#imagine being happy and in love I wish they were dead oh wait they are | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

factual-fantasy · 6 months

Text

23-ish Asks! :DD Fun pictures ahead!

--!!FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS!!--

@mbm-artist @pinkbomb08 @tadssstrange

AH! Happy Halloween! Sorry I am late to respond to you trick or treaters. I have been really busy lately with a project. For your patience and for waiting at my door step for several days- I reward you with only the finest delicacies I have to offer,

Be sure to devour it all in 1 sitting ya hear? :}

@jackal-lantern @trotg2367

I have seen the FNAF movie. And I have more negative things to say than positive <XD

The positive things being, MAT PAT YEAAAAHHHH- The first spook with Bonnie following the formula of the first game was THE BEST THING EVER. I'm so glad that Markiplier was fully intended to be a part of the movie. Its a bummer that he couldn't make it but its the thought that counts. <:) (He was busy working on Iron Lung and the schedules just didn't line up. He explains it all in this stream-)

Now for the negatives. Oh boy <XD Out of order- the movie wasn't nearly as scary as I expected. I was kind'a disappointed really. That 1 tense scene with Bonnie disappearing off stage was EXCELLENT but otherwise the scares were kind'a lackluster.. I feel like the scare with Foxy running down the hall needed the added sound of his thumping foot steps getting louder as they approached. Like in the game. That would have been scarier to me and would have been a call back, like Bonnie! Although I do appreciate that it was added at all. I would have been more disappointed if there wasn't a Foxy running down the hall scene <XD

Of course I wasn't a fan of the carbon copy of Vanessa being Williams daughter for obvious lore reasons. I didn't like how much the animatronics moved and how blatantly alive they were. It took away so much of the horror for me. Also how quickly Mike just.. accepted that they were ghosts?? It took like 3 minutes to convince him. I wished they had stuck with the scares and the atmosphere of the first game. It would have been a lot scarier to me that way. Also not even mentioning the missed scare of someone opening one of their stomachs and finding a dead child all disfigured and crammed inside..

Also the animatronics looked FANTASTIC, although.. considering that Freddy's has been shut down for a while. Wouldn't they be a bit more worn? Like, they're in mint condition. While the building around them is in shambles and dirty. You could say Vanessa has been keeping up the maintenance, but I still think they'd show some age.. also missed opportunity to make them scarier by making them look like the withers! Bonnie's face falling off to show a disfigured childs face behind?? Dude the missed potential!

I also don't like the inclusion if Springtrap for lore reasons. That happens later! Also WHY is the Spring Bonnie suit all worn and messed up? That happens AFTER he gets spring locked! People would still know its William/Springtrap without making the suit already worn and old- GAAHHH! I could ramble on and on about all the stupid little nit picks I have about this movie. I have been a fan for a long time and had high expectations. But that doesn't mean I should rip this movie to shreds.

I gotta stop looking at all the down sides and really focus on the things I loved. The animatronics looked amazing, they were perfect. Especially Foxy. The inclusion/intended inclusion of Mat Pat, Markiplier and Cory(?) was wonderful. And a total surprise to me! The movie wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. It definitely wasn't as bad as it could have been. And for that I am grateful.

Overall I give ittt.... mmmm, a 5-6 out of 10..? <:D

Over the span of 10 years? Yeah.. likely 100s.. :(

I kind'a imagined the mirrors as like.. pressing the walls of two timelines/AUs together and poking a hole through them. There isn't really a space in between, its like a doorway. Now that's not to say that those void spaces don't exist- I'm just saying that how I imagined Jevil mirrors to work.

Could poking those metaphorical holes in the walls of an AU be more.. literal? Could Jevil going in and out of an AU multiple times eventually harm it in someway? Who knows.. Jevil would rather not dwell on it <XD

You're right on the money pal. All of Jevils food is given to Seam. He wont eat unless Seam has eaten. He wont sleep unless Seam is already asleep. He cant sleep when he tries but still All their new clothes and blankets go right to Seam. If they're camping out in the woods? Jevil will stay awake the whole night to keep the fire going.

Its really hard for Seam to see Jevil like this. Seam tries really hard to cover up when he's uncomfortable or unwell. He tries to keep up an image and tries to reassure Jevil that he's alright. But sometimes he just cant. Sometimes he's so hungry he's doubled over in pain with tears welling in his eye. Sometimes he's aching so much that he cant move. Sometimes he's so cold he loses feeling in his hands and feet..

He cant hide it then. And he cant convince Jevil that he needs to eat too. That he needs sleep too. Its really hard for the both of them..

Thaaaat would not work for my Seam <XD

My Seam is more of an organic creature rather than a stuffed doll. Cutting off his hands would just cause him to bleed. A lot. And without a powerful Darkener that can heal, I don't know if they could be reattached-

Peach/Mario and Daisy/Luigi are like, the ONLY exceptions I can think of. Both of those pairings are like, 99% canon/heavily suggested. If not just straight up canon.

Also unlike other ships/canon stuff, I really like those two pairings. I think they're neat :}

Its hard to say who had the worse punishment. I mean, suffering is suffering. And if you asked Seam, he'd say Jevil suffered more. And if you asked Jevil he'd say Seam suffered more. I guess its a matter of what you think is worse.

Jevil was locked away for years, by his own best friend. That magical aura that used to be his only comfort was now oppressing him. He was locked away with no contact with anyone for years. Except maybe occasionally King would venture down there and beat him up. Just to make Seam upset or becuase he just felt like it.

He was alone for years. It was dark, cold, and maddening. Always on the edge of starving and living in fear everyday that King would come back and beat him up again. His best friend had betrayed him.. yet he was still scared for Seam. He was all alone up there. Who knows how the King is treating him.. it was horrible..

Then you have Seam. Forced between a rock and a hard place. He betrayed his best friend and has lived with the crushing guilt ever since. He tried to visit Jevil to apologize, to explain himself- but he was caught.

His eye was gouged out and his mouth stitched shut. His neck and wrists were bound by shackles. He did his very best to bend to the Kings will. In hopes that King would not hurt him. But it was never enough. Seam suffered constant abuse by the King for years. The shackles drained his energy but he was still required to preform for the King. Its like King was toying with him, trying to see how far he would bend before breaking.

It took Jevil disappearing from his cell to break him. Seam thought that Jevil had died. His best friend. Who he had wronged and locked away, just died. All alone in a cell that he made.

As if it couldn't get worse. King accused him of letting Jevil go. And he was going to be punished for it. With Jevil dead, and a no doubt horrible punishment awaiting him.. there was nothing left to live for.. so he tried to.. well. You know..

Thankfully Jevil showed up just in time and got them both out of there! Ahahahahh aaaa <:DDDD Yeahh,,,,

Yes! Exactly! :D I go off the idea that Undertale and Deltarune are the "original" timelines. And everyone from my AU is from some kind of offshoot of those two timelines.

The chains don't make him sick to his stomach thankfully. But they do make him weaker in every way. His immune system is weakened, so he's more vulnerable to catching viruses.

His energy is also completely sapped. He feels sore and hungry all the time. He likely deals with back and shoulder pain due to the neck shackle and having to hold up his arms all the time.. :(

As much as Asgore might want to give that wretched King a piece of his mind.. Asgore isn't a fool. If he ever encountered the King, his immediate goal would be to get himself, and the rest of the group as far away from him as possible.

He didn't mistake him for another Spade King no,, but Seam and Jevil immediately noticed his royal vibe/appearance and was rather unsettled.. :{

@neojet280

Awww, the gang take big sleepies :}}

Grillby does eventually come around and apologize for beatin up Jevil. Jevil is quick to forgive him and states there's no hard feelings. :}

Thankfully Jevil does end up fully healing with minimal to no scarring. The burns looked pretty bad but Jevil was only held for a few seconds. Plus Darkeners probably heal differently so I'd like to say he ended up just fine :} 👍

I wasn't able to find the sketches I made of this--

But what I had in mind was DA was like this giant flat sun/moon with 2 white gloved, disembodied hands. He looks like this basically-

He is attached to the ceiling/walls and probably roams around playing music and monitoring everything. His personality is somewhat the same but he's more mellow and relaxed. He runs the arcade naturally.

I pictured DJMM looking like my Glamrock DJ but clown themed maybe? His proportions could be different and maybe his face is changed up a bit.. but overall its just DJ as a clown and he runs the daycare. His personality is mostly the same but he's more energetic.

@tallchest13-blog

XD I'm thinking that King will get what's coming to him eventually..

(Also thank you so much! :}})

The sad part about that is Seam isn't even that old. He's maybe in his 40-50s I imagined. He just looks so much older because all the stress and abuse has really weighed him down/aged him.. :'(((

Almost,, but no. Typically a generational gap is measured by 15-20 years. I imagined that the age gap between Seam and Jevil to be around 10-15 years or so..? So not quite intergenerational. :/

@soft-kachan

That miiiiiight make his grief worse..? I'm no expert on grief thankfully- but I imagine having a plushie that looks like your dead child miiiight stunt the healing process..?

What Grillby needs is to heal and move on from those deaths. So maybe not a plush of his child, but just a plush of something in general? Something that he can hold/hug when he needs too. If not that maybe Seam could make use of that fire proof fabric and make him some new clothes? 👀

@petra-creat0r

AAAAAA THANK YOUU SO MUCH!!!! 💗💗😭🍤💗

A while ago I actually drew what I imagine true swap Vanessa to look like! :}

Short-ish blonde hair that's tied up in a ponytail, purple Bonnie sweater and maybe bowling ally friendly yellow sneakers? Bandages on the face and baggy socks, all what you'd expect.

Now for Gregory I imagined his hair is cut neat and short. Maybe he's totally clean shaven as well. He's unusually neat and spiffy.. Almost like he's trying to keep up a clean and organized image..? 👀

His backstory will probably be similar/the same as Vanessa's. And his costume will probably be based off Fredbear instead of Spring Bonnie. Not sure what his other name would be though.. 🤔

@beryl-shade

This post I made talks all about Grillby's color changes and what they mean. So I'll take a snip bit of it! :}

If its hard to read the TLDR is that he's sad and burning very hot. :( Though the Deltarune AU Grillby is less "I'm sad :( I burn hotter now" and more "I am overcome with grief and have completely lost control of my body" :x

#my response #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #fnaf security breach #undertale #deltarune #seam and jevil #tw abuse #tw descriptions of gore #tw descriptions of abuse #tw gore #do not tag seam and jevil as ship #tw mentions of suicide #These asks were really fun to answer #I love all the questions about my deltarune au it makes my heart happy :}}}

200 notes · View notes

natelia-aldelliz · 1 year

Text

Guys imagine, Roach died, before the creation of 141, but Soap is able to see his ghost. He was originally following Ghost around, really annoyed that he was using his death as an excuse to not get close to anyone, but when he found out Soap could see him and talk to him he started following him around instead.

And they get really close, like two peas in a pod, except they have to be discreet about it because no one else can see or hear Roach, and they'd think Soap was crazy if they saw him talking to no one.

