#I’m going to die miserable and alone and I’m the only one to blame

[doctor-wombat]

.

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Chapter 2)

summary: following your encounter in that dark alley, you're faced with your old love. will you have the strength to stand up to him?

rating: T

word count: 2.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: kidnapping, reader is shackled for a while, starvation (both imposed by captor and self-imposed), manipulation.

a/n: a shorter chapter and no funny business this time around cause we gotta focus on the development of their relationship while reader is in captivity. also! look out for the additional a/n at the end of the chapter! im undecided on where i want to take this so i want all of your opinions !!

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I fell in love with someone

I don’t know

Anymore, anymore

Sometimes I wonder if you

Think of me

Anymore, anymore

-

You can't make much of what happened after he appeared. You were too shocked by the presence of your past lover to acknowledge whoever cast sleep on you, knocking you unconscious at your most vulnerable moment. Cowards. When you awaken, you’re shackled, hanging to a wall in a dark cell. You pull against the restraints to no avail; you were securely locked in.

Your struggling must’ve made too much noise, as not long afterwards, the door opens wide, revealing Astarion, alone. He was standing proud in lavish clothing, different from the ones you had seen him in at the party a few days ago, but just as proper. As much as these last few months had been awful to you, it seemed like they had been the best in his last 200 years of existence. He approaches you slowly, head held high and arms crossed in his back.

“How’s your head, my dear?”

Hearing his voice again for the first time in months triggers a wave of emotions within you. Hurt, hatred, longing… lust. You shake them away as best as you can before questioning him.

“Why did you bring me here, Astarion?”

“I simply wanted to talk,” he says, his tone annoyingly playful.

“Was the kidnapping and shackles really necessary?” You slightly pull against them again to make your point; you can barely move in this condition.

“Can you blame me? Seeing how you ignored me so easily all night, and the fury in which you provoked my servants, I doubted you were going to follow me here willingly.”

You close your eyes and sigh, dropping your head, discouraged.

“Plus,” he adds, “I couldn’t take the chance to have you run out on me. I let you go once, it’s not a mistake I’ll be doing again.”

“Really? Now, after all these months, you want me back?” You chuckle, somehow finding a way to laugh at the situation you’re in as you raise your head back to meet his gaze. “I notice that your inability to move on wasn’t part of the many things that changed after your ascension.” 

He smiles back, amused by your wits. “I told you, I only changed for the best. Besides, I know you've been missing me just as much.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, trying to conceal your reality. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.” “Am I? Were you not alone and miserable for all these months, flinging yourself at any stranger willing to spend the night with you? Or did my spawns lie to me?”

“Wait… How do you know that? Have you been spying on me?!” You exclaim in disbelief.

“Well, someone had to make sure you weren't off to get yourself killed in some stupid way.” 

You scoff, offended at this image he had of you. “I can handle my own, thank you.”

“And yet, my servants had no problems cornering you in a dark alley.” 

You open your mouth as you're about to answer back when you find yourself at a loss for words. He got you there, the prick. He notices your silence and sighs before commenting on your state.

“I’m sure you’re mad at me right now, and I wouldn’t blame you for it. But know that I’m doing this for your own good.”

“My own good? If you wanted to help me, you would disappear from my life, let me go and give me a chance to move on.” You feel like crying, and yet, the irony of the situation makes you laugh some more. “You have everything you’ve ever dreamed of and yet, you still couldn’t find someone new to replace me.” He laughs lightly. “I’ve only ever wanted you, my treasure. And now,” he walks towards you with a languid pace, his hand reaching for your chin, lifting it to meet his gaze, “You're finally where you belong, where you should have always been in the first place.”

You snap your head out of his grasp. “Shackled at your feet?” You spit out.

He forcefully brings back your gaze on him, his nails grazing your cheeks, making you hiss. “By my side.” He looks at your bared teeth, smiling. “You will make a deadly consort, that I'm sure of.” Your eyes widen as you understand the implication, and your voice rises as the fear starts to set in. “NEVER.” 

He tilts your head aside and leans in the crook of your exposed neck, his breath hot against your skin. “You don't have to. I can just take what's rightfully mine,” he whispers and that last word sends a chill down your spine. You struggle in his grasp, trying to pull your neck away as you shout. “Don’t you DARE!”

He chuckles to himself. “Oh, don't you worry, I won’t bite unless you ask, very, very nicely.” He releases your face coldly but doesn’t move away from you. “But where are my manners? I almost forgot; I meant to invite you to eat.”

“I would rather starve,” you declare, leaning into that last word.

He sighs, seemingly growing tired of your attitude. “Fine, do as you wish,” he says, walking away from you. 

He leaves and you’re left on your own for Gods know how long. You spend those first hours trying to free yourself still and eventually give up when you start to feel the bruises on your wrists. You drift in and out of consciousness, fatigue affecting you more with every hour that passes. Without any source of light, it’s nearly impossible for you to tell how much time had gone by since the night you were captured. But, judging by the growling of your stomach, at least a full day had gone by, maybe even two. Your arms and legs were starting to give out on you as well, when the door before you opened to a spawn you didn't recognize. 

“Lord Ancunín invites you to dinner,” he says, composed.

“You can tell him to fuck off.” Your words don’t have the intended effect as they’re told with a shaky voice. In truth, you would kill for just a piece of bread right about now, but you would let yourself die before you complied to Astarion.

“I'm afraid that's not an option.”

Two more spawns appear behind him, and you instantly understand where this is going; this wasn't a request, it was an order. You're unshackled, although the spawns’ grips were so strong, you didn’t notice a difference, and were guided out of your cell. You reach an immense dining room, where Astarion has been waiting for you, a gold cup already to his lips. Knowing him, you suppose it’s either blood or fine wine, not that you care either way. You sink into the chair positioned at your end of the table, eyeing the food before you suspiciously. 

“You don’t seriously think I would poison you, do you?” He exclaims. “Oh no, quite the opposite; I only want what’s best for my precious pet.”

You scoff, briefly eyeing Astarion who is sitting opposite you before turning your attention to the contents between the two of you. You would lie to yourself if you said you weren't starving. The food laid out on the table looked delicious. The table was filled with different plates of food, each one looking better than the previous, making your stomach growl in appetite. You could practically drool all over the place, but you didn’t want to give Astarion the satisfaction of seeing you cave in. Not yet, not so soon. You wouldn’t let him get the best of you. 

Astarion quickly understands your intentions, with you staring right back at him, and he sighs, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be wise to let yourself starve, pet. You wouldn’t want to waste all this delicious food, would you? Don’t be shy, at least take a bite.”

You're tempted, but against your better judgement, you ignore the mouth-watering meal, crossing your arms in defiance. He rolls his eyes, matching your attitude.

“As you wish.”

He snaps his fingers and the two spawns that brought you here move towards you, reaching for your arms. You stand up abruptly, pulling away from them and swiftly grabbing a knife from the table, standing in a defensive stance. Astarion speaks up, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Trust me, you do not want to pick a fight here. My lovely assistants only want to bring you back to your cell for the night.”

“I know the way.”

“I insist.”

Your fatigue and hunger get the best of you; you simply don’t have the energy to fight. 

“Fine.” You drop the knife on the floor in defeat; even if you managed to land a blow, you had nowhere to run off to, and they would probably catch up to you anyway.

“That’s my girl.”

You hate the effect he still has on you. He knows just what to say to get to you.

You shoot him a deadly glare and feel your breathing quickening as your heart races with anger and your nails dig through your palms. He smiles pretentiously at you, and you’re overcome with thoughts of jumping onto him and punching his stupid face, making him regret everything he’s done to you these last few days. If it wasn’t for the awful twist in your gut, you might have. You shut your eyes closed as you look away, frowning, before you start walking away and the two vampire spawns accompany you to your cell, where you let yourself slouch over the rock wall. At least, they didn't restrain you again.

Once again alone with your thoughts, your mind drifts to your companions. Specifically Shadowheart; would she still be waiting for you? Would she be looking for you? You wish you had a way to contact her, let her know you need help. Your thoughts are interrupted by a stabbing feeling in your gut, again. Maybe you should’ve taken a bite, just a small one, just to keep you going… No, this was a game to him, you needed to hold on. The pain is good, you try to convince yourself, it’s a reminder that I’m alive, mortal, and I’ll fight to keep it that way as long as I can. 

Another wretched tenday passes and you avoid the food still. Every day follows the same routine: you’re woken up, Astarion’s spawns bring you to the large dining room where you’ll refuse to eat anything, until he gets bored of your attitude and you’ll be brought back to your cell, three times a day. You sense how Astarion is getting annoyed at you, and it strengthens your resolve. However, you hate to admit it, but you’re becoming weaker and weaker. You spend most of the passing days asleep, unable to think straight through your hunger, and too exhausted to do anything else. 

Finally, you cave in.

As you're brought to the dining room for dinner, your gaze falls upon your favourite meal, presented before you. For the first time in days, your façade breaks down, you have eyes for nothing else other than the meal in front of you. Had this been given to you on the first day, you would’ve gladly turned it down, but you didn’t have that kind of resolve anymore. Astarion snaps you out of your reverie by speaking up, and you raise your eyes to meet his.

“You had asked me what my favourite meal was and I couldn’t remember.” His tone is gentle. “It had been so long that everything tasted like garbage. Even wine tasted like pure vinegar. It frustrated me. That’s when you told me about yours: Baldurian Mash. You described it in such great detail, I could almost taste it myself.” He pauses, and you look up to meet his gaze. “I wanted to give you what I couldn't have. A chance to remember.” You can’t stop the tears from swelling up. You’re famished, completely drained, and mentally spent; this was the last straw. You grab the gold-plated utensil with a shaky hand and dig into the plate, shoving that first bite in your mouth. It’s even better than you remember it. You chew on that first bite longer than necessary, relishing the taste of the meal. It’s comforting, filling, it tastes like home; it’s everything you’ve wanted and more. You are so hungry that you end up ravishing the rest of it, barely taking the time to savour it properly past that first mouthful. Your belly growls, this time content with the food you finally gave it. After so many days resting on an empty stomach, you can't afford to eat anything else. You smile unconsciously as you lay back in your chair, satisfied with your meal, before getting up to leave, following the usual routine.

You stop in your tracks near the door and slightly turn around towards the ascendant, pausing before the words escape your lips.

“Thank you.”

As you walk away, you miss the devilish grin forming on his lips, as you curse yourself for granting him the satisfaction of your words.

You know the way to your cell by heart now; you would probably be able to reach it with your eyes closed. You walk in front of the spawns, your mind wandering to your evening, to him. He remembered that little detail about you that felt so insignificant back then, and he sounded so sincere. What if he cared all along? Had you been wrong about him all along? Did you miss out on the signs, too blinded by your guilt? Deep down, was he still your Astarion? The same questions keep repeating themselves over and over until one of the spawns speaks up, snapping you out of your own world.

“Excuse me, my lady?”

Lady? The mention of the title stops you in your tracks and you turn around to face them, a question mark visible on your face.

“Lord Ancunín requested that you be moved to this room from now on.”

The spawn walks towards a door you had never noticed previously and opens it, welcoming you in. You look at the other spawn who nods at you before you walk towards the room. Inside you find a large bed, draped in luxurious blue and gold silk sheets, a lit fireplace creating a warm light all around, and a large window, covered by black curtains. The room alone is almost as large as the one you shared with your companions back at the Elfsong. The walls were filled with books that you couldn’t make out exactly, and a cosy blue velvet chair sat between the fireplace and the window. You’re still taking everything in when one of the spawns speaks up.

“Please let us know if you are in need of anything. Have a good night, my lady.”

You barely notice them as they both leave, closing the door behind them, too enraptured by the sight of your new room. You're confused. Could this be a trap? Was he watching you from somewhere like he had been all those previous months? You look around quickly but can't make out much, as the fatigue from your first meal in days settles in. The bed in the middle of your room looks so comfortable after spending days sleeping against the cold rock ground. You reach for it and as you lay down, you feel yourself drift to sleep almost instantly.

