#the angst is FUCKING REAL

[jurassic-cunt]

rereading This Is For Your Own Good by @caffeinechic it's tearing my heart to shreds and slowly painstakingly glueing it back together :) again

#good omens #good omens fic rec #the angst is fucking real #aziraphale pov that will stab you in the chest <3 #dark gift

[pocketgalaxies]

We want to destroy my mother. (insp by @dadrielle)

#critical role #criticalroleedit #imogen temult #liliana temult #laura bailey #matthew mercer #gifs #* #*cr #cr3 #cr spoilers #angst tag #cr meta #nova shh #scheduled #3h12m c3e88 #18m c3e12 #3h17m c3e42 #3h42m c3e51 #4h20m c3e51 #1h35m c3e49 #i think this gifset might be a little bit unfair to liliana from a third party perspective but #i think it's Very Real for imogen. to feel like she reached out so many times and the loyalty there was so fucking flimsy #barely there to begin with and then gone in an instant as everything turned to red mist #thinking about how laura on 4sd a while ago said imogen is so fucking sick of it she's sick of having that hope #her reality is that her mother no longer has any loyalty to her and the pain of thinking she does isn't worth it anymore #:(((( #'help me.' 'this is for the best.' breaks my H E A R T :((((((((( #and matt's fucking Smile afterward. speaks a thousand words #thanks rj for the discord message that kicked this off!!!

[alien-bluez]

Lark can't handle nice things, and as he says "always fucks it up."

Drew a scene from this fic here, please please go read it right now!

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #dungeons and daddies fanart #dndads fanart #fanfic #dndads fanfic #lark oak #nick close #nicky foster #i'm not tagging all his names #lark oak garcia #dndads s1 #nark #baby's first ever comic yippee #nark got me so fucked that i learned how to make a comic for them #this fic has me real fucked up i love it so much #and everything by this author is rlly good #if u like nark angst or lark angst or both ur gonna have a good time then #kind of obsessed with this they've been rotting my brain so hard i drew lark so much here i have him down pat

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “they’re fake dating but are crossing way too many lines to be considered fake anymore” prompts

Character A’s arm around Character B’s waist, subconsciously keeping them close; glaring at people who try to get close to Character B. 

Heart twisting uncomfortably in Character A’s chest when they see Character B’s eyes lighting up when they’re talking to someone else, so much so Character A has to tear their eyes away to calm themselves down. The reminder of fake, fake, fake repeats in Character A’s head. 

Seeking for Character B’s hand subconsciously, intertwining their fingers, palm pressed against palm; snug and warm, the feeling of never wanting to let go almost overwhelming. But this is fake be damned — for now, it’s all about the comfort. (It becomes a habit.) 

Drunken kisses. God, the drunken kisses, with Character B’s fingers in Character A’s hair and Character B perched in their lap, kissing them with no restraint; things getting heated, Character A’s hands slipping under Character B’s shirt and earning a slight shiver from them. All the while, Character A could only wish Character B would kiss them like this when they’re sober. Character A lets that thought linger until they both fall asleep in each other’s arms after kissing way too many times to count because they can’t seem to get enough of each other. 

Late night phone calls or endless text messages at two in the morning, never wanting the conversation to end. It makes Character A wonder, but they stop themselves before these thoughts spiral out of their control. 

The thoughts of wanting Character B in a way they can’t have them becomes more frequent. They know it’s only going to break them by thinking like this, but they continue to entertain the idea of it; of how it would be like to call Character B theirs, for real. (It’s unhealthy, so fucking unhealthy, but they can’t help it.) 

Kisses becoming longer; more desperate, more passionate, with no need for alcohol. It burns to have Character B kiss them like they mean it; like there’s supposed to be something there, but they push it down because this is fake. It’s fake. This is all an act. (Character A convince themselves, at least for a little while more.)

Gazing at each other like they’re in love with each other, even though the both of them know they’re not in love with each other (or maybe denial is more blissful than they realise?). 

Fighting with each other hurts more than it should; it dissolves into tears, slamming doors shut and heart aches that wouldn’t have happened if they didn’t agree to this stupid fake dating thing. 

And then it all comes to a head one day, tearful and angry confessions on the tips of their tongues. (And by God, are they so dramatic about it, too.) 

B: “Why are you doing this to us? We— we were doing so good—” 

A: “Because this is supposed to be fake, but I’m falling for you and I’m fucking terrified I’m never going to be able to catch myself. Because I’m falling for you and you don’t feel the same and everything in me screams for me to run away, but I can’t because it’s you.” 

B: “…And who the fuck says I don’t feel the same?” 

#fake dating prompts #otp prompts #writing prompts #prompts #angst prompts #writing scenarios #this is basically the layout for all of my fake dating aus i write tbh #I FUCKING LOVE FAKE DATING AUS DJKSKSSK #romance prompts #friends to fake lovers to real lovers #dialogue prompts

[the-auguer]

Fright Night

Just a li’l something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while. It was titled ‘the girls are fighting’ so do with that what you will.

___________________

Mammon’s nails dig a little bit into your arm. It’s not harsh or purposeful. It just happens. Like how his arm constricts around your chest and squeezes you a bit too tightly. You crane your head to stare at him. His eyes are a harsh blue, the yellow near his iris ablaze, and he’s not looking at you. 

Belphie retracts his arms slowly, a frown marring his previously soft face. 

“Mammon.” he says slowly. Tightly, like Mammon’s arms. “What are you doing?”

Mammon’s grip tightens a little. You push at Mammon’s chest, and try harder when he doesn’t budge. 

“Mammon, let go.”

Mammon glances down at you. “What?! Why!?”