They use that for shenanigans too: Roach will go follow someone else and report back to Soap, Gaz is genuinely starting to believe Soap has superpowers or something. It's really useful on missions as well, and Soap managed to successfully rescue team members thanks to Roach being able to move through walls and everything.

(Roach is not the only ghost Soap is able to see btw, just the only one he's talking to.)

And then Roach is witnessing his past lover trying really hard to not fall in love with Soap, and Soap trying really hard to not do anything about the love he already feels, and he has to try and convince Soap that he is dead. During that conversation he finds out that something else that keeps Soap from doing something is that he feels very confused about everything because he also has feeling for Roach.

So now Roach has to try and convince him that even if he was still alive he wouldn't have a problem with that. He's known for a while that he was polyamorous, but he hadn't really dared talking to Ghost about that because he thinks he's jealous and possessive.

And Soap is like "oh yeah, you want me to go say to Ghost 'don't worry about your dead lover that I'm not supposed to know, he's actually polyamorous and also in love with me, I know because his ghost told me!' ??? I'm sure he's gonna take that well!"

But Roach is nothing if not resourceful and he manages to put Soap in situations where he's forced to interact with Ghost, and eventually they kiss and their relationship is beginning to be something. They're not really sure what.

And Roach is sad, because he has to watch the two men he loves being in love without him, yes, but at least they're both happy, and it makes him feel a bit better. And then during a mission Ghost almost dies.

Because he was alone and Soap and Gaz were together, Roach was following Ghost this time, ready to fly to Soap in an instant if there was any problems. But there was and he didn't have time, so he instinctively grabbed the gun being pointed towards Ghost's head and moved it as the person was shooting, saving Ghost's life, giving him enough time to shoot the enemy himself.

But even as the threat is eliminated, Ghost is still looking up from where he's on the ground, staring right through him, looking shocked. No, not right through him, he realises when he moves to the side and Ghost's eyes follow him. He also realises that he grabbed the gun. He's never grabbed anything before, in all his years of being a ghost.

Then suddenly Ghost's eyes move wildly around, and he figures he disappeared from his view. He can still go through the walls, but he's kept the ability to grab stuff when he wants. It gives him a ton of new possibilities, to fuck with people and, of course, to touch Soap.

"I wish you were actually alive," Soap whispers to him, holding his hands against his face as he's falling asleep.

"What the fuck," comes Ghost's voice the next morning, waking both of them up - wait, since when could Roach sleep?

Soap doesn't understand immediately, because he's always been able to see Roach. But Ghost is standing in the door, looking straight at dead past lover.

Turns out Soap is a necromancer and he had no idea, though the whole 'I can see dead people' should probably have told him sooner that he wasn't normal... The more he wishes Roach is alive, the more he actually is. And they all end up happy and together. And Gaz is very happy to have won the bet that Soap indeed has superpowers.

The day Roach says, in a wondering voice, "I... I think I'm hungry" is the day they understand that something is really happening and he's actually coming back to life.

(Also, Soap has no control at all on his abilities, he has no idea what does what and why, he knows nothing. No one knows.)

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #soapghost #ghostsoap #roachsoap #ghostroach #ghostsoaproach #accidental necromancer soap and ghost roach au #this is not organised at all bc my head has been hurting for days and i feel like i'm dying (i'm being overly dramatic don't worry)#this came to me when i was watching megamind don't ask me why #anyway i can't even read that again bc the words make no sense to me when my head hurts so sorry if it actually makes no sense for real lol #omg imagine ghost being interrogated bc someone reported him for sleeping with soap and he goes 'do i sleep with my sergeant?#yes i do but i don't only sleep with one of my sergeants i actually sleep with two of them; one having been dead for 4 years'#and they go 'dead as in... pronounced dead but actually alive?' 'no no dead as in actually dead as in buried; dead dead'#'so you *were* sleeping with him in the past?' 'no i am currently sleeping with him. with both of them.'#and then price has to gaslight sooo hard to make it all right they're literally taking years off his lifespan #and when he complains they giggle at him saying that it's alright bc soap will bring him back anyway if he dies for their sins

517 notes · View notes

smallraindrops-blog · 2 years

Text

Falling Sand

Word count: 1k

Morpheus x GN!reader (light, pre-relationship)

Fandom: the sandman

Summary: reader haven’t slept in a while.

Warnings: no beta, some possible spoilers, non-canon

Notes: some people collect stamps, k-pop stars or lovecraftian horrors. I collect gods of sleep appearly. Still watching the show but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone.

Enjoy!

Now with Part Two!

You haven’t slept in days when he found you.

At first you weren’t sure what you were looking at. It was a man but the way he carried himself, the icy stare he gave you as you slowly rose from your overflowing desk. You could actually feel the bags under your eyes.

Sleep was but a dream. One you gave up freely. And this beautiful man, whoever he might be, was no man. When you were a child you saw the painting by Alexandre Cabanel, of the fallen angel. And Michaelanglo’s David. Their perfect beauty was flawed and ugly compared to the being in front of you.

“I’ve been looking for you. you were surprisingly hard to find.” He said, his voice low. You chuckled, amused for a reason not even you understood.

“Oh?” You waved toward your kitchen, toward the nectar that awaited you in the coffeemaker. “Well, come along.” You didn’t bother to check to see if he followed you.

You weren’t convinced that you weren’t imagining him anyway.

You luckily found some clean mugs in the dishwasher and promptly got to work for your caffeine fix. Your guest glanced around the messy kitchen then to a very messy kitchen table. His mouth- his entirely too pink, entirely too distracting mouth- was pursed in disapproval.

You tore your eyes away from his beauty, blinked heavily as you watched the coffee maker. You might be sleeping at your desk, he was simply too lovely to be real.

“Well, do you want to tell me why you are here, darling?” You asked then grimaced when you realized you used a pet name. You sounded just like your mother or that old landlady.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” He said as the smell of coffee filled the space. You waited for him to say more but he didn’t.

You sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to be easy to talk to. Nor did you know his name.

“Darl- no, please tell me you got a name.” You said, pouring the steaming hot coffee into the mugs. One of them had a chip in the rim so you kept that one for yourself. You did have some manners after all.

Finally, he spoke that rich voice of his. “Morpheus. Some call me Dream.”

“Well, you are pretty enough to be a dream.” The words slipped out but you shook your head, already trying to take them back. “Sorry. Forget I said that. Haven’t been sleeping.”

“Yes, I know. That is why I am here.”

You eyed the sugar, and only added a little bit but went heavy for the cream. Something about Morpheus told you he was a cream man.

You placed the mug in front of him and took a deep sip of your own drink with a happy sigh.

Then you made yourself look at Morpheus. He really was beautiful, like a greek god come to life and you wished you could paint with oil because anything else would be an insult.

To his credit, he took the drink but didn’t take a sip. Oh well more for you later. You told yourself very firmly you didn’t notice how slender and graceful his hands looked around the mug.

“You know that doesn’t tell me anything. Why should you care about some rando’s sleep schedule?” you asked, rubbing a thumb along the mug’s rim.

“Anyone else would be dead by now. You don’t even have the sickness, you are choosing to do this.” Morpheus said in a perplexed tone. His mouth almost in a pout and you resisted the urge to reach over and press a thumb on that tempting mouth of his.

You blinked, taking in his words. Then you gave him a easy shrug, “I need to understand exactly what my patients are going through. Otherwise what use am I?”

“Not going to be much use when sleep deprived or dead.” Morpheus repiled tartly. He sounded just like a frustrated partner or parent.

You laughed, taking another sip before sitting down in the chair. For some reason, your whole body felt heavy. Like something warm and soft was dragging you down. For a moment, you thought of lovers tangled together in sleep warm blankets and moonlight.

“I do plan to sleep at some point but…” you frowned, realizing you lost your train of thoughts. They slipped away from you, like sand between fingers. “I…”

A hand landed on yours, warmed by the coffee and untangled your fingers from the mug’s handle. You made a protesting sound but words failed you. You tried to pull away but your whole body was slumping, giving into the weight.

Morpheus shushed you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Come along now.” His voice had changed. The timber of it was still rich but now it was lulling. Hypnotic.

“You need to sleep. You are doing good work, it would be a shame if something happens to that mind of yours.” Morpheus said, guiding you to your bedroom. You shook your head, and slurred out.“Jerk.”

Morpheus actually chuckled, deep and quiet and you liked that sound way too much.

You don’t remember falling into your bed. What you did remember was how Morpheus actually pulled up the blanket around your chin, of slim fingers running once though your hair. Your eyes closed but you weren’t sleeping yet. Rather you existed for a moment between the waking world and dream world. Painfully aware of your mind even as you lose hold of your body.

“Sleep, mortal. Your duties await you.” Morpheus said gently. You tried to resist for a little bit longer.

“Will I get to see you again?” You slurred out. You thought you sounded like a child. You wondered if Morpheus would agree. It hasn't been a full hour since you met this being but you already wanted to know his thoughts on this, on everything, on you.

“Sleep.” He ordered, his rich voice still gentle.

And with a quiet sigh, you gave in, letting the weight pull you under like quicksand. You thought you felt fingertips against your forehead but you were already too far gone.

You slept.

#The sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x reader

1K notes · View notes

stinkyme · 5 months

Text

I know I said I will take a small break, but my heart won't remain still if I don't say this somewhere. I watch more and more videos about Palestine and every single one makes me cry and some comments make me angry. I am so angry and I can't even do anything about it, so, I figured to just put it out here.

I just saw a video about children who keep their hands close now when it's raining so they can get some water because Israel cut their water supplies off.

I've seen a man carrying his two children's remains in plastic bags, the same ones we use to pack our groceries in. With the hand falling out of the same bag. I've seen a woman, a mother hugging her dead child in the smallest white bag, gently kissing their forehead and whispering the words no mother should whisper while she is alive.

They say "we are NOT the victim...oh sorry! we ARE the victim!", they say "they are innocent...oh sorry! they are NOT innocent!" yet, some people keep supporting Israel. If you take a look at a lot of news, they all use the EXACT same speech, EXACT same words and push the EXACT same agenda.

I know to some this seems like a simple product of genocide. Have you ever met a mother who lost a child? I have.

My classmates and I have buried our high school classmate alongside their mother and family. You know what she said to us? She said, and I quote "every moment I hope they will wait for me at home and ask me what's for lunch." while hugging my classmate's picture. Can you imagine the heartbreak of having to hope that your child will come back, but they never ever will? Yet, some have the guts to support Israel due to 40 babies that there is no proof of. It's even proved wrong. They even say they have no proof.

Do you know how much starving hurts? I do. And I don't wish on anyone to know how much it hurts and how awful it feels. And for them to experience all of it, starvation and death and amputations and burns and absolute sadism, yet to keep on smiling and taking care of each other proves to you who and how strong Palestinian people are.

Do you know what's beneath Palestine? Oil. Do you know how much oil is worth? A lot. Do you know what happens when you kill or forcefully make people leave their land? You take the oil and share it with your beloved US and other supporters. So, you can't tell me that this is Israel "defending itself" from Palestine. Defending how? From what? 40 imaginery babies? By airstriking HOSPITALS and AMBULANCE CARS for CIVILANS? Palestine has no defense or military that can defend them, all people in Palestine are civilans. Only people who defend them are journalists and their only weapon are words.

