#gratuitous angst

[thatjoelguy81]

Criminal Minds Season 11 Episode 16 "Derek"

Or more accurately "The Derek Morgan Torture Porn Hour"

Jesus Christ it was like a bad angst fic.

All it was missing was a tender sex scene with Reid.

[awlwren-writes]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Part 3.5 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric Characters: Cor Leonis, Nyx Ulric Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2022, Can’t Go Home, Waiting, Implied/Referenced Torture Summary: Cor tries desperately to keep things from falling apart as first Titus Drautos, then Nyx go missing, with few answers and fewer hopes.

Febuwhump Day 14: Can’t go home

[norakwami]

Imagine how Adrien would react if, shortly after he recovers from this seemingly minor illness he has, Nathalie's health takes a sudden turn for the worse... and because they've been doing their best to conceal it from him up until this point, he's convinced she caught whatever he just got over.

[smutnug]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"I've been meaning to give you something." Alistair had waited until they were alone before speaking, but Solona had noticed him for a while now shifting from foot to foot on Eamon's rich carpet, thumbing a cloth-wrapped parcel. "It's nothing big. It's nothing, really."

"You've been meaning to give me nothing?" she teased gently.

Alistair didn't smile. "Well, no. I've been meaning to give you something incredible. Something that shows you…but all I could find was this."

[eliyahu-rozanov]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage Sex Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova Characters: Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova Additional Tags: Past Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Past Child on Child Sexual Assault, Past Incest, Idfic, Trauma study, Ilya Rozanov has CPTSD, Queerplatonic Relationships, Aromantic Svetlana Vetrova, Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, (the boys move back to Boston), Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, The Hollanders are trying their best, traumatic flashbacks, Past Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova, I love the smell of nuance in the morning, Svetlana Vetrova is ~psychic~, Ilya Rozanov Whump, gratuitous angst, Bottom Shane Hollander assumes bottoming is the better position and is determined to give Ilya a turn, Top Ilya Rozanov Does Not Have A Good Time but is likewise determined to give Shane what he wants, demiromantic Ilya Rozanov Summary:

By caring at all, Shane's keeping Ilya grounded in the present. The nightmare from the past slinks away, defeated, into the deep recesses of Ilya's mind. For now, anyway.

"You did not do this, lyubov," he manages, finally, voice watery and fragile.

He means it to be assuring, but that's not what happens.

For a moment, they look at each other in silence. Then, like a cloud of noxious fumes, a dreadful recognition comes over Shane's face.

"Ilya," he says, low and haunted, "are you telling me someone else hurt you?"

Hollanov kink week, Day 4: compatible

[plisuu]

Hello! For DADWC, what about A9 from the DA-inspired dialogue list, which is "“I ruined your life.” “You’ve ruined nothing. You are my life.”" for whichever characters inspire you.

Boy uhhh was I inspired. A little OC x OC incredibly angsty action pre-conclave. This prompt got a little out of hand lol

wc: 1010 @dadrunkwriting tw: mentions of abuse (templar inflicted)

Day in and day out, night after night, the rebel templars never stopped moving. Weston wondered if they ever tired as he was dragged from camp to camp in the frigid, god-forsaken place called Ferelden.

Less than a week into reaching the region from the Free Marches, he and Connor had been ambushed by a group of the defecting knights. Weston had pleaded with the templars for their lives. Connor—a tranquil, a mage, impersonating a knight, lying about his identity—and himself for harboring his former knight-captain.

Eventually, they struck a deal. Their lives for servitude. The rebels were small in number, constantly involved in skirmishes with bandits and apostates alike, and simply didn’t have the bodies to run and defend a camp.

Weston did manual labor, mostly. Pitching tents, cooking, moving supplies, and the like. He wasn’t pleased, but it was far better than death. They still gave him lyrium. Not enough, never enough, but just enough to keep him from going mad.

