a thing? The blood on her hands may be smaller, but it still festers. She was given a new chance and she refuses to ruin it with new variables. The time will come, so she’ll be patient. She’ll keep the play going as the naive leader.

Still as she falls back asleep, she asks her god why. And the silence is more comforting than an answer.

The second crack happens in the creche. They pushed past everything they needed before the Shadow lands. And only it remains. This time it is easy to kneel for the false queen and even easier to lie with her practiced silver tongue. Was it a smart decision to enter such a dangerous place again? No, but she wishes for all her companion’s freedom. And the quieter part yearns to see her ‘guardian’ again. So when she is in front of him again, she struggles to keep her composure. But her mind is clearer and she has more time now. Enough to enjoy his presence before she is forced back into the fray.

“I may have made a mistake trusting you.” He says gravely staring away from her.

“Have you now?” She’s careful to keep her words neutral, but she can’t stop the quirk of her smile.

“Quite so. And now, you’ve come here to murder me.” He turns and walks towards her, maintaining eye contact.

Her fingers twitch toward her waist at the word murder, trying to grasp at a dagger that’s no longer there. A trained response from her years of servitude that stings her heart with self loathing. And unfortunately the action is not missed by him. His eyes linger on her fingers, then trail back up to her own.

“Things aren’t always as they appear. You’d know that best.” She holds her hands up in front of her, wiggling her fingers.

“You think you know everything, but trust me when I say you don’t. Vlaakith is deceiving you; using you. You are the tool to bury the secret that would ruin her. The same one i’ve used to protect you. We want the same thing – freedom. I’m on your side. I have been from the very beginning.”

He kneels down in front of her, head down as he pulls out his sword and offers it forward with two hands.

Basira sighs deeply and runs a hand through her hair. Squatting down in front of him, she picks the sword up and studies it. Just like his armor, it remains an unchanged prop. But what would happen if she stabbed him this time? She runs the edge of it against her forearm and watches the blood rise. A real blade against an avatar. What would come out?

No. She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts. She’s above it all. She should be above it all. Yet the thoughts still plague her as whispers.

“I think I’m tired.” She mumbles quietly to herself. He still hears, lifting his head up to stare questioningly at her. How much more can he hear is the real question?

“Stand up.” She commands, thrusting the sword into the ground next to him. It slices through the air, barely missing the skin of his cheek.

He smiles unbothered and obeys, pulling the sword from the ground and sheathing it.

“I was right to trust you. Thank you.” He says softly. “Vlaakith will be-”

“Vlaakith be damned. I don’t care.” Basira says cutting him off, then pausing. “I care a little. Just, I know we’ll get attacked once we leave. I know lots of things, including you. Including what you’re hiding. I just want…”

She trails off, growling at the mess in her head. She just wants more of something, everything. Getting the chance to fix her mistakes should make her happy. Severing the connection with Bhaal should have made things better. Yet her she is, feeling angry, lost, confused. Her brain is still a mess and she’s haunted by her old self.

“Fuck!” She yells, slamming a fist into a stone pillar.

The stone and her knuckles fracture from the impact. Blood seeps around the stones embedded in her skin, deep enough to grind against her bones. She punches again and again. The burning pain a familiar companion. It blankets the worst of the buzzing in her thoughts.

#bg3 #the emperor bg3 #dream guardian bg3 #emperor x tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #the emperor week #so happy im finally feeling well enough to post this

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m00ngbin · 4 days

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hey......... itd be a real shame if you started ranting about the demolition lovers and the stories and lore behind the mcr albums.........................

OH MY GOD YES IT WOULD BE. SUCH A SHAME.

Ok so everyone already knows that mcr like originally started in September of 2001 because Gerard Way and his brother Mikey Way were living in New Jersey when the twin towers fell and Gerard saw it happen because allegedly he was meeting with Cartoon Network executives about a cartoon idea he had and he was like "this was super traumatizing I'm going to start a band where I can vent everything out through songs." (Great idea)

So he starts the band with his brother, (bass), Ray Toro, (main guitarist and backup vocalist), and Matt Pelisser, (drummer), (mainly Matt Pelisser), and in 2002 they release their first album, (MY FAVORITE), I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. (Eventually Frank Iero, (backup vocalist and rhythm guitarist), joins the band but he wasn't there when they formed. He WAS featured on two songs in Bullets though, Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough For Both Of Us and Early Sunsets Over Monroeville).

The first song they ever wrote, Skylines and Turnstiles, is about Gerard's feelings about 9/11. It's technically the seventh track on the album but yk. STILL THE FIRST.

