#I’m not even suicidal or anything like that it’s more like I want to carve these feelings out of me and separate you from my soul but I cant

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[painsandconfusion]

Racing Time

(tw: death, mercy kill, suicide mention, torture, illness, bad caretaker)

Time is cruel.

No. No, that sounds like it’s the beginning of a sorrowful love story. This story was nothing like that. No love letters or star-crossed drama. No soft cotton sheets dampened with delicate tears.

Caretaker’s story was just blood and pain. Gore and screams. Darkness and terror.

Yet, through it all, time was the worst part by far.

Caretaker and Whumpee had been with Whumper for a month already. Each day, they’d slip into the captives’ cell, latch Caretaker to the wall, then carve out fleshy chunks of Whumpee’s proverbial soul. So many times and in so many ways. Caretaker’s only injury was the bruising of their wrists and the ache that settled into their ears after Whumpee’s screams crashed like a bullet through their skull. 

They didn’t complain. What was there to complain about? And to who? Whumpee? Who was always trembling, sobbing, or comatose on the concrete floor after Whumper left?

Their pain didn’t matter. They just held Whumpee, dressing their wounds and cooing soft songs to fill the silence. To fill the time.

So much worse than the daily tortures was the wait between them. Not knowing what time it was. How long they’d been here. When Whumper would come again.

Whumpee couldn’t do this any more. Caretaker saw first hand time and time again how the cracks in their mind began to form. How their body shattered into illness - which granted them no reprieve or respite from the pain.

Whumper didn’t care. They would keep on going until Whumpee’s agonized body finally gave out. And already, they were so weak. So pathetic when they tried to crawl or thrash or fight.

They didn’t have it in them anymore to scream.

Caretaker nestled Whumpee in their arms - Whumpee’s back against their chest. Caretaker let their soft, flawless form wrap around Whumpee’s shivering and battered one.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right? That I only want the best for you?”

Whumpee twitched a nod against Caretaker’s shoulder, their cold nose pressed into their protector’s neck.

“..do you trust me?”

There was a slight hesitation, but Whumpee didn’t have the mind to think any more than necessary. Again, Caretaker received a nod.

Caretaker’s hand was shaking as it reached up, wrapping softly around Whumpee’s throat. Their thumb and middle finger found the tender veins sluggeshly thunking away on either side of the trachea. With great precision and as much gentleness as they could manage, Caretaker applied pressure, feeling the blood and precious nutrients dam up against their grip.

Whumpee twitched, but the pressure wasn’t painful, so they stayed. At least, that’s what Caretaker assumed was going through their mind.

“..I’m going to put you to sleep, okay? Then you can get away from the pain. Just let yourself black out and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Whumpee tensed slightly - likely the pressure starting to build up in their skull causing discomfort and not at all aiding in the concussion. But they didn’t move. They simply gripped Caretaker’s other arm a bit, letting this happen. Eyes closing against the sensation.

It didn’t take much time. Nor did Caretaker want it to. Time was cruel. Sadistic and unforgiving. Whumpee didn’t deserve to spend so very much of it having nothing to look forward to but pain and death. 

Caretaker’s grip didn’t let up when Whumpee blacked out. They kept the steady but gentle grip, kissing Whumpee’s hair and humming the first wordless melody that came to mind. They kept their fingers in place even when Whumpee's rattling lungs stopped scraping for air.

Whumpee wouldn’t choose to die. At least, they shouldn’t. No one should.

Caretaker would do it for them.

. (I'm sorry, I don't have energy for taglists today)

[mimasroom2]

Accelerating fury pt 2

Pt 1 :3

HELLOOOOO! Here is part 2!! :3. Sorry it took me so long,, I’ve been helping my friend set up an Etsy shop + I have work. Btw!! We WILL find out exactly what Ellie did for the judges once the games start😉… I hope this doesn’t feel like I skipped over some things. I wanted to focus more on the important stuff rather than providing every detail like I tend to do.. like just get to the damn hunger games already fuck🙄

C/w: Same c/ws as the first one. Reader dissociates for a little bit. Twice. Ellie is more of a bitch oooooohhhh. Mention of suicide in literally 3 sentences near the end,, it’s SUPER minor.

U guys know the drill,, the dress I included is the one the reader wears during the interviews.

W/c: 4.7k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

The day was going well. You and Jesse switched places for training, although he did give you a weird look when you mentioned you taught Ellie how to make a fire. That night you have dinner with all four of your new friends: Jesse, Tommy, Maria, and Dina. You discuss what skill to show off to the gamemakers tomorrow with Tommy after you all eat. He was glad to hear about how the training went, especially because this is around the time tributes usually start acting alone. This being said, Tommy thinks it’s best you and Jesse don’t know what the other is planning.

“So you’re tellin’ me you jus’ played footsies with the cute girl and showed her a skill you already know? That more than half the tributes already know??” He leans against the wall of the hallway that you two are talking alone in. He’s glaring down at you as if it’s his own life at risk.

“Tommy, I wasn’t playing footsies. I literally didn’t even touch her.” You roll your eyes.

“Not what I meant.” He shakes his head.

“And besides, I figured out how to tread silently on different terrain all by myself.” You cross your arms and smirk proudly.

He perks up at this, holding his hand out in a ‘stop’ motion. “Woah woah woah, hold yer damn horses. You mean all terrain?”

“Pshh, no, of course not. You can’t be silent on broken glass.” You tap your head, as if to say ‘duh’. “But yeah, most of them.”

“Use that.” He smiles and pats your head how all dads do.

“But that’s lame. There’s gonna be people throwing axes and carving tools. They’re gonna give them a good score and not me and then I’m not gonna get sponsored.” You play it off like you’re just pouting, but you are actually starting to get scared. I mean, it’s life and death.

“But you can’t do any of that. Use what you can and you will not regret it. Trust me.”

~

A few hours later, you and Jesse are sitting side by side again outside the training center. This time, Ellie’s there early, and her mentor is scolding her. She’s probably getting the same lecture you got, bumping coochies or whatever the hell Tommy said. Once she’s done getting scolded she looks around the room and makes eye contact with you. She smiles slightly, but doesn’t wave or anything.

Once everyone is there, the head trainer comes out. “Alright. We gotta lot of you to get through, and if we want these results for the sponsors this evening, we better get moving. District 1 male tribute, you are up.”

You look up a few rows ahead of you, and see Ellie fidgeting with her fingers. What kind of skill would she even have? She’s not a career, but if she does well they might boost her score because of that. She didn’t know how to make a fire before she met you. She was playing around with that pocket knife, maybe that’s it? You didn’t really pay any more attention to her once you figured out your terrain thing.

Ellie was the fourth one of all the tributes to go in. She actually looked nervous as she stepped inside. It’s completely soundproof in there, so if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything even if you tried. You look at Jesse and he smiles slightly. A little weary. Maybe after the scores are announced he’ll tell you what he does in there.

After about 15 minutes or so, Ellie comes back out, wiping the fake blood they use off her face. It scared you at first, but after the first tribute went in, the head trainer told you all the gamemakers added it to be more realistic. If by realistic they mean inhumane, then yeah. Sure. You wave her over to talk to you as she heads over to the exit.

She leans over and whispers, “Only had one skill to show off. Don’t know if they understood it.. but uh, we’ll see.” She gives you a goofy grin that’s slightly too big, and two thumbs up, before walking off.

What does she mean ‘don’t know if they understood it?’ If she used her little knife, wouldn’t they have seen it? The gamemakers have been known to not pay attention to the tributes fairly often, but who wouldn’t stop and stare at Ellie. She did walk out with that weird fake blood on her, after all.

Before you know it, it’s Jesse’s turn. He stands up and gives you one of his small smiles as he heads into the room. You don’t want to, but your mind always ends up drifting back to Ellie. You wondered how she was going to act in the arena. Would she still talk to you like how she does now? Without caring what the careers and rest of the tributes think? You guys haven’t even talked about the games, and what you were going to do in them. It seemed almost rude to you. What’s the point in talking about alliances now? And why would she choose you? She’d be much better off with virtually anybody else..

Suddenly, the same girl pops her head out and calls your name. You silently curse yourself. All this thinking about Ellie has got you too worked up. You needed to focus and calm down if you wanted to show off your skill correctly. You take a deep breath and walk inside.

You had requested different types of terrain, and you saw them all laid out in little boxes on the floor. They were basically built like sand boxes; there was actual sand in the first one, and then grass, and then they kept going up in difficulty, all the way up to the broken glass you were talking about that you knew was going to crunch.

You walk up to where the gamemakers are. There’s a forcefield but you know they can still hear you. You raise your voice a little, “Uhm, hey. I’m not doing this again, so… if you miss it, you miss it.” You shrug at them. Better that they know you’re starting so they don’t miss it. You plan on them not hearing anything.

You check to make sure your shoes are all good. They’re nothing special, just the ones they give you for training. You start on the sand. It’s easy, you just hop a little so you don’t sink in, and you’re good. No noise. Next you try the grass. Again, no noise.

Okay, now it was really time to show off. The next one is snow. They made it the kind that creaks and sinks in a little, so you have to go slow on this one. You step heel to toe, and try to make your steps as flat as possible, so your weight is distributed. You pause, making sure the snow moves slowly under your foot. You decide to take shorter steps, instead of the long ones you used on the sand. Rinse and repeat. No sound.

You glance up at the gamemakers, and they seem a little intrigued. Well, little isn’t good enough. You move onto dried leaves over cement. Any child would go crazy over this. You bend your knees slightly, like you’re skiing. You basically use the same method as the snow. It doesn’t take as long, and no sound was made. You hear a quiet murmur from the gamemakers. Fuck yeah.

You go through a couple more. Things like gravel, mud, a wooden deck, and metal grates. And then you get to the glass. The shoes they gave you are tough enough that no glass will come through and cut you, but that’s not what you’re worried about. You keep your arms close to your body and try your best balancing as you walk across. Slowly. Even slower. Absolutely no sudden movements. You’re holding your breath, until you get to the end. You weren’t completely silent, but you were damn as close as you could get. You hop down from the row of boxes and smile at the gamemakers. They don’t clap or anything, they probably aren’t allowed, but they smile back.

Let’s fucking go.

~

“It was soooo great, Tommy. Everyone was watching me at the end like I actually feel really good about it and I can totally tell they wanted to clap for me-“

You’re cut off from your rambling by Maria shouting “It’s hereeee!” in a sing song voice. You all scramble to the giant couches in front of the tv to watch Caesar announce the scores. You look over and notice Dina is sitting criss cross apple sauce by Jesse. She has her hand on his leg. Huh.

Your head snaps back to the tv as soon as Caesar starts talking. “Good evening to all of Panem, tonight we have our special scores straight from the gamemakers! Sponsors, get your pencils ready, because you are going to want to mark down who you’re placing bets on!”

As he goes on with the introduction, you look at Tommy with an exaggerated face that says ‘EEK IM SO NERVY!’ He just smiles and gives you a thumbs up.

As always, Caesar starts with the tributes from district 1. You scoff as their almost perfect scores pop up on screen.

“Fucking careers.” You hear Jesse murmur, and you widen your eyes in agreement.

The district 2 male tribute also has an amazing score. You tense up, holding your breath when you see Ellie’s next, almost as if it’s your own damn score they’re showing. You look around at everyone else in the room, they’re glaring at her, like she’s some sort of threat. Shit. You remember that she actually is.

“Ellie Williams, with a score of 11.” Your jaw drops. Now you’re really curious as to what she did in there. You notice Jesse looking at you. You want to wave it off, but you give him a concerned look.

The next of the scores go by unbearably slow. Tommy and Maria make a few comments about each one. You and Jesse just agree as fast as you can so you can go back to worrying about what your own scores are going to be.

Jesse’s score is up. You don’t want to freak him out, so you stare at the tv. Caesar announces that he got an 8.

“Holy shit!!” Dina leaps off the couch and jumps up and down while holding Jesse’s hands. “That’s like- the best you can get without being a career!”

Jesse laughs and everyone claps for him. In other circumstances you’d probably hug him. Dina’s got that covered. You give him a look that says ‘ohhhh I see what’s going on here’. He just rolls his eyes at you.

You were so focused on how touchy Dina was being that you completely forgot your score was next. Tommy nudges you a little and points at the screen. There’s the little video they took of you. You wonder what Ellie is thinking right now.

Caesar announces your name, pauses for a second, and says the number ten.

TEN???

“HOLY SHIT!!” You jump up from the couch at the speed of light and turn around to face your friends. Jesse and Dina’s jaws are dropped.

Maria raises a glass and Tommy gives you a high five. “Told yah it would work.” He says, and you grin at him.

~

The next day are your interviews. When Dina’s not busy flirting with Jesse, she’s been working on brand new outfits for you guys.

“I think you’ll like it. Hopefully. I’m doing something a bit different this year.” Dina says while she’s pulling out your outfit from racks of clothes.

“You do something different every year.” You reply. Wasn’t that the whole point?

“Yeah, but I mean like different different. You’re doing really well so far. Everyone loved you at the parade, and now sponsors are talking about your score from yesterday.”

You just nod. You really should be proud of yourself, but every day that the games get closer, you find that’s all you can think about.

“Here.” Dina says nonchalantly, and you have to do a double take as she pulls out another beautiful dress. It’s white like your other one, but nowhere near as fancy. It’s still really nice though. It’s probably made of the highest grade satin you can get in Panem, with silver beading on the chest. It’s long, and has a little slit for your leg, although it’s probably more so that you have room to walk and don’t trip. There’s even little cuffs for your hands and arms. And of course it can’t be a Dina design without the piece de resistance: Angel wings.

You whistle, and look up at Dina. “You really want me to wear this?”

“That’s why I have it on a mannequin in front of you.” She smiles, and leaves the room for you to change.

You don’t really have a plan of what to say during the interview. Tommy said to just “go with the flow” and whatever you say will sure to have the sponsors going crazy over you.

As soon as you get the dress on, Dina comes back in and leads you to the line where all the tributes are.

You get a glance at Ellie for the first time since she scored an 11. She’s wearing another suit. This time, it’s dark green, and compliments her eyes. Her hair isn’t in its usual messy half up half down style, it’s actually neat for once. Probably per request of her stylist. She turns slightly when she sees you, and you feel your heart beat out of your chest for a second.

“That damn girls gonna be the death of you.” You jump a little when you suddenly hear Jesse’s voice behind you.

You frown and shove him a little. “You really shouldn’t say that. Yknow we’re in a death game, right?” You two smile at each other. You’re glad that you guys can still joke around in times like this. All of the other tributes are glaring at each other in line.

Suddenly, you hear a roar of applause, and someone laughing into a microphone, which can only mean that Caesar is up on stage. “Hah ha!! It is time.. to meet each and every tribute face to face!!! Yes! How exciting…”

As he drones on, you look ahead and see Ellie straightening out her suit.

The first three tributes are all careers, so of course their interviews go well. They seemed to have turned up the charm factor to 110% compared to how they were during training. Pretty soon Ellie’s at the front of the line. One of the Avox’s puts his hand on her shoulder to guide her when it’s her turn. She swiftly backs away and puts her hand in front of his face in a ‘stop’ motion, and expertly walks toward the stage.

Caesar introduces her as he holds out his arm. She walks on stage with her hands in her pockets. A mix of casual and confident. She just smirks when she hears how crazy the crowd is for her. If you didn’t know her, you swear she’d be coming off like the biggest douchebag right now.