You glare at him. “You’re squeezing.”

Mammon’s hold on you loosens, but he doesn’t let go. You push uselessly at him again, unwilling to Order him, but getting close to it. 

“Mammon,” Belphie says again, his light frown beginning to pull into a scowl. “Why?”

“Whaddaya mean, why?” Mammon snipes back. “You were touchin’ them.”

“We were hugging.”

“Yeah, and you’re not allowed.”

“Not allowed? Then what are you doing?”

“Wha— well obviously they want the Great Mammon to hold them. I’m allowed.”

“And I’m not?”

“No!”

“Why?”

Mammon splutters. “Why? Be-because you’re not allowed, that’s why!”

Levi snorts, sinking deeper into your bed and not glancing up from his D.D.D. “I’m telling Beel that you hit Belphie.”

From his hold, you feel Mammon’s body tense. “I didn’t hit him!”

“You shoved me,” Belphie says, confusion fading into anger. “When I hugged them, you shoved me.”

Beel walks back into your room, a tower of snacks in his arms. He drops them irreverently to the ground and they crackle and crunch at his feet. “Who shoved Belphie?”

Levi cackles. “Mammon.”

Mammon startles, backing both you and him up a few steps. “I did not!”

“Yeah, you did,” Levi sings.

“Yes, you did!” Belphie yells. 

You drive your hand into Mammon’s face to  create more space between the both of you. You were just trying to watch a movie. Why did watching movies always evolve into shit like this? It’s not fair. 

“Let go, Mammon. Now.”

“No!” Mammon shouts, obviously panicked as both Beel and Belphie begin to advance on him. Levi lifts his D.D.D, obviously recording. 

“Why not!” You yell back, wedging your elbow against his cheek and push with all your might. Mammon squawks and tries to pry your arms off his face. 

“Because!”

“No one should push Belphie,” Beel intones, moving closer and closer. 

“They’re not something you can hog all to yourself, Mammon,” Belphie says darkly, in step with Beel.

“Let me go right now!” You shout. If this continues, there’s going to be a dog pile on Mammon and you are not the slightest bit interested in the broken bones that will follow if you get caught up in that. 

“Fight, fight, fight, fight,” Levi chants.

“Mammon,” you scream as Beel gets closer. He’s so obviously focused on Mammon and not on you. Maybe Beel doesn’t even see you right now. “Now!”

“No! He’s not allowed!”

“Why!” Belphie howls.

“You’ll hurt them!”

Belphie freezes his prowl forward, and you pause your attempts to pinch under Mammon’s arms. 

Levi lowers his D.D.D. Beel stops moving entirely. 

Mammon’s eyes dart around anxiously, sensing the change in the room. 

He laughs nervously. “Yeah, you’ll just hurt them, so it’s better for me to hold them. See,” he jostles you, “no harm done.”

You shove Mammon harshly. “Get. Off. Me! Get off me now!”

Surprisingly, Mammon lets go of you this time. His eyes are big and wet. “Why?”

He looks hurt, and usually you would backtrack right about now. You would assure him and explain to him. Sighing, you try. 

“Belphie won’t hurt me.” You say, tiredly. You motion for Levi to put his D.D.D down. “Is this about how you were late? I told you what time I was starting the movie and you decided to stay out shopping.”

“No, it’s not,” Mammon says, sounding petulant. “I’m not mad because of that. I’m mad cause yer lettin’ him touch all over you and he’ll hurt you!”

“No he won’t,” you say, exasperated.

“No I won’t,” Belphie presses.

“No he won’t,” Beel echoes, confusion evident in the furrow of his brows. 

Levi stays quiet, his D.D.D laying on the bed next to him. 

Mammon is your friend. A close friend, even if he’s really bad at being a friend sometimes. You try to understand, despite the throbbing of your head. 

“What do you mean, Mammon? You have to expla—“

“Whaddaya mean, whaddaya I mean?” Mammon interrupts, frustrated. “He already did! He— he—“

Mammon clamps a handful of his hair in his fist, tugging ineffectually. “He hurt you.”

Mammon’s eyes are more than just wet now. He’s tearing up, staring at you imploringly, worse than when he begs you to hide him from Lucifer. It’s almost too much for you to bear. 

Belphie snarls. “That was before— that was because I— I said I was sorry! I’m not going to do it again! You’re just jealous they want to spend time with me, so you’re making up excuses!”

“No I am not!” Mammon yells back, tears disappearing under a rare bearing of fangs. “I’M their first, so there’s nothin’ ta be jealous of! I’m bein’ honest here!”

“You know why you’re their first?” Belphie says dangerously. Beel puts a worried hand on his shoulder, but Belphie shakes it off. “Because Levi threatened them into it to get his money back! They didn’t want to form a pack with you, they had to.”

Levi sank deep into your comforter, mumbling something indistinct as he attempts to be absorbed by the sheets. 

“It’s different now! And that doesn’t matter anymore!”

“Mammon‘s right, Belphie,” you say. “It doesn’t. But both of you need to calm down so we can talk this through.”

“Talk through what? How Mammon thinks I’ll hurt my contractor?”

Beel moves forward, pressing a hand on Belphie’s chest. “That’s right,” he stresses, brows still drawn together. “Belphie has a contract with them. He can’t hurt them.”

“Yes,” you agree, pouncing on Beel’s statement with vigor. “No one in this house can hurt me. See? It’s all fine.”

You glance at the clock, prepared to make an excuse about how late it is and how you are oh so tired and they’ll have to watch a movie another night. 

“But Mammon hurt you,” Levi pipes up, peering out from inside the cocoon he made out of your blanket. “Just now. You’re bleeding.”