Most of Bullets is ab the band members' lives growing up and their experiences watching 9/11 but it's also where they start coming up with the storyline for the Demolition Lovers. ANRJSHEKRJ I LOVE THE DEMOLITION LOVERS

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge/Demolition Lovers

Ok so the Demolition Lovers storyline is a little confusing and mostly up for interpretation. MY interpretation is that in the song Demolition Lovers, (from the Bullets album), the Lovers are running away from unknown people in the middle of a desert, where they're both shot.

The Demolition Man dies and goes to hell, while the Demolition woman ends up in a coma. (I THINK SHES IN A COMA BC OF THE DRAWING IN THE LINER ART FOR REVENGE WHERE SHES IN THE HOSPITAL).

Then the Revenge album picks up where Bullets left off and we learn that the Demolition Man is told by the devil that if he goes back to earth and kills 1000 evil men he'll be allowed to see the Demolition Woman again.

Of course the Demolition Man is so desperate to see the Demolition Woman again that he says yes, so he goes back to Earth and Give 'Em Hell, Kid starts the story.

He starts in New Orleans and takes a train to an unspecified other place to begin the task. He's really remorseful about it, but he gets super drugged up to stay awake while he finds these 1000 evil men. Atp the Demolition Woman starts feeling kind of abandoned bc I guess she never realized that he had died and she has no clue what he's doing.

The next song, I'm Not Okay, is supposed to touch on how the Demolition Lovers' relationship was kind of toxic and ALLEGEDLY this was originally supposed to be the last song on the album, where it ends with the Demo Man's suicide. Obviously we knew that the Demo Lovers didn't have the most stable relationship but this song was supposed to highlight how bad it was

In the song Ghost Of You, the Demo Man starts reflecting on his actions and how much he misses the Demo Woman. At this point he's worrying that either he won't be able to kill enough people or he'll just never be able to see her again.

Jetset starts with the Demo Man finally getting out of jail and finding a new partner for his killing spree. She wants the relationship to be more, but the Demo Man is still hung up on the Demo Woman. (Obviously, if he wasn't he wouldn't be doing all of this.) Both the Demo Man and the partner are addicted to drugs at this point, the Demo Man mainly so that he can stay awake and cope with what he's doing.

In Hang 'Em High he starts doubting that he can go through with killing all of these people and starts thinking that if he fails, the Demo Woman should go on without him. In Fashion Statement/Deathwish, he regains his confidence and gets much closer to his goal. He realizes though, that even if he does succeed death will eventually bring the Lovers apart again.

In between Fashion Statement/Deathwish and Cemetery Drive the Demolition Woman gets out of the hospital and kills herself. (Helena doesn't technically fit with most of the story but I like to think that it's the Demo Man going to her funeral).

In Cemetery Drive the Demolition Man visits her grave and finally gets to 999 evil men. It's at this point that he realizes that he's been tricked by the devil. He'd killed 999 evil men, but since the devil made him a murderer, he was the 1000th.

In For A Living the Demo Man accepts that he'll never be able to see the Demo Woman again and kills himself. He finally reaches 1000 evil souls and so he actually IS able to reunite with the Demolition Woman in hell.

ARKAHSGFJS. I LOVE THE DEMOLITION LOVERS STORY SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND I LOSE MY MIND THINKING ABOUT THEM EVERY DAY. Also like. Disclaimer you don't want a relation like the Demolition Lovers had. I didn't get super into it but their shit was FUCKED UP. Every time I see someone say that they wish they and their bf are just like the demo lovers I have a "hm." moment bc like. Did you even listen to ANY of the songs mentioning them?? Did you read ab their lore?? Do you know ANYTHING about them???

I'm not a gatekeeper or anything I swear I just don't think people should be saying that they want a relationship just like that

OH I TOTALLY FORGOT, during the Bullets tour era Gerard had a faux leather jacket that he wore so often and didn't wash that it literally disintegrated because of his sweat. I think most people know that but what they don't know is that there were TWO leather jackets that he disintegrated. One of them completely fell apart and the other one just lost one of the arms

THE BLACK PARADE

Ok listen I love the back parade but I'm not going to say AS much about it bc I spent most of my time hyperfixated on the Demo Lovers story and Danger Days so I don't know everything. (REMEMBER EVERYTHING I SAY IS AN INTERPRETATION DONT YELL AT ME IF YOU THINK SOMETHING ELSE)

Ok so the album starts with The End, where we learn about The Patient. He's dying and he probably won't be missed, and we get a reflection of his life and his fear of dying.