Even so, the people are eating it up.

Caesar sits down with her after shaking her hand. “So, miss Williams, I hear you a not a career. Would you tell us a bit about that?”

She actually manspreads and folds her hands together. “Damn right, Caeser. No offense but.. never wanted to be here in the first place.” She’s so nonchalant about it.

“May I ask.. I hope I’m not intruding, but… you did this for someone very dear to you. Yes?”

“I guess since you asked…” she sighs dramatically, “the rumors are true. I was forced to volunteer.” She looks down at the floor and sighs again. She’s turning this up way more than you would ever expect. This new persona seems exactly like her true self, and at the same time, not like her at all. The crowd goes absolutely bonkers. It goes on for awhile, and she just keeps playing up her sad little act.

She leans forward. “So, Abby. I know you’re watching this. Hah, I’m being televised to all of Panem right now. My biggest ‘fuck you’ would go to The Man, but right now, it’s going to you.”

She looks directly in the eyes of one of the cameras, cups her hands around her mouth, and says a nice long and drawn out “Fuuuuuuuuuckkkkk you.”

You scoff at it. At her. This is so fucking dumb. They probably have to censor it anyway. Your eyes narrow at her as she gets mixed reactions from the crowd.

Any reaction is better than no reaction.

~

You zone out a little. Her interview seems like it’s going on forever. They talk a little bit about her choice to wear suits instead of dresses. And how weird she thinks everyone else is. You fiddle around with your dress as you grow more and more nervous.

You’re pretty sure that Caesar is actually giving her a couple more minutes than the tributes before her. I mean, can you blame him? She’s basically walking sex right now.

“You sure are one of the most true to yourself tributes out there. Haha!!” He leans in closer to her, and his voice lowers a little, “I have to say, you are not like the others, are you?”

She has this awful shit eating grin on her face. “Nope. You’ll never see me acting like something I’m not just to get sponsors.” She pauses, then says, “Especially all sweet like an angel.”

Your grip tightens on your dress when you hear it.

That. Little. Bitch.

~

You don’t even pay attention to Jesse’s interview. You’re so mad. You never get mad. You weren’t even mad on the day you got reaped.

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You let the Avox touch your shoulder and guide you to the curtain backstage. You feel like your mind is completely blank. You can hear what Caesar is saying perfectly fine, but you don’t care. The world around you suddenly doesn’t seem real.

Caesar calls your name and you go on stage to greet him. Your face is completely blank. But you don’t feel relaxed. All you want to do is go anywhere else right now. You don’t care about anything anymore, you just want to get this done as fast as possible. You walk on stage so lightly, like you’re a ghost. Like you’re floating. You shake Caesar’s hand and sit down.

“Quite the outfit we have going on here today.” He gestures to your whole get up, which is the exact last thing you wanted him to mention. Of course Dina just had to make something so memorable and distinct.

“Yeah. Different than the other one.” You say. That’s all you can manage to say. He gives you a short look that says ‘cmon man I’m trying to help you out here.’

You inhale sharply, and say, “I know it’s not…. Everyone’s favorite.. but I hope you like it.” You turn towards the crowd at the last line. You’re taking a big leap here, for calling out Ellie like that. The audience loved her after all.

There’s a few whistles and polite clapping. Everyone is silent for a few seconds.

“Now, living in district 8, you make clothes for the Capitol all the time. How is it now that you’re actually here?” He tries to prompt you.

“It’s fine.” You say.

The interview goes on like this. He asks you a question and you stare off into space just to reply with a short answer.

However, you look into the audience. They’re completely silent. Not because they’re bored, but because they’re intrigued. You’re probably the only one in the history of the games to not spend your interview talking so the sponsors can know you better. It seems that they’re way more interested in something new.

~

After your interview you float back off stage. You stand by yourself for a second to try and regroup.

The careers and the other tributes who are done are standing a little further down the hallway. You decide to join them. Maybe listening to them drone on and on will snap you out of this. One of them is making fun of Caesar’s hair and the way he talks. You laugh a little at this, especially when some other kids chime in with their impressions of him.

You see Ellie out of the corner of your eye. You look at her, not even caring that you’re staring.

She walks closer and stops when she’s next to you. She smirks, “They’re really paintin’ you as a lil’ angel, huh? You gonna take me to our lord and savior?”

Your face and tone flatten, “We’re leaning into it.”

She looks at you for a second. You can’t tell what she’s thinking or what the look on her face is. She hums out a quick “hm.” before smiling and going on her way.

~

When you’re at dinner, Tommy is lecturing you. “You’re goddamn lucky the crowd found you interestin’. Even if you didn’t say a damn peep.”

This snaps you out of your trance. “I don’t need any more lectures, Tommy. I get it.” You huff and get up from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

Jesse had already asked you what was going on in your interview, which was sweet, but you really didn’t want to think about it any more. You waved him off, and mumbled something about being upset by what Ellie said. And you tried not to cry. But now, as you entered your room and shut the door, there was no one. No one to see you. And no one to talk to.

You felt like a little kid getting their feelings hurt. But you couldn’t help that your bottom lip quivered and tears started to run down your cheeks. You felt embarrassed by yourself, even in your own room with nobody around. How fucking stupid to be crying over this. It was your own fault for getting your hopes up about Ellie being your friend. This is the goddamn hunger games. There are no friends. She was just pretending to be nice to you as a joke. Or to fool you so she can have an ally and kill you off later.

It’s absolutely fucking hopeless. The games were tomorrow. You were probably going to die first. At the cornucopia. It wouldn’t even be a cool death. You’d be all sad looking at Ellie and some bitch with a bat would come up behind you and bash your head in.

You’re still in the dress you wore in the interviews. Dina’s never going to use it again anyway. That’s what she said, right? You hated the way it looked on you. There was a little pair of scissors in your room. Not big enough to do serious damage to yourself, even if you somehow wanted to. It’s not like you could anyway. You still had family.

You just cut the stupid dress off you. Would’ve been a pain in the ass to get off in the first place.

You decide to just sleep in your underwear, instead of whatever pjs they’ve decided to give you. You think about how dumb it is that you thought about Ellie all through the night the first time you met her. You didn’t even actually meet her until the second day. And now you were here all alone in your room and all your thoughts of Ellie were turning sour. Fucking Ellie. God, what a bitch. Fucking stupid.

You muttered all this to yourself as you paced around your room for far too long. You can hear the clinking of glasses and tableware. You do feel kind of bad for not staying or cleaning up, but what fucking ever. You’re going to die soon. These snobby Capitol bitches can clear their own plates.

Suddenly, you hear a knock on your door. You turn around to face the door, “Tommy, I’m sorry. I don’t wanna talk right now.”

“Uh.. it’s me.” You hear Jesse say. You can see him shuffle his feet through the crack under the door.

“Shit, hold on.” You slip a nightgown on in case he wants to stay. You open the door. There’s a hickey on his neck. “Where the hell is that from?” You ask him, and you realize you sound more like his mom than his friend.

“Uhhh..” is all he has to say, and he flashes you a sheepish grin.

You roll your eyes at him, “Whatever. Just come in.”

You cross your arms and stand in front of your bed. He’s still taller than you, but somehow, he seems small. And nervous. “It’s game day tomorrow. Like… literally.” He laughs a little, then looks at you with concern, “I just wanna say that I’m sorry ‘bout what happened with Ellie. That was fucked.”

If it was anyone else, you probably would have shut them down. Told them to get lost, or whatever it is people say. Told them it’s not their business, and you can handle it. But, since it’s Jesse, you actually find yourself appreciating it.

“Thank you, Jesse. That’s- that actually makes me feel better.” You shuffle your feet around, and you feel stupid for stuttering, but Jesse doesn’t seem to mind.

He stares at you for a while. You don’t know if he’s wait for you to talk, or if he’s thinking of something to say. He softly touches your arm and says, “We’re friends, right?”

You look up at him and nod. You start to cry. He hugs you. There’s no use explaining it; everyone could guess why you’re crying. The feeling of dread in your stomach won’t go away. You think that Jesse is probably the nicest person you’ve ever known.

As if on cue, he hugs you tighter and says, “I’m glad to have known you.”

You know he’s not trying to hurt you, but that simple sentence just makes you cry even more.

~

You can’t even remember falling asleep. Was that really yesterday? It feels like so long ago. You look at the time. Maria wanted to have breakfast together one last time, but you slept in. You don’t even care. They’re putting you in the games this afternoon. You decide to sit at the window seat in your room and focus on the rain until you’re called.

When it’s time, you follow Tommy to the aircraft which will bring you to the arena. He says he’s proud of you. You just nod.

You get into the aircraft and they put a tracker in your arm. You feel numb again. You look at the other tributes sitting there with you. Jesse’s not there. And Ellie’s not there. That’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know if you could handle yourself if you saw Ellie before the games began.

After you’ve arrived at the arena, an Avox leads you to a little room where you meet with Dina. She says something about wanting to bet on you, if she could. You mutter a quick ‘thank you’ and brace yourself to go in the tube thing that will send you into the arena. You look down at your clothes they’ve put you in. They’re so.. boring. At least compared to all the fancy dresses Dina cooked up for you. They’ve literally given you a t-shirt, jeans, converse, and a hoodie for this year. Just normal clothes.

Dina hugs you and you step in. Within a couple more seconds, it’s lifting you up. You strain to hear any hints of who’s around you. If maybe Jesse is calling out your name or if Ellie’s scoffing at what you all have to wear. You suddenly feel the platform in the tube stop rising.

The countdown starts, and with that, you snap out of your trance.

You finally see what the arena is. And so does the rest of Panem. There’s lines and rows of buildings as far out as you can see. Your eye quickly finds Ellie, and then Jesse. He’s panting harshly. Ellie actually looks scared. Compared to how it was raining earlier, the gamemakers have given you guys sun. Such happy weather to kill each other in. You glance to Jesse, the buildings, then Ellie, and back to the buildings. It’s a whole city.

Holy fuck.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[frodopotter7]

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

?

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Howdy! I’d just like to comment on the latest installment of “Traitors Among us”

*ahem ahem…*

😭😭😭

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭!!!!

it was SOOOOOO SO SAD! T_T

Like BRUH! I was feeling sad even after I put my phone down. Sad even after I woke up the next day and felt sad when I remembered it T_T sad now thinking about it! T_T

I thought I could handle it since, in my last fandom, I read a lot of Dark Fics. But it’s not *just* the physical torture here! There’s more too it! (I’m not criticizing you for making it sad. It was well written, good, heart breaking, and compelling)

bruh if I was reader (well…I’m technically supposed to be) I would’ve killed myself at that point. Maybe you can make that one of the endings?! It would make sense. There’s signs. She doesn’t have ANYONE. She’s newly traumatized with no one to help her through it. She has nothing to cling on to. She didn’t plan for the future (rejecting/ not caring about money and insurance that she’ll likely need to recover, almost as if she doesn’t plan on recovering). She doesn’t have any place to go.

Maybe she could sit at the top of a cliff? And when Simon comes over she could be like “I’m only going to say this once. Go away. And don’t follow me” and weather or not he listens she jumps? Or maybe she, using a knife with sentimental value, could carve out her own heart? Like what Simon, or..more accurately, Ghost, promised to do? In one hand her heart and in the other a suicide note with things like: “hope you’re happy daddy” and “I hope there’s no ‘other side’ I never want to see them/anything again. I don’t want to exist anymore” yeah it would hurt but I have a feeling self harm won’t be too hard to do for Y/N. And on her grave could be written “I didn’t do it” or “it wasn’t me!” As per drawing of her grave/request on her suicide note. Thanks for reading my rambling. I hope you have a nice day/evening/night.

Nothin' better than hearing your angst hit successfully as a writer for real. THANK YOU DEAR READER!

Keep in mind that I will indeed be writing multiple endings, so anything's a possibility.

[reneeluv154]

Anger

I hope you enjoy it!!!🤍🤍🤍

In this imagine you made it to the safe haven and newt helps you through your emotions while your still struggling with the loss of the others.

(More on my profile if you enjoy this one.) 🫶🏼🫶🏼

⚠️Tw: mentions of suicide⚠️

I stared at Newt, glaring at him through the flames of fire between us. We were finally in the safe haven and everyone was happy, everyone but me. I couldn’t remember the last time I truly smiled, or really felt anything for that matter. How could they be smiling and laughing?

We lost so many wonderful lives and they were just over it? I didn’t understand. Having Gally back was relieving, he was never the nicest person, to anyone, but he had grown, and it showed.

“Y/n, you good?” Minho questioned, Newt’s eyes locked with mine and I quickly looked away. “Yeah.” I sounded cold and mean, I held a little bit of anger against them, I just didn’t understand how they were okay. It was selfish, the others would have loved to be here. Yes, we carved their names on the rock but it just didn’t feel like enough. They deserved so much more.

I stood grabbing one of Gally’s drinks while walking towards the beach. I made it to the shore leaving the dancing and laughter behind. I sat down and stared out upon the endless ocean. I wished I could dig deep into my heart, take my pain, and let it drift out into the sea.

“I miss you guys, It’s not the same without you here.” I scoffed, taking a swig. “I’m so fucking angry, why not me. I wanted to die.” I said looking from the sky to the ground.

I whispered, “I still wanna die.”

“Pretty isn’t it?” I jumped hearing the all too familiar voice of a brown-eyed blonde-haired boy. He sat down beside me staring up at the starry sky.

“Yeah, gorgeous.” I agreed.

“I heard you talking.” I was drowning in embarrassment and grief.

“I just want them to know.” He nodded now it was his turn to take a swig. “They know Y/n, they're watching us every day.”

I shook my head.

“That’s supposed to make it easier?”

He shrugged, “Maybe a little, yes. I’m not saying you can’t mourn, because you can, but you’ve gotta learn to move on.” This made me angry.

“Like you? Five fucking day’s after they were gone.”

He looked at me, clenching his jaw, his eyes were angry. “I had to stay strong for you and the others, I’m bloody hurt Y/n. I’ve been hurt for a long, long time! You don’t get to tell me I was a bad person when I was just trying to keep you and the others alive!” He blew up on me, his voice louder and bolder than ever.

I couldn't look at him, the tears in my eyes rolling down my cheeks. Maybe I should kill myself, He would stay strong so the others would be okay, right? They wouldn't miss me, not like I bring anything good to the group. I would get to see the others as well. “I know that look Y/n, I can see it in your eyes, I’ve seen it in your eyes for a long time and I promise you it won’t make anything better.”

How did he know…

“I’m sure y'all would be fine.”

He shook his head. “Nope, we wouldn't.”

“I’m just so angry.” I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I sat for a minute looking at the sky when I realized. “It’s like I’m the moon and the stars are everyone in my life.” “

“I think you’ve had a tad too much to drink Y/n.”

“No. The moon and the stars adorn each other. Without the stars, the moon is just the moon.”

“Follow me.”

He stood and began walking, I walked up and stood beside him in front of a cluster of rocks. “I want you to throw that bottle as hard as you can, letting it shatter against those rocks.”

“What?” I asked

He nodded, “Scream as loud as you want, you can even cry if you’d like. Here I’ll give you my glass too.”

I shook my head. “The others will think something is wrong.”

“They can’t hear you from here.” He handed me the glass and backed up sitting on a log behind him.

“Go on. Let it out.”