They don't even have proper food to eat. Their bakeries are bombed. Ruined.

I have seen a female doctor screaming how their blood isn't any cheaper. It's not. Their blood isn't any cheaper, any less worthy than yours. Their blood doesn't deserve to be spilled.

I have seen children speak of their dreams. To become a pilot, another pilot, a doctor, another pilot, a lawyer, a teacher, a best man. All politely waiting for their turn, all smiling and being happy for each other. I have seen children crying and breaking down when asked what would they say to their fathers who died. One couldn't speak, only looked down and cried. Other one said how she wishes to tell him "I love you and I miss you, bye.", third one was also hesitant to speak, but he said he loves his father. They know only love and love was ripped away from them by a selfish, sadistic genocide.

My country was bombarded by NATO in the 90's and it wasn't half as bad as Palestine. But I know how many dreams bombing here stole. I know a child who was on her toilet and bomb hit her. She died. I know how many dreams were stolen and I know that our country still pays the price of that.

So imagine Palestine. Imagine their future just for a moment, yet they keep fighting and believing. So why can't you?

I have seen a mother speaking about how her children ask what it feels like to be hit by a bomb. Does it hurt? Is it immediate death? Or is it suffering? She and her husband had to explain that to them. To not worry, they are all together when they used to say how it will pass and it will be okay.

Bomb doesn't necesseraly kills you immediately. It can rip away parts of your body, give you insane burns, ruin your lungs. Which all results in suffering and very slow and painful death. I have seen a boy who died like that. His whole body was absolutely ruined by burns, later on, he died. The worst thing is, him dying was him receiving mercy given the condition their hospitals are in.

So, to all of the people who support Israel - fuck you.

I have seen a neighbour holding a little boy's hand, trying to soothe the pain of his due to losing his whole family. Can you imagine the fear, the dread of having your whole family killed in an instant? No time to grieve, no grave to go to. No way to say goodbye, no benefit of having a decent burial filled with respect and love.

I have heard about a boy getting hit by the bomb and having his brain and head exploding all over the place.

A doctor who said how he became a doctor to help his people, not to run away. Asking what kind of doctor would he be if he turned away from his people. He died.

Seeing wall writings saying how life hasn't been kind to them. How world doesn't love them. How they kicked their mother's stomach for 9 months only to live like this.

Be aware of which celebrities you support too. You may have different ideas than them, but ultimately, be aware of who you support because yes, their music/films/shows/etc. can be separated from them, but their actions or lack of actions can't.

To "spiritual" people who "don't want to bring their vibe down by talking about genocide" - shut the fuck up. Does this bring your vibe down? Genocide lowers your vibrations and gets in the way of your manifestations? Damn. Talk about self-centered. Talk about being uneducated. Talk about not knowing your own beliefs too. Educate.

I have seen a woman talking about "if you support palestine, you should call a ceasefire" and getting shushed by the whole room, getting recorded, received people clicking their tongues and showing overall annoyance by her sentence.

I will never forget the screams of children, men and women, fathers and mothers either from the pain they were in or from the fact they lost their families.

Regardless, I hope you speak up about Palestine and if you support Israel, I hope you get change of a heart and mind. If you keep on supporting Israel, you are a scum, simple as that. An uneducated, ignorant, sadistic, disgusting scum. To anyone who says "it's not good for my mental health" - I empathize with the fact that it can get hard. I know that empathy without a break is just going to make it worse. So, take a break, take a breather, take some time for yourself.

But once you feel good enough again - post about it. Say something.

To people who are "neutral" - no, you are uneducated. Read a book. There are sources in my pinned post. Either uneducated or simply disinterested in anything that doesn't hurt you which is equally bad.

To all the christians who remain silent, I hope you know there are christian Palestinians too. They are almost all gone. If your religion forbids you to speak up about a genocide which, if you know your bible, you would know that's not the case and what to do and what to say. Speak up. Speak the fuck up.

So, please keep talking about Palestine, please keep supporting them.

I don't understand how some people can't. I wish I could do so much more for them. Sometimes, I just wish to be able to rip my heart out so all of my prayers can be heard, so those people get some peace. I wish for them to get all the future, the opportunities, everything that's good. I wish for them to have all of their dreams come true. I wish for them to survive, to not lose themselves. I can't explain the utter desire I have for them to be okay and how angry I am that some people don't feel the same way as I do.

I am angry, I am beyond angry. I truly wish, with every cell in my being, for them to be okay. And I foolishly hope that my thoughts and prayers will be heard and that this will come to an end soon, but I will keep on doing so. They have my whole heart and soul. I won't give up on them and please, don't let yourself give up on them either. Please keep talking about Palestine.

Talk about Palestine until it's free again and even then, don't stop supporting them. Take into the consideration that they are giving you their traumas, grief, deaths, dreams - everything. They are sharing it all with the world, so listen. Listen and learn. Listen and share. Listen and speak. Listen and understand. Listen and change. Listen and love.

Keep on boycotting, I promise you that you will survive without mc donalds or starbucks.

I just want to hug every single person in Palestine, I wish to be able to take all of their pain away. I wish to be able to give them everything they need and I feel so guilty for not being able to.

I wish for Plestia to publish a book just like she desires. I wish for all of those children to become everything they want to become in life. I wish for them to have peace.

I feel so annoyed and helpless and unhelpful. I truly hope this comes to an end soon, I am praying with my whole being.

Sometimes I wish I was able to give them my own life just to take all of their pain and suffering away, I wish to give them all of my luck, all of my chances, everything. They deserve it all and I am so angry with the world right now. I hate the world right now, but seeing some of them smile while making pizza by using coal oven made me a little bit happier. I wish for you to have many more beautiful pizzas and all the food your heart desires. I wish for you to continue smiling and to survive. I wish for you to get peace and achieve your dreams. I am always rooting for Palestinians and my whole heart is with them.

#from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free palestine #palestine #if you support israel fuck you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#all people who support israel are the same scum as them

43 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 10 months

Note

I've hopped on major angst train, which is sad, but someone has to make yall sad after tooth-rotting fluff, hehe hehe, but I saw HC of some harbingers reacting to their s/o being executed by Raiden and it gave me an idea

Basically, imagine Harbingers causing their s/o's near death experience with their actions

Such as: Childe's s/o almost dying when Osial attacked Liyue. Look, he was sure you're in safety, but in reality? You're too much of a kind soul, so you were helping people to save themselves, while also putting yourself in danger. Maybe you almost drowned from Osial's attacks or got caught in crossfire, either way you almost died

Scara's s/o being targeted by Fatui after Scara himself ran away with Gnosis. No matter how hard he tries to hide then away, Fatui never forget and forgive traitors. They won't calm down until they get both of you. You might be strong, maybe even a vision holder, but it's not enough...

Or his s/o being a Harbinger and the one who dies in Tenshukakku. Imagine him interrupting your duel with Traveler and escaping together. Scara curses you for being an idiot, but he's actually so so happy he made it in time.

Or... If he was a few seconds late and arrived to witness your death. I imagine that after he erased himself from Irminsul and regained his memories, the first thing Scara did - checked what happened to you, but reader is still dead

WTF ANON I'M IN TEARS 😭😭 Childe would be the most hurt definitely. He was reluctant to awaken Osial in the first place because getting regular people involved wasn't his style. So when he sees you hurt because of his actions he can't help but feel terrible. After helping you recover with the best of doctors he may even try to leave you. Not because he doesn't love you but because he genuinely can't bear to see you hurt, especially because of his line of work. He can't quit the Fatui, but he can still protect you... just in the shadows this time :(

Well for Scara... man that'd be scary lol. To be on the run for that long. He hopes that when he becomes a God, the Fatui will no longer be able to threaten you since one does not dare to challenge a God. But you get hurt anyway :( And he's absolutely enraged of course and wishes he could leave the robot to kill the person himself. But this just encourages him to hurry up and ascend to godhood already. Though when that fails he can't help but feel a bit helpless. Since now you are the one taking care of him, but at least Nahida has taken you under her protection as well. After he erases himself from Irminsul though, hopefully things change and the Fatui are no longer after you, since he no longer exists. And that is a price he is willing to pay for your safety.

Oh boy. He'd tell you to not go near the Raiden Shogun under any circumstances but you were dragged into it anyway. When he can't find you at the agreed meeting place he instantly knows where you've gone and for once he feels panic. This Raiden Shogun was not Ei, she has no mercy. But he has no problem confronting her anyway. Seeing the Traveler's shocked but irritated expression was also a treat. I wonder if the Raiden Shogun (puppet) would recognize him? I'm not sure if it was stated in-game. (Can't believe it's been 2 years since Inazuma 😭)

Scara would wonder if the Gnosis was really worth your death (it wasn't he finds out very quickly) + despise his creator so much more than he already did. He can only hope that he'll meet you again one day, and that you'd forgive him for his idiocy.

Can't wait to add Arlecchino to this list😧🧍‍♀️Focalors doesn't seem like the Archon to play around tbh😭 I've been really thinking about why the Oceanids don't like her...

#smooches talks #why does angst hurt so good tho #childe love notes <3 #scaramouche love notes <3 #la signora with the last scenario too🚶‍♀️ she'd be heartbroken #her two lovers dead 😭#*sigh* childe my love i miss u bb

40 notes · View notes

jojojoy1 · 1 year

Text

Prompt list:

"Crushing hard, huh?"

"It's obvious you like them."

"Because I love you, you idiotic mufflehead!"

"You are breathtaking."

"Come back to bed."

"Y'know, it's okay to cry."

"You deserve so much better."

"Your eyes are beautiful."

"You'll be the death of me."

"Bring your pretty little butt over here."

"Can I kiss you?"

"Would you stop that, I'm busy."

"Marry me."

"It's always been you."

"I'll drive you home."

"Are you bleeding?"

"You have soft hands."

"Are you tired?"

"You are everything to me."

"You're a terrible driver."

"A kiss for good luck?"

"Did you do all this.... for me?"

"I can't keep kissing strangers and pretending that they're you."

"You could have died."

"Do you regret it?"

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Is somebody jealous?"

"I've moved on."

"Would you have said yes?"

"That is the dumbest excuse I have ever heard."

"You're blushing."

"Is that my shirt?"

"I'll keep doing this until you smile."

"I thought you were dead."

"I think we need to talk."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'll be right over."

"You're mine, understood?"

"Fuck, I'm so wasted."

"God, I hate you."

"I can't imagine a day without you nor would I want to."

"I'm pregnant."

"Wow, babe, you look amazing."

"I can't believe I got to marry you."

"I think that's enough."

"We'll get through this together."

"I love you."

"You look stunning."

"I just came to drop this off."

"Have you seen my hoodie?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm sorry."

"I lost the baby."

"Get a room!"

"Do you guys have to be so lovey dovey in public?"

"You really love them, don't you?"

"I've never seen you so happy."

"The bump's starting to show."

"You didn't have to do that."

"We're having a baby?"

"Will you marry me?"

"I've loved you since we were kids."

"How long?"

"I'm just happy to see you happy."

"Well done."

"I'm so proud of you."

