etk_archive
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Starting this off by saying that is a mindlessly self-indulgent fic, updates will likely be sporadic, and I have no idea what I'm doing. Anyways:
You didn't know why the darkness left you, nor did you know why the sand welcomed you with open arms, but his crimson eyes and blood-stained hands looked very lovely in the moonlight.
Alternatively: Dottore finds an old friend, they (re)join the Fatui, and chaos ensues.
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That one night (if only you hadn’t found me) by etk_archive
Fandoms: 崩坏3rd | Honkai Impact 3rd (Video Game), 崩坏：星穹铁道 | Honkai: Star Rail (Video Game)
11 Apr 2022
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The timeline is kinda fucked up? It takes place before the second eruption (HoV takes on k432 features because I say so btw) and before Otto’s birth
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𝕆𝕗 𝔽𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕌𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕓𝕪𝕖𝕤 by etk_archive
Fandoms: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
15 Feb 2022
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Getting up from the bed was getting a little harder to do every day
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Unlike blood, ink stops flowing if one wishes it to.
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"𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖕 𝖋𝖑𝖞𝖎𝖓𝖌" by etk_archive
Fandoms: 鬼滅の刃 | Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba (Anime), 鬼滅の刃 | Kimetsu no Yaiba (Manga)
02 Aug 2021
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**DISCONTINUED**
Recent series
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- Words:
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Banshee In A Well by bugbee, liverobinreaction (bugbee)
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
02 Apr 2023
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Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.
When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.
But most of all, Tim is alone.
(If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)
Series
- Part 1 of bury the dead where they're found
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Predictions have the capability to lead to ruin. Placing too much faith in the prognosis of your mind creates a newfound kind of dependence on yourself that when torn down will result in your own sweet, tantalizing annihilation.
Fyodor could predict the actions of anyone, but he could not predict the way Nikolai would make him feel. He could not even begin to comprehend it when his lips began to taste like a poem, like religion, like the very antithesis of sin. And he could not do anything but allow himself to fall asunder.