Taking a moment I took the glass throwing it as hard as I could at the biggest rock there was, it shattered.

A tear ran down my cheek as I grabbed the other glass watching it fly through the air and shatter just as the other one did.

It felt too good tears now pouring down my face, I searched for anything to throw picking up smaller rocks and shells.

“Aghhhhhhh!!!!” I screamed as loud as I could feeling a sharp pain through my head, but I couldn’t stop,

“They should be here!!!”

“I loved them!!!”

“I should have hugged you when I had the chance!!!” I sobbed, still throwing whatever I could find before I ran out of breath and fell to my knees. “It should have been me!” I felt a gentle hand on my back, another on my cheek pulling me into himself.

“Shhh, that's not true love.”

I cried for a long time, even after Newt carried me back to my hut and tucked me in before he sat down in a chair beside my bed to keep an eye on me and calm me down.” I eventually fell asleep having a strong headache but also a sense of emotional relief.

[themadlu]

What Is It In You I Cannot See?

Astarion fails to sneak on Zelie, but somehow he still ends up with a full belly. Nothing asked of him. He is scared of her and angry at her at the same time. He is also happy. He is in uncharted territory. He doesn't understand if she'll be his salvation or his doom.

He also hates dogs.

TW: references to past SA (nothing graphic), mentions of animal cruelty (if him wanting to eat Scratch counts).

This is a oneshot from a longer fic idea. Zelie is my named Tav OC, but here there is no physical description, aside from eye colour.

Tagging @spacebarbarianweird because she's so talented and kind!

“Remind me again, darling, what are we doing in these godsforsaken woods?” 

Astarion had woken up…happy—with a full stomach (He had forgotten what that felt like) and a clear head (He can hear the stern cadence of her sweet, precious blood being pumped through her heart). 

His restless reverie made bearable by the life essence he took last night. 

No, not took. He was too pathetically weak even for the basic functions of a vampire. It was a gift.

This is a gift—I won’t forget it.

He said as much, head tilted towards her, looking, but not seeing; he couldn’t bear to actually stare at the person he was indebted to now. 

She doesn’t call it debt. There are enough ill-guided, wretched ideas floating in that head of hers, all about justice and fairness and respect, that she hasn’t asked anything in return for her donation.

Yet. 

She will. If he thinks too long about it, it terrifies him.

No one hands their life blood over to anyone (to a monster) without a sizeable payback in mind. Either that, or he’ll have to start believing all her ideals (Her actions) are not an elaborate set of masks to trick him into trust (She’d be more idiotic than he thought, in that case).

Still, her confounding attitude worked in his favour. Not only he wasn’t left to starve the night before (a novelty in and of itself), but he’ll get future access to his dinner for the foreseeable future. 

She said so (“You can feed on me again, IF you swear you won’t hurt others and stick to animals when I’m not around”). Her face carved in stone, unmovable as she always is when establishing her rules. Her boundaries.

(No one ever cared for his boundaries. An object of pleasure doesn't need any.)

But she looked at him like he would actually understand, as if the concept couldn’t be so foreign to him. Something in the world shifted.

Truth be told, you were my first. 

Something changes in her eyes too and her expression softens, but doesn’t relent. 

“Let’s keep me as the only for now. If you wish to tell the others and any of them are willing to donate their blood too, then you can expand your culinary options.”

What?

He knows she didn’t spill his secret to their companions (Gods forbid, someone as noble as their leader did that), but he assumed she would push him to reveal himself. Why wouldn’t she? She made such a fuss about how wrong lying is, and honesty this and fuck him that, and now she is willfully withholding information from the rest of the group. 

Why?

You nearly got us killed at the Grove. Couldn’t keep your little mouth shut with that useless healer about the tadpoles. Foolish idiot, you’ll be our doom. 

Was it a test? See what the hungry spawn does and punish him if he makes a mistake? 

Astarion has an inkling of what she would like him to do, because it tends to be the total opposite of what he would do. He would continue their little arrangement in private, for as long as possible. He may have been a slave for centuries, but he’s not so daft. Why would a vampire willingly oust himself to a group that includes a literal monster hunter in their midst. 

It would be suicidal and he has wished for death more times he can recount—often masked as sensual whimpers and pleas in brothels and alleys—but he doesn’t wish it now. 

He won’t let a presumptuous, sheltered human kill him with her righteousness when decades of torture didn’t. 

Not now he’s finally out of his grasp. 

Not now he can exist in the sun. 

Not now that he’s stuck in the mud chatting to a mutt. 

Wait, what?

The scene in front of him is dreamlike: their stoic leader is knee deep in the dirt, shiny eyes coaxing a clearly aggressive dog closer, Karlach talking to it as if it were worthy of conversation.

Zélie stares at the mutt as if in a trance. Astarion asks her why they were in the woods in the first place to see if the dog isn’t actually a hypnotising hag.

The mutt snarls at him and he snarls back. Filthy beast.

“Hush, Astarion!” Zélie whispers, “he’s scared. You’ll only scare him more”

He takes notice of the corpse near the dog. Clearly dead. Filthy and stupid beast. 

“Sweet thing you are, worrying about it,” he coos.

Hells below, you idiot. 

“But may I remind you we are trying to get to a den of vicious goblins to find the blasted druid who can fix our wiggly issue?” 

He points at his temple and she gives him the look. They’ve been travelling together for no more than a tenday and he already earned a signature look from her. 

All piercing, hardened eyes and the disapproving tilt of the head a mother would give to her child before a good dressing down. 

He wonders what his punishment will be, and his scars burn, his hands shake. 

He quickly fists them behind his back to hide the tremors (A broken toy is worthless), strikes a casual figure, and something in her gaze mellows. Before it could have stricken down a dragon from the skies, now it would only manage a bear. 

It certainly won’t manage a vampire. 

He scowls at her, but her attention is already back on the mutt now within arm’s reach. 

“You know, Astarion,” she murmurs, petting its fur with a care that had to be an act (Tenderness has no place in any realm), “dogs are beautiful creatures. They feel as much as us.” 

Another stroke behind its ears, soft and barely there. Astarion’s own ears twitch.  

“They accept our love, our mistakes, our pain, and still stay by our side. Sometimes they even see past our cruelty, so strong is their loyalty. I think you won’t find a more worthy companion.”

Another caress on its muzzle. The hint at complete loyalty to another would normally tear through him ('Remember thou art mine, useless boy'), but Astarion is transfixed by her hands on white fur (Would they touch his own white hair like that?) and his fangs are dangerously close to peeking through his lips. 

(Two centuries of utter shit, but the mutt runs across her bare moments after his owner’s died.)

If I was alone, I’d bleed you dry. Animals only, so she said.

Fucking dog befriended, Astarion is ripped from his thoughts as Zélie stops her ministrations and stands up. She bows her head at—

“Scratch. Meet Astarion. Astarion, meet Scratch.”

The dog eyes him for a moment, then barks. Astarion almost hisses back. It’s his dear leader standing in front of him that stops him. 

“I know he may look slightly ruffled, Scratch, but I like to think that you can trust him.” 

Excuse me?!

She cannot speak with animals, so why the hells is she making polite conversation with it?!

“And you,” eyes on his, he hates how he has to prove that he can hold her look without squirming. She has the gaze of someone used to having a certain level of authority, and it disgusts him. His hands tremble more, nails now digging in his palms.

('You're nothing but a scared, little boy'). 

The others have moved further along the path, but she whispers it nonetheless, “When I say you should feed on animals, this is clearly not what I mean. Dogs are out of your food chain. Please, Astarion”

He doesn’t remember when it was the last time anyone ever said please to him, when someone kept a secret for him, and it’s enough to shock him into compliance. 

“Thank you,” she says, a little smile on her thin lips (it looks foreign on her stone-like face).

She heads along the path without realising what she’s done. As if people handed thank yous around like nothing. He’s seen her thanking others, occasionally: Gale for his food, Shadowheart for the healing, even Lae’zel for not disembowelling a tiefling  (How disappointing). But to him? 

(He hasn’t done anything, besides taking her blood and her temporary alliance)

He kills and maims what enemies they encounter because he revels in the violence. In the control over another’s life—in not him being the pitiful wretch for once. If she thinks he’s doing it out of some sense of morality, then she’s even more idiotic than he thought. 

She could simply be a pathetic moron with a noble soul. One who follows her way even when she doesn’t want to. Even when they do her more harm than good (Shouting a speech on interracial cooperation from a high rock to stop a vicious group of goblins and humans from killing each other was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, she only got scraps from all the arrows flying at her). 

No. She isn’t. No one is like that.

Phantom touches on his body remind him of this shit world every second of every day and they will do so for as long as he lives. They all have their motives. She just hides hers beside a very put-together mask. An impressive one, if he can say so. 

He falls into step with her as usual (Because he needs to make sure she doesn’t drag them to an unwilling death, because he needs to keep himself in her good graces now she knows his secret) and she acknowledges him with a nod. 

The smile is still there—odd. She looks a moment away from giggling, a sound that he didn't think her mouth could form. 

Now he needs to know. 

“Copper for your thoughts, darling?” he drawls. 

What’s going on in that confusing head of yours?

“I just thought—when Scratch said he’d join us at camp. I pictured Withers and him,” a corner of her mouth lifts, “playing catch. ‘Cometh here, oh chosen canine, and followeth thy ball along its rightful path.’”

  

Her eyes tear up from contained laughter (Have they always been so blue? He just realises one is more of a grey colour), then she coughs a little and her entire face resettles on its usual assessing expression. 

"You're a bad influence, Astarion. I don't usually tease my elders, especially not millennia-old ones."

Astarion blinks (So she does have a sense of humour, even if it’s terrible).

He finds himself leaning into her, testing the boundaries. His sultry voice in her ear. "Darling, as your elder, you can tease me all you like. You have my permission." He is rewarded not with a whimper of excitement, but with the look again.

He finds himself suppressing a stray giggle and his hands stop shaking.  

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1081

TW: Suicide Attempts

Anon asked: 

How are you with the prompt of a character... almost committing unalive before being stopped by somebody?

I think about this a lot. I’ve for sure written scenes like this (posted under the cut). I sort of live vicariously through it; it’s cathartic almost to receive the non-judgemental help from fictional characters when you yourself aren’t doing too well sometimes. 

So prompts-wise:

Your character is embarrassed when they’re found. They’re so open and vulnerable that they can’ t help but feel awkward and uncomfortable when they’re found. 

Is the caretaker angry? Are they shouting? Does this make your whumpee even more embarrassed?

Is the caretaker quiet - almost too quiet. Are they scared? Does your character feel shame for this? 

Do they pass out before help arrives? How does the caretaker find them? Are they bleeding? Are they seizing? Are they choking? Are they drowning? Does the caretaker administer CPR?

Who sits in the waiting room? Who is kicking themselves thinking: “How the hell did I not see this?” 

Instead of screaming “why did you do this?” your caretaker, with a sad amount of understanding, says “I’m going to help you.” They’re resolute. They don’t want your character to feel even more of a burden.

Does your character leave a note? Or do they just... get up and leave without the intention to harm themselves, but find that that’s where they’ve ended up. 

Write that character spiralling. They go from numb to their skin prickling with overwhelming emotion. 

How scared is your character when they inevitably wake up? Are they confused? Who do they wake up to?

If they’re found before they try anything; perhaps the caretaker takes them to a nearby restaurant; to get them food and out of the cold. Maybe this is where your character finally opens up. 

This is an excerpt from my WIP book Hologram that I wrote a few years ago now. TW again for attempted suicide. 

If anyone’s every interested about my OC’s feel free to ask...

"Is this it?" A voice from beyond the door questioned.

"Yes, but sir..." the doctor hesitated. "Just remember what we told you."

"He's not in his mind. I know."

"Just pretend you know what he's talking about, it'll make the transition smoother. We'll be down the hall if anything happens." A third voice warned, the tone of which Mitchell recognised as his doctor. The door opened and a figure stepped in.

The visitor had been warned about his friend; how he was no longer in his mind, how he'd been kept in a vegetative state for thirteen years... they warned him about how he'd look, and the visitor had steeled himself to stomach the image of his friend laying prone on the bed. At worst he expected a tube to be shoved down his throat: for his body to be corpse like and attached to a range of alien machines... hell he'd even pictured the idea of Mitchell's body carved open and stitched together under bloody bandages, his thin, pale white skin stretched over his skeleton and protesting against every flex of muscle.

Perhaps he anticipated a disturbing stillness that accompanied a person close to death and on the brink of collapsing into their own mind. After the initial explosion; when the visitor had to be hospitalised they told him they never found the body. He begged and cried but they insisted that his friend was gone; well and truly disintegrated into clumps of viscera that were washed away when repairs inevitably began on the building. He cried some more when they lowered an empty casket into his grave, he wasn't there, no, he was still laid up in hospital, but his absence then just sparked the desire for his presence now.

He had to be there for his best friend; he was the last tie to sanity he had.

So when he rounded the door into the private room, anticipating an older, corpse like version of his childhood friend, his heart sank when his expectations weren't met.

Instead, the events before him were so much worse.

See, when the short British man slithered into the room... he did not expect to see his own friend preparing to slice the veins on his wrist with a scalpel.

At his gasp, Mitchell's head swooped up and he faltered, staggering back so his bare skin was touching the plated wall. All wires had been disconnected, and hung loose over the edge of the bed. The scalpel remained firm In his shaking grasp. The Child’s eyes darkened as the visitor spoke, choking on his words at the fragility of the man before him.

"Hey Mitch." He stammered, paused just a few feet from the hunched over frame. Mitchell closed his eyes and huffed through his nose and angling his head away. The blade didn't move from where it was poised over his pulsing, black vein.

"Oh fuck off!" He groaned, "for Christ sake I thought this shit would stop after... for fuck sake, please just go away."

"Good to see you too." The brown haired man swallowed.

"You always see me, you won't leave me alone." Mitchell's sentence gave him pause.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously.

"'The fuck d'you think? You're dead and my fucked up brains been manifesting you and whoever else as a way to torture me. We had this conversation before, you dumb fuck!"

"Oh..." the short man sighed, "Oh man..."

He'd been warned about the simulated dreams, though no one knew for sure what occurred in them. Their heart shattered upon the realisation of the emotional torture Mitchell must have suffered as a result. When the fabric of reality is torn from underneath you like a rug... it was no surprise that Mitchell was grasping at threads; desperately trying to tie knots with his shaking hands.

"I just want it to stop." He uttered pitifully, the grip on his knife tightening further as he brought it closer to the blackened vein beneath the pale skin of his wrist.

"I'm sorry, but it all just needs to stop."

Out of options, and knowing Mitch wasn't the negotiating type, he didn't hesitate to dive forward and get a secure grasp on his arm.

And Mitchell stopped.

He stopped moving. He stopped breathing. His blood ran cold and his body turned rigid as though his joints were replaced with concrete. With wide, grey eyes he stared at the intrusive hand as though it had grown more fingers, he exhaled, shaky, as though terrified of moving. His face contorted in an expression of horror and bewilderment.

Mitchell could feel him. He could actually /feel/ him on his skin.

And he wasn't just a mental presence, his calloused fingers added a welcome texture, his skin was clammy with anxiety and uncertainty, and the grip felt tight and reassuring. The blond had to physically force back the tears as this - this was all real. Static crashed against the walls of his skull, sloshing and frothing as though trying to escape but he held on tight. He held on tight to the feeling and the reality he had been presented with. When his mind cleared a little, he uttered the first word that fell onto his tongue, the word that hadn't left him; the name that was always in his mind.