"I just came by to pick my stuff up."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Happy anniversary."

"I wanted to suprise you."

"Do you like it?"

"Congratulations."

"I've never stopped loving you."

"It's not the same without you."

"I wish you were here."

"Come with me."

"You've still got it?"

"I still remember the moment I first saw you."

"Love a first sight."

"Did you just quote Taylor Swift?"

"What you gonna do about it?"

"Is that blood?"

“Oh no, I’m definitely angry. I just don’t have time to yell at you right now.”

“I love you, and that’s why i can’t subject you to the kind of judgement that us being together will bring you.”

“I can hardly wait to put a ring on that finger.”

“If we weren’t in public right now…”

“You know, I prefer you naked, but that dress also looks breathtaking on you.”

“Can I braid your hair?”

“I’ll take it that you like what you see.”

“Your hand feels much better than my own.”

“Tonight was just perfect.”

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, you’re such a tease!”

"Tell me what I can do to make you stay. What I can say, so you won't leave. I need to know how I can fix this!"

“I know you hate being sick, but you need to let me care for you.”

“You don’t have to be so brave when you’re with me.”

"I just can't let you go. Please, don't make me try to make you stay."

“Morning cuddles are the best part of the day.”

“I will always love you. Even when you’re old and wrinkly.”

“Does he not know that we’re together?"

“You look so good beneath me.”

“Louder. Let me hear you.”

“Let me see those eyes.”

“I can kiss you forever.”

“This is my first date, so please excuse any awkwardness on my part.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.”

“You look like you want to devour them.” “Shut the fuck up, that is so not true.”

"you're gonna get lipstick all over me"

“you’ve been tossing and turning for the last forty minutes. what’s up?”

#dialogue prompt #writing dialogue #character dialogue #writing prompts #writing #creative writing #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #wednesday x reader

57 notes · View notes

mariamariquinha · 1 year

Text

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Twelve

Summary: Javier thought, brutally honest: the fuck you think you’re kidding?

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Brief allusion to sex, dead bodies (kinda gore), violence, torture, angst, feeling of inadequacy, people smoking, gun mention and... cop work? 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: In the middle of a lot of shitty things, I was able to finish editing. Am I happy with this? Maybe. I know that at some point I looked at what I was doing and liked it, so I decided to not change my mind because I’m not that reliable these days - when it comes to accept by achievements. There’s a few political comments, mostly my opinion, so beforehand I warn: I hate captalism.

Oh, and that gif was a choice because... Yeah. It’s small, discreet, but that interaction will do some good in the future. Keep that in mind!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

You were a cynic - that was both a curse and a relief. A relief, yes, because with that lifestyle, the best way of going through most of your shit was being resilient, added to a big dose of an anesthetized sense of reality. A curse, yes, because it was like you became a numb thing, acting by intuition even in moments where you should just be more… normal.

It wasn't like you could blame your father, but it sure as hell wasn't something that came from your mother's side. She would definitely have a more genuine and less furtive response to whatever happened inside that office, even if you knew exactly what Carrillo’s words meant.

Because Carrillo used to talk once.

With deliberate honesty.

You wish you could speak to her, rely on her. Suddenly it had been so long since you walked to her house, talked about your day and the plans for the weekend. Suddenly it all felt too much to handle - the violence, the traps, the long nights, the responsibility. In your moments of calm, spaced and almost non-existent, there were figures that hovered in your imagination and that, despite being equally disturbed by what that life had in store, still made you more innocently accommodated.

Running on the beach. Drinking that good coffee from across the street. Repeating the same things to Mrs. Jackson because, again, she thought you were that girl who used to sell her cigarettes during the 40s.

It was as if all the control that kept you from smoking your cigarettes or the patience for your morning jogs had gone down the drain, just because Carrillo assumed a truth that made you as afraid as if Juan Marcos had put that knife in your jugular.

Nobody talked about it. You went back to that room as if nothing had happened, lit a cigarette and went back to your papers; Javier and Steve maintained silence for nearly an entire hour, perhaps deciding whether to keep things as they were or whether to be more combative. Your head went back and forth with the sound of Carrillo's voice saying those things, all mixed up with the jumble of useless information that you had to review because you weren’t fucking paying attention. No one wanted to open up a hornet's nest of problems for an unofficial case in that environment so inhospitable for such indulgences.

You looked up at the sound of a glass being placed on your table - Peña poured three fingers of whiskey and that was as close as the three of you came to a resolution. Silence, then it would be. Temporary consent, in other words.

You couldn't be more grateful for the team you had there.

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

“How are you feeling?”

Murphy was always comfortable being in the background as a listener - he knew himself well, he knew he needed to preserve as much stability as he could for Connie, so he avoided getting mixed up with Javier's shit or your shit, unless it had to do with work. Still, that day, a couple of weeks after that happened, Steve waited for the right moment to make his notes known, before Javi could arrive for work or anyone else entered the office.

At that moment, everything was a complete mess. Things were nothing short of heated with all that hunting for the golden eggs, with a lot of people dying and even more dead ends. Your father took your peace. You readily offered not to attend meetings with Carrillo if you could avoid it, and you even got offensive to Messina in one of her bureaucratic inconveniences.

“Well, if you’re so worried about it, you should ask him. I’m not inside his head.”

And you remembered how Javier and Steve hid the urge to laugh, even though they were equally worried about the consequences of that comment. Fortunately, nothing happened, and afterwards it became a reason for relaxation between you.

Which wasn't the same with Horacio.

He lived up to his word and wouldn't make your presence more than a mere inconvenience to his routine. At cluster meetings, he gave direct comments about the work and it was strange not to have any bickering sessions between you two - even if that didn't lessen the discomfort. Sometimes he would flex his fists when he heard you talk and stand back while watching you show him something on the satellite maps. Javier would look at you from the corner, Steve would watch Carrillo; sometimes they switched.

You didn't think any of that was fair. In the letters, you mentioned this to your mother and she said that it was up to you to make that decision: about how you were going to take it all forward and whether you could keep the man in his own torture. She knew, however, that it was also torture for you. That you missed the nights you spent together, the escapades at work, the way he touched you. It was too soon and too pathetic to mention feelings like 'love' or 'infatuation' or… whatever. You two were too skeptical for that. The company made everything more bearable, just as Javier had the girls and Steve had Connie. You and Carrillo didn't have anyone; or at least you didn’t. Juliana was still there for him. Always have, as it seemed.

Maybe, deep down, that was what bothered you the most - knowing that he had a past connection and that it was easy, in a way, to take the initiative to go for the easier, more comfortable side. You couldn’t provide him that. None of it, to be honest.

“... It happens, right? With the best and the worst of us. In the end, this is all kind of fucked up.”

You knew that in other circumstances (maybe in another life) Steve would be more reticent about this, more traditionalist. He was the type. So you didn't show much more than muttering under your breath and taking another drag on your cigarette as you continued to sit on that cheap leather couch, the morning sun scorching your back a little.

It took you a moment to answer something - when you did, you saw that he looked uneasy, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I’m fine.”

“You just make it sound like it's a sacrifice.”

And it wasn't really a sacrifice - in that kind of profession, there was a fine line between just choosing the best and giving things up. Addictions went hand in hand with lucidity, just as the withdrawal from a normal life distanced you from the fact that not having a gun in your belt was like walking naked. You knew yourself; like any human being, you clung to the smallest moments of comfort, stability, joy and pleasure that arose. You were weak for the good life, tired of the constant resilience and warning signs that went off in your head every single day.

Again, you almost left him unanswered. Steve noticed your uncertainty, though. It scared the shit out of you.

“... It’s complicated.”

“Not that I want to be a bitch or something-”

“I know.”

“-But it’s a surprise.

If he still had the innocence to believe in the system that governed their lives, Steve would be indignant, be the church boy he always was. But no, that wasn’t the case - at least he didn’t show it. He had seen the real world too brutally to fill it with more moralism; otherwise he would ignore it, be rational, move on. Then he blew the smoke that was stuck inside his mouth, shook his head and smiled, all the while staring at the ashtray on his table.

“You two used to hate each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it some kind of kink? Love-hate stuff?”

You scoffed a laugh, shaking your head and mirroring the smirk he threw in your direction.

“At least it wasn't on my table,” Steve teased, as if coming to the realization just seconds before. “Isn’t that fucking considerate?”

As usual, you both laughed with an almost hopeless acceptance surrounding what little humor you shared. Not that it was fun, or worthy of such genuine laughs, just… That. Rational complicity. And you didn't want to ruin the moment, but inside there was another reason for your amusement - when you and Carrillo were making out in the building back in the day, maybe you bumped into something or other on Steve's desk, and you almost broke his desk lamp.

Rational complicity then, you decided, averting your gaze from Javier, who entered the office with nothing more than a grumbled ‘good morning’.

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

The landscape became more arid, spaced out - at the very least, isolated. You stared at the bodies splayed out on that cave, trying to somehow decipher what could not be deciphered. There was a morbid but equally cold atmosphere surrounding this discovery; you watched five Carrillo men taking one by one out of that hole, placing them side by side for further identification. The youngest of them was nothing more than 20 years old; at some point, you just turned your head to the side because the ones with more time there were already smelling.

You stomped to a distant spot and, making sure no one was looking, you threw up. Years of experience or all the circumstances of that job didn't always make you have such a strong stomach. Later that day, you found yourself in your apartment just to brush your teeth - that led to a few minutes of a shower you thought would clean all of those images inside your head.

Again, you sat alone in the office with more than enough whiskey inside a cup and a third cigarette ready to be lit between your lips. Steve rushed home to Connie; Javier had a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed that you would stay, but you assured him that it was okay, that nothing would happen. For the first time in days, you felt sure of something.

“Stechner will follow Juan Marcos' lead.”

You turned your eyes from the mountain of papers in front of you, brows raised at the sudden intrusion - out of politeness or not, your father didn’t ask what you were doing there. At worst, he took the cigarette out of your mouth and made you tsk.

“He can be more persuasive than the rest of us, I suppose,” You said nonchalantly. “Or just more than me.”

Again, if he noticed the way you eyed him up and down, probably too full of bitterness, your father decided to keep it to himself, both hands behind his back.

“You agree, then?”

“That's not a question you associate with someone like Stechner.” It sounded almost like a warning, a subtle message of how your ‘soft spot’ used to lead your conceptions and moral judgements to a place way more complicated for that line of work.

He hummed. Nodded his head. You thought that the conversation was over, of course, but you always should know better than to believe your father could be less than suffocating.

“I figured we could have dinner. I know a place nearby, still discreet enough.”

“Trying to make me feel better?”

“We're past the stage of understanding that this is your mother's job.”

The blunt honesty with which he said it made you consider the possibility more; it would be more than enough, spending some time with your father, to understand that there were people in life who knew how to make moments more bitter - or bitter enough to distract your mind from the worst.

So you accepted.

Frijoles Rancheros, he said with the best accent he had.

“Didn't you stop with that?” He said, again, this time without the flirty smile to the waitress or the good Spanish of his.

“Tried to,” You shrugged, cigarette finally being lit and the smoke flowing through the air.

“Not tryin’ anymore?”