In Dead!, we learn about The Patient's diagnosis and prognosis. He has cancer and he doesn't have very long to live, maybe two weeks at the MOST. The first verse of the song, ("Did you get what you deserve? The ending of your life," (not said by him)), suggests that maybe The Patient is kind of a piece of shit and he deserves to die. The Patient is deep in denial atp, he's refusing to acknowledge that he's dying but he also wants it to be over.

This Is How I Disappear has The Patient reach out to a past lover, letting them know that they'll be the only one to remember him, and he begs them to keep his memory alive. It's mentioned again that this guy has done horrible things, but we still don't know what yet.

In The Sharpest Lives, we see The Patient start trying to distract himself from his imminent death by partying and drinking. He wrecks what's left of his life and it ends up dragging other people down with him.

After this song, he sobers up and goes to the hospital, where the rest of the album takes place

WTTBP is where he starts reflecting on his life again and accepts that his life is about to be over. Death comes, but in the form of his favorite memory: a parade The Patient's dad had taken him to when he was younger. The Patient's dad had told him that he wanted him to grow up to be a good person, (whoops), and that he can't be by The Patient's side forever.

I Don't Love You has The Patient desperately trying to break off his relationship with his current partner. He knows that his death will be painful for both of them and he doesn't want his partner to have to watch him rot away. (He's being selfless?? Shocker)

In House Of Wolves we get a description of how he sees hell, where he knows he'll end up. Despite everything he doesn't want to burn for eternity. He knows he's a bad person, but he spends the song INSISTING that a lot of people aren't better than him. (Dude🧍)

In Cancer, now that his treatment has started, he feels ashamed of how the chemo is making him look. His hair is falling out, his lips are chapped and faded, he's pale and gaunt, etc etc. He looks like shit pretty much. He already feels dead. He starts thinking selflessly again, trying to say goodbye to his loved ones in a short heartfelt way so that it doesn't have to be long and drawn out and painful. He doesn't want to leave them behind but yk. Life's not fair and he knows it.

Mama FINALLY gives us what he did, and guess what it is. War crimes. He was involved in a war where he committed terrible acts. Things so bad that even his own mother rejects and disowns him. At the point he's at in Mama, he decides to write her a letter where he admits that he's a terrible man and a terrible son, and since he's dying he would like it if they could reconcile and talk.

In Sleep The Patient says that he doesn't regret what he's done, but he wants to leave it all behind and end his life on a high note.

Teenagers is a song that doesn't really fit with the rest of the album, and I'm pretty sure Gerard Way says that it's not the most relevant to the story. There's a couple lines about how The Patient was an outcast in highschool, but most of the song is ab the system trying to control kids and get them to conform.

In Disenchanted, his life starts flashing before his eyes and he reviews it like a movie. He gets really disappointed about his life and how it's ending. He talks about how he could have changed things and that honestly his life was pretty worthless bc he just waited for death.

In Famous Last Words, The Patient is supposedly talking to a loved one, but he's not sure if he's dreaming it bc he doesn't know if he's dead or alive atp. Either way he has accepted that he's dead or about to be and he's at peace with it. (Or as at peace with dying of cancer as you can be)

NOW HERES WHERE IT GETS SUPER INTERESTING. THERES A SPLIT ENDING. Blood is the one that Gerard Way considers the ACTUAL ending, but they also wrote Heaven Help Us as an alternative ending that's technically just as correct as Blood

In Blood, The Patient chooses to stay alive, even though he knows that there's no way he's going to get better. The doctors and nurses that are taking care of him pity him and are only keeping him around for the money.

In Heaven Help Us, he DOES end up dying. Atp he's waiting in purgatory for the verdict on whether he's going to heaven or hell (it's going to be hell)

YAYY BLACK PARADE DONE

Danger Days

AKDOFHADORN OK SO THE STORY LINE FOR DANGER DAYS IS KIND OF CONFUSING BC THERES THREE: THE ONE FOR THE ALBUM, THE ONE FOR THE MUSIC VIDEOS, AND THE ONE FOR THE COMICS

DID YOU KNOW THAT GERARD WAY IS A COMIC BOOK ARTIST AND AUTHOR TOO?? HE WROTE A COMIC BOOK FOR DANGER DAYS AND HE MADE UMBRELLA ACADEMY AND PENI PARKER IN THE SPIDERVERSE MOVIES

So in the album, the first half basically talks about fighting in the desert and recalling the events of the Helium wars (The Only Hope For Me is You). Pretty upbeat.