"J-Jack?" He stammered.

"Yeah?" The visitor ventured. "It's me, Mitch."

"You're alive." He stated, bewilderment thoroughly overtaking his grief stricken features.

"Yeah." Jago ‘Jack’ Davis said with a light scoff, his nervous energy forcing him to find the tragic situation humorous. "So are you."

"You're not dead. you're- you're actually real."

"Yeah, mate."

Mitchell launched into a bone crushing hug, scalpel since discarded on the tiled floor. It fell with a clatter that neither man heard.

"You're alive." He continued to babble. "Holy shit you're alive."

"I know, I'm here, god I missed you..." he said into Mitchell's tangled hair, wrapping his arms around his trembling torso.

"I missed you too." Mitchell said, returning the gesture as the floodgates opened and he allowed himself to sob un-apologetically.

"I missed you so fucking much." He hiccuped.

[eddiesguitarskills]

When We Were Young

Part 5

Ex bf Eddie Munson X fem reader

Other parts 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Intro: 5 years have past since you packed up and left behind Hawkins. Well not all of it, as the people you met there are still a huge part of your life. But it's been 5 years since you had set a foot in the small town, 5 years since you left him.And now after all that time you were back.

Warning: angst, language, mentions of suicide, miscarriages, self harm, mental health.Arguments. Mentions of break ups. Female identity reader. Use of y/n

Bold parts are flashbacks

Word Count: 4.3 k

A/n: please only read if you are in a good place, I wouldn't want this story to trigger or hurt anyone. This took a while to write again, I just don’t want to rush it. Sorry for the wait hope you enjoy. Buckle in for this rollercoaster of a chapter

Not prove read

The first week of school had been hectic, to say the least, you had expected that. But it genuinely felt like you haven't been able to sit down once, you thought by having all your lesson prepared there wouldn't be too much work other than classes. However, you wanted to make good connections at your new place of work. Especially since a lot of the teachers at the school were there when you were a teenager, you felt like they still saw you as a kid not ready for this responsibility.

Steve fit in so well, he was always better with older people. It was easier for him he was a charmer. You on the other hand were better with kids/teenagers they were easier to read. Your wanting to fit in had led you to have multiple jobs, you felt like this was a test from the other teachers, like a form of hazing so you just said yes and went along with it. You helped organise books in the library. Ran after-school detention. Had to watch the canteen at lunchtime. You were on a permanent coffee run. You had even fallen into the trap of helping to repaint a wall with the school janitor. You were honestly surprised you had any time to teach in between everything you were doing.

Steve had told you “you don't need to do that to fit in. You'll find your place you always do”. But you didn't know how long that might take so you went along with it. It felt worth it when you were invited to drink after school at the local bar on Friday. You knew Steve didn't go to these things which made you nervous, but you knew you would have to start to exist in this town without your crutch.

Which is why you were now standing arm-to-arm with your new colleagues in a packed Hideout. It had improved since the last time you had been there. However despite its new paint, new artwork on the walls. Even with a new sign with a new name, Waterdeep, It still felt the same. The exact same as the night you and Eddie properly met. Nothing had changed. While listening to your colleagues share memories, ignoring your existence, you look around to see what was still there since you last came. You wonder if your’s and Eddie’s initials would still be carved on the table near the toilets. Most people avoided that table so as a teenager in love you thought this would be the best spot to leave the mark of your love.

Sweat dripping from every inch of his body, Eddie jumps from the small stage guitar still strapped to him, over to you. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you deeply. You were glad to be held because you think you would have fallen if not. You had already gone weak at the knees tonight when you heard Eddie’s new song dedicated to you, singing about you being the one. “Did you like it?” You nod your head. “Better than anything I’ve ever heard. Did you mean it?”. Eddie smiles “as I said in the song I don’t care if people think I’m young, and dumb. I know one thing, you are the one I will love for the rest of time”. Heat starts to rise to your cheeks. “When did you get so soft?” He grabs your ass from under your skirts. “Maybe it’s when I saw your rocking body” he joked because he loved you for more than that. But Jesus he would happily worship your body every day. That would be the only religion he would need.

You smacked his chest playfully, then dragged him to where you were sitting. He placed you on his lap in the booth at the table, kissing your ear and your neck. He couldn’t keep his hands off you. You giggled but could also feel more than butterflies starting to rise in your body. You took his hand from your waist and pulled it under the table “eager” he said not understanding that you weren’t trying to ‘play’ in the bar. He put his hand on your leg running up and down it. “Eddie, I didn’t mean that”. He looked glum but quickly removed his hand not wanting to make you uncomfortable. “At least not here at least”. You spoke so only he could hear you. You pulled his hand under the table again and let him feel it. He felt the outline of both your initials carved into the wood. He smiled. “So no matter where we go our mark will always be on the first place we met”. He pulled you in for another kiss, then moved you off his lap. Reaching into his pocket. “In that case, it has to be someone less hidden than under the table. I think our love at least deserves the top of it”. It was silly but I’m that moment it felt like the most romantic thing. At that time everything Eddie did felt like the most romantic thing to ever happen.

You couldn't stop staring at the table, wondering if it was still there. That might be the only proof you have that your love was real. That you were happy together, that at one point he loved you. “What world have you travelled off to now?” You spun around to the sound of the low gravelly voice. You should have put two and two together and realised if Eddie was to own any bar of course it would be this one. It held so many memories for him. It was of his safe places where he could completely be himself. Maybe it wasn't the original dream for him but it made so much sense. It was like this job was always meant for him. You were happy for him.

Eddie had not expected to see you here. Despite how he was acting he was nervous but strangely happy to see you. This could be his only chance to talk to you. He thought you might avoid him for the rest of his life for how he treated you last time you had spoke. Sure you had said some things and you had still hurt him, but hearing about the breakdown made him feel guilty. He felt like the guilt was eating him alive or maybe it was the wondering that was doing that, (if he saw the signs he could have helped?). The problem is when he had these internal battles in his head he always stubbornly ended up with the same thought, that you left him before he had a chance to fix it. Part of him wanted to apologize but he didn't know 100% what for and he was sure he wasn't supposed to know about what happened. Dustin said it wasn't public knowledge, only Steve was allowed to know. It was always Steve. Even now he felt jealous that you always completely let Steve into your world and he had only got a chance to dip his foot in. Even worse now he was out of it altogether.

He was so nervous that he thought about not talking to you, and hiding in the back until you left. That would be pathetic he thought, but he was tempted. That was until he watched you more intensively and noticed how the people you were with were ignoring you completely but then again you weren't trying with them. It looked like you had given up on interacting, he couldn't blame you he recognize many of the faces of his old teacher and he wouldn't want to talk to them either. But this was your new job, you need to try with them. You couldn't shut down. It wasn’t his responsibility to make you feel less lonely or at ease but he didn’t want have something else to feel guilty about. Maybe he couldn't trust you with his heart but he could give you an olive branch.

He noticed you still hadn't said anything and had gone back to daydreaming, he used to think you had the cutest face when you went into a trance. You still did. He almost didn't want to break you from it again, but the longer you were there the more he panicked. He remembers what you said about this place at the Harrington’s, saying it wasn't his dream like he was a failure. Were you judging him? He wanted to put on a front like he didn't care what you thought, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Welcome to my almost dream” you both cringed at his words. “It looks good”. You didn't know what to say. You wanted to tell him you were proud, but it wasn't your place anymore. He hoped you meant that. Those few words were something he didn't know he needed until he heard them from your mouth. “The usual?” he smiled. You were a creature of habit, but maybe you had changed he thought. Maybe this was a small test to find out what was the Same and what was new about you. Every time he remembered you drinking, you would have a vodka and coke. Only half a shot of vodka though. It always felt like the safest drink. “Just a coke. I can't drink anymore”. Why did you tell him that? Can't. The word made him thinking you not drinking wasn’t by choice. He wanted to ask. The word don't and can't are very different but it wasn't his place anymore. “Coming right up”.

He pours a coke from the tap and slides it over to you. “How much?” he shakes his head. “Call it mates rates” he uses a stupid British accent to impersonate you. He regrets it instantly when you don't laugh or smile. How could you smile when you were face to face with the fact that the old Eddie was still in there? The one you loved. Did he flirt with all the customers? Was he just being nice? Was there more to it? Did he notice you looking glum and was trying to cheer you up? Why would he care?

It made sense if you were being rational about it, there was nothing more to it then the fact that he couldn't be cruel like usual in front of the customers. He had to be pretend to be nice but that didn’t stop your heart from stupidly beating slight faster. You knew the old Eddie would unfortunately for you never be real again. A glimpse was all it would ever be, he would slip back to the Eddie who hated you on your next meeting. The thought hurt more than you would like to admit. “I didn't know we were friends” you mutter. It sounded like a dig, you didn't exactly mean it to, but it was a fact.

Silence followed after your statement, you assumed with how busy the bar was, Eddie would use this as his excuse to leave. He had been civil enough for the evening he could go, but he stayed. Thinking about what to say next. Sure you were right, you weren't exactly friends, but you weren't strangers, and given the new information he knew about you, he couldn't bring himself to hate you. So where did that leave you two? The silence was killing you, it felt like all the noise from the bar had disappeared and the only sound you could hear was the gears turning in his head.

You look around the room for anything to mention to stop whatever this was. You see the stage, with a drum set at the back and a microphone. “Do you still play?” He was very thankful for your change of topic and even more thankful you were still talking to him. He wanted to enjoy these few moments with you. He shakes his head. Your stomach sank. You hated that, he was good. Maybe he wasn't amazing enough to break out of the state, but he was still good. You used to love singing with him in his trailer while he played the guitar. You could have never imagined he would have given up something that made him so happy. You wondered what other happiness he had deprived himself of. “Why?” He shrugs his shoulders and mutters “because it made me think of you”. You shouldn't have been able to hear him with how low he spoke, especially with how loud the atmosphere was but he was all you were focused on right now and his words felt like another knife being twisted in you.

It showed you that no matter how hard he pretends to be nice or civil with you, he still looks down on you and blames all his down comings on you. “Oh, so it's my fault”. God he hoped you hadn't even heard it and now you thought he was insulting you. Eddie Munson could not win with you, he ran his hand through his hair. Keep calm, you are doing so well. She is just trying to get a raise out of you he told himself. “That’s not what I meant sweetheart,” he says walking off to the other end of the bar to help the other bartenders. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure you were having a heart attack. You guessed it could be a panic attack but it didn't feel like that. Could it be... No, you shake your head of course not.

“ I see some things never change” you turn around to see Mrs O’donald your old teacher giggling into her chardonnay. “You two were always joined at the hip, I hope he doesn't get you into trouble anymore. I always thought you could do better than him” she slurred her words. It was weird seeing someone who used to be your teacher and who was now your colleague drunk. She always had an issue with Eddie, you always thought it was people like her that was at fault for his failures. Sure he could have put more effort in but it's hard to do that when the people who are supposed to teach you don't even have your back. That's part of the reason you wanted to be a teacher to help kids like Eddie, show they can do it and are worth it. But to hear her still look down on him, pissed you off. You smiled the fakest smile and grabbed your coke off the bar downing it. “Looks like he's doing pretty good to me. I guess you and everyone else were wrong about him. In fact he did all this without your help” with that you left.

The next morning you woke up glad for it to be a Saturday, it had dawned on you what you had said. You were better than that, you could usually bite your tongue. You had worked so hard to fit in and now you had gone against one of the top dogs at school, you hoped it was just your anxiety making you worry and school would be fine. You should have kept your mouth shut. After everything he had done to you, you were still defending him. You felt like a fool. So like a fool, you spend the rest of the weekend in bed hardly eating, walling in self-pity. Ignoring the phone.

As soon as Monday came around you knew you couldn't avoid the world anymore. Maybe it wasn't as big of a deal as you were making it. You hoped it had been forgotten about. Whatever the case you needed to sort out your thoughts, you couldn't teach like this. You were thankful for the first period being free. You sat at the desk eating a cereal bar making sure the scripts from Romeo and Juliet were ready for your next lesson with the juniors. You heard a tap on the door, “come in”.

Steve looked at you and shook his head. “So you are alive then” you want to roll your eyes at him, but you hate to think he was worrying about you all weekend. After what happened you knew better than to just shut out the world or at least better than to shut out Steve. “I'm sorry it was a weird weekend”. He gulped worried that something bad had happened, he knew he should have just come around to your house to check on you. “Weird like how everyone is saying you and Eddie are dating or did something else happen?” He decides to mix a joke in about the rumours in the staff room to disguise his worry. He knows you and Eddie had been seen talking on Friday. He hoped it was better than the last time you were in a room together. He hoped Eddie wasn’t to blame for you shutting Steve out all weekend.

You groan and slam your head on the desk. You didn't think that's the gossip that would be spread. You didn't want to have your name linked to Eddie anymore. “Jesus I should have kept my mouth shut, you can't talk to anyone in this town without it being news. All I did was defend him one time”. Steve looked at you confused “wait so you spoke to him, didn’t kill each other. Then defended him. Are you okay?”. You fake laugh. “seriously though I don't know if it's a good idea for you two to be friends, I don't want you to get hurt again”. The school bell rang “I get it, dad, now you better go I have class”.

Eddie had also had a weird weekend but he didn't have the chance to stay inside all weekend like you. He had to go to work. He wishes he hadn’t overheard you standing up for him. It played over and over in his head. Your being back in town had caused more questions. Nothing made sense. He assumed you hated him or didn't like him anymore so you left but why would you stand up for someone you didn't care about? He guessed you were just being nice but it felt like more than that. Before he even had a chance to ask you or thank you, you had left.

He had Monday off work, so he decided this would be his day to go wallow and figure out what this all meant. As soon as one pm hit, he got a call from Dustin so he had to postpone his wallowing. He was thankful for his friend's constant chatter it was a nice distraction from thinking about you. About two hours after that the doorbell rang to signal someone was at his door. Maybe it was you. He had gone a full two hours without thinking about you and now as soon as his brain had a chance to drift to you, it did. It made no sense either why you would be at the door, you didn’t even know where he lived anymore. Even if it was you, what you be here for? What would you even talk about? It made no sense to want you here, but he couldn’t control his thoughts. All rationality had him left since you came back.

He opened the door to reveal Sarah with food from his favourite diner in her hand. With the tight white dress she was wearing that left nothing to imagination he knew exactly what she was after and it wasn’t the food. So he pushed the weird thoughts he was having about you to the back of his mind and took Sarah up on her offer. He didn’t feel like he was using her, he was always upfront about their relationship. He had told her he couldn’t date anybody, and she agreed, saying she only wanted fun. So as long as it didn’t affect work and both knew they could stop this whenever. It felt nice to have an outlet to forget without strings attracted.

Eddie had help Sarah get off a few times but when she tried to return the favour, they were having issues. Eddie was so stressed and thoughts were still consumed with you that he could only get a semi at most. This had never happened before, Sarah felt embarrassed and Eddie felt mortified. Especially since you had already ruined the hope of him ever being in a relationship, now he couldn’t even have sex because of the thought of you. He got out a pre-rolled joint from his bedside table and began to smoke it. He hardly smoked weed anymore. At most once a month but he knew it would help him relax so hopefully he could sort his problem and try again with Sarah.