You glance down and yeah, the skin of your upper arm is a bit red and there are small cuts where Mammon’s nails had dug in. They’re not bleeding, per se, but they are raw pink and surrounded by ripped skin. 

Mammon almost falls over with how hard he startles. “What! I didn’t— but I didn’t— I didn’t mean to! That was an accident!”

You poke experimentally at your arm. It stings, but no more than it should. You’re fine. 

“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

You try to smile soothingly at Mammon, who is staring at you like you are the killer in a slasher film, his honey brown skin pale and stricken. 

“Hypocrite,” Belphie crows vindictively. “All that talk and you’re the one who hurt them!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Mammon swears, louder than before. 

“Are you okay?” Beel asks worriedly. He plucks a bag of chips off the floor to press into your hands. “Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

You open the bag eat a chip to stave off his fretting. “I’m fine, Beel. It’s fine.” You look at Mammon meaningfully. “I’m fine.” 

“Go-good. And what the hell, Levi!” Mammon shouts, gaining back steam. “Why’d ya have to go and bring that up?”

Levi burrows tighter into your blanket. You wouldn’t be surprised if there’s rips stressed into it by the end of the night. “Just leveling the field. Now everyone in here has hurt them. Balanced team. Every RPG needs a balanced team. All the Seven Lords hurt Henry before they became friends. It’s the way it is.”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably at that. The air around you is suffocating. You suddenly ache to be the one in Levi’s cocoon. Preferably alone. 

“Thank you, Levi,” you grit out frustratedly. “So. Much. Since this conversation is over, I think I’m done with movie night. You all can go back to your rooms.”

Belphie startles. “What did I do? It was Mammon that started this!”

“Belphie.” Beel glances at you, uncertain and guilty in equal measure. You want to hide in your closet to avoid his gaze. “Let’s just go. We can talk about it later.”

Levi slowly extracts himself. He looks at you like he wants to say something, but turns away instead. 

Mammon clenched his fists. “I wanna talk more. Are ya sendin’ me out cause I hurt ya? I didn’t mean to, honest.”

“I know Mammon, and I’m fine,” you sigh. “I’m tired, though. We can talk later.”

Belphie shakes Beel off again. “Sure. We can talk later.” He gives Mammon a nasty smile. “We’re all on the same team, after all.”

Mammon is across the room in the blink of an eye, Belphie’s collar clenched tight in his hand. Belphie rises to the tops of his toes and snatches Mammon’s collar in return. 

“I am not on the same level as you. As any of you. Because I never tried to kill them.”

And there it is. Exactly what you were hoping would never be said. Ever. 

“I never almost killed them. I never actually killed them! You did that!” Mammon yanks at Belphie’s collar. “Ya killed them! And said sorry ‘cause a’ Lilith! Ya didn’t mean it!”

“Yes I did!” Belphie howls. He releases Mammon’s collar to claw uselessly at Mammon’s hands. His horns curl out of his hair and his tail lashes behind him like a provoked cat. “I meant it! I meant it, you selfish bastard! You just wish I didn’t cause you want them all to yourself!”

Beel is shifting from foot to foot, obviously longing to step in or speak up, but does not move. His eyes are locked on Mammon, unsure. He doesn’t seem scared, but he is uncertain. Levi moves between your table and the wall, like the added barrier puts him further away from the situation. 

“Ya didn’t! Ya killed them! Ya killed my best friend! I had ta watch them die!”

Mammon is not in his demon form, despite Bephie’s bared fangs and the flashes of purple singing through the air. He holds Belphie captive like it doesn’t mean anything, like Belphie’s struggles to free himself don’t require the smallest hint of his demonic power. 

“Stop it.” Your fists clench. “I don’t like this.”

Mammon continues to yell, and tears are falling freely down his cheeks. Belphie curses him, screams his name and damns him in every way he seems to know how. 

“Ya don’t know! Ya laughed! Ya laughed when I cried an’ they weren’t breathing! No one cared but me! They were dead an’ no one else cared!”

The shockwaves of Belphie’s power grow more drastic, more erratic.

“You didn’t notice I was gone!” He bellows. “Lucifer kept me in the goddamn attic and you thought I was playing nice with humans! You were supposed to be my big brother! You were supposed to come for me!”

“How could you?” They both wail and wail and wail. 

Why.

Why did you have to break up the fights between beings that are thousands of years older than you? Why did you have to be the one with the level head in a room full of people that could kill you on a whim? In a simple accident? Is it because you dared to care about them? Is it really that bad to care about them? God help you, you care about them so much. 

Shouldn’t this feel vindicative? Shouldn’t you feel better now that the confrontation has happened, feel more seen? Shouldn’t you want your housemates, your friends, to acknowledge you and your past pain? Why did you feel so drained and defeated, then?

Maybe because you were always going to die. 

From the moment you arrived in that throne room with the most powerful demons that gave less than a shit about your continued existence, you were always going to die. Maybe it was not a possibility but a race of circumstances. A race of who would do it first.

Leviathan in the Tales of the Seven Lords trivia competition, the first to charge at you. His scornful gaze as he verbally contemplates the pros and cons of killing you. The force in his eyes as he made you a pawn in a game of revenge against his brother. 

Beelzebub in the kitchen, your room in shambles afterwards. The knowledge that that could have easily been you. His flat, hungry eyes in the student council room, and a few more places beyond that. 

Lucifer in the crypt, bearing down on you with the light of heaven’s finest and looming power of the right hand of the ruler of hell. A hand clamping down on your injured wrist. Lucifer time and time again reminding you of how easily he would kill you if you stepped out of line. Would. Not could. 