Then in the middle of the album (Traffic Report) Jet Star and Kobra Kid are apparently killed, leaving Party Poison and Fun Ghoul alive?

The second half of the album deals with more serious themes of sacrifice, the "message", desperation, and, (obviously), sticking it to the man. Vampire Money is the only track set in the "real world," which gets proven by the use of their real names in the opening.

The EP, The Mad Gear and Missle Kid, contains three songs by this fictional band that the Killjoys would have listened to while driving around. The three songs on it are: 1. sex with porno-droids, 2. hooking up with older men in punk clubs, and 3. makes a reference to drinking juice while killing, which is what Val Velocity says in the comic. She might have been copying Party Poison but idk.

In the music videos, (Na Na Na and Sing), the Fabulous Killjoys run around the desert with The Girl, killing dracs. Korse eventually catches up to them and there is a shootout where the Killjoys get stunned and The Girl gets kidnapped.

Then the Killjoys go on a suicide mission into Battery City to try and get her back. They find The Girl who has been held by The Director and fight to escape. During the fight, Party Poison realizes that there are actually people under the drac masks, (one is implied to be Cherri Cola, who was played by Jimmy Urine (ew)), and he freaks the fuck out.

Korse kills him first, and the other three are also killed while trying to escape. The Girl is rescued, (by DJ Hot Chimp? I think?), and goes back out to the desert.

The Killjoys are wrapped up in body bags, but there was supposed to be another music video after Sing (which was cut due to budget issues), and Gerard mentioned in an interview once that he thought the Killjoys never really die because they would sort of spontaneously regenerate like in a video game or something.

There are three parts to the comics. The first is about The Girl, and reveals that the reason the Killjoys protected her was that they believed she was like a messiah. The Killjoys are all long dead by now. This group of teenagers, the Ultra V's, has decided to model themselves after the Killjoys, and the story talks about The Girl's interactions with them and coming to terms with her destiny. It's a coming of age type thing.

The second part talks about two android prostitutes from Battery City, and how they escape.

The third part has Korse as the main character, and reveals that he is gay and he has to hide this from Battery City officials. It's mainly ab him trying to get freedom and escape as well.

The Foundations Of Decay

NEWEST MCR SONG OMFG. It came out in 2022 following MCR's 6-7 year hiatus and URGAHDHFJS ITS SO GOOD. From just the lyrics

"He was there the day the towers fell

And so he wandered down the road

And we would all build towers of our own

Only to watch the roots corrode"

I think at least that part is about Gerard and a callback to why he started the band in the first place.

The whole song is kind of about the band and their history and everything and URGAJHDHFISSH I love this song so much you don't understand. It's very reminiscent of the Bullets era but it's a lot more mature I think.

NOW FOR MY FAVORITE SONG EVER OF ALL TIME: OUR LADY OF SORROWS

Our Lady Of Sorrows is on the Bullets album and it's the best song from any era imo. It's about how far someone will go for their friends and it's a really aggressive way of basically saying that you would die for someone and that you would stand with them against anything.

The song was originally a demo called Bring Me More Knives, and it only had Gerard, Ray, and Matt playing on it. Allegedly Mikey loved the song so much that he managed to teach himself to play the bass decently enough in four days just to join the band and play it.

Some of the demos from (mainly) the Bullets era were called the Attic Demos because they were recorded in the Matt's attic

Matt got kicked out of MCR in 2004, (just after the Revenge album came out), because apparently he was caught stealing. He was replaced by Bob Bryar, and currently Jarrod Alexander is the drummer for MCR

Oh I feel like I should mention that nothing was glamorous ab any of the tours or the band members while they were touring before the hiatus. These were like traumatized 20 something year olds touring the country and doing drugs and becoming alcoholics and it pisses me off so badly when people try to make that era seem so great. There was an entire chunk of the Life On The Murder Scene documentary about Gerard Way struggling with alcoholism and how his hygiene was so bad bc he couldn't take care of himself. That's part of what that jacket disintegrated. Ofc it was also bc touring is disgusting and you don't get a lot of chances to shower and stuff but nothing ab any of that is glamorous

Oh but they're all a lot better now I think. Obviously I don't KNOW bc idk any of the band members but from what I've seen they all at least look better

#AKDLJFOAKF I COUKD AND WOULD ADD SO MUCH MORE BUT THIS IS SO LONG ALREADY #can you tell i like mcr #can you tell i was hyperfixated on it for three years #mcr #this is just a rant full of stuff that im sure a lot of people know already but yk #i fucking love my chemical romance #this is so cringe #idc

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