The true deal they had made though, was for Connor. He was well trained in fighting apostates, imposing, strong, seemingly unaffected by fatigue and emotional turmoil… the perfect soldier. As long as Connor fought, Weston would live.

That was the deal they had made.

Weston only ever caught glimpses of his former knight-captain. Connor was constantly accompanied by other templars, armed to the teeth with phylacteries and staves from the apostates he killed. They exchanged glances when they could… Or Weston did at least. Connor always stared back with those cold, emotionless eyes.

It was a fateful night that they had a moment together, far after the camp had settled into the closest thing to what they might consider peaceful slumber. Weston had been wearily shuffling supplies from one crate into another when he heard armored footsteps slowly approaching.

The younger man would have moved to defend himself, had the circumstances been different, but instead he braced himself, tensing his shoulders and trying to subtly move his hands to protect his face. Usually, an approaching templar meant getting beat, whipped, or worse, and trying to stop it only ended in more severe punishment.

He was startled when there was a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he turned to face Connor’s familiar stormy grey eyes. He wanted to cry with relief—bury himself in Connor’s arms and tell him to run, to take them as far away from this place as he could—but instead, he took a deep breath and pushed the wishful thinking from his mind.

“You shouldn’t be seen with me,” Weston whispered, his voice weak with emotion and exhaustion. Connor simply looked at him with his unfeeling gaze.

“I thought you would prefer the company, but I can leave, if you wish.”

“No!” Weston cried, grabbing out for Connor and finding purchase on his tabard. Weston clutched at the fabric like a child. “No,” he repeated, lowering his voice again and looking around frantically for anyone who might have heard his outburst. “No, don’t leave me.”

Connor glanced down at him and made an effort at a hug. It was stiff and awkward, but Weston was glad for any contact, melting into the embrace. A sob tore from his lungs as he buried himself in Connor’s arms, trying to hold him as close as he possibly could while they had the chance.

“I apologize for the distress this situation has caused you,” the larger man remarked as Weston pulled them both behind the storage crates he had been unloading. “It was the only reasonable way to avoid more unnecessary deaths.”

Weston’s expression grew hard.

“You know that’s bullshit,” he growled. “You say that, but they make you hunt mages constantly. How long until they start having you kill innocent people?”

Connor tilted his head.

“They have Evelyn’s phylactery.”

Any words forming on Weston’s tongue died in his mouth. He turned and spat on the ground before turning back.

“You should have left while you could, Connor. They’re using you, you know. You don’t have to do this for me. You shouldn’t have to kill your own family for me.” Weston turned away. He could feel the tears beginning to spill and tried to force them to stop. “You shouldn’t have to do any of this. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

“You are suffering. I did not mean to lead us to this,” Connor replied.

“Don’t apologize,” came the whispered response as Weston shook his head. He looked back into Connor’s eyes, searching for something, anything. “I would follow you into hell if you asked.”

Connor’s expression shifted slightly—or maybe it was Weston’s delirious imagination.

“I do not want you to die.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and the sounds of movement from the far side of camp.

“I leave again in the morning,” Connor stated. “I should go.”

He began turning when Weston reached out again, throwing himself into Connor despite his exhaustion and his body's protests. He took the larger man’s face in both his hands and surged upwards into a kiss. Connor didn’t pull away and he didn’t quite return it either, but Weston didn’t care. This is what would get him though the next round of lashes, through the next week of beatings, though the rest of his damned miserable life until he found a way to get himself and Connor out of there.

Connor tasted like smoke and dust and lyrium, and Weston relished every last lingering bit of him. The sounds of armor grew closer and Connor pulled away at last.

“Do not die,” he said simply before leaving to resume his patrol.

Weston watched him go, trying to dry his tears before anyone saw him.

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” he breathed. “I won’t.”

[takebacktheyuri]

what's with this depressing random thing I'm drawing...???

too tired to finish it atm...

[arts-junkie]

I hate my life can I trade it in for a new one please

or can I be 16 again so I can make the right choices