Asmodeus’s hypnotic gaze training itself on you dozens of times, certain you will yearn for him, certain you will bow to him. His annoyance when you do not. Cerberus’s breath lashing across your heels as you run, heart plummeting to your stomach. 

Satan’s room, green flames licking at the walls and beginning to scorch your skin. His claws reaching for your throat. 

Mammon. Mammon never… but he did. He left you for dead, time and time again in the beginning. He was told to watch you, to guard you, and he left you in the clutches of demons. Again and again. 

And you were so focused on the contestants in front of you, the ones already at your throat, that you didn’t think to look out for the knife behind you. The hands at your neck, the bind around your trachea, the arms around your chest. The sight of your own body, limp and lifeless. 

Belphegor. 

Where was Lucifer? You reach into the pocket of your pajama pants, scrambling for your D.D.D. 

Your shaking fingers manage to navigate to Lucifer’s contact, and you find you can’t do more than hit the call button. The dial tone is lost in the cacophony of your room, and you find you can no longer see Beel or Levi past how hazy Belphie’s power is making you. 

Your D.D.D falls from your limp fingers, and you find your eyes getting heavy.

Well… well shit.

#obey me angst #the absolute lack of confrontation after the ENTIRE debacle of season 1 is SO frustrating #there was so much going on and yet… nothing #i barely even give a fuck about apologies #I want real and JUICY actions and dialogue #but I got NOTHING #anyway… #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me Beelzebub #obey me brothers

[arkiwii]

Valentines far away from where you are

I think a lot about how Silence and Saria are so busy that they can barely spend time together. About how when they finally fixed their bounds, they had to be taken away by their responsibilities. About how much Saria might miss her and struggle without her. About how they might be unable to communicate with nothing else but letters that take several days to come. About the fact that Silence is so crushed by her duty and work that she feels not allowed to have a personal life.

No matter how far from each other they are, they only wish to be able to be together without all this unecessary stress on them.

#happy valentines. cry #angst hits harder when it's regular real life things #anyway this took way longer than expected because it's now 6 am here and i am tired as fuck and sick #arknights #olivia silence #saria #ifrit #stalkiwiart #art #fanart #valentines day #sariasil

[astroturf-enthusiast]

I struggled so fucking hard getting the arm to line up and truly should have just made the panel longer but I started getting motivation for new idea so take a technical WIP

#ninjago #cole ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fanart #cole brookstone #cole ninjago fanart #ninjago angst #ghost cole #i fucking love ghost cole #halfway between an AU and just projecting my disassociative dissorder on a lego #you CANNOT convince me that as a ghost he wasnt prone to derealization #I think the Preeminent dying left him with no real realm to belong to #I will be elaborating further #Astroturf-Art

[jessilynallendilla]

DPxDC post A Glitch In Time

Secret twin with a twist

Vlad was invited to an annual charity gala

The Batfam invite him cause how he obtained his money and his company is hella sus but they can never find any evidence or someone that will spill

He recently adopted a son Dante/Dan he has no social media presence for a teenager that's sus and Barbara found his entire background was fake

Bruce sends Damian to do spying (make friends) with the teen since they're around the same age

"You must be Master's new son, Dante-"

Dan turns around

"It's Dan."

Damian is suddenly having a crisis

"akhi"

#batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #agit #can you imagine #damian thinks he's found his brother #but it's not the original brother #the angst #what did future dan do to his family when he was evil #if this is a damian that had to kill his own clones #what happened to his real brother #hell throw elle in the mix too #and the other failed clones #did they die or did they survive and are just really fucked up and kept inside out of public #you decide #everyone's not having a good time #dpxdc au

[saym0-0]

i love mechs x tma aus and i love jmart but i dont love jonny x martin,,, the dynamic is just so slightly off,, like,,,,,, i cant articulate it its just wrong 2 me,,,,,,,, okay actually the tags r vital to this one read those

#like jonny and jon r so different #aus where its jonny pretending to be jon are fun #but it just feels dishonest when he nd martin get together yk #because 'jon' is an act. its not his real personality #also i dont think jonny would let himself (or at least admit to himself) fall in love with a mortal #a fun but fucked up way to take it though would be to #yk have jonny be entirely dishonest abt it #'sure this jon character can have a boyfriend!' then immediately drops him at the first convinience #angst potential through the ROOF #but him actually like. liking him and also letting himself like him feels wrong yk #IDK im crazy im insane idk what im talking about #the mechanisms #the mechs #tma #saymbles #jonny d'ville #the magnus archives #mechs x tma au

[samijey]

Sami seemed to strike a big nerve with Jey last night

#jey uso #sami zayn #wwe #the usos #roman reigns #smackdown #this segment was SO IMPORTANT lemme tell you #YES SAMI REMIND EVERYONE WHO THE REAL ENEMY IS #jail for roman #jail for roman for a thousands years #the way jey's frown softens when sami says he loved him URGH I'M SICK #my toxic trait is that i will tear up randomly at work bc i'm thinking about these two and make my coworkers worry about me #yes hello no everything is fine haha just angsting over wet pathetic men and their dramatic 100k enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers fic #jey's character has remained so fucking consistent everything he does makes sense #wwe having years long character development that makes sense??? unfathomable #anyways vince mcmahon die challenge #what is up with this pink ass coloring you might ask #and ill tell you pink is the color of love :))))) #lies i just hate coloring gifs with real people in them oof #stuff i made

[5mcsinatrenchcoat]

a faulty heart

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg 3 tav #karlach #bg3 karlach #karlach x tav #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #art tag #tav posting #digital art #female tav #doesn't really matter but considering my girl is large and butch I like to clarify #anyway. a suspicious lack of posts about the fucking heartbreaking angst side of her romance #Vice is not getting proper sleep that's for sure she has thoughts to think and fears to grapple with #most of which aren't even about her own tadpole plight #how do you blame a heart that's failing when it's also doing its best while it can? #even if it's not a real heart and was forced upon your lover #it is still her current lifeforce #and there's nothing you can bloody do about it despite knowing that it's the same thing that will take her away from you way too soon #hate it. love it. fear it. be thankful to it. repeat the circle.