-

Familiar faces that look like you

They tend to

Mess with my head just like it's deja vu

It's always

Right when I think I’m getting over you

That it feels

Like I have salt inside an open wound

[moethewriter]

Idk if you're comfortable doing these but maybe reader is on their month and needs comfort from finnick. Had mine last week the cramps, nausea and back pain was crazy fr lol. Or maybe just a comfort reading been a rough week

Please and thank you have a lovely day 🫶🏾

Of course I can write that anon! Periods are the worst. TITLE: Chamomile Delights WORD COUNT: 1.1k WARNINGS: Period content, fluff TAGS: Can be read as gn!reader (women aren't the only ones who get periods y'all!) A/N: Loved writing this one! Periods are ass, and as a non-binary person who gets them, we all need a little comfort! Hope you all enjoy this! I'm still not feeling 100%, this flu is lingering my friends, but writing has been taking my mind off of that! Love yall! Also not beta read as per usual, sorry for any spelling mistakes! Haha! -

It had come early, and to say you weren’t happy was an understatement. You wanted to die, truly lay down and allow yourself to become one with the earth because anything would be better than this shit. You didn’t remember the last time you felt this horrible during your cycle, usually you could manage but today was just … awful. Everything made you want to cry, or you when something inconvenienced you, you wanted to chuck it against the wall and watch it smash. You were nauseated at the smell of anything Mags brought you to eat, and to top it all of you just felt so fucking miserable.

Finnick had been gone for a few days, off in The Capitol, when your period had started, usually he would be there to provide any sort of comfort you needed but right now you were alone. You couldn’t blame him, Snow had summoned him and many other Victors for a week of galas and to introduce the new Victors. You feigned illness, which in some ways was true, but you were upset he couldn’t stay with you. Had you known it would start, you probably would have gone because at least then you would have your built in space heater.

You wanted to have him near you, as childish as it sounded. He always made you feel better and doted on you. He made you feel better and knew how to take care of you. But mostly you just missed him. His comforting smile, the way he would rub your lower back and just hold you to help you fall asleep. You were miserable without him, and you looked like shit. It wasn’t ideal, but you could make it through the worst alone if you had too. You felt like something that had just crawled out of a sewer drain, and you were sure you looked like it too.

Finnick hated seeing you so ill. He always wanted to make you feel better in whatever way he could. Whether that was holding you while you angrily muttered and cursed at the world for having cramps, or making you a small dinner that he knew wouldn’t make you sick. Well more like got Mags to make something while he presented it to you, he had never been the best cook and when you weren’t well he knew it was hopeless to try and feed you anything he made, it was sweet the way he tried so hard.

Some days he was a pain in your ass, but you didn’t mind that anymore. 

“When he gets home, I swear I’m going to kill him.” You whispered, throwing a pillow over your head, maybe if you suffocate yourself enough, the lack of oxygen flow would stop the pain all together. “Damn fucking President Snow calling his ass away. Maybe I’ll kill him next.” You grumbled under the pillow.

“Kill who next?”

You sat up straight, regretting your decision the moment you cramped up a little more. You felt a small wave of nausea hit you as you covered your mouth. You hadn’t expected him home until far later in the week. 

“What the fuck?” You muttered, squinting your eyes. “You’re home early.” You observed the glitter on him, his demeanor and the way he was dressed.

It wasn’t unusual for him to come back from The Capitol dressed far differently than anything he wore at home. It wasn’t Finnick’s usual style, he preferred a more low key look when he was in District Four, always had, but he did look gorgeous.

“And you look like shit.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame. “Are you in pain?”

“I feel like shit, thanks for the observation, Finn.” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, obviously.” You were far grumpier than you wanted to be but you couldn’t help it right now, the light was too bright and you abdomen felt like it was crushing your insides.

“Ah. I see.” Finnick said, exiting the room.

You grumbled to yourself angrily, desperately searching for a position that gave you any relief, though nothing you had tried worked thus far. At least Finnick was here, despite the annoyance you had at the entire situation, you were thankful he was home early.

“Hot water, and a cup of tea.” Finnick said, returning a few minutes later holding a steaming mug and a small towel.

“Finn.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. “Sorry. I’m not upset, and sorry for being a dick, thank you.” You smiled, as he passed you the cup, you inhaled it and the smile grew.

Chamomile, a luxury to get when you were outside The Capitol. It was your favourite tea, always had been, and he  managed to snag a few boxes of it when he could. He always thought of you like that, whenever he could get you something he would. 

He sat beside you, gently pressing a kiss into your shoulder and you exhaled deeply at the simple, yet comforting gesture. Having his presence was already a comfort.

“What do you need from me?” He asked, pressing his chin to where he laid the kiss. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“Kill me?” You questioned, a teasing tone lacing your words. You sipped the tea he had brought you and felt the warmth take over your body. 

“Well … not that.” He snorted into your shoulder, his hands moving to gently massage your sides. 

“Thank you for the tea, and the hot water. Hold me, massage my back … work your usual magic Odair, because when I tell you I’ve been so unpleasant these last two days … I’m not lying.” You huffed.

“You’re not always unpleasant?” He teased, moving the massage to your shoulders.

You could feel the deep knots slowly being undone, and you let out a sigh of relief, you hadn’t realized the tension had been that bad.

“I will kick you off this bed.” You warned, shooting him a glare.

“Then who would take such good care of you?” Finnick smiled, continuing to work his magic. “No one can live up to this.” He laughed, a small sound coming from the bass of his throat. 

You loved his laugh.

“Hush, let me relax.” You closed your eyes, and focused on his soft humming,

Days like these had always been so miserable, you had gotten so used to riding it out alone, but now you had Finnick. He would always take care of you, and you would in turn, take care of him. There would never be one without the other, not anymore.

“I love you.” You said, simply, leaning into him.

“I love you too.” He said back, holding you closer.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Outsiders Prompt Fic #11- "This ain't my first rodeo kid"

This one was requested by @whitemanswh0re3 who requested prompt 10 for Tim Shepard. I had a lot of fun with this one, and got to include some Curly and Angela shenanigans so I hope y'all enjoy!

****************

Tim should have known better.

His first mistake was forgetting to hide ma’s liquor bottles before she woke up that morning. His second was paying more attention to Manuel’s report on their business with the Brumly boys than to his pissed off little sister, and his third was leaving the twins alone for more than five minutes without adequate supervision.

This is his fault, but all Angela’s doing. She’s mad at him so now she's getting even, and shit he’s gonna have a miserable night isn’t he? He should have known better. She’s not one to mess with. He supposes it’s his own fault- he raised her to take no shit, but honestly, she's not supposed to turn his teachings against him. She’d wanted his attention before and he’d ignored her, so now she’d gone and made it impossible for him to ignore her a second longer.

“Timmy!” Ma’s eyes are jewel bright, the booze making her happy before the comedown makes her mad. That’s fine. That’s par for the course. “Carinõ, come sit with us.”

He takes in the scene in front of him. Bottles and powders- familiar evidence of Ma’s debauchery- covering every surface, his baby brother on the floor, half hidden behind the couch, his little sister bleary eyed and all but collapsed into Ma’s side. 

“Come sit with us,” he can hear the deadly disbelief in his voice, “Come sit with us? With you and my seven year old baby siblings you let get drunk with you?”

She scoffs at him. Actually scoffs. 

“They’ve only had a sip or two, they’re fine.”

He should have known something like this would happen the minute Angel started sucking up to Ma. Angela hates Ma. Of course she had ulterior motives. How could he be so stupid?

“They! Are! Seven! Years! Old!” He all but howls, “You shouldn’t have given them any! Jesus Christ woman, I know you decided not to be our mother but you could at least use some goddamn common sense! You don’t give children alcohol for fucks sakes.”

“Angel wanted some.” She’s petulant, like a scolded child, and Tim hates that he’s stuck raising her right along with his siblings. 

“Angel wants a lotta things, and at least half of them will kill her,” he levels a glare at his sister, who doesn’t seem to really hear him before turning back to Ma “she’s gotta learn the meanin’ of no and you bet your ass I’m gonna teach it to her just as soon as I make sure they ain’t gonna die of alcohol poisonin’ because of you.”

Ma doesn’t look ashamed. She never does, never once feels guilty when she should no matter what she’s done or how much she’d hurt them. Nothing is ever her fault, not when she didn't buy enough food to feed them when they were little, not when she forgot they existed and left for a week when she went on a bender, not when her boyfriends beat on him and Curly or got too friendly with Angela. To Maria, nothing is ever her fault. Letting the twins go hog wild on her Jose Cuervo won’t be any different. She’ll blame him or fate or her piece of shit ex husband, if all else fails she’ll call it an accident but she’ll never admit that it’s all her fault. Her fault for never getting to know her children as more than dolls to play with when she's bored, her fault for giving up on mothering when he was four and never trying again, even when she had new babies, her fault for being so pathetically broken she doesn’t know- or worse just doesn’t care- what giving free access to her poison of choice could do to children who are already too used to numbing their pain in any way they can find.

He hates her. He hates her so much. 

Curly is sprawled across the floor by the couch, glassy eyed and babbling to himself. The kid already never shuts up and whatever poison Ma had given him seems to have cut off his filter altogether. It don’t matter that no ones listening to him- Curly’s off in his own little world, entertaining himself. He’s a lonely kid, Tim’s seen it, seen how he’s always a bit too strange, a bit too callous, a bit too wild to every truly fit in- he supposes it’s good the kid has learned to entertain himself. Even still, he hates seeing it like this. 

“What did they have?” he grits through a mask of forced calm. He’ll deal with Ma later. For now, the kids have to come first, and per usual he's the only one around willing to recognize that. “How much did you give them?”

“Really Timmy, I don’t know what you’re all up in arms about, my mama got me started early-”

“-Look how well that turned out for you, huh?” He sneers, glad to see her flinch. “Now I ain’t gonna ask you again: how much did they have and what exactly did you give them?”

“They been sippin’ from my bottle with me,” she holds up her good old Jose Cuervo bottle that Tim wants to smash against the fucking wall, “and I think Angel stole a bite or two of brownie when my back was turned.”

“She got into the grass?”

“It ain’t my fault! They’re devils, both of them. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said it wasn’t for kids, she just wanted sweets!”

“Fuck!” He kicks the beat up coffee table sending empties crashing to the floor, “fuck!”

“If they get proper sick from this,” he whirls on Maria, jabbing a finger in her direction and she cringes back. He knows he looks like Pa when he’s mad like this, it’s why usually he fights so hard to keep his temper under control. RIght now though, he doesn’t much care if he reminds her of him. Let her be scared. He hopes she feels even half the terror he’s feeling right now. “If I gotta take them to the ER or Curly chokes on his own puke or Angel finds she’s got a taste for the good stuff at seven fucking years old- I swear to god I will kill you. So you better pray they’re alright.”

She swallows, suddenly quiet and the only noise in the room is Curly’s incessant babbling, but Tim doesn’t drop eye contact and she must know he means it because without another word she rises from the couch, and stumbles down the hall closing the door of her room behind her with a snap. 

Tim sighs. One problem dealt with, two to go, one of whom is having a conversation with the ceiling and the other of which seems fascinated by the feeling of the couch cushion against her cheek. 

Jesus Christ.

The twins have always been small, wiry and wild as any feral animal, and he fears it’s yet another disadvantage working against them tonight, as the alcohol and the weed is bound to do a lot more damage to their systems than it would to anyone actually old enough to be playing with substances. However, their is one advantage to them being small that Tim learned very early on to use to his advantage, and that’s this: he can still manage to pick them both up at once.

He scoops Angie up first, fixing her nightgown which has gotten twisted around her neck, and she rests her head on his shoulder, but apart from that doesn’t give any indication that she knows who he is or what’s going on. She gets like this sometimes anyway, quits talking and gets real blank looking so he can’t really tell if it’s the weed hitting her hard or not. Curly on the other hand, grins as soon as he sees him and doesn’t stop talking for even a second as Tim settles him on his hip and starts carrying them down the hall to their bedroom. They should’ve been asleep ages ago, and they’ll probably crash soon regardless, but it isn’t gonna offer him any sort of peace now is it, not when he’s gonna have to wake up every hour to check that they’re still breathing. 