Halfway through the joint, the house phone started ringing again. He assumed it must be Dustin to finish the conversation they were having before Sarah came. He hoped talking to his friend would help him forget again, so he raced out of the room to the phone. He was about to pick up when he realised he still had the blunt in his mouth. He stubbed it out remembering his promise to Dustin to try and quit. He didn’t want to disappoint him. He then picked up the phone, “sorry I had to hang up before, but I’m free now if you wanna talk again”.

“Sorry to disappoint but I’m definitely not who you were expecting”. Eddie stopped himself from sighing, he hadn’t spoken to Steve in a few weeks. He and Steve being friends, Eddie would have never expected it, in fact, he thought when you left, him and Steve would hate each other forever. However, that’s the thing about this group they had shared trauma and would never leave a man behind. Steve followed this most out of everyone he checked in with the group at least once a week, and with Eddie being around the same age they talked a lot. They in fact grew to be good friends, even if Steve was always a little hesitant to let Eddie fully in. Not hearing from Steve for weeks was weird, but right now it felt weirder to be hearing from him.

“So I heard you and y/n spoke”. Eddie pulls the cord as far as it could stretch so he could sit down at the kitchen table. It felt like a conversation he would have to sit for, otherwise, he would pace back and forth. “Hello to you too, how was work? Great thanks for asking. Been up to much? Not really- ” Steve fake laughs. “Yeah I get it sorry, it’s just y/n is important to me”. Well, that felt like a slap to in face, he knew that. Everyone knew that. He didn’t appreciate being treated like he was dumb by someone he would have called a close friend only a few weeks ago. He hadn’t done anything wrong so why was he getting ambushed? “You two have a history, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you two to be friends”. Eddie's leg uncomfortable shaked under the table, “I can't win with you either I'm too mean or I'm too friendly. What do you want me to do?”

Steve tried to stutter out a response, not sure of what he was asking of Eddie. “I get that… it’s just… it’s just…she’s been through a lot”. Eddie's leg shakes more “I know which is why I’m trying to be nicer” he wished he still had the joint right now. “You didn’t care before, why do you care now? Is this some stupid plan to get revenge?”. Whenever it came to you, Steve would get over-protective, and say the most ridiculous things. Eddie had done nothing wrong this time and yet he was still getting told off. He slammed his fists on the table and stood up unable to control his legs. “Jesus if I’m such a bad guy why have you let me around your daughter? If I’m so bad why are we friends?” The insecure side of Eddie wanted a response, wanted to be told he was being dramatic that of course they were friends. Steve wanted to say that but was too stunned to speak. “Fuck I was just a placeholder. You know I wondered when she came back if I would get replaced but I should have known. Me and you were never gonna be friends. I was just a stand in. I didn’t even make you choose but you always chose her. I think you forget she didn’t just leave me, she left you too. I wonder how long until she gets sick of us again and leaves”. Eddie knew he had hit a nerve when he was met with silence. He didn’t need to say anything else but he couldn’t help himself, why not put an extra nail in the coffin of Steve and his relationship? “You act like you are her protector but you didn’t protect her from that breakdown did you?” A low blow from Eddie he knew that, but he said words that he knew would hurt Steve most.

A bang followed by mumblings of Nancy could be heard through the receiver. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Steve had punched a hole through a wall. “Maybe you’re right maybe we could never be friends because I would never be friends with someone responsible for my best friend trying to kil” the phone hung up. Kil- what did that mean? Surely not kill? Kill what? Kill who? Yourself? No. You wouldn’t? He guessed a breakdown could lead to that. But not you. Never you. Steve was just trying to get to him. The men knew each other well, he was just using his weakness like Eddie had used Steve’s. The words meant nothing surely. Rage started filling his body, along with fear and anxiety. He needed to get it out. To curse out the world. Steve. You. Himself. He flipped the table in front of him but it wasn’t enough. So he destroyed everything in his sight but none of it was enough. None of it helped. None of it answered his questions.

A/n: I hope you enjoyed this. Yikes Steve and Eddie’s relationship has really gone sour :( I liked that I didn’t just have to write y/n and Eddie arguing/hating each-other for once.

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[the-haunted-office]

Hey guys! I wanted to take a moment to post on here about the Themes of my blog. This is taken directly from my rules, and it's all the kinds of lovely little themes - happy and dark - that you can find here on my blog. There is a lot of dark and triggering material, but my blog is also a comedy blog specifically to balance that out. I love horror and comedy together.

Anyway, please have a read, and let me know if have any questions or if anything is unclear. Thank you! :)

⭐ Themes

Being centered around horror, my blog features a lot of dark and sometimes heavy themes, such as death, violence, murder, blood, gore, illness (including terminal illness), and occasional mentions of self-harm and suicide (as is portrayed in the typical The Stanley Parable manner, i.e. muses not taking their own lives and physical health seriously because they can respawn in video game fashion, so they may do things like jump off a building, volunteer to be experimented on, joke around about death, show little fear of being hurt or killed, or just generally show little regard for their own safety).

Themes of mental health are also present on this blog. Many of my muses have mental health issues such as anxiety and depression, although it is not heavily or openly discussed in threads. These issues are present through their behaviors, actions, and reactions to other muses and the world around them. They are very much human in that way, so if this sort of characterization bothers you, please be aware of this. I will not trauma dump on your muses, however be aware that they each have their backstories, and they will react to the things your muses say and do and that their reactions are their own - not mine.

My blog is also, obviously, heavily themed on the paranormal and supernatural, so there will be a lot of things about ghosts, spirits, ghouls, monsters, extraterrestrials, cryptids, icky and gross things, freaky and scary things, and just anything in that genre. If it’s anything spooky and my eyes come across it, it’s probably going to come up at some point on my blog. This includes religious things like demons and exorcisms and possessions and themes of that nature (these are not as common, but I’m mentioning them here because I know some are more sensitive to these themes and I want people to be aware that they may be present).

Dark themes aren’t the sole themes on my blog, though! It’s also a comedy blog! And that’s a good deal of what you’ll see here. The silly juxtaposed with the dark. Horror and comedy placed side-by-side is one of my favorite things ever, and I love playing with it here. I love getting a laugh out of dark and troubling themes, out of things that would normally be too frightening to look at. It minimizes the things that are too hard to handle on their own. Life, and death, doesn’t have to be so ugly and scary. We can laugh at these things too, and then they aren’t so scary. Besides, I’m here to have fun too, and that’s what I want my blog to be about as well.

It’s also about friendship and love and never giving up. Found family is another heavy theme on my blog, as is love always winning at the end of the day. It’s about the power of choice and breaking out of your narrative, and sometimes breaking THE narrative. No one is ever bound to the path set before them - you always have a choice, even though the choice might not be clear or obvious. Sometimes you have to carve out the path yourself, brutally, even violently, but as the great mathematician Ian Malcolm once said, “Life, uh, finds a way.”

Untangling life and navigating our way through it all, while having a laugh at the horrors, that’s what it’s all about, baby!

[mycological-mariner]

wanna talk about your OCs I would love to hear about your OCs who are they 👀

Oh dear. Sorry I forgot I hadn’t posted this it was in my drafts lol Doing my historical OCs because, well. I wanna and I feel like if I delved into any of my fantasy/sci-fi ones we’d be here ages

Fred Norefleet.

Of all the naval and broadly maritime ocs I have conjured over the years, he’s the most pathetic. By god is he trying his best, but he has continuously come up short in everything he’s done. He tries so hard and his life until recently was just other folk deciding what he was gonna be for him. He’s silent unless spoken to, tends to miss the forest for the trees, stares at you really intently when you’re talking, wishes more than anything to disappear into the background and his first words were probably “I’m sorry.”

That being said, he’s deeply loyal and supports his sisters and uncle financially with his wages. He’s a prime navigator and very detail-oriented, a team player and quite sneaky when need be and might actually make a lieutenant if he didn’t have a spine made from celery. He’s also quite sensitive about his lack of any formal education, receiving the good chunk of it when he became a midshipman. Quite protective, especially after the wreck as a kid. Became a bit of a chronic helper and control freak after that. Absolutely shit at fighting but an excellent sailor. Once dug shot out of his own hip, made it into a coin and carved a ship on it to give to his Friend. He’s that kind of person. He’s trans.

Morwenna Norefleet.

If Fred’s first words were “I’m sorry” then Morrie’s were “WASSON MATE.” The older of the twins by a minute, she and Fred were stuck together like glue until he went away to sea. She taught herself to read by studying the Bible and writes regularly to her brother. As both of them swapped names and gender, they’re quite close. She wants to open her own public house and inn or at least buy one (all the papers in Fred’s name of course). She’s a total flirt, especially with the out of town tinners and any “foreign” sailors (upcountry), even though she’s never settled down what with the whole trans thing. Morwenna embroiders very intricate flowers and landscapes. She once tried to do a ship for her uncle and it was less of a ship than it was a box with sticks. When Fred wouldn’t speak after his shipwreck and time spent stranded when they were 11, she felt really hurt. Especially when he went away to sea the same year, she was really lonely and would often sit in the St Juliot’s graveyard and cry privately. Nowadays she’s alright! Constantly worrying about her brother but also, she’s looking after her other sisters and their children and her uncle and working in an inn and working in the pilchard cellar. Her hevva cakes are amazing. She’s the strongest person in this family, has a deeply rooted sense of self and has boundless self confidence without ever being arrogant. Community and family are what’s important to her most of all, she teaches what she knows of Cornish to her little family members and teaches them to write and read and once hit one unruly patron so hard he woke up crying.

Callum Tredwen.

A mess. Is actively being hunted down by his own brother, is an ex-navy lieutenant, a mutineer and now smuggler. He’s on a suicide mission. He’s a lesbian and has an extremely doomed and unspoken relationship with his first mate. He’s probably committed multiple war crimes, he took a 21-year old doctor hostage and kidnapped him. He ought to be dead but he just won’t die. He’s a dick. An asshole. He’s all the confidence of Morwenna but without any compassion for others (lies, he does, he just rarely acts on it), the anxieties of Fred without any of the perspective. He hits first to avoid ever being hit himself. He refuses to let himself be loved or taken care of. He’s gotten his dearest friends killed and his own self maimed. This man wants blood and he’s going to get it, whether it’s his own or someone else’s. It’s been years and his gender is still “eeeeh.” The 2nd messiest fucker.

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 21: alt. prompt flashback

tw: gaslighting, emotional abuse

There is a full-scale blizzard raging beyond the Palace walls. Rex is of the opinion that letting Senator Amidala die from hypothermia is just as much a failure on his part as leaving her behind to fall prey to the droids, so, instead of facing the kinetic unknown, he turns toward the mountain the Palace is half carved out of.

“I suggest we hunker down in one of the caves and wait for the generals to find us,” he shouts over the screaming wind.

“I suggest we find cover before those clankers can pick off the rest of us,” he shouts over the ear-splitting boom that rocks the valley floor. Somehow, the explosion isn’t quite loud enough to drown out the dull thuds of armored, lifeless bodies hitting the ground.  General Skywalker huffs. “C’mon, Rex. It’s just a few hundred droids. Nothing we can’t handle, right?” His shiny blue blade slices through clankers with ease, twirling in a convoluted dance, the general dodging and weaving in tandem without even breaking a sweat. Rex’s helmet is so full of perspiration he may as well be drowning in it, but he grits his teeth against the protest that threatens to slip out. It isn’t his place to question his general’s tactics. Besides, he trusts General Skywalker; he always comes through in the end.

“Good thinking, Captain,” Senator Amidala answers.

Rex blinks. He hadn’t been expecting the senator to agree with him, though he’s not sure why.

The cave is small, a bit claustrophobic for his taste, but it’ll have to do. As they slink into the measly depths of their shelter, Senator Amidala stumbles, hisses through her teeth. A hand on the wall, she balances precariously on one foot as she lifts the hem of her dress.

“Are you alright, Senator?” Rex asks, dread seeping into his bones as he watches her examine her ankle because he was supposed to protect her, he should’ve been paying more attention, it’s his fault–

General Skywalker hisses through his teeth, sharp, as Kix wraps the bandage tight around his shoulder. “Let’s attack the factory on foot, they’ll never see us coming,” he mocks. “Yeah, great idea, Rex.” Rex resists the urge to point out that he had suggested a stealth approach, and that it was the general who wanted to march the troops parade-style through the valley. Now isn’t the time to be petty. The general doesn’t mean anything by it, anyway. Rex would be just as irate if he’d nearly got his one good arm shot off.

Senator Amidala shakes her head, offers him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I think I only twisted it.”

For some reason, that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.

The two of them get a fire going to stave off the chill, burning scraps from the senator’s dress, and when Rex thinks it might finally be safe to set up the locator beacon, he extracts it from his belt, flicks the switch.

Then, he curses.

“What is it?”

“The signal’s too weak. It won’t reach through the rock and snow.”

Senator Amidala frowns. “Will it work if we get it beyond the cave?”

“Out into the blizzard, you mean?” Rex says, a little ruefully. Wincing, he rushes to correct his slight. “Theoretically, yes. Realistically, I don’t like our chances of survival. It only takes a couple of minutes for hypothermia to set in.”

“Alright, someone’s gotta go out there and draw their fire while I lead a squad around to the back entrance.” Rex is already shaking his head before the general even finishes his sentence. “I don’t like our chances. There are too many droids on the door. We should–” “That wasn’t a request, Rex!” General Skywalker’s glare is almost cold, but that’s just the pressure of the mission getting to him. It’s getting to all of them. “Find someone to get it done.” Pushing down the anger simmering in his chest, Rex eyes the door, levels his blasters. Because there’s no way in hell he’s going to send the shinies on this suicide run.

There’s an odd look on the senator’s face, something that might be pity, or perhaps an emotion entirely unfamiliar to him. Her slender fingers dance across the beacon’s form, and Rex is reminded, jarringly, of makeup brushes and serenity.

He almost wants to laugh. He'd been a fool to hope the day would end in anything other than utter disaster.

Senator Amidala's face hardens in resolve. “I’ll do it.”

“No!” Rex snatches the beacon from her grip, his fingers grazing her knuckles as he does. “I'll do it,” he says, and it's not quite a snarl, but it's a near thing.

Because someone has to risk their life for this, and that someone sure as hell isn’t going to be the senator.