[tswwwit]

I want a bill whump so bad, if dipper falls in love with bill every time he reincarnates but hes also a little bit different in every reincarnation, could there be one where hes almost entirely replused by bill, or already in love with someone else?

We all love to see that terrible little man struggling! Typically hurting Bill is accomplished via Dipper-death, but this is a neat alternate scenario. You know he's definitely going to start out totally full of himself! Winning his husband back should be easy! Until he realizes he has no idea how he did it in the first place.

#answers #To really squeeze the good Angst Juice from a ripe Cipher you gotta put him in a position where he's helpless *despite* being so powerful #Killing Dipper off is a classic; Bill's got a lot of skills but full-on resurrection is outta his wheelhouse #The 'not in love' scenario offers another route that would be fun #One neat part of Bill is his lack of introspection #Sure of course Dipper fell for him! Why wouldn't he! He's great! #It's only when *forced* to look over the situation that Bill has to face facts: He didn't do that on purpose #No manipulation; no clever trick. Not something he can just *repeat* easily #He's gonna be REAL unhappy with trying to get THAT going around again #Of course it ends with him finally winning Dipper over once he STOPS trying to manipulate him into it #For that full-circle narrative #Which is a Good Ending for Bill! But leaves him with the lingering 'what the fuck' of STILL not knowing how he got it done #That's gonna bug you for ages now isn't it Bill

[turtletoria]

writhing on the floor in pain

#turtlearts #wordgirl #wg #dr two brains #hes rendered a little strangely since i was using jerma face cam as a reference. and as u all know that mans lighting- #is absolute dogshit #his facecam is like 144 hp with lighting that looks like hes streaming from chernobyl #but honestly thats the charm of jerma streams <3 the moment he fixes the cam its all downhill from there #also personally i dont think that 2 brains is stinky. hes a mouse/rat/rodent thing. and they tend to be very clean #maybe his clothes may be messy tho since mice dont um. wear clothes. so there may be less priority there #2 brains got a little snaggle tooth. teehee. crooked teethed guys for the win #you know when u look at something for so long that you can feel an art block coming on. becuase uh. uh oh #also the writhing on the floor in pain thing. its real physical pain not the hee haha angst pain #my bodys all fucked up man

[mysteryboy1249]

Y'all who was going to tell me that the "Subaru" in "Okiya Subaru" is legitimately the same kanji as the car brand? And while in disguise, Akai drives a Subaru??

Imagine Akai needing to find a name after faking his death, and a la "Edogawa Conan" naming style, looks at this new car he got for his cover and is like excellent that's my name now. This headcanon now lives rent free in my head.

#silver bullet solidarity at being real fucking bad at creating fake names for themselves #I don't care the real reason he is named okiya subaru is because of the voice actor this is wayyy funnier #the amount of jokes people could make at a man named Subaru driving a Subaru #ain't no way furuya didn't make the connection and constantly bully him for it whenever he's not full of angst and rage towards him #idk why I find this so funny but it makes me cackle so much #the ghost credit imma buy a subaru vine already lives in my head rent free whenever I see a Subaru irl and now this will also pop up #detco #dcmk #akai shuichi #okiya subaru #detective conan #headcanon

[ghost-proofbaby]

Can I request Back to December with Eddie?! and if you could make it kind of angsty 🫣🥹

back to december (eddie's version)

warnings: angsty. very, very angsty. hurt/no comfort.

wc: 2.6k+

a/n: fuck it we ball. i have nothing to say about this one. if it's trash, that's between me and god.

Love was never something that came easily to Eddie. 

Maybe it was due to his upbringing, maybe he was another victim of circumstance, but love and him had always had a complicated relationship. It had left him scorned usually, a long line of failed situationships that trail behind him like ghosts of his pasts. Times he let bury themselves, relationships he’d get involved in knowing he’d never achieve the kind of love he’d seen in books and movies. Other people would talk about their small town romances, and he would only think of all the one night stands he’d subjected himself in which tore off a piece of himself every time he’d depart. He was the type of person to be used, to be drained of what fun the other participant could suck him dry of and then discarded for the next one. He wasn’t relationship material – he wasn’t love material.

Until you. And how unexpected you had been. 

You, who was suddenly sitting in front of him in a coffee shop, hunched over your laptop and no doubt working on finishing up classwork for that degree you’d always talked about getting with him. You, who had been the exact opposite of someone Eddie would have ever anticipated falling for. You, who had never looked at him as something to use and to discard, but to have and to hold. You, the one (and possibly only) exception to everything he thought he knew. 

You’re just as stunning as you had been on late summer afternoons in the passenger seat of his van. Same messy hair, same glowing eyes, same jestering lilt to your lips that seemed ever present even in the most serious of situations. Even with brows furrowed and new stress lines in your forehead, a slight pucker of your lips at whatever was on the screen in front of you and accentuated eyebags that hadn’t been there in your past life but now exist in the here and now, most likely a symptom of the long hours you’d always been willing to put in for the things you wanted – you still took his breath away, even now. 