“...an’ mama’s friend Mark came over for a bit an’ I think he’s mean but mama said we had to be nice or we’d have to go away again and then Angela stole her brownie and didn’t even share with me e’en though I gave her an easter chocklit and then mama got mad at us for fighting so she said I could have more of her special drink so it was fair but her special drink hurt my mouth but I got in trouble for spittin’ it out an’ Mark belted me a goodun’ so I had to swallow all of it-”

“Curly,” Tim cut him off firmly. That’s how he always has to do stuff with the kid. Firm. Otherwise Curly don’t pay attention long enough to listen to anything, “what do you mean that bastard belted you?”

“He hit me,” Curly told him simply, and Tim hated how matter of fact he sounded. No seven year old should sound so blase about being smacked, “a goodun’ in the back, but I didn’t cry ‘cause I know you wouldn’t an’ I’m tough like you so I just glared at him and called him a motherfucker like you woulda-”

“Curly, let me see your back.”

He eased the kid’s t-shirt over Curly’s scrawny shoulders, feeling a new spike of rage at the hand shaped purple bruise blooming across Curly's shoulder. That asshole. Tim was gonna hunt him down and give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d learn not to mess with a Shepard ever again, and maybe he’d learn a lesson about beating little kids too.

“You did good kid,” Tim told him, fixing Curly’s t-shirt, “that bastard ain’t gonna take a swing at you again, y’hear?”

“I’ll beat him up if he tries. You can help,” Curly offers magnanimously, “you’re real good at beatin’ people up. I bet me’n you could beat up anyone if we tried. Even a football player soc.”

“Even a football player soc.” Tim agrees, hating the softness that’s welling in his chest. He’s supposed to be angry at them- they’re big enough to know they aren’t supposed to talk to Ma if he isn’t around and he’s had the talk about not eating or drinking anything Ma gives them more than once- but it’s hard when the booze has made Curly so sweet, and Angel so cuddly, curled into his lap. They’ll be grumpy tomorrow, sick and sore, and hopefully that’ll teach them a lesson, but for now he figures he can afford to be a little extra nice to them. After all, it doesn’t sound like Ma or latest her boyfriend had been earlier.

“Angel’s bein’ real quiet doncha think?” Curly really couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it. Tim just hums, shifting so he’s leaning against the wall, Angela in his lap and Curly leaning into his side. “She says that brownie made her feel all floaty and thet talkings making her sick, but that drink made my head cloudy too and I don’t feel sick so I thought it was maybe an al-er-gic reaction like Saide Thomason had at school except I made her blow on my hand and  could feel the air so I guess she’s still breathing, which is good because I don’t want Angel to stop breathin’.”

He pats her cheek none too gently but Angela doesn’t seem to mind, offering him a dopey smile,far less guarded than her usual one. Yeah, she’s real out of it, but Curly’s assessment seems to ring true, and Tim thinks she’ll be ok.

“Angel’s my best friend, did you know?” Curly informs him, before looking down at his twin sister, “You’re my best friend Angel, even though you are plain old mean sometimes. It’s ok though ‘cause I am too sometimes, and usually you’re just mean ‘cause you're sad, and I figure that’s alright. Ponyboy says you should try not to be mean ever but he also called Dillon an asshole at recesss yesterday so he’s a hyp- hypo-critter or whatever it’s called when you’re a big dirty liar-”

Curly’s mouth was still spilling words at warp speed but his eyes were starting to droop, and Tim figured he’d talk himself to sleep pretty soon. Angel had already nodded off a minute ago, and the even breaths puffing out of her mouth between snores reassured him she was doing alright and wasn’t gonna overdose the way he’d been worried about since Ma let slip she’d got ahold of that brownie. Was he still gonna wait up to make sure? Obviously, but at least there wasn’t panicky tension thrumming under his skin anymore.

Curly dropped off to sleep exactly the way Tim knew he would, cutting himself off mid sentence and slumping against him. Tim sighed, waiting a minute to make sure he was truly out before carefully shifting him so he was curled up beside Angela, head tilted so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up in his sleep. Tim climbed off the bed, making sure not to jostle either of them lest he accidentally wake them up. Angel was blitzed outta her mind, and Curly had drunk himself into a near stupor, but he still wasn’t about to risk it.

He dragged Curly’s mattress across the room so he was right next to them when they inevitably woke up fussy, and quickly fell into a fitful doze.

He jerked awake an hour later, and after checking to make sure both kids were still sound asleep and triple checking they were breathing ok, fell back onto his own mattress.

The next time he wakes it’s to the sound of whimpering. 

Internally cursing and blinking blearily he sits up to see Curly twisted in the blankets, hair flat on one side and eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Tim?” Curly sounds very small, “I don’t feel good.”

“Ok kid,” Tim sighs, swinging Curly into his arms and carrying him down to the bathroom, “it’s alright. This is just what happens when you drink Ma’s special drinks.”

“I don't wanna be sick,” Curly whines, a dangerous wobble in his voice, “I didn’t even like her special drink.”

Tim really, really can’t handle the waterworks right now.

“It’s alright kid, just let yourself throw up and you’ll feel better.”

Curly does, managing to get the whole mess in the bowl and isn’t that a fucking miracle since usually the bathroom looks like a crime scene whenever the twins get sick. Tim rubs his back, pushing his curls out of his face until he’s sure Curly’s done, then wets a corner of the hand towel with water and uses it to wipe his baby brother’s face.

“You’re real good at this,” Curly mumbles, already half asleep as Tim carries him back to bed.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the sleeping kid’s forehead as he lays him next to Angela, “this ain’t my first rodeo kid.”

Curly snuffles a little, loud even in sleep, and  Angela somehow managed to headbut him in the shoulder and toss an arm over his shoulders without waking up.

Tim regards them both a second longer, watches their chests rise and fall- breathing, alive, safe, if only for the moment, and drops back onto his own mattress for the night.

He'll be here when they wake up, but for now he’s gonna get some much needed sleep.

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: RED Engie/BLU Spy - I Want To

Summary: It would be nice for someone on RED to strike up an awkward friendship with the Spy head. Shippy or not, I think it'd be a good(?) time. The man is miserable let him have something.

~

Finding out why the BLU Spy was missing from the battlefield had been an accident. Engie had just happened to wonder in at the right time to catch Medic in a rush to put something back in his fridge that he clearly didn’t want Engie to see. Engie was more than smart enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed anything, coming back later to check.

His first instinct had been to put a stop to the experiment. But getting on Medic’s bad side was unwise. And after how long he’d been missing for he likely was marked as permanently dead or AWOL, either of which might have gotten him removed from BLU Respawn’s data base. Engie couldn’t exactly waltz over there and check or do anything to fix that should it be a thing while the whole rest of the BLU team was present. So he bided his time.

He did what he could to make Spy’s life more bearable; taking him out of the fridge to talk to him and give him cigarettes. It probably didn’t help as much as he would’ve liked given that he could only come in when Medic was away, so mostly at night. But he finally had stopped asking Engie to kill him so perhaps they were getting somewhere… or he had just given up.

Either way Engie was glad not to hear a request for death upon opening the fridge. Instead Spy said a halfhearted, “Howdy,” in imitation of him. He looked about as tired as one would expect. Hopefully soon though that would change.

“Howdy,” Engie returned with as much cheer as he could muster as he reached in to grasp the device at the base of his neck that kept him alive. Pulling him out he placed him on the nearby table. It’d be nice to bring him back to the workshop but he only dared do so when Medic was all the way away from the base which he currently wasn’t.

Engie pulled out his pack of cigarettes. After putting one in Spy’s mouth he lit it before pulling one out for himself. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, the fancy expensive ones were indeed much better than the kind he used to buy before Spy had started insisting he get better ones.

As they smoked Engie caught him up on the goings on of RED and what he knew of BLU. Such had become their routine and thus there wasn’t much new to report so he added in what he’d read in the Tuefort Times he’d read a couple days ago too. Not that that was very interesting but it certainly had to be better than the inside of Medic’s fridge.

Eventually their cigarettes burnt to nubs. Engie snuffed them out in the ash tray he’d brought. Always he was careful to never leave any trace of himself behind. When he was done he looked back up at Spy. “So, the holidays are coming up soon. Meaning both teams will be getting off soon to head home. Medic say what his plans are for ya?” Another reason Engie couldn’t easily do anything about the situation was because Spy’s device needed to be routinely refilled with whatever liquid ran it or he’d die.

“He’s hooking me up to a new device of his that’s supposed to not need refilling as often. I suspect I’ll die.”

“He’s leaving you here?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” Exactly what Engie had been hoping for.

“Yes, wonderful. I’ll die alone in a fridge when the healing beam inevitably fails or runs out of juice halfway through the holiday season. Perhaps if I’m really lucky, I’ll last until Christmas. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Engie wasn’t always the best at picking up on sarcasm but that certainly had to be what Spy’s tone was dripping with. And who could blame him? Not wanting him to get his hopes up too high if Engie couldn’t deliver anything, he hadn’t told him any of his ideas for solving this dilemma. Now was probably a good time to.

“Nah, if he’s gone and the rest of your team’s gone, I can head over to your base to try to make make sure you’re still registered in Respawn or put you back in if you’ve been booted from it for being gone so long, and that you’ll come back whole if you are. Or if I ensure of that, I’ve been…”

“I never considered I might not Respawn,” Spy interrupted. “I just assumed you weren’t killing me because you didn’t wish to anger Medic.”

“Well that too but mostly the former. I can handle Medic if I gotta. But anyway if I can’t be sure Respawn’ll grab you, I’ve been working on a robot body to attach your head too. I need to be able to bring it in for some tests and I’ll have to figure out what the device keeping you alive runs on and figure out how to replicate it. Which I’ve also already begun work on.”

“Why are you suddenly going to so much trouble for me?”

“‘Cause I want to.” Engie never would’ve thought he’d go through so much trouble for someone technically his enemy either but he wasn’t going to tolerate this. Science was wonderful and he’d go to great lengths for it, including hurting and killing folk, but there came a point where it wasn’t for science anymore but just to be cruel. Medic had crossed that line here and so something needed to be done about it.

And once the possible ideas on what he could do about it had started occurring to Engie, he’d been too enamored with them to let them go. When looking at BLU Respawn he’d get to learn more about it without risking his own death safety net. Figuring out how to build a robot body was just a plain cool. And the healing juice no doubt had some interesting potential as well. Like he could add it to his dispenser so it could heal as well as give ammo.

Thus there was a lot in this for him as well but yes, his primary motivator was Spy. Somehow during these clandestine meetings he’d grown to enjoy his company. Whether that would remain to be the case once Spy had a body back remained to be seen. But right now Engie was determined to get them there, hopefully indeed over the holiday break.

[stardustprompts]

the empire of gold   (  the daevabad trilogy book 3 ) part 1  -   s. a. chakraborty change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying     tw ; death , war , violence

‘please tell me I’m seeing things. please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.’

‘you don’t get to die. understand? I didn’t save your life a dozen times so you could leave me here.’

‘I suppose war is often more violent than expected.’

‘I had the impression that you and normal did not quite fit.’

‘why do something that would make sense?’

‘it wasn’t you. I didn’t trust anyone. I was afraid to.’

‘it always felt like I was one mistake away from losing everything.’

‘you don’t always have to do everything on your own.’

‘if you rule by violence, you should expect to be removed by violence.’

‘if you could do it all over again, would you not have done anything to save her?’

‘when you left I thought it might’ve been because you hated me.’

‘I don’t blame you for anything that happened that night. and I could never hate you.’

‘I could never hate you. not in a thousand years.’

‘I actually thought you’d be happier if I stayed gone.’

‘you shouldn’t have to keep saving me like this.’

‘I thought I made very clear to you I never intended to let you out of my debt.’

‘I don’t think I can do this.’

‘I’ve always liked choosing my own path.’

‘I’ve got a lot of experience finding slivers of light to cherish when life gets more miserable than usual.’

‘every time I think there’s no lower our world can sink, we all plunge deeper.’

‘don’t. don’t do that. there’s no way (name) blamed you, and he wouldn’t want you killing yourself thinking that.’

‘you are not the only one who’s seen your world broken. nor the only one who grieves for their dead.’

‘you are impossible, do you know that?’

‘I could kill you. it would be nothing.’

‘you are brave, you are strong, and you will survive this day, I swear.’

‘I love you. I always will.’

‘I’m tired of resting. and of having nightmares as well.’