[frankendykez]

📃except I’m asking about the Louis Manoir extended universe (it’s Frankenstein related so I’m not cheating)

Everything Is Frankenstein Related If You Try Hard Enough. anywas LOUIS MANOIR!!!!!!!!!! my shitty failgirl!!!!!!!!! i have an slightly outdated doc for her here

it's dificult to explain the plot of forgotten man's symphony (shortened to fms), considering how very character driven is so it doesn't quite have an easily summarised plot... out of all my characters she seems to be the most normal narrative wise but definitely not the most mentally healthy LMFAO i guess it's just him ruining her own life in front of the reader and #Healing i Guess. the story is an epistolary and the first letter we see is manoir's suicide note. so.

manoir's story very much concerns the concept of identity and the lack thereof (this includes transgenderism), which extends to the other two or three main character's subplots as well (her two siblings and Some Fucking Faggot). also, the obviously negative impacts of that comes with trying so desperately to confirm to the societal norm and being what Other people want you to be even though you simply can't, chipping away bits of yourself until you can fit in through the hole carved out for the Perfect you, which cannot exist realistically. the the endless pursuit of wanting to be loved that leads yourself to changing for people who just wont care or love you for real, only for what you make them BELIEVE was you.

my friend, the second author's wordson the story message:

making it even like that so its not YOU who is loving and being loved but the dim visage of a version of you that fits the picture of what society loves; that it's not a love between individuals, it's the love for a society that cannot ever love anything because it was made to hate. and who believes that portrayal of love will not find it and forever be stuck. smth like society loves what it deems as perfect and hates the imperfect, since perfect doesn't exist it can only do the second one. and louis wanted to love perfect victor, hated his own imperfect self. but the perfect victor doesnt exists, and neither does any version of louis.

in a way louis parallels the creature, especiall what the creature is but in a metaphorical sense. a "person" thats just the stitched up pieces of other people's deemed "perfect" features that still ends up unloved and horrible. oh manoir, the girl you are <3

it's not much of a gothic story, i'm aware, and is very loosely related to the original novel as of now, but i and my friend are trying to make it more connected!! we plan to bring in ernest and walton and various other characters in the secondary part of the story as well.

also i was kind of crazy for this tbh. lou is his elder brotjer

[rurukatt]

Acts of Kindness

It’s been a while since I wrote anything, so I’m really glad I finally had the energy to sit down and do this. I’ve been wanting to write something for my RDO/RDR2 OC & Arthur, starting with how they met 6 years before the events of RDR2, so here it is! I hope you’ll enjoy my little self-indulgent thing! Or just the illustrations, if you don’t feel like reading. :]

Special thanks to @rangari​ for all the help with editing ❤️

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, mentions of family death

Word count: 7.3k

The rain was falling relentlessly as dusk settled over the land. It had only been four days, but to Sophia, it seemed like an eternity; making her way through the forest in an area unknown to her already proved to be a struggle, and the weather didn't help at all. She cursed the downpour under her breath, but most of all herself, for choosing the path that led across the river to her new hideout, a fairly well hidden spot under a rock formation, the only thing promising some sort of protection from the elements – and from the lawmen and bounty hunters at her heels.

She looked down at her right leg, wrapped up in a piece of cloth she'd torn from her dress, all covered in blood now. One wrong step on the slippery rocks of the riverbed had been enough to put an end to her escape, tearing the skin from her calf and causing bruises all over her leg, almost robbing her of the chance to even reach this refuge. She traced her fingers over the scar and let out a relieved sigh. The sharp pain ripping through her body at the slightest touch seemed to dull down to a constant throbbing ache, which was still exhausting but a welcome change after the past couple of hours.

The girl leaned back against the cold stone and closed her eyes as she listened to the monotone melody of raindrops in a desperate attempt to calm down and try to recount the events of the past few days that led her here.

Valentine. Yes, she had visited the town to fetch some supplies for her folks and things had been going fine until she witnessed something just before she set out to return to Strawberry. She rubbed her temples as if that could have helped her remember more quickly.

A man in an alleyway lying in a steadily spreading pool of his own blood, several others surrounding him.

If I had been just a little bit quicker to move past them, I wouldn't have caught their attention.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

One of the men throwing a bloodied knife on the ground in front of her and wishing her "Good luck" with a mocking grin on his face before disappearing.

And then the chaos, people screaming, lights lit, and her running as fast and as far from all of this as her legs could carry her.

The rest of that night and the path she had taken to eventually end up here was a blur that’s only started to clear up.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” she murmured to herself, perhaps to soothe herself, but deep down she knew it wasn’t going to convince anybody that comes after her. Somebody had died and somebody would hang for this crime, and as a cruel joke of fate, this somebody was her. The law will not care, nor will the bounty hunters looking for some quick cash.

Eyes still closed, she lifted her hands and interlocked her fingers, and although at this point she doubted a prayer would help her, part of her still held out hope that it wouldn’t go unheard.

That fraction of hope was soon shattered by the sound of gunfire.

Sophia felt the blood drain from her face. Her trembling hand reached down, fumbling around until she found what she was looking for – the knife that had been so “kindly” bestowed upon her back in Valentine. After all, it was what got her into trouble, and with its help maybe she could carve her way out of it; so she clutched it as tightly as she could, and waited. Despite her best efforts to remain calm, a cold wave of panic surged through her with each gunshot and scream, head and heart pounding as the noises grew louder.

And then the commotion ceased, just as suddenly as it had begun, yet somehow the silence unsettled her more. She tried to concentrate on the sound of what she assumed were  footsteps, although she couldn't tell anymore whether they were real or just figments of her imagination. Whoever, or whatever it was, they were getting closer, and the thought once again filled her with dread. Time was running out – that much was clear to her, even if everything else was clouded by fear, but exhaustion had begun to set in. She squeezed the knife for a last time before her grip loosened as she slowly drifted into a hazy semi-conscious state.

An uncomfortably familiar sound jolted her back to reality. A clicking of a gun that, even though she couldn't see it in the dark, was too close for comfort. She turned her head, looking in the direction the noise had come from and let out a sharp breath when she found the source of it; the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds was just enough to make out the silhouette of the barrel of a rifle pointing at her – and the man who was holding it.

“A pleasure to finally meet the terror of Valentine.” The sarcasm in the stranger’s voice was obvious. He lowered the weapon as he continued. “When they said it was gonna be easy money, I didn’t know what to expect. Definitely not this.”

With whatever strength she had left, Sophia swung the knife in the man’s direction. “If you come closer, I’ll stab you,” she said, her voice almost turning into a growl.

“Like you put a knife in that feller back in town?” came his response, followed by a chuckle. “If you want a fight, then by all means. But it ain’t gonna be a fair fight, ma’am.”

As much as it pained her, she had to admit the man had a point. Even without her injuries, she would’ve been no match for him – she was certain of it, even in her current light-headed state. She withdrew her hand, still fiddling with the knife as her eyes followed him when he stepped away from her. He circled around her hideout as if he was looking for something, occasionally stopping and leaning down, disrupting the silence of the night with the cracks of twigs. After some time had passed, she gave up on keeping an eye on him; the noises seemed to be enough to assure her he was still around and approaching her again. It was only then when she noticed the rain had ceased.

A bundle of thin branches landed right before her on the ground. She squinted, trying to take a better look at him as he began to stack them into a neat little pile; it took a couple of attempts to help it catch alight, but the flames were growing fast, sending amber sparks into the black of night. It was a mesmerizing sight, only eclipsed by the sheer joy of feeling warmth for the first time in days.

“Doesn’t hurt to see each other while we’re fightin’. Might help you aim your knife better.” the man remarked as he plopped down next to her, interrupting her quiet musing.

“There will be no fight,” she replied, somewhat annoyed. “I… I’ve changed my mind.”

“I get to live another day,” he laughed. “Thank you for sparing me, miss.” He threw another branch into the fire.

Sophia turned towards him, finally taking the time to properly inspect her new acquaintance now that she could actually see him. She hadn't noticed how much bigger he was than her before sitting so close to him; the fact didn't quite make her less agitated, so she shifted her attention to his face. Ruffled, dirty blonde hair framed his rugged features; he was unshaven but not entirely unkempt, she concluded. Her gaze traced the arch of his nose over and over again before it settled on his blue eyes, lingering long enough for their eyes to meet.

"So what's going on here?" He broke the silence again. "Were you defending yourself from that man?"

She turned away, somewhat embarrassed that she was caught staring. The same couldn’t be said about the man whose intent gaze she could still feel on her, even after minutes have passed. He was far more patient than she had expected, but Sophia wasn’t sure when his patience was going to run out – it was better to start talking while he was asking nicely, even if it took all the focus she could muster.

“When I first saw him, he was already dead.” Her brows furrowed as she recalled the details of the incident. “There was a group of men around him. Three, maybe four of them, I can’t remember.” She lifted the knife. “This belonged to one of them, I guess it was his… parting gift to me. They left quickly and I tried to follow them, I really tried! But they were gone before I knew it. The sheriff showed up, one of them… one of them was with him, and I knew I had to– to Strawberry–” Her heart was racing, her breath coming in short, quick gasps as she struggled to continue, but no more words came out. The flames of the campfire and the surrounding shadows blended together as the combination of fear, frustration and confusion caused tears to fill her eyes.

He didn’t say anything. Instead of acknowledging what had been said or asking new questions, he placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her arm gently – a gesture she hadn’t anticipated from someone she had only known for less than an hour. Sophia didn’t know how much time had passed before she started to regain her composure, the oddly comforting weight still on her shoulder.

“Say no more, miss,” the man spoke in a low voice and gave her a small pat on the shoulder. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

She reached up to her shoulder, her hand searching for his just to hold on to something for a little more comfort. “What makes you think I’m telling the truth?”

He squeezed her hand in response.

“I reckon if you spend enough time in the company of conmen, you slowly learn how to tell when someone’s lyin’.” The man cleared his throat. “This whole business smelled weird from the start. But forty dollars is forty dollars, so I decided to try my luck… I’m glad I did.”

His words sounded genuine. Maybe a little too genuine, and Sophia couldn’t fathom why he’d go to such lengths to gain her trust if he was going to turn her in anyway… but something in her kept telling her that maybe a different outcome was possible. But at what cost? There was a bounty on her head. If she was to live, she had to do it on her own, get far away from here and stay out of sight for the rest of her life, leaving everything she’s known behind. A life on the other side of the law was unimaginable to her; the way she saw it, she was simply unfit for it.

After some quiet contemplation, she came to a conclusion.

“Can I ask you for a favor, mister?” She waited for a moment before continuing. “It’ll be beneficial for both of us.”

The man raised his eyebrows, his bright eyes showing a glint of bewilderment and suspicion.

“Depends on what you want, ma’am.”

She let go of his hand and turned her back to him. “You seem like someone who’s good with weapons,” she lowered her voice as she held out the knife to him over her shoulder. “I can’t do it myself. But this is no way to live. I don’t know how to… Just… be quick, please. As an act of kindness for forty dollars.”

Much to her surprise, he took the knife from her.

“If you were really so eager to die, you'd have done it yourself before I was on your trail, girl," his voice was more serious than before. "You're still alive. Only a fool clings to life so hard and throws it all away in the end. And you ain't no fool, are ya, miss?"

Not waiting for an answer, he tucked the knife into his satchel. "I'm keeping this until you get yourself together."

A resigned sigh left Sophia’s mouth in response, yet there was a sliver of relief in her voice. Although the uncertainty of what the future was holding for her still terrified her, this turn of events promised a second chance that was not likely to be offered again. Once again she had to admit the stranger was right; and considering her efforts to endure the hardships of the past few days, she felt stupid for even thinking quitting like that would be a solution in a moment’s weakness. However, there was one more thing that didn’t allow her to let her guard down completely – at least not yet. Her palm opened and closed around the empty space where the knife had been, movements repeating slowly as she tried to think of the right words to say. But rather than an answer, came a question.

“Why are you doing this?” It was a very simple question, but it summed up everything that kept her on edge. The man’s intentions remained a mystery to her, and no matter how much she tried, with every action of his it was getting more difficult to decipher them.

He huffed and stood up; to Sophia it seemed like he was just doing something else to buy himself some time before responding. She watched him walk away towards something she couldn't clearly see at first, but slowly, a faint silhouette of a horse was starting to take shape amid the trees. Muffled sounds of rummaging through a bag filled the chill night air for a few moments before he returned to her with a small sack and a jacket Sophia could swear he'd been wearing earlier. He crouched down next to her, draping the jacket over her shoulders.

"I guess I'm just tired of seeing folks die before their time," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice, adjusting the jacket as if he was making sure she was covered properly. "You're in rough shape, miss. That's a good way to catch something nasty," he gestured at her drenched clothes and her leg wound that was in desperate need of fresh bandages while grabbing some gauze from the sack.

Sophia watched him in silence, still processing his answer. Simple as it was, it raised a lot of questions, but for now she deemed it sufficient; it was becoming very clear that whatever it was he wanted, the man meant no harm to her. The fact that she no longer needed to keep her eyes on him all the time out of caution brought her some much needed relief.

“It is indeed time to change these–” she hissed and bit her lower lip in order not to yelp from the sudden pain that shot through her leg when she pulled it up to remove the old dressing. She hadn’t moved much for the past few hours, which might have caused the illusion that the worst of the pain was gone. “I’m fine,” she held up her hand in protest before her unusual companion could even have opened his mouth to provide help; the procedure of changing wound dressings was not unknown to her, but she needed some time for the pain to subside and to finally be able to get to work. Removing the makeshift bandage turned out to be a much slower and more painful process than she had expected – she gritted her teeth while peeling it off inch by inch, the piece of cloth stuck to half-dried blood once again tearing the wound open as it parted from her skin.

“God damn it,” Sophia panted, throwing the rags into the fire before leaning back to the wall. Normally, she would have scolded herself for taking God’s name in vain, but this time she felt not a twinge of shame, only the never ending exhaustion and the growing need to just get this over with.

“You need a hand with that?” the man asked. He didn’t make a move, seemingly having understood she’d wanted to do this herself. However, as determined as she was at first, she found herself getting frustrated very easily by the task she was supposed to complete without issues and was grateful for that question.

“I believe I do,” she replied, glancing over to him.

He nodded and slid closer, ready to continue where she had left off when the girl grabbed his wrist. The sudden move caught him by surprise, bringing an expression to his face that almost made Sophia burst out laughing despite her current misery. “You need to wash your hands first,” she instructed him with a barely restrained smile on her lips.

“A little finicky, aren’t we?” He let out a small chuckle. “What are you, ma’am, a doctor?”

“Just the daughter of one.” She gestured at him, brows raised as if urging him to do as she said. Nature, of course, lacked the relative cleanliness of a doctor’s office, but she still wasn’t going to compromise; she stared at him until he gave in and pulled out a canteen from his bag to pour water on his hands.

“Satisfied, Miss Daughter-of-a-Doctor?” he inquired, which was met with eye-rolling and a small nod from Sophia. She was not quite amused by her newly given title, no matter how accurate it was, but it suddenly dawned on her that the stranger had no means of calling her by her name. In an ordinary situation, introducing herself would’ve been the first thing she’d have done, but this was far from an ordinary situation, and therefore the lack of good manners didn’t bother her too much. Still, curiosity kept her mind restless as she watched him proceed to clean up the wound and apply the new bandage – with a lot more care than she had hoped for.

“It should hold until we get to somewhere safe.” He rolled up the remaining gauze and put it back into the sack, then turned his gaze back to her, giving her a nod along with a subtle yet encouraging smile.

Sophia returned the smile. “Thank you for the help, Mr…. Mr. – “

“Morgan.” The man interrupted her. “Arthur Morgan.”

She stopped for a moment to thank whatever higher power saved her from having to outright ask – it was nice to finally be able to attach a name to the face.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. That was very kind of you.” Her voice was calm, but in her head countless possible conversations played; she knew it was her turn for an overdue introduction.

“Least I could do, don’t mention it.” Arthur waved his hand and sat down next to her. “Now, how may I address you, ma’am?”

“Sophia. My name is Sophia…,” she began, but suddenly went silent, staring into the light of the campfire as she contemplated her next choice of words. The man seemed honest and she felt a pang of guilt for rewarding his honesty with insincerity, but the need for some sort of precautionary measure was stronger, even if she had already given away her first name – he deserved to know at least that much, she thought.