The first time you’d ever spoken to Eddie, he had considered it a cruel joke. You were beautiful, someone who entered the room and everyone just knew you were the smartest person there. Teachers loved you, others at the very least tolerated you if not admired you. It prodded at every insecurity he’d already harbored. All his fears of not being good enough, of being judged for his repeating years, of forever being doomed to be worn as a mark of shame rather than a badge of pride had been put in front of him with a pretty bow on top. You were something to show off. You were something good. But those wide eyes that had slowly pulled him in, had broken down all his defenses. He’d never stood a chance.

“Eddie?” 

It’s not your voice, but that of the barista sitting down his order on the pickup counter. But his name still tears you from your concentration, and when you pale at the sight of him, he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he had been staring. 

They have to call out his name a second time before he moves to grab the coffee, turning his back on you just as he had all those ages ago. His fight or flight kicks in; he doesn’t know whether it would be better to leave it as it is and hurry out of this coffeeshop with his tail between his legs, or if for once in his life, it was worth leaning into the discomfort. Instead of running from that crackling in his chest and all the hurt flooding him the same as that final time he’d seen you, maybe he should take a deep breath and dive right in. 

Would you even recognize him as he recognized you? Would your soul see his as if for the first time all over again, and sadly smile with a whisper of, oh. There you are, again?

Or would you pretend to be strangers again? Would you pretend like all the history had faded to smoke and he was just some guy you’d bumped into at a cafe? Would you give him the honor of wiping his slate clean and just starting over, as if he’d never hurt you? 

He had been an idiot when it came to you. A loser who had been handed a gift on a silver platter, and instead of cherishing it until the end of time, he’d ruined it. Ruined you. 

The decision is made long before his palm wraps around the overly warm cup, and his feet carry him to your table before doubt would wrap its chords around his throat.

His chest flutters just like it had in the autumn when he’d first realized that how he felt for you was different. As the leaves of Hawkins had changed color, so had his feelings, turning their own brilliant and vibrant shades between him draping his leather jacket across your shoulders and the gentle kisses you’d wake him with before the sun even rose. Quiet and private moments between just the two of you that Hawkins had never bore witness to. Hazy afternoons spent under the guise of tutoring him in subjects like math and science bled into dinner dates at Benny’s, sharing milkshakes and him teaching you how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

He had loved you. He still loves you. And he’d been a fool, because it had never occurred to him that during those Autumnal months, more than just the leaves or just him had been falling. 

Even the warmth of all your love that he had been blind to wasn’t enough to stave off the chill that had crept in by that December. Winter was cruel. You’d both learned that the hard way. One bad argument, one stormy night, and it had all fallen apart. He’d lost you — he’d lost that ray of sunshine in his life, the one thing that should have kept him warm through icey December nights. All over something that had started off over a disagreement of future plans and unraveled into an argument over differences.

His voice cracks as he stands before you, eyes wide as he says, “Hey.”

When you look back up at him this way, it’s hard to believe that he never saw it. That love, swirling with endless depth. That quiet but firm matter of fact that you loved him, and a piece of you if not all of you always would, even after he’d shattered your heart on the ground carelessly. 

“Hi,” your voice is meek. Even after nearly a year, all it took was him being here, and you felt the person you’d worked so hard to build from scratch fall right apart, exposing all your old wounds and still-sensitive nerves. Before Eddie, you’d always seemed so sure of yourself.

He should walk away. He should leave you be. He should just live with what he’d done, the damage he’d inflicted, and let you continue to heal.

He can’t. “Is this seat taken?” 

You hesitate as you stare at the chair that his hand lands on the back of, and he doesn’t blame you. He isn’t sure he’d let him take that seat either. 

“No,” you answer honestly, clearly against your better judgment, “It’s… open.” 

There were a million other seats he could have taken. A plethora of empty tables he could have chosen over your currently occupied one. Hell, he could have even just walked out of there and let your soul rest. But for the life of him, he couldn’t. Because you’re here, and you’re only staring at him rather than cursing him with every foul name under the sun like he deserves, and all of the rotten parts inside of him are clawing out for your kindness. Like a child desperate for comfort, like a wounded animal taking shelter. 

He takes that seat wordlessly, and watches you slowly shift your laptop out from in between you two. 

You clear your throat first, offering that first olive branch, “How’ve you been?” 

He almost wants to wave your question off. He’s been giving a rare opportunity and almost can’t stomach the thought of wasting it on small talk.

“Good,” he forces the answer out, “We, uh- we got picked up as openers for a tour this summer.” 

We as in the band. The thing he’d put above you. He just might regret that decision for the rest of his days.

You’d had a college plan. He’d had a drop out plan. But you had still tried to fight tooth and nail for him; you'd given up a fraction of your reputation for him, a side effect of being associated with the freak, and you hadn’t even blinked an eye. It had been the bare minimum, at least in your eyes, but to him it had been a sign that he was nothing but poison for you. It went further than just the fact that you had your shit together and he didn’t. Once the first weak spot had his attention, all the fragile delicacies that your relationship hung on by did. He stopped ‘studying’ with you at Benny’s, choosing Hellfire Club over you. He always forgot to congratulate you on your accomplishments, whereas you never missed a beat in recognizing his. It was always him taking, taking, taking. He had watched you give, endlessly, over and over, and convinced himself that one day, he’d bleed you dry. He convinced yourself it was better to break your heart than to drain you for all that you were worth. He’d never considered your perspective of it all.

“That’s amazing,” you should be scathing, hurt and angry to have to hear about how the very thing he’d broken your heart over was working out for him. But you aren’t, and you both know you never could be; you were happy for him and still cheering him on, even after all the damage done between you two, “What’s the band you’re opening for?”