“I needed to keep my list of disappointments with you,” With a smirk, you leaned more comfortably against the chair you sat at, legs crossed and eyes with that devilish spark he hated so much. “What brings you here? Stechner missed you licking his balls or something?”

“... We talked.” He said in a low, stern tone. “Apparently even the CIA knows how to recognize your work around here.”

“So you talked about me.”

“About your achievements, that is. Too emotional-”

“Of course,” You scoffed, dragging more of your cigarette with sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“-But efficient. The one raising your voice to the stubborn Colonel Horacio Carrillo.”

The mention made your stance falter, but just for a moment. You gave him a side-eye, then got back to look at anything but his face - not wanting to fail in your attempt to not show how affected you felt. It sounded like a sin, the fact that your father would use such an indifferent manner to talk about Horacio. How it was so easy for him, a man with so many flaws, to talk about Carrillo as if he was just as insignificant as… Anything. You grew defensive. The guy could still have that way of his, but you didn’t act (even before) like he was nothing.

“Is it supposed to be a bad thing?” You decided to ask instead, watching him sip his beer faster so he could answer.

“Have I already told the story of Cúcuta?”

Probably, but you didn’t pay enough attention back then and wouldn’t pay there. Still, he kept talking.

“We had discovered that some communist groups were regrouping and we took the National Police guys there. You know, for fact-finding.”

Or killing. Whatever he called it to make him lay his head on the pillow every night.

“We stayed there for two weeks. Maybe Carrillo was involved, I can't be sure,” But then he got quiet, as if it was the end of the story. After a few beats of silence, you made a face.

“And…?”

“Ah, well, I didn’t know he had that in him to become what he is now. Not the most remarkable cop, but committed to the cause. Very Catholic, however, he called his mother every day. It amazes me that he has come as far as being on the front lines to catch Escobar. It takes a certain obscurity to be good at this job.”

You considered it silently, watching your dad's grimaces as he just talked about the situation like it was a normal thing. Maybe it was after all. Reality was lighter if you took it as a routine, using conformism as a shield. You wondered if he knew about what happened with you that afternoon - if Carrillo, once, was the type of guy who would throw up because of it. You even wondered, with the space your father gave while simply not paying attention to you, what it would be like to meet that version of Horacio and whether he would make the same decisions, or think that this would be his future.

“I'm sure he has his own demons just like anyone else,” You said out of nowhere, taking in the way the man just watched your motions. “No one gets away with this kind of shit.”

“This shit is catching a communist pig like Escobar.”

Communist, you almost laughed, but you didn't argue. You couldn't even count the number of Americans involved in the lists of secondary cartels in the States, nor how many white-faced people who signed Republican votes negotiated with these 'communists', which only made you more skeptical of the idea of what you were really doing there or the kind of person you had the pleasure of not being raised by.

Under the circumstances, Carrillo's revulsion was understandable.

“You know, you really look like your mother.”

“Conscious?”

“Naive. Maybe not all the violence in the world will make you realize that we are not always the villains.”

“... No,” You puffed out more of the smoke, arching an eyebrow. “Sometimes you find a shallow ditch full of bodies and it turns out to be Escobar's fault.”

Because everything, from the bastard son who was hidden in the bowels of that country to the resistant hands of Juan Marcos against your neck, had a finger of the communists. If the pain you felt earlier or the pain you felt in childhood with his absence existed, it was because of the communists.

Damn communists.

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

You threw the other two packs of cigarettes in the trash that same night, as soon as you got back to the office.

With effort, you would remember to look for nicotine patches or anti-smoking gum in the morning.

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

Carrillo was familiar with the feeling of self-repression, and for some reason, he too deserved the strict discipline. Never a hair out of place, but that same hair wouldn't be styled any other way than the way he saw fit; short, practical, that was not an interruption but also a form of imposing.

This discipline made him learn that the way we present ourselves says something about us. That's why he really didn't understand why he saw you with a subtlety that definitely didn't exist in that job and, consequently, in you.

That day, you were at one of those reunions. The atmosphere was tense, as always, but Carrillo watched you climb on a small step to gain access to a higher part of the discreet shelf in the corner of the room to reach a cup, all the while laughing at something Peña was saying. It wasn't just the way your thighs flexed in the material of your jeans or the way everything felt tight enough that you had the flexibility to move; your manner changed, your modus operandi. There were no delicate mannerisms in your posture, nor in your approach - the harsh parts made you look like a hedgehog, even with that smile on your face.

If the whole situation had hurt you the way it seemed to him, if… that moment, inside the office, had a similar meaning, he didn't know, but he understood the mystery. There was so much going on and suddenly you had your dad and your issues and your life; Carrillo knew better than anyone that neither he nor you would want to bring up yet another drama.

He valued that effort, was familiar with it. As at other times when Horacio had to be the rational figure, the loneliness of being dedicated to a discipline was something he knew well how to live with.

Carrillo also knew your frustrations about your father were bubbling to the brim. You tried to cover it up as best you could, always scratching the back of your neck or looking away when a CIA decision interfered with the DEA's. It was obvious that hanging out with guys like him could be like idle work - he, of all people, knew that being here on the ground following more archaic strategies wasn't your style. Or worst: that his presence there meant that he was almost always a flawed tool of a plan he was never fully a part of.

For him, watching you was like watching all the energy that walked beside your manners when you arrived disappearing because, in the end, it sounded as if only he, Horacio, saw the full magnitude of your achievements and efforts. Like an awed spectator of a hungry muse, all teeth and claws for what she believed but cutting off by… the others.

“You know that’s bullshit, right?” You said then, sitting at the edge of the table after serving a good amount of coffee. “I remember seeing you there and I’m pretty sure the night ended really differently.”

“Well, we didn't say goodbye on my doorstep.”

Carrillo frowned at the suggestion, especially at the way you two seemed to forget he was there too, watching Javier using that natural flirty personality with you. And then you turned to see Steve walking in with Trujillo, away from the commotion, and when Horacio decided that it was his sign to stop staring at you, he saw Peña himself sending him a curious gaze.

That day, Horacio discovered that Javier had been measuring the situation like a scientific project.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto.” We don't have time for this.

Was all Carrillo said as soon as the reunion was over and they were walking side by side down the corridor.

“No se de que estas habl-” I don’t know what you're talking ab-.

“Tu sabes.” You know.

They both stopped in their tracks, interrupted by the Colonel's gruff voice and the way he jerked him around with a shoulder pull. Javier frowned, tried to understand where that all came from, then raised his eyebrows at the realization. He sighed, looked around and put his hands on his hips.

“¿Alguien te ha dicho alguna vez que no eres la persona más sutil que hay?” Has anyone ever told you that you're not the most subtle person around?

Horacio kept quiet. Caught.

“Su padre es un gilipollas, quizás uno de los peores con los que me he cruzado. Ha dejado muy claro que quiere la oportunidad adecuada para sacarla de aquí.” Her father is an asshole, maybe one of the worst I've ever come across. He's made it very clear that he wants the right opportunity to get her out of here.

And for a moment, Carrillo almost understood those motivations. If he was a worried parent, he wouldn't sleep easy knowing his only daughter was putting herself in front of bullets or curled up in the arms of a fucking narco, nearly suffocated to death. He himself didn't like to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time.

“... No estaba coqueteando con ella, si eso es lo que te preocupa. Nunca saldríamos bien, esa mujer es una diabla.” I wasn't flirting with her, if that's what you're worried about. We would never work out, that woman is a devil.

True. So true.

“Pero es mejor que decidas qué va a ser de eso, porque está bastante claro que te estás engañando a ti mismo.” But you better decide what's going to become of it, because it's pretty clear you're kidding yourself.

Javier didn't elaborate, and despite not being the most sensitive of men, Carrillo knew when he was being put up against something he was avoiding. As Peña walked away with a frustrated posture, he wondered if that was the effect he had on you, of disappointment at being… him.

Of course, he didn't openly mention this to anyone, nor did he feel able to do so; to the fullest, he reinforced his serious expression when he saw you leave the operating room and look for someone. You looked one way, then the other, and saw him standing there. Something must have gone through your mind with the way you swallowed hard and clenched your fists - Carrillo wondered if it was the same memory of that night in your apartment, when you were still fresh from sex and with other perspectives.

For an instant, just one, he felt it. Like a replica of that same night.

When he was the first to look away, smothered by the idea and tempted by the sensation you offered those days, Carrillo knew he was probably letting you down again.

As he should.

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

You felt frustrated. You'd been having that feeling for a while before the whole Carrillo situation, but it wasn't like you could deny that that disappointment had lessened dramatically once you'd spent time in his bed.

They began to monitor letters sent by employees exported from the States. Peña always walked around with an even more frown on having the letters he sent to his father being invaded in this way and, as much as Steve didn't complain while having Connie there, he complained about the intrusion just like Javier.

You felt suffocated.

That’s how you ended up getting fucked inside a restroom stall, legs attached to the sides of the hips of a guy named Carlos and dress hiked up to make it easy for him to access… you. Or your decency, if such a term existed at the moment. There was an effort there, though. Carlos made the time well spent. When you went home that night, maybe you really were more relaxed, your shoulders less rigid and your spine relaxed.

But there was a reason you couldn't sleep a wink that night.

Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo.

Perhaps, you tried to justify, it was because there was a greater reason than just the attraction with the two of you. There was an almost paranoid fear that the days were uncertain, the daily stress of a job that seemed to be failing and the frustrations - Carlos was Carlos, not Carrillo. The kisses, the touches, the look; two opposites. You would close your eyes if you were Horacio, you would sleep like you haven't slept in days. Surely you wouldn't wash yourself so vehemently after sex either if it was him.

It wasn’t though. It was Carlos.

So when the phone rang around two, you got up without difficulty and answered it on the second ring. There was no need to rub your eyes to chase away sleep because it didn't exist, even if physical fatigue made you massage your shoulder while listening to a brief recorded message from a woman saying it was a private and recorded call.

“¿Es usted responsable del caso de Juan Marcos de las Puentes?” Are you responsible for the case of Juan Marcos de las Puentes?

The voice was too Latin to be Javier's and too different to be Carrillo's; even if it were one of them, they wouldn't use Spanish or act like they didn't know you. Your first reaction was frown - and the second, unconsciously, was to look around as if the answer to the as yet unspoken question was in your living room.

“... Sí. ¿Quien habla?” Yes. Who’s speaking?

“Soy Frances Tenorio, directora encargada del Centro Especial de Detención de Medellín.” I'm Frances Tenorio, director in charge of the Medellín Special Detention Center.

The last time someone called you this late at night, five years ago, was when the family found out that your grandmother had passed away. Your uncles, two other men who lived in the South, asked if it made sense for you to help them with the funeral arrangements - not that there was any intimacy to it, but because she would like to be treated with a delicacy that none of the three had. You took responsibility because you knew your father wouldn't do it out of hurt. He never had a good relationship with his mother.

Still, all that cold commitment to ensuring that the body was well treated and the ceremony well organized, such as the mass that took place seven days later, did not compare to the coldness with which you reacted to Frances' words.