The sound of him pushing back a stray charred piece of wood into the fire with his boot broke her line of thought, but in that moment, she had her answer.

“...Ashe. My name is Sophia Ashe.”

“You’ve got a nice name, Miss Ashe.” Arthur tilted his head, a smirk forming on his face. “Can’t say it's quite usual ‘round here.”

She blinked at him, looking for any signs of disbelief – she still couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just playing along, but he didn’t seem too intent on prying.

“That’s because I’m not from around here,” she replied. Had she used her actual last name, it would probably have gotten a similar reaction out of him. Upon seeing Arthur raise his brows in what looked more like inquiry rather than doubt, she continued. “I was born in New York. Spent my life there until my family decided to make a big move across the country when I was fifteen, but there was an incident and… I’ve been stuck here ever since.” She took a deep breath. It had been years since she even mentioned it to anyone, but she found the time passed has made it easier to talk about it, even if just a little. Or maybe it was the company? She couldn’t say. “My mother and father were good people, god-fearing, refined and kind. But they did not know this land. To them, bandits were just… a thing of the past, I think. Nameless figures in some romantic tales, and no more. When they realized that was far from the truth, it was already too late.”

In spite of her attempted detachment, she felt tears swelling in her eyes. “I think of them every day. My mother was a frail lady… she was the reason we set out for California – the cold months in the city did no good for her health and my father wanted the best for her. He promised me he’d take us for walks under the orange trees.” She reached up to wipe her tears. “There was no man who loved his family more than he loved us.” Her own talkativeness surprised her, but nevertheless it was good to have someone to listen to her, even if this someone happened to be a stranger.

She felt his hand on her shoulder again.

“I’m sorry about your family. Sounds like they were decent people.” His voice was low, almost whispering; she found it rather soothing. He waited a little, then added: “How’d you get by after that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Repeating the same motion as before, her hand moved again to touch his. There was something genuinely calming about his presence, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly it was. “A couple down in Strawberry found me and took me in. They had no children, so I got to stay with them. Taught me how to do things around the house, cleaning, cooking, all that; even got me some work on a friend’s farm.” She caught herself squeezing his hand again, but since he didn’t seem to mind, she continued. “Not really how I imagined my life as a child, but I’m still grateful.”

“It’s quite the change after the big city life, that’s for sure,” he nodded.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Morgan?” She felt it was her turn to ask a question after talking so much; she’s grown fond of his voice and could do with a break from talking anyway.

He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment, Sophia worried she might have insulted him.

“I di– I do,” he started, with a tired half-smile. “But I don’t think it fits your image of a family, miss. A bunch of criminals, outcasts… people who have nowhere else to go. But I’d kill for them – and I’d die for them if I had to, just like anyone would for theirs.”

She was not prepared for this answer. “They’re lucky to call you family,” she blurted out, for the lack of a better response.

“I’m the lucky one here.” He chuckled, squinting at her. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much. We ain’t like the fellers that were after you,” he gestured towards the woods, in the direction where the sound of gunshots had come from earlier, with his free hand. “Or those who… took your family from you.”

“No, it’s just… so hard to believe you’re a petty criminal, after all you've done for me.” She lifted her head until her eyes met his.

“You don’t know me, Miss Ashe. I’m much worse than that – a bad man who does bad things; always have been, always will be.”

“You have quite a strange idea of what a bad man is, Mr. Morgan.” Her initial shock was quickly replaced by anger and confusion. A bad man. Unless he was a really good actor, this couldn't possibly be true, could it? It made no sense to her.

"You're one to talk with your idea of what an act of kindness is," Arthur let out another dry laugh.

“I was just scared.” There was a bit of defensiveness in her tone. Part of her wanted to stay silent to not annoy him too much and risk getting left behind, but the other part wanted to argue with him despite how much the lengthy conversation and experiencing such a wide range of emotions in such a short time had worn her down; she knew she was right. “But you still chose to go out of your way to help me when I asked you to kill me. You could’ve just agreed and get your money. Is that a bad thing, Mr. Morgan? Is that what bad men do?”

Her questions were met with silence. He didn’t ignore her – to Sophia it seemed as if he was just struggling to find the right words to say.

“Arthur.” She pulled his hand from her shoulder into her lap, holding it with both of hers. “If you don’t mind, I would ask you for another… act of kindness.”

He snorted and shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips after getting called by his first name. “Told you I’m not harming you. And don’t even think about getting the knife back.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she replied quickly. “Can you promise me something?”

“It better not be another wild idea–”

“Don’t call yourself a bad man in front of me ever again.” She knew she wasn’t in the position to give out orders or even to ask for anything, but she felt like she had to give it a try.

“I guess it only matters if you stay around me, but… sure, I can do that.” He looked down at their hands, then back at Sophia, who appeared to be content with his answer. “I take it that means you’re coming with me then?”

“Do I have another choice?”

He exhaled slowly. “Nah, I don’t think so, unless you want to be dragged back to Valentine.”

As much as she yearned to see civilization again, that was the last thing she wanted. Although Arthur was still barely more than a stranger to her, there was a particular sense of safety around him which she wasn’t ready to give up yet; it gave her a glimmer of hope that she might survive if she goes with him – in stark contrast with the certain death she’d face if the law got her. It was an easy choice.

Sophia opened her mouth to say something, but her throat was so dry she could hardly speak – all that came out was a hacking cough. Arthur moved immediately, reaching over her for the canteen and handing it to her. She accepted the water, taking small sips until the last drop was gone from the bottle and her coughing stopped.

“I should’ve asked sooner,” Arthur remarked as he fetched a small packet from his satchel and placed it in her lap. “When was the last time you ate?” “I had dinner back in Valentine. I had some food in my bag but threw it all away on my way here. I didn’t want it to attract animals or something…” Sophia screwed the lid back on the canteen and put it down before investigating the little bundle she just received. It fit into her palms, and when she unwrapped it, the package revealed half a bread roll and a tiny piece of cheese.

“Smart,” Arthur gave her a smirk as he watched her devour the contents of the packet. “You probably should’ve eaten some of it before you threw it away, but– hey, slow down a bit, miss! It ain’t worth choking on.”

“Thank you,” the short expression of gratitude came out as a mumble; she wasn’t even sure he understood it. Small as it was, the improvised meal was more than satisfying; Sophia had never expected that some dry bread and not so fresh cheese would make her so happy one day. With her hunger satiated, she let out a yawn; her eyelids felt heavy and her head slowly fell to the side, resting against his arm. He was talking to her again in that familiar, calming tone she was so captivated by; what he was saying, she had no idea anymore, but at some point the words stopped and changed into a low humming – the last thing she heard before she finally fell asleep.

☾

The first rays of sunshine just started illuminating the morning sky when Sophia was slowly nudged awake from her sleep. Without opening her eyes, it took her a moment to register that Arthur was still sitting next to her – the smell of smoke and sweat was the same as she remembered it from the night before, but it was not nearly enough to bother her; she snuggled in a little closer, reveling in the warmth that radiated from him. His arm was moving in a delicate, careful motion, and she squinted her eyes open to see what he was doing. A journal lay in his lap, open at the page he was trying to fill up with writing and some drawings – what exactly they were, Sophia couldn’t see clearly. Upon noticing that she was no longer sleeping, he quickly closed the journal, leaving her no time to inspect whatever he had scribbled down there.

“Mornin’, Miss Ashe,” he greeted her, turning to her. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” she muttered in response. “Fine, I guess. Could sleep for a little longer, though. You?”

“I bet you could.” He slipped the journal into his satchel. “Don’t you worry about me, I’m rested enough. My shoulder’s a bit sore, but I’ll live.”

“Sorry.” She felt a little guilty about it – after all, that was her fault for having slept leaning against his arm; it wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, but she was grateful that he hadn’t moved away. “I swear I don’t plan on using your arm as a pillow again.”

“I understand. It’s a small wonder you had any sleep at all on a pillow like this,” he laughed. “Well, now that you’re awake, I think we should get going. It’s still early enough. If we’re lucky, we won’t run into anyone on the road.”

Arthur stood up and walked over to the remains of the campfire to scrape some dirt onto the smoldering ashes with his boot, then stopped in his tracks for a moment as if he had a sudden revelation and smiled to himself before carrying on. It didn’t escape Sophia’s attention, but she chose not to comment on it – she was much more preoccupied with taking in the sight of him revealed by the daylight. Somehow he seemed even taller and broader than she recalled from last night, but having glimpsed into what was hiding behind the rugged facade, it didn’t intimidate her as much as it had when she first saw him. She had no doubts he could be ruthless if needed – he had demonstrated that even before they met by shooting the men that had tracked her down, she reminded herself, – however, the good things he’s done for her far outweighed the possible threat he was posing.

He let out a sharp whistle, and a horse galloped up to him shortly after. The animal looked well cared for, much better than its owner; it had a chestnut coat Sophia found especially beautiful.

“Good morning, girl,” he welcomed the horse with a fond tone that was clearly reserved for a beloved companion, pressing his forehead to the horse’s as he patted her on the neck. “Let’s get you on her,” he turned to Sophia and led the horse closer, extending his hand to help her onto her feet. “Can you stand?”

Sophia nodded in response as he pulled her up. The pain was still there when she shifted her weight onto her right leg; although she was able to stand, she knew she couldn’t possibly walk without stumbling, but that wasn’t something she had to worry about too much. He put both of his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse so effortlessly as if she had weighed next to nothing.

“Don’t worry, she won’t throw you. She’s a sweet girl,” he assured her, adjusting the saddlebag and fastening his rifle to the saddle before he swung himself up to sit in front of her and looked around. “Alright, let’s be on our way. Hold on tight, Miss Ashe!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Sophia wrapped her arms around his waist as he urged the horse forward through the woods; their little encampment soon disappeared behind them and the scenery gradually changed from forest to lush meadows with snowy peaks towering above them in the distance.

Hours had passed since they set out on their journey, only stopping occasionally to let Arthur’s horse rest. During those stops, she observed him taking out his journal and sketching or jotting down whatever was on his mind; good manners dictated she should not poke her nose into something that was none of her business, but her curiosity proved to be stronger.

“You really enjoy writing in that book,” she began, restraining herself from directly asking to see what’s inside. Sitting across from him, her chances of sneaking a peek were low, so she had to find other means to take a look at the journal’s contents.

“I ain’t much of an artist, but it’s a good way to pass time.” Aware of her nosiness, he closed the journal again. “I don’t think there’s anything in this for a sophisticated young lady like you,” he added with a little chuckle. “But there will be others at the camp who can entertain you with a conversation or two about… cultured things. You seem like someone who likes art and books and whatnot.”

Her face brightened up. To finally have people to discuss the things she loved with after all those years, it sounded like a dream. “I do like all of those things!” she replied with thinly veiled excitement.

“Then maybe you can educate an uncultured man like me on the way,” he grinned as he walked over to her to help her onto the horse again. “We’re still not quite there yet, so you’ve got plenty of time.”

“I could…,” she hesitated for a moment, but decided to continue. “If I can ask for something in return.”

Arthur leaned against the saddle and shook his head, almost laughing. “Another act of kindness?” He glanced up to her. “You wanna play a game, lady? I’ve been meaning to ask something of you anyway. If you let me, I’ll be in your debt and I’ll do a little act for you. But if you ask me for one more, you’ll owe me one. How’s that sound?”

Without skipping a beat, Sophia held out her hand. “Deal.”

Arthur shook her hand and proceeded to settle in the saddle. “I’m asking for a promise, Miss Ashe,” he started while gently nudging his horse to move. “One day, I’ll ask you a question, and I need you to promise me you’ll give me an honest answer. I hope that ain’t too much.”

His words took her by surprise, and although she wondered what that question could possibly be, she nodded in agreement. “Fine, I promise. It certainly doesn’t seem too much. For everything you’ve done for me, I feel like I already owe you more than I could ever repay.”

“You don’t owe me nothing for what I did last night.” He cleared his throat. “So what is it you want? I’ve got your promise, now it’s your turn.”

“Can I see the drawings?” Sophia peeked out from behind him. “Just the drawings, not even all of them, just– just what you did today. That would be enough.”

“Ain’t you a persistent little lady?” Arthur sighed with obviously faked annoyance and reached down to pull out the journal from his bag. He opened it at the most recent drawings and held it up for her to see. “There you go, I hope that sates your curiosity.”

Sophia was astounded by the level of detail in those sketches; it was not what one would have expected from someone who supposedly wasn’t “much of an artist”. A rabbit, a deer, some wildflowers, mountains and fields – they almost looked like photographs.

“You keep saying things about yourself that aren’t true,” she turned to him. “These are breathtaking, Mr. Morgan. Thank you for showing them to me.”

Arthur gave her a nod as a quiet thanks and put the journal away as they continued their journey in silence for a while.

“...Do you still want me to talk about art and… other things?” Sophia asked suddenly.

“I thought you’d never ask,” came the answer immediately.

And with that, she started talking. About the art galleries they had visited back in New York, about artists her parents loved, her painting lessons, the books she had read, the libraries she had visited, her favorite authors, and everything else that flooded her mind, overcome with sheer joy and excitement after having no audience for this kind of talk for years. And Arthur listened, occasionally nodding and asking her to talk more about this or that – and she did, until she was so exhausted she started drifting off.

Still holding on to him around his waist, she could feel his arm over hers; he was most likely just making sure she wouldn’t fall off the horse in her sleep, and she appreciated the gesture. He started humming again; it was the same calming tone that had helped her fall asleep the night before. But this time, the humming slowly grew into whispers, and the whispers into words. Arthur was singing, and Sophia did her utmost to stay awake to hear his voice, careful not to let him know she was still listening, until reality started to fade and gave way to dreams – dreams about a man singing a song she had never heard in her life.

☾

The thin fabric of the tent wasn’t enough to keep the chill night breeze out, but it certainly offered much more protection than the cliff she had hidden under last night. Sophia rolled over on the cot and pulled one of the two blankets over her chin. It wasn’t as comfortable as her bed but it still felt like a luxury after what she’d just been through, and on top of everything, at long last, she was clean. She vaguely recalled arriving at the camp just before sunset; a quite intimidating lady helping her take a bath, get new bandages on her leg, food and clean clothes while commanding everyone around, and an older, kind man asking some questions, speaking in a refined manner that reminded her of her own father. She’d seen a few other faces too, but she could barely remember them. The sound of a conversation coming from outside of the tent caught her attention. She recognized Arthur’s voice as he mumbled something.

“I know, son, I know,” a familiar, kind voice responded. “But you need to do the talking this time. I’m sure Dutch won’t mind the girl, but he expected money.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“Maybe she could help us. She’s well educated and seems to have a sharp mind, we could find a way she could earn some money.”

“Stabbing and conning people is out of the question,” Arthur snorted. “She would cut herself before you know it, and… she ain’t that good at lying.”

“Anything can be learned, Arthur,” the other man replied. “She could learn from the best, if she’s willing to.”

“Hosea, please.”

“You know I ain’t wrong! Now go. Dutch will be back tomorrow, get some rest until then.”

As the conversation ended, the entrance of the tent opened and Arthur entered.

“I see Miss Grimshaw made you feel quite at home”, he remarked with a grin, lighting the small lantern next to the cot and spreading a quilt on the ground for himself. “ Don’t worry, you ain’t stuck here with me forever. You’ll get to be with the girls tomorrow, so you only have to put up with me snoring next to you tonight.”