‘it’s been easier to keep busy. if I’m doing things it keeps my mind from everything else, though that’s probably a cowardly thing to admit.’

‘not wanting to be destroyed by despair doesn’t make you a coward, (name). it makes you a survivor.’

‘you chose a very inconvenient time to develop a conscience.’

‘you’ve changed for the better, whether or not you want to admit it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re running from. I don’t know what you’re planning next. but you could have a life here. a good one.’

‘you could have a life here. a good one.’

‘we can’t stay here. we can’t—- I’m sorry I wish we could.’

‘you know it. I know it. it’s only a matter of time.’

‘we will never be safe here and neither will anyone around us.’

‘I don’t want to be safe. not if my people aren’t.’

‘I am nothing like him. I would take a blade to my throat before I’d do the things he’s done.’

‘you and I, we tried, okay? we tried more than most.’

‘(place) is a death trap. it corrupts and ruins everyone who tries to fix it. and we could be free of it. both of us.’

‘I’m going to say something no one has a right to tell you, but it needs to be said and there’s no one else.’

‘we have a duty to go back, no matter the consequences.’

‘you and I don’t get to look away from that, no matter how tempting.’

‘forget it. I’m not going to waste my breath trying to save you from yourself again.’

‘you want to go die out there? fine. but you’ll be doing it alone.’

‘we need to be careful. no reckless plans of self-sacrifice and spouting off things that will get us killed.’

‘thank you. I don’t think I could get through all this without you.’

‘I just don’t understand why you had to be so mean.’

‘this is going to end with us in prison, isn’t it?’

‘not everything has to be a transaction, (name).’

‘your expression is not bolstering my confidence.’

‘you’ve really got to find a way not to look like a startled pigeon every time you lie.’

‘people are often afraid of what they don’t understand.’

‘there is honor in being a weapon.’

‘I envy you sometimes. I wish I had your faith in people’s goodness.’

‘who are you to decide who is a monster?’

‘I used to believe it all. I had too.’

‘because it had to be true. If the ___ were people, innocent mothers and fathers and children, and I did to them the things I did … then I am damned. I am a monster.’

‘I worshipped them, I trusted them, and they lied.’

‘what is any of this supposed to mean if it makes room for such an atrocity.’

‘my best and mind are telling me that I followed the wrong people.’

‘what do I do with that kind of burden?’

‘you are the bravest man I know, and you run.’

‘sit with this burden. you may find doing so is easier than holding it over your head and waiting for it to crush you.’

‘you have been blessed; you have been granted the power, the privilege, the time to fix things.’

‘i’m so tired. everything I build gets broken.’

‘it’s all for nothing. nothing’

‘it’s not for nothing. we can still put things right.’

‘don’t look at me like that. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything.’

‘there’s no one else here, my friend. you don’t need to keep up this front.’

‘I thought you were dead. I thought I was dead. I thought I’d failed everyone, and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even fight back.’

‘you’re a good friend. probably the best one I’ve ever had. but if you tell anyone I cried, I’ll kill you.’

‘have you an actual plan or just wild fantasies that will end with our deaths?’

‘why do you look like you’re considering something very reckless?’

‘if i have found a glimmer of pleasure in all this, it is the assurance that you will destroy yourselves just as spectacularly.’

‘it is those we are closest to who have an opportunity to observe our weaknesses best.’

‘maybe they were afraid. maybe they were right to be.’

‘I wish you had told me. there weren’t supposed to be any more secrets between us.’

‘I feel like we just fell into a trap.’

‘I thought— I thought maybe there was a chance.’

'sometimes it’s wisest to let people show you who they are.’

‘you did not survive in (place) by sticking your head in the sand.’

‘I have never— for even a moment— forgotten how people view me.’

‘I left my home and a peaceful life to come here in the hopes of fixing things.’

‘I won’t be threatened.’ 

‘in my experience, parents are capable of doing a great deal of hurt to their children.’

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Primetober Day 1: It’s Not Kidnapping If You Make The Rules, with all three extra themes (Kidnapping, Gaslighting, and “You'll do as I say.”)

Boy in the bunker AU. Five year old Tommy is remembering a little of his life outside with the SBI, and Dream makes sure to convince him he's just going crazy. Warnings for kidnapping, manipulation, gaslighting, isolation, imprisonment, abuse and neglect of a very young child, traumabonding, and ableist rhetoric used to victim blame a child.

ao3 if you prefer

— “Dream?” Tommy grasped hard on his big brother’s leg, like a vice grip stopping him from leaving and making Tommy all lonely again. He’d left for a long, long time when he’d gone through the bunker doors last time, long enough that all the food had run out except the ones in the big cupboards he wasn’t able to reach yet, and he’d curled up crying in the top bunk holding his aching stomach for two miserable nights. That was where Dream slept, after all, and the silky green sheets almost felt like his big brother was hugging him from far away. “You gotta stay. You gotta.”

Dream chuckled. “Toms, I just got back. I’m not gonna get you cereal then immediately bounce.”

“Oh.” Tommy turned red, though he didn’t let go. He was a big boy- it was his fifth birthday just before Dream had left last!- but he could still be clingy, right? It felt childish and silly for a big kid to do, but Dream always praised Tommy for it, so it was good, right? “Why’d it take you so long to find shit? Did the rabi- radi- poison cloud bomb shit hurt you?”

Dream had told him all about how the world got fucked up when he was only little. There used to be a big island outside the bunker doors, with lots of people, and stuff like schools and other stuff that was on the DVDs. But then the countries, which were like really big families but not really where one person controlled everything like Dream did with him, but they were mean about it, bombed each other, and the bombs had poison in them, and it killed everyone except him and Dream, because Dream had found the bunker and taken him there.

It was always scary whenever Dream went out scavenging in the surface world. Every time, Tommy made a thousand prayers that he wouldn’t get hurt. He wasn’t really sure what a prayer was, but people did it in the movies, so it must work. Once, Tommy forgot to do his prayers, and when he realised he was so worried that he was sick all over the bed because he thought he’d killed Dream and he’d starve to death alone. 

There was the Gun- Dream always said that if one of them was gonna die, he’d take it and kill both of them quickly because it was better than dying in pain or being alone, but Tommy wasn’t big enough to reach the cupboard it was kept in. Besides, only Dream was allowed to use the Gun. Once, he’d hit Tommy just for looking at it for too long, but it was only a little hit, so it was okay because Dream did stuff that left scars when he needed a proper lesson. They didn’t show that on the TV, but Dream had told him that what was on the TV was made up and that stuff like talking cats weren’t real. But cats were, which was equally as weird as talking cats, Tommy thought.

“Nah, I’m fine, lil’ cockroach.” Dream ruffled Tommy’s hair, grimacing a little at its messy state. “God, you need a bath. You’re filthy. Did you roll around in the greenhouse or something?”

“… nooooo?” Tommy yelped as Dream pulled his curls, just enough to hurt. “Okay, okay, I did it, m’ sorry! I wanted to see if the dirt would make my hair brown, so I got some dirt and poured it over me.” He put on his best puppy-dog impression. “I take full respo-sbility for my actions. So, uh, you can hit me and stuff.”

“Aww, look at you, trying to be manipulative. It’s adorable.” Dream laughed. “Fine, you can get away with it for now.”

Tommy giggled at that, before he suddenly stopped. Oh yeah, there was something important he had to tell his big brother. The excitement of finally having someone around was so overwhelming he’d nearly forgotten. “Uh, Dream? Can I tell you something?”

“Course, Tommy. We’re family, right? You can tell me anything.” It sounded more like an order than a comfort, but Tommy was used to orders. Dream said that if he didn’t follow all the orders, then maybe something would go wrong, and the toxic thingy would seep through the doors, and they’d die, and Tommy didn’t want to die. Being alive was pretty awesome, he thought. “Don’t you trust me, lil bro?”

“Of- of course! It’s just- it’s about b’fore, y’know, the bombs an’ shit. I had- I could remember it.”

Dream froze up at that, glaring down at Tommy like there was something dangerous about what he said. Tommy nervously fiddled with his fingers, voice catching in his throat, before Dream gave a sickly sweet smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “What could you remember, little bug?” His voice was honeyed, but Tommy knew well enough the poison it hid.

“I- uh, it was when I was real little. Back before I realised I was a boy and stuff.” Tommy couldn’t look his brother in the eyes, feeling somehow guilty about it even though he didn’t know what he did wrong. But it upset Dream, and therefore Tommy couldn’t help but get the sickening feeling he deserved punishment. “I was in a pink dress- like that one in Sims, right? And I was- I was in a park, and there was grass under my feet and shit. And- uh, I think I remember- I don’t know, I don’t think he was my dad. He looked kinda like you, so I guess he was my big brother?”

Tommy gulped, and Dream continued to look down at him, unblinking. “Continue.” His voice was like ice.

“U-um.” Tommy could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He knew he was gonna get a whooping, but it’d probably be worse if he directly disobeyed Dream, so he continued. “Well, I uh, I was playing with a doll, but I lost it, and this nice man got it for me, but then we were really far away from my other brother. And I looked up and- and it was you! And you had the Knife, and you just kinda picked me up and ran.” Tommy laughed, the idea seeming funny. He must have been so tiny back then. “And then I got this.” He gestured at the rough scar across his chest- the first Dream ever gave him, which he treasured because it meant Dream cared enough to correct him, and that meant he loved him.

“Tommy.” Dream didn’t sound mad, just completely emotionless. “Don’t tell lies.”

“I-I’m not- it’s- I ’member it, promise!” Tommy huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “I remember it.”

“Really?” Dream raised an eyebrow.

“Really really. I can pinkie promise if you want.”

“No, no, I believe you.” Dream’s voice was suddenly calm, suddenly sickly sweet again. “But, Tommy… that means you’re not well.”

Tommy blinked. “Huh?”

“Tommy… how could I meet you in a park if I found you after the bombs fell? That doesn’t make sense. Think about it.” Dream gently ruffled Tommy’s hair as he spoke, giving him a sad smile. “I… some people just aren’t well, Tommy. What they see and hear isn’t what’s really going on. I wish I knew this earlier, so I could help…”

Tommy furrowed his brows, deep in thought. “Does that mean… anything I see and hear and shit? It could all be- like, stuff I made up?”

Dream nodded. “Mhm. But it’s okay. I can do all the thinking for you! Just- just tell me everything you see and hear and remember at the end of the day, and I’ll tell you what the truth is. Okay?”

“Even if I do something bad? Won’t I get in trouble?”

“I mean, yeah, but if you avoid doing that and don’t speak to me, you’ll also be in trouble, right? So it’s fine.”

“… Right.” The idea of there being no way of avoiding hurt seemed horrible, but if Dream thought it was correct… it had to be, right? Everything Dream did prevented the outside things from breaking in and poisoning them, so Tommy had to trust him, or else they’d both die, and neither of them wanted to die.

“Try not to sound so bratty about that, God.” Tommy couldn’t tell if Dream was joking or not saying that, an equal mix of humour and frustration in his voice, and he instinctively flinched. “I make the rules for a reason, Tommy. I keep us alive. I keep us more than alive. I keep the electricity running and get you your favourite food. All I ask is your obedience; is that so hard? Christ.” He covered his face with his hands, sighing. “I guess I can’t blame you. You- you’re not well. It’s not your fault that you’re fragile. It just means you need a firmer hand.”

Something about being called fragile made Tommy feel really upset, but if Dream was saying it, then it had to be correct, and Tommy was being the unreasonable one. Maybe he was fucking crazy. Maybe he was thinking wrong stuff, maybe he needed Dream to tell him everything.

And would that be so bad? Dream was his big brother, and he was the bestest big brother ever. He tucked Tommy into bed, he cooked his favourite food, he played Smash with him all day long sometimes, and even sometimes let him win. When Tommy realised he was a boy, he immediately gave him a cool new name and cool new clothes. He gave the best hugs and was so cool to talk to, he had the most awesome stories about what he did in the surface world. Tommy was pretty sure most of them were fake because they all contradicted each other, but they were so cool he didn’t care. And no matter how long he had to leave, he always came back.

Yeah, Dream knew best. He made the rules for a reason.