Stiff, cool small talk continues. Talk of this band that had so graciously taken Corroded Coffin under their wing. Discussions of the weather. Comments on the college you’d been accepted into, and confirmation you had been working on class work when he’d found you. You had a full ride. He tries to remember all the times you’d discussed your specific accomplishments that would award that, if you’d ever bragged about your GPA to him or any of the extracurricular activities you’d taken part in for a shiny bit on your applications. But he can’t recall them; maybe he had just gotten too jealous at the time, or maybe you’d been aware of the hurt it would have caused him and avoided the bragging rights. (It was the latter. God, he knows it’s the latter, but it hurts to admit it). 

It’s painful. So, so utterly and terribly uncomfortable. He once knew everything about you. The mundane things like your favorite song to belt out with the windows down, and the remarkable things like how it felt to feel your heartbeat pressed to his while his bedroom window was open on frigid November nights. He’ll never know that feeling again. He’ll never feel your breath sync with his, and he’ll never get the chance to not take for granted that serenity you’d always offered with open palms in his direction.

When the conversation dwindles and the coffee goes lukewarm, he knows it has to end. He’d replayed this scenario a million times — rehearsed his apologies and tormented himself with endings where you took him back. You’d forget the past and drop your guard as you welcomed him back into your arms. The night he should have vocalized his fears of dragging you down with him but instead claimed you were holding him back would be erased. His pride would become a caged animal who had spent enough time roaming free and wreaking havoc on the best things in his life. Everything would go back to the way it was. Everything would be okay again. In his mind, that’s how this should have gone.

It didn’t. But he could still offer at least one piece of his dress rehearsals to you, leave at least one bandage behind for the trouble he’s caused.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he stumbles out, and it’s not nearly as smooth as all the words he’d repeated to the mirror, “I’m sorry for the way things ended.” 

You’d loved him. Really, really loved him. And he’d taken it for granted, he had used it and discarded it for all it had been worth. 

He’d always known you were smart. You wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, even if that love still burrowed in the channel of your heart frozen in time, forever cursed to a loop of the December night he’d chosen to chew you up and spit you back out.

“Don’t be,” you smile sadly, and he sees the glimpse of the you that still loves him, that still wants the best for him. The piece of you that will always treat him better than he deserves, “We got everything we wanted, right? It all worked out in the end.” 

“Right.” 

His tongue is dry, almost swollen, heavy in his throat. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that no, he didn’t get everything he wanted. None of it worked out in the end. Because at the end of the day, he finds that the only thing he really wants is you, and he will never have you again. You had treated him so well, had been so damn good to and for him, and he hadn’t known what to do with himself. Some foolish part of him still believes that with the knowledge he finally holds now, he could treat you better — treat you right. But he can’t. He’ll never even get the chance. He’ll never even deserve the chance.

An exchange of goodbyes. A final glance. An acceptance that even if he locked away his pride now, it had already dug its claws into you, and the scars would always remain. 

He leaves more unspoken words in that coffee shop, at that table with you and your cold latte, than he can count. You both promise to reach out to each other more often, but you both know it won’t happen.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He never does these days. 

Repentance churns his chest, a familiar friend, and demands to be felt until he can see the sun begin to rise through the curtains of his hotel room. He swears he feels the ghost of gentle lips kissing his cheeks, whispering to come to bed, but it might just be the wind. 

There may only be a small piece of you frozen to that night and all your time together, and you may still have a possibility of thawing from the cold that he left you out in, but there is no such luxury for Eddie. He’ll always be there. Repeating words he doesn’t mean, watching tears well in your eyes as he destroys everything he’d ever wished for, setting aflame the one thing he could have done right in his life.

He writes another song about it, ignores the tear stains on the paper and adds it to the collection of all the ones that came before it. 

Across the city, your pillow matches the sheet of lyrics. Tears shed that Eddie would never be able to recognize through his own smoke and ash.

Love was never something that came easily to Eddie. Regret, on the other hand, always would — always, for as long as you exist somewhere out there, frozen in December. 

“And I think about summer, all the beautiful times when I watched you laughing from the passenger side – and realized I loved you in the fall.”

#speak now (ghost's version) #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #the power it took to resist adding any more lore than what i did #this is one of my top songs on the album fuck #no one understands how badly i wanted to add a flashback to those summer times and then the mention of fall #that's one of those lines that makes my heart ache when i hear it every single time #you know what? loosely based on real events #being told i was 'too good' and 'too smart' for someone and that's why they broke my heart really has happened to me #like cool i don't really understand but cool #ANYWAYSSSS

[avidya-musings]

Struck Too Far

Scaramouche (pre-3.3 Archon Quest) x reader

In which you, a lower-ranking Fatui, sacrifice yourself to save your lover, Scaramouche.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

cw - angst . character death (reader) . Scaramouche is still Fatui and goes by his Fatui aliases . no comfort . TW; mentions of being shot

Banner art is by Sirwicca on TikTok!

A/N: please note there may be mixed lines between 3rd and 1st person since I had to do a lot of edits (because this was originally a story with an OC in the place of the reader), so forgive me for that, I don’t think I was able to fix it all 😭

It wasn’t supposed to have come to this. That much, Scaramouche was painfully aware of.

You shouldn’t be on the floor, bleeding to death in front of him — and he shouldn’t have even been attacked. You shouldn’t have jumped in the way of the arrow meant to hit him. And yet, with a smile; innocent expression, you had gladly taken the attack in his place.