“I’ve survived worse,” Sophia peeked out from under the blanket, watching Arthur sit down and lean his head on the cot so they were eye to eye.

“I know. I was there," he said. "But you're safe now, and… welcome to stay until you figure out what you wanna do from now on."

They lay in silence for minutes. His eyes were moving; to Sophia it was almost as if he was trying to memorize her features. She pulled the blanket from her face, which won her a grateful smile from Arthur. Her own gaze was just as restless; after all, he was finally close enough for her to take a good look without worrying about getting caught staring. It was definitely the face of someone who could've used a good night's sleep but she was pleased with what she saw, and every new little detail she discovered added to her joy – especially the small scar across his chin that she found rather charming. She reached out, although with a bit of uncertainty, to touch it; to her surprise he didn't back out, turning his face into her palm once she was done inspecting the scar – a gesture that flustered her so much she could only manage an answer when the light of the lantern went out.

"You're the nicest man I have ever met, Mr. Morgan."

"The nicest? You're making me worry about the company of men you keep, miss." His voice was getting noticeably more and more tired, but she could still feel a smile forming on his face. He inhaled as if he was trying to continue, only to change his mind just before even a single word came out – he must have remembered what she had asked of him earlier.

"I know it's getting late," she started, "but can I ask for one more thing?"

"What is it?"

She knew it was a selfish request, but it was worth a shot.

"Would you sing something for me?"

"I would if I could sing at all, ma'am."

"Strange, I could've sworn I heard you singing on our way here," she replied, still hoping he would cave. "It must've been the wind "

Arthur let out a drawn-out sigh that turned into a chuckle. "You're racking up quite a debt, Miss Sophia." He placed his hand on her arm and gave her a little pat. "Let's keep this between ourselves, alright?"

He started singing right away, so quietly only the two of them could hear it, and despite his voice cracking a couple times, he kept at it until his words faded to incomprehensible mumble and eventually, a steady snoring.

Sophia grabbed one of the blankets and pulled it over his shoulder, even though he was fully dressed and probably not bothered by the cold; it just felt like the right thing to do. She curled up under hers and decided to leave pondering about her future for tomorrow – she had plenty of time for it now that she was given another chance at life. All thanks to an outlaw who claimed to be a bad man, yet contradicted this statement at every turn; whose voice echoed in her head even now, lulling her into sleep once again.

[ferraricatt]

Rotten Teeth pt1

A/N: Im new to tumblr but would like to share my new projective ive been working on! Enjoy! :)

“Esfir!”

“Esfir come on!”

They yell my name through their cracked lips; the sound replayed like a pull to my chest as I allure myself to them. Dragging my shoes through the deep trench of snow. Dragging myself to familiar faces; mama and papa. I like mama and papa. The cold air dries my throat heavy; thirst envy. I like mama and papa.

I hush through the silent wind; the snow builds up. It keeps building. It kept building. The more I walked; their voices grew further.

“Esfir.”

I hiss through my teeth; clutching into my mittens. Digging through what use to be shallow but deep waters. The snow is up to my neck, but even then; I still ache to go further. I reach out. Nothing. But I still keep walking; drown myself in the snow as I’m pulled underneath the white sheets. A beckoning voice still echoes in my head.

“Esfir.”

At this point I don’t even think there is a voice calling out to me; it’s all in my head. I can’t move. My calves freeze; my hands out to grasp. I’m drowning. My breath suffocating underneath the blanket. I can’t breathe within myself.

“Esfir.”

Up until that final call breathing for my name. I take one more step; fully burying myself in snow. Beyond the clouds I delve in; Where is mama and papa?

———————————————————————

crunch.

I feel this sitting knot in my stomach; the explains of a thousand rotten to my very core. It hurts. Aches to my very red gums as I bite hard onto my finger. My thumb like a toothpick - bite marks on the skin of her. Mama. Maybe if I wasn’t left for dead; things would be different. She wouldn’t be screaming. Her fists wouldn’t be red from punching. And her face, her face wouldn’t be gasping. The stain prints the edge of my fingers show on her body. Her eyes wide, jaw open as a gateway for flies to swallow in. A pit of blood sinking my knees in. I clench my gums. My bones hardening at the taste of flesh. The many layers of thin calluses acting as a coat of loose scotch tape. My front teeth pulling the skin apart like a zipper.

The snow sprinkles onto Mamas body. Had it been her suicidal attempt that let to this. I’m hungry. Like deer meat, unattended and tether. I drag this knife along her chest. Spreading her open, uplifting the metal lid for my entree. A crunch followed with a smack. She didn’t say anything. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to say anything. Are you awake Mama? You taste delicious. Digestion into my stomach like I sought after. Mama. Mama. Mama. My teeth hurt. But it’s like I can’t stop. My breathe eluding to the monstrous wind. My teeth red.

The yellow fat in your body tell me otherwise, I always thought humans were just red and redder on the inside. But with you; you have purples, blues, pinks, and yellows. Like wadded up gum. A rainbow designating deep within you. Nose deep into your body, a starving dog eating grass as a coping lullaby. My tongue swirls around the flesh. Digging my chipped nails into your skin.

The place smelt of manure and reeked of blood. In front of me I finally look up. My mamas hair draped over the snow, her body spread like an angel. In my hand lied the very old knife she used to carve herself. Beside her pale; ghostly face. Is the broken skin at her stomach. I wish for beckoning arms to hug me, telling me I’m okay. Telling me that things will be better. I’m just a kid. I’m vile for this. I’m wrong for this. I’m so sorry.

crunch.

I’m sorry.

crunch.

I’m so sorry mama.

[angst-king]

Fall from Grace Chp5

(CW Illusion to SA, description of Self-harm, suicidal ideology/baiting, guns, violence, and sex Not smut& internalized homophobia))

Ever since the nightmare- as Charlie chose to call it- she and Vaggie had become more distant than ever. Charlie’s normal banter she would have with Vaggie, their trips to 7-11, and even their side relationship had stopped. No sex jokes, or slinging an arm around the other’s shoulder and calling each other unsavory nicknames. The only time they talked now was during exorcist training, and even then it wasn’t the same. Vaggie knew something was up, wondering if she had stepped out of line helping her that day instead of just leaving at her command. Or had it been something else or a combination of this? The only lead she had was Micheal was involved in some shape or form due to how he had approached her one day.

“You need to back off of my niece, you are nothing more than a guard, don’t get comfortable, you are replaceable. Understood.”

Vaggie never liked Micheal, sure he was her creator but he never liked how he interacted with Charlie. It made her skin crawl and she often stood between them. She needed to figure this out.

“Good morning, princess” “Vaggie, I thought I told you to stand outside my room from now on unless told otherwise.” “Sorry, princess but I have a few questions.” “You won't leave until I do I suppose, what do you want?” “….Did I do something wrong?” Charlie paused and rolled her eyes, then slipped on her dress.

“If this is about our past actions together I ask you to act as if they never happened. We are nothing but a princess and her guard. What we did means nothing and I can’t have people suspecting there is anything between us. I’m not a lesbian, have been and never will.” The formality reminded Vaggie of their younger years, cold and sharp in the tongue, it felt like she was being stonewalled.

“And if you mention what you saw in the bathroom to anyone I will rip out your heart.” Charlie finished with a cruel threat, Vaggie had a feeling she wasn’t bluffing with the way she turned to glare at her with narrowed eyes. Nodding Vaggie turned on her heel and walked out of Charlie’s room leaving her to finish getting ready.

Just like before in the eyes of the public Charlie was all smiles, bright-eyed, and joy, promising the citizen’s safety. On the inside, she was dying, she felt trapped. Day in and out keeping up the facade, it was exhausting being everyone’s ray of sunshine. She took a lot more of her frustrations out on the exorcists during training or on Vaggie. Micheal and Excalibur only encouraged this, telling her how everyone looked up to her, would want to be her, and how proud her parents would be. Sometimes Charlie had forgotten about her mother and father, long ago she felt betrayed when they still hadn’t returned. She clung to any memory she had of them in the privacy of her bedroom. But this wasn’t enough, training wasn’t sufficient, screaming insults at her army and beating them until they dared to fight back with a challenge. It didn’t erase the feeling of Excalibur’s touch, nor the words he would say while he fucked her that night.

Many times she could not be close to her courting partner, this involved avoiding his touch. Pushing him away, making excuses, or shuddering in disgust every time they had to act affectionate. Often looking in the mirror with disdain that she would let him defile her. One day she couldn’t take it any longer, so she grabbed a dagger she used to open letters and started cutting away at her flesh. Slicing and carving into her arms and thighs, at first the cuts were thin and shallow but got deeper and deeper the longer she went on. This seemed to satisfy the screaming in her head.

She also used it for punishment anything she thought about restarting her relationship with Vaggie or questioning herself. Forcing herself to remember she could not be with Vaggie, she wasn’t gay, and she couldn’t date someone soulless. Besides she wasn’t attracted to her, yeah she had a muscular body, washboard abs, and steady rough calloused hands that knew just where to and how to touch her, soft lips that knew just where to kiss, and teeth that knew where to bite. Shit. Another slice down her-

“What are you doing?!” Charlotte yelped at the booming voice, dropping the knife and grabbing a towel to hide what she had done. She looked over her shoulder to see Micheal who had a look of disappointment.

“N-nothing, I’m fine.” She lied, but Micheal shook his head at this.

“Clean up, and meet my office.” He demanded, nodding Charlie made haste to clean up the golden blood and bandage herself up, pulling her dress down hoping to hide as much of the evidence as she could. She knew this wasn’t going to go well her heart was racing as was her mind on what Micheal would do when she got there. Knocking on the door to his office there was a gruff ‘come in’ before she entered. Micheal softened his expression inside, pulled Charlie close, and sat her down on his workbench. He unwrapped the poorly done bandages revealing the multitude of scars and fresh cuts beneath.

“I see you’ve been doing this for a while, I see.” He comments while he starts to use her magic to heal them. Charlie was quiet, shaking slightly afraid of what would happen.

“You want to die so badly, don’t you? You want to kill yourself.” She hadn’t thought about it often but occasionally, the idea of being completely dead would cross her mind. She hardly got any further than wondering what being dead would truly feel like.

“Well, do you?” Micheal asked, again Charlie was silent.

“What is so bad about your life that you want to throw it away? Would you do such a selfish thing to your kingdom?” Charlie didn’t answer as Micheal’s tone pulled towards condescending. Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head at him.

“Well, you must want to if you’re doing this. So tell me Charlotte, how would you do it?” He smirked wickedly at her as if he were taking sadistic pleasure from this. Charlie continued to shake her head as Micheal wandered over to his rack of weapons.

“Would you poison yourself, swallow some pills? Would you slit your throat, maybe since you like slitting your wrist so much? Or would you swallow a bullet?” Reaching for his holy pistol he aimed the sight right at her throat.

“Imagine getting blasted to the throat, going through your vocal cords, esophagus, and your spine…or would you aim higher and blow your brains out?” Charlie scooted away from Micheal her wings shielding her as she curled up.

“Oh come on now Charlie, you’re so brave to litter your body with these disgusting scars for all your subjects to see, and think about ending your life leaving heaven without an heir! Yet you won't even tell me how you’d do it?” Laughter spilled from the man as he approached and pried her wings open, yanked her hand open, and placed the gun in it.

“If you’re so brave then show me” He challenged, Charlie’s eyes widened in horror as she looked down at the weapon in her hand. She had wielded a gun before, she’d been doing it from a young age, but. This time the weight of it was almost too real for her, her hand could barely keep its grip as her blood ran cold and her heart was pounding in her ears. Micheal cocked the gun, wrapped her fingers around it, and pressed the cold metal muzzle right to her throat. Keeping it there for a second before raising it to the center of her forehead.

“Go on Charlotte, pull the trigger and put an end to your oh-so-miserable life.” Tears ran down her face as her head shook frantically and she constantly stammered out

“No no no no no”

“Come on Charlotte, put an end to the Magne family. Think about it, the first woman and heaven’s princess killed herself. Oh, what a tragedy!

“I WON'T DO IT!” Charlie yelled out, Michael pressed the muzzle harder squeezing her hands against the grip and trigger.

“You won't do what?”

“I-I WON’T KILL MYSELF!” She finalized, and this satisfied Michael resulting in him pulling the gun away and dressing himself back with a sweet smile.

“That's my good girl.” Charlie had never been so scared in her life outside of the ‘nightmare’. Then Micheal draped his coat over her shoulders and lifted her from the bench.

“I’m sorry to scare you Charlotte dear but, I was afraid of what you would do. I don’t want you to die, I need you, heaven needs you. You’re the only one who keeps those pesky demons at bay and the citizens need you.” He spoke to her as if she were who he had just spanked and this was his apology.

“I do hope you can forgive me for my harshness, but I know you understand I have to keep you alive, it is my job to protect you, my dear princess. I only do this out of love.” Charlie curled into his chest, her wings shivering as her entire body had dropped its temperature drastically from the pure terror coursing through her. She could still feel the metal against her skin she could almost taste it! Micheal adjusted his coat over her body, rubbing her back as he carried her back to her room.

She hadn’t slept that night, and every time she did her dreams reminded her of it. The worst part of it had been that Micheal told Vaggie and Excalibur and placed her on suicide watch. Anytime Excalibur was not busy working he was right by her side and when he wasn’t there Vaggie was. The ‘bedroom’ policy had been overridden with stern orders to report any suspicious behaviors that may show she was hurting herself again. Of course, Micheal tried to say this was done out of care but Vaggie doubted it. She saw just how miserable Charlie had become over the weeks turning months. She could see Charlie was drowning and was coming out of resentment and anger right back at her. There was only one thing Vaggie knew to do.

She waited until a week had come when Excalibur would not be in the castle which meant she was tasked with watching over Charlie in his absence. Once night had fallen and Vaggie knew they would be alone she approached Charlie.

“Fuck me.” She demanded, Charlie looked at her confusedly.

“What?” Vaggie put down her weapon and said in that low yet sweet voice.

“Fuck. me.” Charlie’s face blushed a bright gold but she declined.

“I said we were nothing and I mean that Vaggie-” Interrupted by a rough kiss, Charlie growled and pushed back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” “I know you said we were nothing but and I’m okay with that, so why don’t you fuck me like I’m nothing~” Vaggie purred pressing herself lightly to the princess, Charlie hesitated.

“Come on, you’ve been so angry, and depressed you need some way to let it out, and you seem to think I’m your best target. So go on, fuck me like I’m nothing. Fuck me like the worthless soldier I am. Take me, I’m at your command, princess.” Yanking Vaggie into a rough yet passionate kiss, Charlie’s grumbled out.

“Not a fucking word, you stupid whore.” Vaggie whined in agreement when Charlie bit onto her neck as her hands desperately groped around the exorcist’s body. Vaggie had never submitted to Charlie before so this behavior was surprising, she knew she had it in her but didn’t know just how pent up she was. Vaggie knew that this wouldn’t fix everything but it was the only solution she could think of. She just couldn’t sit by like without trying.

They had gone almost all night, it was a wonder how Vaggie was even standing with how violent Charlie had been. Yet she’d take this over Charlie hurting herself again or even trying to die. She couldn’t lose her. Whether Charlie loved her back or not Vaggie could live with being alone as long as she could still guard Charlie.