“M’ sorry. I’ll tell you everything.” Tommy gave the biggest grin he could, even though he didn’t feel happy, he just felt guilty and stupid. “You’re so smart and cool. I trust you.”

“Aww, and you’re so smart and cool too, Tommy, else you wouldn’t realise that!” Dream laughed, all venom in his voice dissipated. “Also, we need to wash the dirt out of your hair. Seriously, how did you get so much in?”

Tommy batted his eyes innocently. “It was an accident, I swear.” He burst into giggles at that too, and they were both smiling, tension removed from the air. All was well again, and Tommy had learnt a valuable lesson.

He just needed to rely on Dream over his own senses, and everything would be okay.

[floralcavern]

Writing the Go For A Punch characters

This anime concept has not been able to leave my mind and I’m hyperfixating on the potential and the possible characters that could be in this fake anime, so here we are.

T/W for suicide

Plot:

6 girls wake up in a bathroom with no exit. There are 5 stalls, each without a door. There’s a school announcement speaker in the bathroom and a vent really high up, but other than that, there was nothing. They still had their school bags filled with their stuff. The girls all slowly go insane, mental breakdowns and suicide taking hold of them.

Saki -

We all know her from the fake screenshots and fanart. Saki is quiet but a smart girl and a great problem solver. She has bad insomnia, which means she’s up practically every night in this hell hole. Saki is the one who tries to keep everyone calm using facts and logic. She had come up with a plan to try and created a hole in the wall for them to escape, chipping away at it every night, since she can’t sleep. She didn’t know any of the girls before being trapped here, having been a brand new transfer student. She was the ‘final girl’ after Junko died. She made sure everyone kept up with their strict rationing of their snacks and lunch boxes, even coming up with the idea that they may have to eat their shoes, or even their clothes. She had a mental breakdown after Junko had died, realizing now she was all alone, with no one there. This was the first time she had cried during their time trapped there. 

Kana -

Kana has long, braided strawberry blonde hair with a pretty red ribbon keeping it tied up. She was the popular girl at their school and was set to have a bright future, inheriting her family’s fortune. She attempted to act high and mighty, throwing fits. After Junko put her in her place, that night, she had an awful nightmare, the next day she sat in place the entire time, her ribbon no longer tied in her hair. Yui came over to check on her, and Kana shows her the ribbon, now tied into a small noose. The next day, the girls had found that Kana strangled herself with the ribbon. They put her body in one of the stalls, though it still haunted them, as there are no doors on the stalls, meaning they still saw her body.

Naoko -

Naoko has short, bobbed black hair. She is very sensitive and quick to tears. She is terrified of the situation, the only one who she feels she can open up to being Yui. She was severely bullied in school, having no friends. She had many sleepless nights sobbing, and after Kana’s death, she felt absolutely miserable, feeling like all hope was lost. She told Yui she wanted to end it all, but was too cowardly. Eventually, she asked Yui to drown her in the sink, telling her that no matter how much she may struggle, do not release her until she is dead. She asks Yui to do this since she is the only one Naoko considers a true friend here. Yui eventually succumbed to Naoko’s requests and put her body in another doorless stall.

Yui -

Yui has long, brown hair in a big bun. She is the happy one of the group who kept mostly everyone sane with her cheerful attitude. She was the third to die. She blamed herself for Kana’s death already, feeling like she wasn’t able to keep things happy enough for Kana to not want to kill herself. And after losing Naoko, her best friend, she didn’t know what to do. That’s when reality really set in, as she had to kill her with her own hands. She started thinking about her family and how she would never see her parents again. She had a mental breakdown, and despite the girls trying to calm her down, they failed, and Yui died by bashing her head into the same sink Naoko drowned in. She was put in the same stall as Naoko, the others knowing it would’ve been what she wanted.

Yume -

Yume had bushy red hair kept in an out of control ponytail. She had been very low maintenance this entire time. She came from a very poor family and was used to living in times of horrible desperation and starvation. She was the only who came up with the idea to eat the corpses of the girls who had died, saying that shoes aren’t very nutritious to keep them alive. Yume was the fourth one to die. She and Kana did not get along and Yume was rather happy to see her gone, saying that “the spoiled brat had no idea how to survive in these circumstances.” She also resented Saki, saying that she should be the leader, not Saki. But she started to go a little crazy as well. She was fully convinced she was going to survive this and she was the most capable of everyone there to be in this situation. After a huge, bloody fight with Junko, Junko killed her by strangulation as means of self defense, since Yume had full intent to kill her. Her body went into another doorless stall. 

Junko -

Junko had black hair in a very messy cut, like she cut her own hair with kitchen scissors, which is kept in a half up ponytail. She was the fifth and final one to die. Junko was the delinquent girl, aggressive and not afraid to stand her ground and be blunt. She was the daughter of a yakuza boss and understood dangerous situations. She believed Saki to be the best leader, since she was the most level headed out of all of them. Junko acted as her right hand in decision making. But after the two were the last to die, Junko didn’t know what to do. She told Saki they should eat the girls as a way to be able to keep living, since their backpacks were all running out of snacks. Saki refused to eat anyone, saying it would destroy her humanity, and Junko decided she wouldn’t either. One day Junko managed to get Saki to fall asleep, but Junko didn’t wake up, dying from starvation, having hidden her thinned stomach under her thick school sweater. 

[themadsquirrel09]

Tug-of-war

Fandom ☆ South Park 

Ship ☆ KenMan ♡ KenEric (Eric Cartman x Kenny McCormick) 

Characters ☆ Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh, Liane Cartman, Mr. Kitty. A bit of Mr. Mackey, Wendy Testaburger, Kyle Broflovski and Butters.

Rating ☆ M

Summary ☆ One impulsive action can make the difference in the game of life and death.

Warnings ☆ Non-explicit adult themes, blood, swearing. They are kids here (11): it is mostly care, angst and fluffiness.

About it ☆ This fanfic works as a one shot, it is also part of an AU I’m writing in no specific order. I’m still trying to choose the name °u°’’’

☆ 3362 words ☆

With love: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Stan

“Here comes a candle to light you to bed.

Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.”

I hate this house, screw this!  

From the backyard, I still can hear the moans, the thuds, shit! I try to climb fast and get into the clubhouse; when I finally do, Mr. Kitty greets me. 

“This place is a mess, but good enough for one night, Kitty.” Something between a purr and a meow is his reply. I made a run for it as soon as I got home and heard them, but I knew this happened before; that it would happen again (and again), so there’s a mini fridge and a sleeping bag here. 

I search into my backpack for a distraction. All I have is food, a few books and, yes! My PSP! I smile at it but, when I hold it, my view gets blurred. I have to wipe the tears from the screen. 

Fuck, like my day isn’t shitty enough already! That PSP reminds me that I have Kenny’s will memorized. I asked for a copy to his lawyer, and read it over and over again, looking for something that I could use to get my way while he was in a coma. Now I know every word by heart.

I toss the PSP on the sleeping bag. Fucking Liane , she is the one to blame, because I can’t blame myself without breaking down and lately I just can’t get mad at Kenny.

“Goddammit!” I curse choked into sobs until I hear a noise, it is Mr. Kitty coming towards me at full speed, purring loudly. He pushes his head right into my hand; cats have funny faces, it makes me chuckle and calms me down. 

I grab some snacks, go for a Mountain Dew, and lean on the window frame; maybe to distract myself from what is happening inside the house, I think about Kenny, do you feel that way? Or were you just pissed at me because of something I did?

I replay in my head those words meant for me.

Eric, I never really liked you. But then, nobody does. You have no ability to feel, and you are going to die alone and miserable. It is only because I feel so sorry for you that I leave you my Sony PSP.

He calls me Eric. Even if sometimes I feel like I say his name over and over again, like a fucking parrot, he almost never does the same. I guess it means nothing, but why do I like it when he does that?  

That question makes me uneasy, so I go back to the will and get pissed. If you don't like me, then why do you feel so sorry for me? And then you let me have your only valuable possession... you know that you will come back to life, right? But maybe he thinks I don't.

“Kenny.” I go wide-eyed because I wasn’t expecting to say his name out loud, then I take a step back when I hear his voice calling me back! I peek through the window as if I’m going to find him outside. What I see is the snow covered in blood; I can feel the liquid dripping from my hair. When I blink, it is all gone. 

My heart hammers fast, but after a moment it slows down until it stops completely . Some weird sense of warmth comes to me. It surrounds me and gives me peace, then I feel it ascend; I look up just in time to see a shooting star, an impossibly big one. I feel my heart start again.

Shit, I better go the fuck to sleep.

Instead, I sit on the sleeping bag and take the PSP; when I touch it, I feel like Kenny for a second. By now I’m used to it, since that time his soul was stuck in my body, this happens sometimes. I wonder: what is he doing right now? , but to get my head out of that, out of everything, I play until I fall asleep with the PSP in my hands.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The only reason I talk to Liane the next day is because I need her to sign my permit and give me food, but I can barely listen to her lies, or even look at her as she showers me with unwanted affection.

I struggle my way out as quickly as I can and, maybe because of that, I’m the first one to make it to the bus stop. I'm pissed and sleepy so, when I hear footsteps, I prepare to shit on whoever is daring to cross my way but, well, fuck . Kenny’s big orbs lay on me.

“Hi, Eric.” I try to avoid his gaze, but I can’t. Does he go at a slower pace today? 

“Hey, Kenny.” My voice comes out hoarse, I didn’t get inside the sleeping bag yesterday.

“Dude, are you ok?” Do you really care, or are you just feeling sorry for me again? And he appears to be fragile, but is probably the only kid who could have had a worse night, and still asks me if I’m ok. 

“Hey, dudes!” Stan must have drunk an extra shot if he is so happy, that’s good, distracting. Soon Kyle joins us, but I’m so tired I can barely take my anger out on him. 

Since today we have this stupid school trip, I sleep most of the way; when I do, I have this nightmare: 

I’m standing in a puddle of blood. I move out of the way, but there is blood everywhere and, little by little, paralyzed by fear, I see how the thick dark liquid fills the space; when it reaches my ankles, I panic and start running.

It seems like I go nowhere and, exhausted, I fall on my knees. What is it about this blood that’s so hypnotizing? I can’t stop looking, but when it is reaching my elbows, I hear crying and snap out of it: realizing I'm about to drown, I throw myself back. That’s when I see something emerging from this dark lake. 

I get close, and take him in my arms: it’s Kenny, his eyes are shut, his mouth is open, red flows out of the corner of his lips. 

All this blood, it pours out of him.

“Kenny, wake up.” I try to clean his face with my sleeve. Useless . “Wake up, damn it.” I see his eyes twitch. The sobs turn into a sweet song, a light sound I can barely distinguish. I try to find the source, but it seems like it comes from everywhere. 

While I wasn’t looking, Kenny somehow got out of my grip: he is now floating in front of me and, just for a split second, I see the huge wings that hold him up. The blood now reaches my belly button, I get a hold of his wrists and try to pull him close.

“Wake up!”

With that last scream, I wake up, sweating, buried in Kenny’s arm, clinging tightly to his parka. We lock eyes. What the fuck, am I still dreaming? There’s a warm light that surrounds him. We remain like that for a second and all I’m doing is trying not to cry. 

“Hey, it’s ok, I’m here.” Weird. Those simple whispered words it’s all I need to hear and I’m able to breathe again. When he places his hand on mine, I remember where we are and sit up quickly, but my hand holds on. I feel him squeezing lightly, then he lets go, and the bus stops.

“Why are we visiting a lame-ass national park, again!?” I complain about it as I make sure to stay close to Kenny. He seems much more into this stuff than I do and it takes just a minute, while I convince Butters that some flower is edible, for him to disappear. 

“Kenny?” Where the hell did you go? He is out of sight, but I walk like I know the way, like something—someone?—is calling me. A few minutes later, with the strong wind whistling and rumbling, I see the blond boy kneeling among lilac flowers. His body is turned away from me. He faces the abyss.

I get close without him noticing, when I’m just a few steps away, I feel as if thunder growls under my feet. Without even thinking, I run towards Kenny, grab him by the backpack, and yank him with all my might. The floor crumbles. 