“You idiot..!” Why did he feel something wet on his face? He wasn’t crying. He never cried. “Why.. why did you..” but he can’t bear to finish his sentence. If he did, then that would mean this was real. 

He would never let it be real.  He couldn’t.

Not for his sake, but for the sake of the bloodstained person laying in front of him.. you, his lover. His light. A hand on his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. He meets your soft eyes with his own cold, anguished expression. “Better me than you,” you tell him, “the others need you, Scara. But they don’t need me.” “You’re wrong!” His voice was strained, on the edge of a hurt scream mixed with a sob. “You’re wrong, y/n, they- I-“

“‘Kuzushi.” 

Scaramouche froze. 

You never use that name with him, not unless you absolutely have to.  And it was then that it dawned on him, all too late, that there wouldn’t be any possible way to save you - why else were you calling him by his true name now?

“Kuzushi. You always told me that I should prove myself.. earn respect in a way that only I can. And for me.. it’s showing my loyalty. That’s how I’ve reached the point I’m at. By proving my loyalty.” You smile weakly, squeezing Scaramouche’s hand. “But.. I’m nothing more than a pawn in the Tsaritsa’s plan - while you are a vital asset.”

Scaramouche wanted to argue against that statement, so badly. But he also knew you were right. His life played a huge role in the Tsaritsa’s plans.  And the plain, ugly truth was that while his life was valuable to the Cryo Archon, your own life meant next to nothing to the Tsaritsa.

So instead of arguing, or yelling, he let himself sit there, numb, as he holds you in his arms while you speak - praying that there would be more time.. that he could have more time with you. It was selfish, but it was all he wanted, now, in this moment. Oh, how he regretted all the times he had pushed you away when he was in his moods. 

Time was cruel, and death was, too. 

You take in a breath, struggling now, “So, if me giving up my life means you.. you can continue to carve your legacy, then.. I don’t think I mind.” “You’re a fool, y/n.. you’re such a fool!” Scaramouche wants to yell at you so badly, call you an idiot for taking the attack meant for him, but he knows it won’t matter. 

You had always been stubborn since the day the both of you met.

“That makes you a bigger fool, then, my Balladeer..” you chuckle weakly, your life ebbing away from you, “you knew it would be this way. I always told you.. that I would give my own life to see yours through, if it came to that..” “Stop it-“ “You know I can’t..” even now, you have that soft, innocent look in your gaze. How could you act like everything would be fine when you were dying? 

He breathes in sharply, “just stop, y/n, please- just STOP!” He hates feeling that he is showing weakness, and he hates feeling vulnerable, but knowing that he is losing his partner is something he hates even more. “Please.. we have time-“

You only shake your head, “no, Kuzushi.. it hurts..”

Scaramouche lowers his head, his breath hitching in his throat. Why you? Why not some useless agent or a dispensable mage - not his lover. Not you. Not now, not when he had so much more he’d left unsaid. Again, he feels your hand on his cheek, and he looks down, his eyes softening. Something they only did for you, and you alone. “I.. I love you so much, Kuzushi-“ you cough, smiling again. That smile that Scaramouche knows he won’t see again once you’re gone. The thought makes his stomach turn. Again, he wishes his denial could be the truth, and at the same time he knows it never will be. 

The painful thing about denial is that it seldom ever becomes truth. Shaking his mind clear for the moment, he touches his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly, “I love you too, amaimono.. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.. and I’m sorry I can’t save you-“ 

You silence him with a gentle hand gripping his - your strength is fading, and he knows it’s only a matter of moments before you, his partner, will leave his side in the mortal realm. 

Scaramouche wants to tell you everything he never could bring himself to before. That your smile always made him feel safe and wanted; that your touch always brightened even his darkest days. But there wasn’t time left.

“You never did. I knew you well enough to k-know you never meant anything harsh you m-may have said..” you smile again.

And Archons, how Scaramouche hates himself, for never finding the time to apologize properly for the times he’d lashed out; to thank you for staying by his side, even when he’d take his anger out on you or hurt you with his words. He finally breaks down; the wetness on his face could only be tears and nothing else. And he lets them fall. He could care less if an agent saw him, or if another Harbinger were to berate him; fuck it all, he doesn’t care anymore. 

You are the only thing that matters now, and he continues to tell himself this - to keep talking to you before he can’t anymore, lest he regret it if he doesn’t.

“Y/n, please, I-“ he sighs, a ragged, shuddering breath as his tears still fall, even now, “I can’t do this without you.” “You did it once, my love, even when I wasn’t there..” you whisper, pulling Scaramouche’s head closer to your own with your quickly fading strength.

Your lips then ghost against Scaramouche’s, faint, desperate, but unsure.

“I’ve always had faith in you, my storm, b-because I know you’ll do amazing.. even w-without me..” your words are barely a whisper, chest heaving - you’re tired, and you’re too far gone.  Your body falls limp before you can even take another breath, and Scaramouche turns away, his eyes screwed shut. You’re gone. Y/n, his y/n, isn’t with him anymore. 

It stings, an eerie feeling; though loss was something Scaramouche knew well, now he is sure he wouldn’t forget how it felt. First had come the three betrayals, and though he knows that it was beyond your control, that you were only mortal, he still feels as though your death was yet another one. Death truly is the cruelest master, Scaramouche thinks to himself as he finally lets down his guard, sobbing over your still body. 

If only it could’ve taken him instead.

#genshin angst #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin x reader #gn reader #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #x reader angst #no beta we die like men #someone bet me I wouldn’t post an angst fic first #so I fucking did #cry with me please #I cried writing this real #leafy writes #leafy’s writing #hmmm okay but what if he went entirely batshit after we died #wouldn’t that be fun?