There was no clarification and you didn't ask; just requests you weren’t so used to having, but obliged anyway. You listened to the instructions, hung up, got dressed - gun in the holster, badge on your belt. When you left, you locked the apartment door as usual, walked down the hall, got in the car and realized that the radio was still on a specific station, at that time of night repeating romantic songs. You didn’t turn it off.

Your mind hesitated to do the call - you didn’t want to. Circumstances did not have an exact logic in the chronology of the facts that you knew. Juan Marcos wasn’t supposed to be there, least in Medellín. Whatever the fuck Stechner tried to do wouldn’t be placed there for obvious reasons. There were at least five people who received that kind of information before you, and suddenly the director of a place you didn't even know was part of Juan Marcos' punishment had your phone number. It was statistical to know that no one died like that at a time like this - the guy was a bull, healthy from head to toe, with at most a late tetanus vaccine.

Then, all of the sudden-

“As I said, dead.”

Frances didn't have the best of English, but the heavily accented words made a lot of sense in your ears, even if they didn't make sense on their own. His office was poorly lit, and generally speaking, you had a lot of questions, but you just stared at that death certificate with nothing but open confusion on your face. Perhaps it was the way you lagged to say something, because Frances kept talking.

“The National Police was already warned about-”

“The National Police?” You abruptly raised your head.

“It's the norm. Rules. I couldn't let another gringo into my jail alone.”

Before you could ask what he meant or process the information, you noticed someone entering the door and, of course, it needed to be Carrillo. The National Police. He looked at you with a big frown, then at the officers behind and Frances - mad.

“¿Desde cuándo es este un protocolo aceptable?” Since when is this an acceptable protocol? Horacio asked in a harsh tone, standing right beside you. Looking at the door again, you spotted Trujillo, confused and a little taken aback by the sudden situation.

“Llegaron los gringos y tenían orden de interrogatorio. Eso es protocolo, tú lo sabes mejor que nadie.” The gringos showed up and had an interrogation warrant. That's protocol, you know that better than anyone.

“Que gringos?”

The silence that followed, short but helpful, was like an obvious answer to an even more obvious question. You faced the early death certificate, then Carrillo, who didn't express any reaction. You, by yourself, couldn’t express any reaction.

“I want to see the body.”

“Qué?” What?

“Do you think that’s a good id-”

“Quiero ver el cuerpo. ¿Ahora me entiendes?” I want to see the body. Do you understand me now?

Carrillo wasn’t combative with your interruption, nor with the way you were snappy with Frances; otherwise, he nodded in approval of your request, as if none of that hadn't already been the same as everyone in that jail dropping their pants for the CIA's threats, as if they needed just Carrillo’s approval.

At some point in your education, you learned about the special rooms for political prisoners during the communist uprising and the government's quiet work of putting down Sierra Maestra-influenced guerrillas. 64, the formative year of half the men inside those halls and, arguably, the golden memories of that Frances Tenorio. With the 'peace sealed' by right-wing groups, you knew that many of these rooms became normal interrogation spaces or, as in the case of that institution, an improvised mortuary that looked more like a shallow spawning pit.

Fractured skull from a fall, the obituary said. They were opening an internal investigation into a possible gang rebellion.

Juan Marcos was a man nearly six feet tall, with truly thick arms, long legs, and robust from head to toe. You knew his weight, strength and physical skills like no one else. The hands, you noticed, did not bear a single mark of retaliation or defense. You would know if he had; moreover, healed from the clash with you months earlier. Looking from there, with nothing but a pale, lifeless face, motionless, you noticed that Juan Marcos looked no less frightening or dangerous or… Well, the face of a criminal.

You wondered how many guys came to do the job. Two to tie, one to intimidate - maybe one more to watch. They used to had this one.

“Is your father in Medellín?” Carrillo asked in a low tone, not daring to disturb the intense staring you’re giving the guy right in front of you two.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head slightly, then turned to Frances. “Stechner.”

“Protocol.” Was all he said, already turning to leave the room but probably standing still on the other side of the door.

Three fingernails had been torn out and there were electric shock marks on his nipples, groin and mouth. The face was disfigured and torn by what looked like blows; if you turned him on his side, you probably would see the marks on the backs of the knees just as you saw them on the wrists and heels. The corpus delicti examination, still unsigned as well as the obituary, only recorded the head injury that didn't really exist - done with a typewriter that probably came from the office you had come not so shortly before.

When you raised your head, Carrillo was watching you carefully, measuring every reaction that could come out of your neutral expression. He knew how it was. He did it himself. You could see that, probably, he was just mad that he wasn't responsible for it. Maybe you were too, just a little - deep down, better saying.

“I need a cig.”

The conversation must have lasted ten, fifteen minutes? You only managed to finish the first one, leaning against the hood of the car and alone in the side parking lot of the prison. The nicotine patch must have been lost somewhere in those hallways and his arm was still marked by the glue. When you went to take the second cigarette in your mouth, you saw Horacio approach and also the way your hands were shaking. He chose not to be at your side, but in front of you; as soon as you lit the cigarette, you kept both elbows resting on the car hood behind you.

No one said anything for a good minute. When you dared to give him a look, just once, Carrillo was lighting a cigarette for him - something way stronger than yours, as always.

“What was it?” You broke the silence with a single question, one he just shrugged at first. “I’ll give it an hemorrhagic shock.”

“I’ll give it a fractured skull from a fall.”

“Please,” You scoffed, raising the cigarette to your lips again.

“The CIA put in their report that the last operation didn’t suffer any casualties. I had to sign two letters of removal and I almost signed one of death. So yes, a fractured skull from a fall. ”

It was difficult. You knew it was. When you started to get close to him and understand a little more of what was there, under the skin, you could see that his biggest frustrations were in the fact that the potential of his work was limited. There would always be a Stechner, a CIA, a DEA, a bunch of outsiders with funny accents and shitty Spanish. That he, as a man and as a professional, always had the cards in his hand but would only play them if someone from above said so; that when he started to overcome this hierarchy, he was banished to Madrid and then back with a freedom tied in very loose halters, under conditions that you didn't know, out of sheer whim.

Carrillo knew those marks and those consequences - many had his name transcribed. And he could say it was hemorrhagic shock or whatever the fuck fucked up Juan Marcos' life, but you both knew that outcome held particular satisfaction for him. At least enough to accept it unchallenged.

“... He was my suspect,” You said in a defeated tone, blowing smoke in the air. “It's pretty stupid of me to think they'd at least consult me first, right? To say they would come here to destroy the guy?”

“Yeah. But you’re smart all the same.”

“Not enough to not do the math on why my dad pretended he wanted to have dinner with me.”

“He wanted?”

“He did it.” You responded vehemently, tapping your thumb on the end of your cigarette to knock out more of the ash. “I should have known better when I saw him there in the office so late at night. Talking about Stechner taking the lead as if he wasn’t already planning on killing the motherfucker.”

“And do you think it would have made a difference if you had known?”

“... No.”

You didn't say it was because you were witnessing what your father could do for the first time and that it scared the shit out of you; they were childish thoughts. After years of paddling against the tide, seeing him miss his own mother's wake and even all the disappointments he could’ve caused you, everything was more tolerable when his stories were just that: stories. You also had your share of lives under your belt: one guy in Compton, one in South Beach, one more in a warehouse during a drug traffic operation. Still, you learned to live with them because it was your job. Yours only. And sometimes you could forget that someone who was supposed to give you a little more petting reduced you to one more small obstacle to doing his.

Again. And again. And again.

You felt stupid. Naive. Again.

“It’s like fucking Hotel California,” You muttered, eyes closed and fingers massaging your temple.

“Like what?” He asked in sincere curiosity, making you look at him in time to spot his own cigarette mid air.

“Like the song. On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…? Nothing?” Your hands gesticulated.

“Too gringo for me,” Carrillo inhaled on his cigarette and pretended (pretended) he was keeping a straight face. You rolled your eyes.

“Your friend Frances must agree with that.”

“By your time here, you should know that not everyone trusts you.”

“There’s a few exceptions.” You defended.

“Yeah, some people might lose certain opinions for one person or another.”

With another drag on your cigarette, you let out a low 'huh' and shook your head, but when you glanced back at Carrillo, you saw that he was watching you with a very wide gaze. Again, measuring your reactions, as if trying to send a message with his silence. You did the same.

It's been a while since you've been like this, with time to observe each other and capture details that captivated your encounters. He was more tired, visibly fresh out of his static spot in the office on the upper floors, probably with a couple of glasses of whiskey in his system. Damn pretty, you could add. Prettier than Carlos - poor Carlos.

He broke eye contact first.

“You’ll talk with your father?”

“Well, at least to know if it was hemorrhagic shock.”

“I don't know if this will make you sleep better.”

“Nah,” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Just looks like I forgot the guy can be sadistic as fuck.”

“Habit.”

“Personality.”

Again, silence. This time though, you were the first one to break eye contact, mostly because that thing got into a place you wouldn’t like to go. You didn’t tell Carrillo, probably wouldn’t, but your mind was building scenarios and creating perspectives about something you really preferred to forget.

Your mom always knew better - you wished you weren't so curious as to choose the same career as your father to know what kind of shit he did.

“You’re going back to the office?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He walked in your direction, but went straight to the door to open it. Before he could do it, though, Carrillo turned to you. “I would do the same.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

“And you too.”

“Not with the same motivation,” You looked at him nonchalantly. “I have personal reasons. The type I could understand.”

“He don’t?”

“Well, we’re not the same,” Another shrug, this time dragging more of the cigarette before blowing the smoke out the side. “Perhaps I’m more different for not being adept at this, but is it really that different? I don't feel guilt, but I do feel angry that he disappeared with a guy who could give me information. Screw his life, right?”

“... Sometimes this type of life makes us forget that we are humans. You're not Gandhi or any shit like that, you're you. Flesh, bone and a gun in hand, ready to fire at the right time. I would do it, because I know what he's done to other people, but I've also seen what he's done to you.”

He took a step closer - just one. And when you instinctively backed away with your eyes closed and a hurt murmur coming from your throat, Carrillo froze in place.

“We don’t need to talk-”

“I know.”

“But stop playing with me, Horacio. Stop.” For a moment, he looked confused, then noticed something that perhaps even you didn’t and nodded in defeat. “Don’t be like him. Not now.”

Don't be opportunistic like him, don't be selfish like him, don't be capricious like him, don't use you like he always did. That's what you meant. That he shouldn’t pretend he didn’t say no twice and approached you later with some kind of warm conversation because it seemed convenient. You didn't need it - what you wanted and what you accepted he denied too quickly.

“... I’ll be back in the office.” You said after a time, eyes on the floor right where the cigarette landed and hand brushing your left eyebrow. “Body identified, death certificates and stuff like that. It's just, isn't it? Do you proceed from here?”

Carrillo gulped, considered your face like a brave man and said a simple ‘yes’ before insisting on opening the goddamn door for you. And you let him, even when he stood there, the door now closed, staring at you through the open window.

“Good night, Colonel.”

“... Good night.”

He tapped the opening twice, took three long steps back and inhaled on the cigarette which, as you had barely noticed, was still lit in his hand. You watched him through the rearview mirror, just for a moment longer, and after that split opportunity you also stared at your own eyes - coming to a conclusive revelation. One you already knew, in fact.