Part of the ground is swallowed by the depths, but we are both safe. I fell on my butt and Kenny lies unconscious. I drag him away from the shattered floor and, for a moment, all I feel is my heart pounding. The chunk of earth we were standing on is gone and Kenny should be dead (again), but he isn’t. Because of me?

I glance at him and his face twitches, it seems like he is about to regain consciousness. I panic and run. I don’t know why, but I run until I’m breathless. 

After a while, I feel like throwing up, fainting, maybe both. I stumble and grab onto something, shutting my eyes so the world will stop spinning. Two things happen at the same time: on one side, I feel better, like a weight is lifted from my shoulders; on the other side, I hear the violent and very familiar sound of puking, it comes from right beside me. 

It is Stan who emptied his stomach. What? Did Stan just throw up for me? Even if it seems impossible, it feels like it. 

So I ran to the other kids and grabbed Stan's hand without noticing. He lets me keep doing that while he tells Wendy he is alright. I steady myself, we glimpse at each other and smile, then I let go of him. He doesn’t know what just happened, but why else would he do this for me? The rest of the trip, I keep smiling like an idiot, feeling like I did something I really like. Back on the bus, I can’t help but flinch when Kenny sits beside me and rests upon me those tired, bright eyes.

“What is it, poor boy, did you see a ghost?”

“No, but I almost became one,” he mutters and I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“What did you say?” I reply, teasing, I know Kenny gets frustrated when people can’t understand him. He squints at me and I almost feel him inspecting my soul. Why can’t I just look away? Fuck.

“I said: thanks dude, your face looks like shit too!” He leans towards me, and I feel myself leaning backwards. “What were you doing last night?” I scoff, amused.

“If you want me to answer that, Kenny, then you have to tell me first, what were you doing last night?” He blinks, taken aback. I can finally avert my gaze and smile smugly. I got him.

“Whatever, like I care!” He says and it stings a little, however I can’t just tell him what happened. It seems like he feels the same. 

This pisses me off.

Fuck it, I’ll just tell him! But, when I look at my side, I find Kenny is sleeping. I pull him by the parka, so his head lands on my shoulder, then I close my eyes and lean on him. I fall deep in a dream of a memory:

The moon peeks through the window and illuminates the room, but my view gets blurred by the—oh, so expected—tears. This time there’s something different, though: the soul of a joyful boy is trapped in my body.

“What’s the matter? It can’t be that you are crying.” Shit . Listening to my voice in that sweet-toned ring just makes me cry harder. “Dude?” He insists and I can feel his worry running through my skin. I breathe, trying to calm down. 

“It’s stupid. I cry at night because I don’t have a dad.” I feel my face warming up at the embarrassing confession. Kenny takes control of my left hand; he reaches for my right hand and holds it softly.

“It’s ok. I’m here.” I smile.

Those words seem to unfold as I wake up. I have to check if it was Kenny the one who said that right now, but I see that he is still asleep, we are still leaning on each other. Nobody can know that he looks cute to me at this instant, that I can't help but press myself against him just for a second before I struggle to upright swiftly. 

I get paranoid about it, but the other kids are talking, screaming and playing. Nobody saw us . I turn, find Kenny’s sleepy gaze already on me and smile nervously. It feels exactly like when I do something bad: I’m afraid I’ll get caught. I have to fill the silence.

“Man, if I knew that trip was so lame, I would have stayed home.” I lie, I would have rather died. I shield myself with my backpack not knowing exactly what I’m searching for, so I take out the PSP and, when I do, it feels like those times Kenny is about to show himself as a ghost. My breath hitches and I feel cold; even if it is him, ghosts creep me out.

“Oh dude, I haven’t played that in so long!” He doesn’t seem to notice, though.

“Check it out, Kenny, I’m already on level 42,” I say as I hand the PSP to him.

“Are you getting your ass kicked or what?”

“Yeah. No matter how much I reinforce the gate, they keep getting in.” Suddenly, we are closer than expected and he shows me the way. We get so distracted by talking and playing, that I barely notice we are back in South Park, but when I do, I swallow hard. If I get home and the same that happened yesterday goes down, I might lose my shit and murder someone. Maybe I will kill myself. That’d be the best .

“If I stay at your place, we can beat this in just a couple of hours, you know? We can also repair our clubhouse a bit, it’s a cool place to hang out,” Kenny says, smiling. Why would you want to stay with me? Are you just feeling sorry for me again? Wait. Did I say that out loud? I’m about to panic, but he gives me a look like he is clueless. “What is it, you had other plans?”

Other plans? I see my corpse lying on the floor and I burst into laughter. I laugh not to cry and because it is too funny. It is impossible that someone like this exists! At first, he asks me what is it, but after a while, maybe because of how much I’m kicking, wheezing, struggling to breathe, he starts to laugh too; at me? Sure, but I don’t care right now.

“Eric Cartman! I said this is your stop, mmk?”

“Calm the fuck down!” I get to say between laughs, “I’m going, ok?” I stand up and turn to see the blond offering back the PSP, but instead of taking it, I grab him by the arm and pull him. He comes with me.

As Kenny said, it only takes us a couple of hours to finish the game, then we start to fix the clubhouse a bit.

“Dude?”

“Kenny?”

“Do you have a crush on Stan?” I feel my gut dropping.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I saw you holding hands; you guys look cute together.” Why does hearing him say that makes me feel like shit? I put the tools aside and go for the door. He follows.

“Cartman?”

“Shut up, Kenny!” I snap, turning to scream in his face, but when I do, I accidentally step on Mr. Kitty’s tail. He hisses, bites me and I back away. Being so close to the entrance, I lose my balance. 

About to fall from the tree, I reach for Kenny and he gets to grab me by the arm. For an instant, I see in him that determined expression he usually has when he is Mysterion. He throws himself back pulling me, so I fall inside the clubhouse, but land on top of him. 

“Fuck!” I get off of Kenny as quickly as I can, he gasps for air. I was crushing him! “Kenny?” He smiles, trying to be reassuring, but he is having a fit of cough, so I grab him, sit him up and get him something to drink. He holds his chest with his eyes closed; the coughs mellow as he breathes deeply. I just look at him. Kenny’s hood is off and it is not every day that I get to see his whole face. Do you really have to hide all the time? 

“Dude!” He exclaims after finally drinking a bit of the Dr Pepper. “I almost died.” And it wouldn’t be the first time today.

“It’s your fault!” 

“Fuck you!” He says to my face playful, and I find myself incapable of insulting him back. “We are ok now, right? I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“About what I said: I don’t care who you like. Let me know if you need a wingman.” I stare at my hands and remember how they reached for Kenny this morning. Did I save his life? Well, he just did the same for me. “Cartman?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’ll let you know.” 

“Cool,” he says, then he gets into the sleeping bag. “Goodnight.” Kenny falls asleep in a heartbeat. You are even more tired than I am, aren’t you? But I feel restless and keep wondering:

“What were you doing last night?” I ask him under my breath. There is no answer. I sit beside the sleeping bag and imagine we are some kind of warriors; I’m the one standing guard, maintaining a protective field with my wizard powers. 

I see Kenny’s matches on the floor. He probably dropped them when we fell. I take them, go to the window, and after declaring the area is enemy-free, I light one. What kind of kid looks so happy just by watching the fire?

Kenny’s will surface on my mind as the fire goes out on its own: Eric, I never really liked you. But then, nobody does. Then what are you doing here? Why would you want to be my wingman?

I light another match.

You have no ability to feel, and you are going to die alone and miserable.  

I kind of wish I could agree about me having no ability to feel, then I remember his hand reaching for mine in that dream of a memory I had today. 

“Shit!” The fire burns my fingers and I let go of the match, which falls onto the snow. 

I turn to look at Kenny. He sleeps curled up like a stray kitten. Dying alone and miserable, huh? Who else but you would know how that feels?

I get close and kneel beside him, then I light another match. Funny; I’ve seen his face illuminated by fire so many times the image is stuck with me.

It is only because I feel so sorry for you that I leave you my Sony PSP.

“You make no sense.” My mumbled words blow out the match. You make no sense, but neither do I! I can’t even put a finger on what made me pull him away from the abyss today. 

I smile at the thought of it, maybe I just didn’t want to be alone, on the bus, at the house. My eyes go to the floor, I feel like crying, but a sudden yank makes me gasp as I fall forward; Kenny is pulling me by the arm. 

“Eric.” He looks at me with half-lidded eyes, “Fucking sleep.” He commands groggily. I frown at him, he lets out a soft chuckle, and I get into the sleeping bag, wondering: for how long has he been pulling me away from falling to my end?

❅──────✧⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅•̩̩͙꙳⋆✧────── ☆ ──────✧⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅•̩̩͙꙳⋆✧──────❅

This is (definitely) not the end.

⋆✧────── ☆ ──────✧⋆

Final notes 🖊️

 🧡 I love this ship so much ❤️

Did you enjoy reading it? It sure was an amazing and weird experience writing this 🌠 It took me a lot of time mostly because I edit until my eyes bleed =u= (I started writing it and had the 1st draft on January lol)

A little of context ☆ The paranormal connection between Eric Cartman and Kenny McCormick is one of the main reasons I adore this ship. Eric says he sees through Kenny's eyes and feels like him on S06E12 ∣ A Ladder to Heaven; then Kenny's soul is trapped in Cartman's body for almost a month. 

The crying at night thing is also from the show, Eric confesses that on S11E08 ∣ Le Petit Tourette.

All kinds of support are really appreciated! ♡ 

If you want to help me keep writing, you can buy me a coffee here ☕

You can also commission me, here you have the info 💌

[firecrackerhh]

So according to hazbin Twitter I guess Viv got doxxed again and now a certain person and their supporters has been speculating on Viv’s family.

You people are fucking disgusting. Like honest to god Viv’s family has nothing to do with her myriad of controversies, leave them the fuck alone, what is wrong with you?

Just give the fuck up already you fucking amoeba brained fucks. Viv won already, this shit is not only fucking pathetic but it’s also fucking dangerous.

I hope that the Christian hell exists specifically so people this wretched can suffer for the rest of their miserable afterlives. Hell they should be suffering right now. Karma is a fucking bitch and when she comes for you, no one is going to defend you. Except the literal scum of the earth. I legit hope people like this die alone and miserable.

I’m not gonna waste time being nice about it, obviously no amount of harassing these people will change anything, same way their harassment towards Viv has done nothing. But that doesn’t mean they deserve any kindness or respect for their heinous actions.

You people make me sick. Just remember when karma rightfully kicks your ass you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

You can run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Run on for a long time

Sooner or later God’ll cut you down.

God, karma, the universe, call it whatever you want, either way you’re gonna eventually get your fucking ass kicked, whether literally or spiritually or whatever else.

I can’t say I’m a believer in a God necessarily myself, but I like to think there’s something out there. And whatever that something is, it has no tolerance for fucking bullshit.

Just don’t come crying to us expecting sympathy when the world crashes down on you, cuz God knows you don’t fucking deserve any, you certainly won’t get mine.

🔥🧨~Firecracker out~🔥🧨

[thestobingirlie]

even ignoring the impact r*nance would have on steve/stobin, i feel like making nancy a lesbain is kind of,,, mean to her? idk maybe i'm totally off base, since i'm bi and haven't ever dealt with comphet in the same way a lesbian would. but like. i feel like it's one thing for nancy to lose barb while she's with steve and then not end up with him while still being attracted to men, because people know that most high school relationships don't last. but it feels so much worse if she's not attracted to men at all?? like the additional layer of "not only did i abandon barb to die alone, but i left her for some guy who i was just forcing myself to like" idk i feel like if i were nancy in that case it would fuck me up so much

i totally get what you mean, though i’ve never thought of it that way before, but yeah. from a writing standpoint, if nancy never had a chance that she would end up with steve it just makes that whole plot line fucked up and miserable.

i do think that making nancy a lesbian kinda reduces so much of her story. like. i’m a big believer in single nancy, but i feel like taking away nancy’s attraction to men, it almost takes away her choice in the matter? like, she was never going to end up with a man, so every part of her deliberation between steve or jonathan, and everything she lost in the process, was all just pointless…

and from nancy’s perspective, she’ll probably always blame herself, at least in part, for barb’s death. because she wanted to spend time with a boy she liked, because she wanted to go up to his room. but if she never liked steve, if there was never even a chance she could like him… that’s just so much more fucked up. like… in nancy’s mind, barb is dead because she was trying so hard not to be a lesbian or accept that she was one, that she dragged barb out to a party she didn’t want to go to.

[backtothestart02]

Death by Design - 3/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: My fic of the month is booting up again today! I hope you horror fans enjoy! For any of you who've forgotten, this fic is adapted from the first Final Destination movie. I encourage you to read the first two chaps on ao3 as a refresher, if you need to.

...

Chapter 3 -

Thirty-nine days following the freak explosion of flight 180 over the river in Central City, Barry woke up as he had for each and every one of those days. Feeling exhausted, guilty, and isolated from everyone except his parents. The FBI hadn’t hunted him down, but he knew it was only a matter of time. They were just waiting for something, anything, to point them in his direction. And today was the funeral, a perfect event for them to attend, even from a distance, and watch for moments of weakness.

Barry crawled out of bed, showered, skipped breakfast and made his way over to the outdoor funeral at 10 in the morning. He tried to pay attention to the principal who was giving the eulogy for the loss of so many precious souls, but it was hard with the glares coming from several of his classmates and even their families. Cisco’s in particular hit hard.

Cisco didn’t blame him. He knew that in his heart, as well as from the one text they’d exchanged over the last month. But he wasn’t allowed to talk to him or be near him. Simply being in the same audience with him on this beautiful, sorrow-filled day was enough to fill Cisco’s dad with rage. He kept it contained to avoid making a scene, but Barry could feel it growing. He couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Soon enough the speech came to an end and music began to play after the display of a grand in memoriam statue dedicated to the fallen students and teachers aboard the plane that fateful night several weeks ago. The music indicated a sign to come up with the roses presented to each individual, mostly students, and place it in front of everybody, the last gesture those that had died would ever receive.

Barry looked around one last time before getting up and spotted one face that when he wasn’t feeling absolutely miserable as hell, which wasn’t often, consumed his very being. The face of a girl that had stood up for him from the very beginning, who had believed him on sure faith alone that he was right, whose loyalty hadn’t depended on anything but his frantic desperation on the plane.

Iris. Iris West.

The curious protectiveness he felt for her trickled through him in that moment, but he did his best to shake it off and look away. Maybe he could intercept Cisco, and they could share a few words. And he’d avoid Hunter at all costs. The last thing he needed was another altercation like the one on the plane, even if it had saved the jerk’s life in the process.

Of course luck had never been in Barry’s favor.

He ended up right behind Hunter and Caitlin, holding each other close. But even that gesture of intimacy couldn’t stop Hunter from muttering something despicable to Barry right behind him.

“I hope you don’t think, Allen, that just because my name ain’t on this wall, that I owe you anything.”

“I don’t,” Barry said, wishing a beat later that he’d kept his mouth closed.

Hunter spun around, sounding a degree more emotional than Barry had expected.

“Because all I owe is to these people, to live my life to the fullest-”

“Why don’t you go ahead and stay off the drugs then, maybe, huh?”

Barry could smell it on him, and he was feeling spiteful. The guy could just not leave him alone. As was proven twice over when he grabbed the label of his jacket and pulled him nearly on top of him.

“Listen, jackass, I control my life, not you. You got that?”

“Got it.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Hunter,” Caitlin intervened, standing between them, begging with her eyes that her boyfriend drop it.

“I’m never gonna die,” Hunter said, forcing himself to relax as he stepped away from both the girl he loved and the boy he despised, leaving them both stunned.

Caitlin looked at Barry with something between sympathy and an apology for her boyfriend’s behavior. But in the end, her hand about to squeeze his shoulder removed itself, and she followed after Hunter.

Ralph came up to Barry seconds later, and the look on his face told Barry loud and clear he did not want to deal with whatever he had to say. But the conversation hadn’t even started yet, and there was still time to get to Cisco, so he kept himself in check and greeted him civilly.

“Hi, Barry,” Ralph said.

“Hi.”

“I took my driver’s test at the DMV last week. Lowest score I could get, but I still got it. So I can drive now.”

“That’s great, Ralph,” Barry said, looking through the line for where Cisco might be and wanting this conversation to be done asap.

But Ralph wasn’t done.

“The thing is, the guy who sits in the car with you when you do the test, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he goes, ‘Young man, you’re going to die at a very young age.’”

Barry blinked.

Where was he going with this?

“Is that true?” Ralph asked, looking to him like he had all the answers.

And that was just not what Barry needed in that moment.

“Not now, not here, not ever, Ralph,” he spat, a venom in his eyes he didn’t anticipate.

Ralph didn’t quite seem to get it and took it literally instead. He tried to ask another question, and Barry blew him off. Ralph wasn’t his problem, and he needed to get himself together if he was going to ‘live life to the fullest’ like Hunter seemed to think was also his mission.

Ms. Horton was standing alone by the other roses on a low table when Barry reached the front. He thought it was the decent thing to do to approach her and offer some sort of condolences, her being his teacher and all. But this time it was his turn to be blown off.

“Ms. Hort-”

She sniffled angrily and turned away.

“Don’t talk to me. You scare the hell out of me.”

And then he was alone again. Some day this was turning out to be.

“Hey.”

And then the dawning light. Neither looked at each other, not wanting to rouse the adults from their seats. But Barry felt a sense of relief, and he hoped Cisco did too as he dropped his rose on the table beside him.

“Hey.”

Barry’s lips twitched.

“Cisco, I uh…I miss you, you know?”

Cisco fought to keep a straight face and failed.

“I miss you, too, buddy.” He paused. “But you know, my dad, he just…he can’t-”

“I know.”

Cisco swallowed.

“Whenever he gets over this though, we’ll road trip on out of here. Forget this place even exists. That sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Cisco forced a smile, and their eyes locked, both smiles vanishing in a heartbeat.

“I should go.”

Barry nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. Take care.”

And he was gone.

Barry turned to leave, to head back to his seat, and then there she was in front of him. Beautiful and petite and so earnest, presenting her rose to him instead of to the dead.

“Because of you, I’m still alive,” her voice broke. “Thank you.”

A flash of a camera behind them ruined the moment. Barry turned towards the photographer, aggravated, and when he looked back at Iris, she was heading towards her seat, and she wasn’t looking back. And he hated that for all intents and purposes, to everyone in front of him, he probably looked like he was longing for her as she left his side.

The painful fact was he was.

…

Later that night, death came again.

This time it wasn’t nearly as explosive as the plane incident had been.

It was quiet, and it began with a gentle breeze blowing through the smallest opening in a window leading into one of the bathrooms of the Ramon household.

Cisco was there, using the bathroom, and he didn’t notice that when he was on the toilet, the water at the base of the pipes started to drip.

He didn’t notice that after he shut the window, there was still a deathly breeze traveling through the room, inflicting it like a curse.

He didn’t notice that the door closed without him shutting it.

He thought he shut it, or maybe he thought it had been the breeze before he’d shut the window. But it hadn’t. It was no natural windy breeze. It was the curse of death, and with nothing to stop its death trail, Cisco would soon succumb to it.

Because the water trickling down from the toilet pipes hadn’t wedged its way into the tiles leading across the bathroom yet.

No, that waited until he was standing in front of the mirror trying to dry shave the prickly short hairs along his jaw line and under his chin. It caused a cut, just a dash of blood, enough to be mildly concerned and stop for a moment, not noticing still that the water filling the gaps in the tiles was tracking right towards him.

Death even presented itself to him once before attacking, making a rippling shadow appear along the shower curtain in the mirror. But when Cisco turned around to see what strictly stayed in the hell hole that was horror movies, the shadow was gone.

He picked up a small tool to cut away some nose hairs – as one does – and narrowly avoided slipping on the approaching water with the sharp tool in his hand. He then plugged in a music player into the outlet, the water just inches away, and then unplugged it and moved away.

Death was getting frustrated by that point. It had to be. So many times already that Cisco Ramon had narrowly escaped its grasp. It had to take action.

Cisco pushed the shower curtain aside to find several clothing items drying on a long tight string. He started to remove them and took the final fatal step onto the leaking toilet water. Before he could stop himself, he had fallen into the tub, the string wrapped tightly around his neck, tighter and tighter, rising higher and higher. He was choking, his eyes starting to bleed, his feet blindly trying to get him to stand up but they’d caught the soap at the bottom of the tub and couldn’t manage to stay still for even a few moments, let alone stand up and to safety in the middle of the tub.

And when finally Cisco’s body gave itself over to death’s intention and fell limp, the breeze trickled back out the sealed window, and the water that had fallen into the crevices between the bathroom tiles retreated back into the water pipes at the bottom of the toilet, as if it had never been there at all.

[autumnfallsatnight]

Original story: And then I died(tw abuse, mentions of death and suicide)

From the first moment I opened my eyes, life for me always ended early. Either as a maid for a villainess going through dementia, a knight under a tyrant’s rule, or as a young child mercilessly slaughtered by a psychopath. But before each of my deaths I would always witness it. The blossoming love of a typical main character who seems to battle a climaxing plot but I never lived long enough to see it end.

My recent death had been when I was on my way home through the streets of Gangnam I witnessed a distraught woman walking alone as the drizzling rain starts to pour. I too did not possess an umbrella and therefore was unable to service the poor lady. She was beautiful and dashing and in this life I was a young teen girl rushing home.

Just like any typical k-drama there was a main lead and he was the only one who could save her from the rain. At that moment my heart was relieved but jealousy also followed suit. In front of me instead was a masked man who tackled me into my grave.

I wake up now as a mom to kids I often abuse on the daily.

Married into an abusive family with in-laws who have nothing good to say but blame me I feel as if they all should die. Staring at the young toddlers whose lives are so easily in the palms of my hand I lash out my frustration onto them as expected of me. The abusive-good for nothing, mother who they beg, “Mom, you’re hurting me. Stop hurting me, stop hurting me!” Until I run out of breath and fall into my chair contemplating my failures and insecurities.

“It’s your dad’s fault, he made me like this!” I yell, voice hoarse with sweat precipitating on my face.

Is this the type of life I really want?

Who am I acting for?

I ponder this silently, switching from looking at my poor miserable children to the tv reflection of my miserable self. Why couldn’t I have been some sort of main lead?

“Take a forty and go buy yourself and your brother something to eat. Let your mom sit with herself for a bit.”

They were nervous, of course they would be but I haven’t fed them so they took the cash and just before they left, maybe forever, “Mom’s very sorry. I am so sorry to have given you such a horrible life.” My voice solemn and quiet but I just hope the cycle doesn’t repeat.

Waking up in the morning I brush my teeth energetically and cautiously walk around my sleeping husband, I pull out the savings I had and got myself to the front of my children’s’ bedroom. I’ll give them a better life, I’ll send them off to a well-off family and then kill myself.

It’s hard to repair the damage of a broken relationship in this life so I should just try in my next one. Tapping my kids awake I offer them to run away with me expecting rejections, now we’re on the run to find a man I kind of know.

Someone who loves to be kind to side characters like me. A middle-class doctor who helped me give birth.

“Susie, what a surprise! Come in” Dr, Lee exuberantly cheers. I haven’t heard that name at all after getting married and it startles me with my own tears.

Crying my heart out was something I haven’t done in a long long time.m

“Can you do me a favor Doctor, can you care for these boys for me and treat them as if they were your own. They’re smart and very capable of many things. They know how to clean the house, wash the dishes, laundry, and they can even give great massages-I think that’s enough Susie”

Dr. Lee smiles, “I won’t ask why or inquire anymore, if you are in need of help I got plenty to offer. I’ve been looking for some help around here myself considering how lonely it gets for me, maybe having two energetic boys would be ideal.”

I smile back, “You’re not wrong, they’re certainly great.”

These boys are only nine and twelve and here I’m abandoning them with someone more capable. The whole time there I could not bear to look at their faces but walking out now with my back facing them I do slightly regret. It’s not so bad to turn around one last time?

No, it was wrong of me to consider such a thing because all I saw was animosity and glares.

“I hope you boys grow up strong and healthy, forget about this mother and live your life!”

And then I died.

It was instant. A death so painless I felt resentful, torturing young children just to now escape from the responsibilities and karma. How much more shameless could I be?