Carlos was Carlos. Carrillo was Carrillo.

And damn you for always choosing the complicated ones.

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

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@mysoulisasunflower

#colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo fic #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte #female reader

38 notes · View notes

blanket-fish · 2 months

Text

Ironman 2 rewatch time:

- I usually skip this one on rewatches so like. I barely remember the plot.

- oooooh this is the one with the lightning guy (not Thor)

- oh so his dad worked on the reactor with Howard? Sick

- wait is this the one with Justin hammer?

- 'Please, it's not about me' if it were anyone else the ego would be annoying. However, it's not.

- oh I've just remembered this is the one with Natasha

- 'Let the record show I observed Mr hammer entering the chamber, and am wondering if and when any actual expert will be in attendance' Brutal.

- 'God bless Ironman god bless america' He's so lame.

- 'Rhodey? What?' oof.

- 'You do understand that reading a single paragraph out of context doesn't reflect the summary-' love this guy.

- ah this scene has it all. Justin being incompetent. Tony trolling everyone else and hacking the screens. Rhodey pretending to be annoyed but finding it endearing. Tony swinging people to his side and making Justin look bad at the same time. Efficiency.

- 'You want my property? You can't have it. But I did you a big favour! I have successfully privatised world peace.'

'fuck you Mr stark'

- 'I'm trying to make you CEO. Why won't you let me?' maybe because you're incapable of clearly communicating idk

- 'Its you. It's always been you' Im totally normal about these two I swear

- NATASHA

- oh god Elon musk is in this movie

- 'What is the difference between hold and cancelled?' Yes, what is?' these two are too powerful of a combination I fear

- 'I was hoping the present something at your expo.' 'Well, if you invent something that works I'll make sure to get you a spot.' tony please he's already dead

- 'I love tony stark, I mean, we're not competitors' Justin! I have good news! You're actually right about that one.

It's just. Not for the reason you think.

- The iron man suitcase is still the coolest version actually

- Here comes Pepper and happy driving recklessly towards a guy with lightning whips. I fucking love them

- 'Were you headed for me or him?' 'I was trying to scare him-' 'Because I can't tell!'

- 'Are you put of your mind?!!!! Get in the car!'

- These three are an underrated trio honestly

- SUITCASE SUIT. SUITCASE SUIT.

- Not to beat a dead horse but it all mechanically clicking into place is so much cooler than nanotech.

- Guy got hit with a car at speed. Was fine. Got hit with a car several more times. Was fine. Tony flings him to the floor. Coughs up blood. ???

- 'All I have to do is sit here and watch, and the world will consume you.' damn that goes hard

- 'Not everybody runs on batteries, Tony' pepper that's so deep. How long have you been waiting to use it?

- oh Justin this is so fucking pretentious. Even for you.

- 'I think, if I may' Justin say that one single more time and see what happens

- 'I don't know if you've been understanding everything I'm saying?' can you fucking imagine if he didn't after that whole monologue lmao

- 'You don't gotta do this alone-' 'I wish I could believe that' that hurt

- 'Thats where the pilot goes. Having a tough time finding volunteers' yeah I wonder why justin

- "Hypothetically, if this were your last birthday, how would you celebrate it?" Tony you are not subtle

- can't help but empathise with rhodey in this film. When the American government wants something you do not want to be the person refusing them. Tony can step away. Rhodey kind of can't.

- 'This is ridiculous, I just stuck my neck out for this guy!' 'I know, I know, I'll handle it, just let me handle it.' 'Handle it. Or I'm gonna have to.' We don't see these two interact much huh.

- 'Im only gonna say this once. Get out' Damn, rhodey snapped

- 'Dont miss Potts me, I'm onto you!' well yes, but actually no

- 'You wanna be the war machine? Take the shot' the fact that rhodey actually does go by war machine. Somehow I think the writer of this line was not responsible for that decision

- The complete absence of dialogue when rhodey flies away with the suit. That's so effective

#ironman 2 #mcu #rewatching

2 notes · View notes

grollow · 1 year

Note

Stealing my idea smh (I’m joking steal my idea all you want DBNSSN)

You gave me one, you can have one back! Totally wasn’t bribed to do this haha

How about Grimm (your fave I think) interacting with Revek (my fave obviously) in a friendly manner?

Since you caved and posted one of your Grevek pieces, here. Have a drabble.

graves, you see, are for the living || AO3

“Halt! – Who –?”

The figure that stopped him held a curved nail forward, to prevent his progress. Behind him spilled the Spirits’ Glade, an ancestral place of remembrance for the moth tribe; there were monuments older than most people’s memory, and certainly longer than written record there.

He wore a hood that shrouded his face and fell over his shoulders; it disguised the tell-tale curl of his collar and the lines of his cape. He blended in, for the most part, as long as he kept his head down. There was nothing that ‘blended in’ about the unnatural glow of his eyes.

He was not supposed to be there, though. Hallownest was a kingdom with a heartbeat yet; his lantern had not been lit, and so he had no reason to visit.

Except sentiment, and what stronger one was there than that?

“Who are you? These grounds are sacred and –”

“Well-met, friend.” He did not know the bug’s name. Unfortunate. “I have permission to pass, I assure you.”

His head lifted and he offered a low, flourishing bow. Even with the hood up, if he was facing upward there was no mistaking the scarlet glow.

“By whom?”

“The Moth Tribe. Ask them, if you wish. I would be happy to wait.”

There were not an incredibly large amount of them left, but he knew that a few yet survived.

The other bug cocked his head to the side and then said, “I would need a name.” He was clearly contemplating whether to go and ask, though Grimm thought that he would decide against it. That did mean leaving the door unguarded, after all.

Not that he would go in without being allowed passage. He did not lie, and if he said that he was going to wait, he would.

“Ah, but you have yet to give me yours, stranger.”

“I - It is Revek.” He was clearly taken aback by the request, though. What? Did visitors not often ask the guardian of the Glade what he was called?

He brought his claws up to his mask and chuckled quietly to himself.

“Grimm.”

“And you say the Moth Tribe allowed you passage?”

“Oh, they would not dream of refusing me it,” he answered with a little lilt to his voice that said much.

Revek did not know just how sincere that statement was. Any remaining moths would probably be absolutely petrified to refuse him, given who he was. Did he truly intend to go and ask them, though?

“What are your intentions here?”

“To pay respects to the dead. Is that not why everyone visits a mausoleum?” It was not, technically, a building – but the cavern served much the same purpose, and so the title fit.

“Your name is unfamiliar to me,” the guardian answered and he made a little noise of acknowledgment. “I will let you pass, but accompany you. I do not trust you.”

“So direct!” He laughed again and then said, “Come with me, then, friend. Be my eager guide. I will ask you questions and marvel at your knowledge of the new additions since my last visit. Perhaps you’ve a story to tell that I have not heard? I do so love to collect them."

“ …I’m just making sure that you do not plan to –”

“To what? Desecrate the stones? Oh, do not be silly. I have more respect for the dead than you can possibly imagine. Come. Show me around,” Grimm hummed and then he circled past the other bug.

They fell into step walking together and Grimm pushed his hood back with one claw. It fell onto his shoulders, hanging over the top of his cape. He circled past some of the closest headstones. The oldest ones were further back, and he moved with a purpose in that direction.

“Death,” he told his companion, “is a stepping stone. So many fear it and what comes after. But it is not the end, not truly. The only real death is to be completely forgotten; to have no one left in the world who recalls your name.”

Revek made a noise of acknowledgement, but did not actually respond. That was fine. He wasn’t talking necessarily to receive responses.

“Memories, though… they condense. They become something else, when we are gone. Or when we are not, sometimes. Memories are powerful things. Most people underestimate them.”

“Are you some kind of spiritualist?” Revek asked. “Come to stare at graves and pretend to commune with the dead?”

“You do not see them, do you?” Grimm turned, then, and swept one hand around. There were phantoms all about the Glade, as there always were. “Someday you will, and you will question the logic of saying it is ‘pretend.’ There is always more to the world than meets the eye. Ah, but I digress: you might say I am a bit of a spiritualist, yes. A magician of sorts.”

Revek looked to his side, then admitted, “The moths tell me that there are echoes in this place of the restless dead, lingering memories of dreams. You are saying that you can see them, too?”

“Of course. We are ever bound to our duty, and in many ways, death is one of mine.”

“How so?”

“You will find out some day.”

He heard a scoff behind him and laughed. He had the impression that the guardian of the Glade was entirely too serious for his own good. How unfortunate – there were so many things in life worth enjoying. Spending all of one’s time wound so tightly. What a crime.

“Are you looking for an area in particular?” Revek asked him.

“Perhaps.”

“I might know where it is. I can direct you. You did ask for me to be your guide.”

“I was teasing. I know the layout well. This is not my first visit.”

Revek scoffed and said, “I have been guarding this Glade for a long time and I have never seen you.”

“No? Perhaps it was longer than I thought. Or maybe you have forgotten me.”

Revek shook his head. “Those eyes are not eyes one easily forgets.”

“Oh, stop. You will turn my head with talk like that.”

He approached the waterfall on the opposite end, the stream pooling prettily on polished stones. Even without regular maintenance, that would always be clear. There was something incredibly charming about that. “Have you been here? To the other side?”

His question was answered with a head tilt.

“The cave. Oh, the great guardian does not know? Come with me, then. I will show you.”

And then he dashed across the water, flying rather than walking, and straight through the falls – into the cavern on the other side. He waited there, barely visible for the cascade, for the guardian to join him.

Splash. Revek collapsed on the other side, over-shooting the distance, and he looked down at him with his arms crossed.

“Very graceful.”

“I did not ask your opinion.”

“Oh, grumpy, too.”

He held his hand out, then, invitingly. Revek grunted, but took it and allowed him to pull him to his feet. Grimm reached over, then, and brushed a leaf from his face before saying, “Now you know a secret that others do not. And are secrets not wonderful things to share?”

“What is this place?”

“One of the oldest tombs here,” Grimm hummed. He circled to the centre where a moth statue stood and then stopped in front of it. “The one I came to see.”

Revek followed and stopped behind him. He didn’t ask the question, but Grimm knew what it was just the same.

“Why would I know this, you wonder. Graves, you see, are for the living. The dead have no use for such things, but the memories we imbue them with– they act as a memorial for us, a place to talk to those we loved, those we lost, those we think we will never see again. They come in many forms. Statues. Headstones.” His voice dropped, then, and he said, “Songs and poetry. Immortalise us all in their own way, hm?”

“That is a lot of words to say that you do not agree with the practice.”

“Presumptuous, are we not? I never said anything of the sort. The monument of memories is something I have a great of respect for. But am I wrong? To point out the fallacy in thinking these things serve any purpose, except to act as comfort for the living?”

Revek crossed his arms.

“Do what you came here to do.”

“I fear I have touched a nerve. Have you loved ones buried in this Glade? That you seek to protect the memory of? Or –”

“You did not come here to talk to me on the nature of life and death.”

Grimm smiled, then, and then admitted, “No. I did not. But I find your devotion to this task interesting. You would guard other people’s memories? Or your own?”