Today I wake up alone in a room, a prison cell. This is the karma I was running away from but this time it’ll be different.

End.

[potatoesandsunshine]

aaaaahhhhh 1) you posting the name of your Dragon Age WIPs made me remember that I forgot to post the name of any of mine damn but 2) because I trust you implicitly and you are the only person who has ever made me question my staunch opinion of NEVER learning anything about Sebastian, I gotta ask about your 'hawkebastian bad ending' AND/OR also...josie...yes, please talk to me about josie....

<3 <3 <3 oh i WILL talk about both

hawkebastian bad ending is also the working document for the potential hawkebastian ‘good’ ending timeline, and also the place I took notes during my most recent DA2 playthrough (Jessalyn Hawke You Are Everything To Me). I won’t try to sell you on Sebastian because I think this might be one of those ‘the version of this character that exists in my head is better than the one in the game’ situations—but the version that exists in my head is incredible. We meet him in act 1 and his family is all dead, foreshadowing how all of Hawke’s family will be dead, and I find him so miserable and tragic and compelling. Playing this save and doing the rivalmance for him also lets Hawke say a bunch of anti-Chantry stuff and I hate the Chantry so it’s a huge win. 

The Jessa/Sebastian dynamic is so so extremely reputation to me. Delicate is their song. Call it what you want is also their song. Also don’t blame me is their song. Basically if it’s on reputation (and I like it) it belongs to them. And I thought it would be so much fun for my aggressive, direct Hawke to fall head over heels at first sight for the Worst Possible Person.

It takes a bold man to shoot a piece of paper out of the Grand Cleric's hand. Jessa's heart gives a tremendous thump.

These two characters are desperate to escape the loneliness vortex inside of themselves and they do that by secretly getting married in the middle of act 2 after killing a bunch of bandits and having life-affirming sex in a barn that they both decide they need to Take Responsibility for, telling literally no one besides the Mother at the provincial Chantry in the middle of the woods around Tantervale, and then talking themselves out of it by the time they return to Kirkwall. This leads to either the ‘bad’ timeline, where Jessa kills Sebastian at the end of the game when he threatens Kirkwall and demands you kill Anders, subsequently going back to do a takeover of Starkhaven and naming herself regent (a weird Loghain parallel which I’m super into?); or the ‘good’ timeline where she kills Anders and they return to Starkhaven to rule together (but she always remembers that he wants her as a weapon before he trusts her as his wife). There’s definitely not a ‘happy’ timeline for them! They are always at their happiest in that barn, alone together.

   "I have this dream," she says, in that odd, soft way of hers. Her fingers card through his hair, more touch in the last day than he's had in the past year. He is hers, utterly, blasphemous as it is.

   Rain is still coming down on the dilapidated barn. The air smells fresh and new, and the wind is cool enough to raise goosebumps all over her skin.

   "Tell me?" he offers—he offers, like it's easy, like he's not starving for any piece of her, like he won't die if she stops touching him.

   "We never came to Kirkwall. We went somewhere else, somewhere kinder. My brother is a knight and my sister is happy and my mother is quietly proud of them." She is so very vulnerable, even with her hand at his neck. So very lost and lonely, a bird with a broken wing, searching for a safe perch.

   He has never—not even when she walked into the Chantry with blood under her nails, proclaiming his justice done—been more drawn to her. He has never felt so hollowed-out with need. He tries to be a virtuous man. He tries to be a good man. But right now, with her hand in his hair and his cheek against her chest, he wants to keep her. And he knows she wants to keep him—Hawke never wants to let anyone go.

   "And you?"

   "Oh, I suppose I marry someone sweet and have a lovely garden." Her nails scratch his scalp gently. A cat would purr. "We choose each other, and we're happy."

   "Jessalyn," he manages, pushing through the comfortable fog she has him in. "Jess-ah." Her grip on his hair tightens.

   "We choose each other," she repeats, more focused, her eyes boring into his. And he knows what she's going to say, as she tilts his face up into hers and catches his mouth in a brief, fierce kiss. And he has never, never wanted anything so badly.

   "I pretend it's you," she whispers, and he cracks clean through.

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

josie.... is actually the document where I write send your letter, i’ll reply (please ignore how that fic has not been updated since 2021, it is not dead I am still tinkering with it!) It’s actually a fic about Josephine witnessing a friendship blossom between Trevelyan and her sister Yvette! I thought Yvette was so much fun during WE&WH, and I love writing about how outsiders see video games happen, so she was a perfect way in to these characters. Josephine deals with her lover becoming best friends with her sister, the dismantling of the Inquisition as an organization, and the realization that she’s done the work and gets to have the happy ending. The first two chapters are finished, but the third is still in the bullet-point outline stage:

Letter from Kirkwall. Josephine has been settling matters in Antiva. Evelyn spent three days in Otswick before leaving, getting a room at the Hanged Man, and becoming a comtesse. Letter from Varric—don’t let her go back to Otswick, Ruffles. She gets all mixed up. Letter from Evelyn—I miss you, I love you, I’ll see you soon.

Trevelyans got kicked out of Orlais for breaking sumptuary laws headcanon here, an ancestor who discovered the right combo of pigment for Mock Imperial Blue and subsequently had to flee the country. Painting connection to Yvette :)

There are whispers in Antiva for months preceding Yvette Montilyet’s inaugural exhibition. They move beyond the circles of artists; three of the merchant princes requested to see the paintings in advance and five others sent spies. All were easily dealt with—the princes regretfully informed by the artist that the work was in no state to be viewed, the spies turned away by a few Friends and one resident assassin with a habit of walking the Montilyet estate at night. There is such a kindness to Evelyn. It is nonexistent when security threats arise.

What is their life together like? The Herald of Andraste resides a very short distance from Antiva City, and is often found in the studio of a novice painter. Yvette has had fine teachers, but she has not made a name for herself yet.

Beyond a brief presentation to the Queen of Antiva, the Herald has attended no formal court events. She has refused to sit for anything more than a sketch, even for the artist most in favor with the Empress of Orlais. 

Her portrait will be the centerpiece of Yvettes first exhibition. 

Josephine hasn’t seen it either.

It is not a portrait of the Herald of Andraste at all. It is Evelyn, only Evelyn, in the solarium. // Dressed simply—quiet blues and greens, no hint of the formal dress from Halamshiral. Her hair is in a cloudy bun, each wisping strand shot through with sunlight. Across her shoulders, poking fun at a chain of office, is a daisy chain. // She faces the viewer, hands resting in her lap. Everything about her posture speaks to regality; her chin is raised and her shoulders are squared. And then there is her expression. // The serious line of her mouth pulls up at one side, lips pressed together. Her eyes are lively, engaged. // Josephine’s breath catches, somewhere around the time she sees the freckles bunched up on Evelyn’s nose. This is—it is— // The opposite of every portrait, every rumor. There is no declaration of divinity or piety, no assertion of power. Not a single overt symbol. It could be any noblewoman. // Josephine reads the title, Lady Trevelyan Discussing Literature. // Yvette has captured the moment before Evelyn laughs. // No, they will not be parting with this painting. Not for anything.

No declarations of love come for Yvette in the wake of the exhibition, which she pouts over for a time. No censure comes from the Chantry for a disrespectful depiction of the Herald of Andraste, which lets Josephine breathe a sigh of relief.

Her mother has the portrait installed in the family gallery. Evelyn takes to haunting there, too.

The Anchor always hurts her, even now. They have separate bedrooms, connected by a door, and it is not uncommon for Evelyn to begin the evening in Josephine’s bed only to vanish in the night. The pain keeps her awake and restless, and Josephine is yet more grateful to Yvette, who is one of the only people capable of distracting Evelyn.

More than once, the two are discovered giggling next to the kitchen hearth by an indulgent cook. 

Basically, They Are In Love and even when things are tough, they work out :)

[healingsht]

My bottle

I spend days and I forgot for a moment how much you are a part of me a part of life I wanna leave behind I spend these days and I forgot but you would never make me forget that everyday seems to be more about you than about me every thougt is suicidal every moment foggy my head's empty or filled with clouds I feel like I'm not long to be even thought every days I lived fbefore seemed as intense as a new dance to feel my core now every time I twist and turn every sign is a new turn as if I never was meant to walk straight now every second I need a feeling something strong enough that I can't stop I need this fixation in my lafe like a metal bar I wrap around to make the fall a little better to make my life a little more just like a roar of powerful force just to move the weight that has been on me All this time like I'm training for some dumb shit I keep on lifting and grinding my teeth as every movement, step or beath feel like a hell of pain and I can't help but be assured that my existance won't be much That I'm a coward relying on cruches to stand on a path everyone is free to get along as if this something in my head is only there to make me stop to gain in mass and gain in weight until my bones won't be able to move without crumbling I will develop to harden them but I feel as if every movement is a waste cause if it keeps increasing I won't be able to create a future for me or people around, I have the thoughts of you But I'm bound by chains and pulled as if I were to never make progress and just to walk on an empty path which honestly could be very small cause as I get heavier and keep getting pushed back I only have what is un hope without consistence like a foolish existence I won't be part of it for long or at least that's where my thoughts go wrong I'm just part of a vessel like II'm just void filling the blank I feel tired and overwhelmed but yet still continue moving because the pain is a conforting state a memory I always have as part of me of us of all like part of what's keeping me along that narrow path I can't seem to walk on I feel like shit and it's a constant mess as I waslk around and try to breathe I feel this growing pain in my chest like it's just pointless to continue It keeps on growing you keep on showing and I never feel like someone new can be me again my skull is crushed by all the pounding I receive as if I was melted metal put into shape But I'm not metal I'm just glass and so I broke again feeling lonesome again feeling as bloody as possible feeling like resistance is feeble feeling like I won't surpass that feeling like I won't get back to a state worthy of being healed as I just cry with every feet I put on the ground I feel tired like I seem to never get better but I guess this day is just the worst and everyother will be better without me as my jaw become blocked, the blood dripping, I am not going to be me after I start to make move to forget all that but I don't I'm kinda dead, and if I don't I see the end comng near to me So I put this day on hold and wipe my tears, focus on breathing as my nose is full a bottle opened and another pills go down my throat I feel worthless I feel weak But I won't die that sure is gone Now I'm just left here wondering if I'm just junk with an addiction or if i realy need someone to save me as I think it's probably the first one but's like that everytime I need to heal I end up feeling like trash and wondering if I am to blame cause in the end I only uses thoses cruches everytime I feel my life on the line maybe I'm just an addict and these are plots to make me reopen a bottle what I know for sure is that I am lost And I have never sent a bottle into the sea of tears I drown in as I cry myself to sleep I feel miserable and alone, I won't ever be calm again I feel this anger burn in me and I will never be happy as I am here

[mariewana20]

I grew up in an environment where mental health is only for those with money. Anxiety is you are just being dramatic that all you need is to breathe. And if you feel depressed, you only want attention.

People who suffer from this illness are scared to be stigmatized. They would hide it instead of asking for help. Our cultural beliefs are if you have a mental illness, you just made it up or invented it to gain some attention, And also having a mental illness is a shame.

I recall the first time I feel miserable. Not ‘miserable’ that I am desperate to feel happy again, ‘miserable’ feeling that I want to disappear. I also recall the first time I asked for help, and no one helped me. All I heard from the people around me was, “We’ve been there. It will pass, don’t be so dramatic.” I just smiled. Do you know what hurts me the most? When my mother told me she didn’t bring me to this world to be weak. I was only 15 years old back then—lost.

Always blame myself for the things that I have no control off. I can’t look at the mirror for that long; I can’t accept that I’m here and still lost. Some days, I feel so gloomy and cry that my heart starts to palpitate, and it hurts. Out of nowhere, I always think of how I would die. So far, I have three different scenarios of how I would kill myself. I know there is something wrong with me, but I can’t point out what it is.

What are the symptoms of severe depression? Your friends will lose interest in an activity, an activity that they always love doing. She always points her finger at herself when something wrong happens. He will feel irritated and angry when things don’t go on his way. Suddenly drop weight because they don’t feel like eating. People with this mental health are good at hiding their true feelings, so be good to everyone around you. We can’t really say who’s struggling.

And for those suffering from this, know that you are not alone. Someday we don’t have to be shame. Eventually, you will be okay.