“My duty is ever my own and I owe you no explanation.”

“You take it seriously,” Grimm mused, kneeling in front of the statue. He shifted around the lower part of the hood that fell over his shoulders until he found a pocket, and then removed a small gemstone that was clear and brilliant. He laid it at the foot and then said, “That means that I will see you again, on my next visit.”

Revek rolled his eyes and turned around to put his hand over his face.

“Do you plan to make a habit of visiting often?”

Hmm. He lifted one claw and brushed it across the statue, circling around.

“No. But time is an approximation when recollection is all that remains. We will see, I think, how sincere your words are.”

“How sincere?” Revek turned around to look at him –

But where he stood, only a lingering crimson smoke remained; Grimm was gone.

And the guardian was left with disembodied echoing words of, “About how memorable my eyes are.”

#ashe writes #asks: answered #silken-spiders #drabble #hollow knight #hollow knight fanfic #hk grimm #hk revek

16 notes · View notes

hanilessa · 4 months

Note

I'm the same anon who gives you the model Au idea. I have another one to share

This one might be Fatui Harbinger!childe or Mafia!childe both are fine.

You both have been in a relationship for 5 months. You know nothing about him while.. Well… he knows everything.

You were trying to get any information from him but all he was saying was that his work is too dangerous and he doesn't want you to get involved.

You weren't stupid. You know he is a dangerous man but you played this game with him. You fell for him hard.

Once a week you had sex in your apartment. You never visit his house (you doubt if he has one or not because he never tells you). He always likes to spend his time with you like any normal lovers.

Until you had enough of him being mysterious you decided to ask him about it and if he never answered you would end everything between the two of you.

You waited for him one night but he never showed up

For 3 days he didn't show up.

a whole week passed with no texts from him or anything about him.

You start to get worried that maybe something happened to him but you don't know what to do because yeah you know nothing about him nothing about his work or his friends.

Now it's 3 months you gave up. Maybe he doesn't want you anymore or he just left you like this.

For you surprised you received a package. There is nothing wrote on it.

You suspected at first hesitate to open it.

You close your eyes and then start to open and see what is inside.

Your eyes widened. You were shocked. It was a phone with a hole in the middle of the screen. You covered your mouth with a lot of thoughts running through your heads. You didn't know how to react.

You know who is the owner of this phone and you wish you didn't.

It was him.

It was his phone.

Tears start to fall from your eyes without you realising that you have seen a small note inside. You grabbed the note and read what was written on there loudly.

“Dear y/n,

You may not know who I am but I know you very well, he was talking about you nonstop with his dead eyes sparkling. It was my first time seeing him like this happy with shiny blue eyes.

He did that to protect you, to protect your information so they can't reach you. I hope you understand his situation and forgive him because he truly loved you.

I can't meet you so I decided to send you that package.

I'm so sorry for your loss, I hope the best for you.

Morax.

(he ki//ed himself just to protect the only one he truly loved)

anon… anon ANON… I'M IN TEARS you made me cry with this idea 😭😭😭 this is really so sad and when i read this text it hurt so much :(( i was so sad when i read zhongli's letter. i wish there was a happy ending for both of them omg i'm saddened

tbh when i think of mafia!childe i immediately picture him so dominant and hot. you know his image is so cocky, inspiring fear in others. he's in such an expensive, strict suit with a guns in his hands… oh, i'm in love. and we're next to him! so sweet, small, in a cute little dress (i'm even planning to buy cute clothes to match this look hehehe) omg when i think about hot moments in mafia au this is just insane I WANT TO WRITE THIS

sweetie, thank you for sharing your ideas! I REALLY LOVE THIS! you have a good imagination, and i will be glad if you continue to share your ideas with me. right now my mind is mostly filled with cute ideas for hhfl that i can FINALLY implement because y/n and childe are finally together. can't wait to share it with you <3

#— you ask me ♡ ;

3 notes · View notes

cookie-crumblr · 2 years

Text

Butterfly

Part 5

F!Reader X Enix ~ Yandere Genius OC

His Info:☎️🔪

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6

!!MINORS DNI!!

CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BUGS, BUGS EATING A CORPSE, loss of self (not mc), reader has a vagina, use of pet names(darling, bimbo, love, butterfly ), rough sex, p in v, creampie, stockholm, blood, knives, stabbing

!!MINORS DNI!!

Inside the locked room~

A freezing and oh so tired Camron sits, trying desperately to stay awake, to keep his head up…

To keep from looking at the almost skeleton next to him, that’s being feasted on by large iridescent beetles…

and the completely bare skeleton sitting between them.

Sometimes the bugs touch him, and that’s not even what really bothers him.

What really bothers him is the incessant noises of their chewing, the sound of their feet scritching against each others’ hard carapaces, the sound of their wings buzzing when they try and get to better more meaty spots.

It’s horrifying. Maddening.

And Cameron is losing himself quickly.

He’s huddled himself in a corner.

He fears when the beetles will come to him. Fears hearing their horrid noises in his own ears, as they chew his flesh from bone.

Back to Y/N~

You sit on the floor staring at one of the giant centipedes, wondering about where Enix might be.

You wonder if the bugs like their little enclosures, and their simple, easy lives that Enix provides for them…

You realize that you haven’t had your phone this whole time. You hope no one has tried to contact you, how would you even explain this situation?

How do you explain this situation?

Why are you going along with this? With having a shackle, and chain?

You don’t know why, but you feel so safe with him.

The door made a few unlocking sounds, before Enix stepped in carrying paper grocery bags, you can see veggies standing out of one of them. You hadn’t realized you were hungry until just then.

“Hey brains!” you hopped up excitedly to greet him.

“Bimbo!” He sat the bags on the counter, before meeting you halfway and scooping you up into a hug.

Your stomach fluttered, and you giggled.

“I’m making your favorite lunch right now, then we’re going shopping. I hope you’re feeling up for the day!” He turned towards the cabinets to rummage around. Who would have thought he’d be such a good house husband!

h-husband?! ops. Too fast dear reader!

“w-wait, what about this? aren’t you worried?” you held up your shackled wrist.

“Oh, darling, that’s only for here. I trust you, it’s just for your protection.” he hummed as he continued preparing your food.

You couldn’t help forget the shackle again and smile, completely enthralled by his willingness, and happiness to care for you.

After eating, Enix takes you to the bedroom. His lips are on your neck from behind.

You sigh, pleased and excited for him.

He licks his finger and his hand finds your breasts under your bra, and he rubs those perfectly teasing circles around your nipples you love so much.

Your stomach tightens, almost painfully pleasured.

Your chain rattles as you reach up to his head. You let yourself fall into his body with a sigh.

“You’re so good for me Y/N” He kisses his words into your neck leaving reddish stamps of his presence on your skin.

“Please, Enix, I… Need you…” you say in between little gasps of pleasure. The coils winding up in your guts so tight already, you really can’t stand it.

“mmm, your wish, my love,” he purred.

He lifts your body, you don’t know how a bug keeper gets as strong as he is, but you aren’t trying to figure that out right now.

He slams you on the bed, face down ass up. You imagine if the bed was even just a little bit harder you’d bruise.

His face comes up beside you as he pulls your panties to the side and lines up with you.

Enix didn’t prep you as much as he usually did, but you were certainly wet enough already.

He slapped his hips against you and started pounding. His hand grips your scalp and pushes you as hard as possible into the mattress, you can’t breathe well and feel dizzy.

He grunts in your ear “I love you Y/N, I love you so fucking much!” you don’t think you’ll tire of hearing that as he takes you so roughly.

You’re yelling is muffled but you’re crying out “Yes! Yes! Yes!…” He loves it, he loves that you love him, and he pounds harder.

You feel him bruising your already purple thighs. It hurts so bad but you can’t help but love it.

His love so strong, and passionate that he has to pound it harshly into you.

His grip in your hair tightens as he pulls you into his chest and rises up, pounding up into your cunt.

“Yes! Enix! Please!” You cry out, able to breathe again you gasp.

His hand leaves your skull in favor of your neck, and his other finds your clit.

“Ah! Oh!” you scream to him noises of your pleasure. Your brain is melting into just pure bliss.

His grip tightens you think you hear your neck crack, and you instantly see spots.

“E-Enix” you try and make out.

your hand rises to tap his arm frantically, but he continues to squeeze and pulverize your pussy from below.

“UH,” He comes with a final grunt, and his grip lets up just enough to allow you some air, but not enough for the spots to really leave yet.

He sits there, inside of you, the white ring of your mixed essences around his cock now dripping onto the duvet.

He breathes against your back, and you try to as well.

You hold his arm and try to pull at it to release you, but he squeezes again.

“Don’t ever leave me, you won’t leave me… Right, Y/N?” his heavy breath tickles your ear. “I don’t think i’d manage without you. I know i wouldn’t.”

“No! of course not, Enix” his name was harder to get out without the air you needed and you slurred.

He lets up.

Not saying anything he pulls out, and for a split second he just sits there, his eyes far away.

he looks…

broken.

Then, he all of sudden gets up silently, and goes to grab a soft cloth as usual.

Your heart sinks a little, and your guts twist…

Later,

you’re both outside, wrapped crepe in hand, shopping bags on both your arms, and giggling. He offered to carry them, but you always love carrying your spoils.

As your walking through the bustling crowd you notice one person that stands out and Enix grabs you causing you to drop your sweet.

Darla.

He knew this could happen, but he had hopped she wouldn’t show up at least until you had clothes at home.

He wanted-no, needed to finally end her bothersome existence.

Your bags shuffled around, the paper, wirey straps digging into your skin, as Enix pulled you into an alley.

She appeared not seconds after and blocked the entrance.

Enix pushed you behind him, and a knife had come out of nowhere into his palm, pointing straight and steady, right at her.

She produced a large knife just as fast, and before your eyes could catch it, they rushed each other.

Before your eyes could catch it, blood pooled on the ground beneath them…

“ENIX!” You cried!

With your shopping bags long since forgotten, you run to him, Darla becoming background.

People rush into the alley and she jumps onto a dumpster then climbs the fire escape above us.

You and Enix are covered in his blood, an unknown sized wound under your combined hands.

“Shit, shit shit!” you yell, pressing your hands against his as hardly as you possibly can.

“Call an ambulance!” you yell!

“No!” Enix growls back…

“Wh-What?!”

“I said no, Y/N,” he repeated in the same gruff tone.

You begin to rip your clothes, not caring about the people near you. You try and rip your skirt upward so it spirals and becomes a longer strip of fabric, the stitching gives you some problems, but the adrenaline counters it with new found, but temporary strength.

You start to strip his top forcefully.

He seems to look adoringly at you, as if he doesn’t even feel his bleeding wound.

Blood is also dribbling out of his mouth which you can tell he’s trying to hide.

Once you patch him up as best you can and apply pressure, You notice small puddles of blood trailing from where she left as well…

Your brain rattles for seconds not knowing what to do now, then you realize and call for your driver frantically.

#oc enix #my fic #yandere x reader #my oc #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere x you #yandere #dead dove do not eat #tw yandere

14 notes · View notes