#Wound was still fresh yknow

[yardikins]

Hey so you think that when Ahsoka reached out to Shin and said “I can help you.” that Shin had a momentary flashback to when Baylan found her and took her in? Yeah me neither

[lttleghostlemon]

I was thinking when Thomas died, he had his hand on his wound while sitting at the tree. So he still had fresh blood on his hand

I assume that Mat yknow...didnt want his hand to be covered in fake blood while filming so they didn't keep that factor in during the 5 seasons but ignoring that. As a ghost Thomas would still have blood on his hand Where im going with this is just that sometimes if he touches something he'll leave a bloody hand print there and Mike hates it

[midnightmoonkiss]

Stab My Heart

Wednesday Addams X AFAB! Vampire! Reader // minors dni! 18+!

WARNINGS!: dom! aged up Wednesday, intense knife kink, intense blood kink, strap-on, sadist x masochist?, lots of blood and kinda gorey, mentions of stabbing and slicing for pleasure

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: This is a crazy smut fic so viewer discretion is HEAVILY advised. I got a fucked up idea when I was feeling down so I wrote my feelings LOL. Also I’m not responsible for any discomfort reading this may cause - y’all have been warned so tread carefully mhm. This isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s not like your guts are exposed yknow

Just To Clarify:

Reader is half vampire, a ‘hybrid’

Reader doesn’t feel pain like a normal person

Based on the song “I’m in love with a killer”

Characters are around ages 21+ and in college

Fake vampire lore lol

💀heh

Dating Wednesday Addams was like dating a ticking time bomb, any second she could go off without so much as a warning.

However, the adrenaline you feel, the excitement, you were far too addicted to settle for anything less.

Her soft yet strong hands, covered in your own sticky blood.. nothing aroused you more. Maybe you were as twisted as her.

Essentially, you were perfect for eachother in every single way. A sadist who enjoys torture and knives, and a masochist who quite literally feels more pleasure than pain when getting stabbed.

You sure hoped no one ever attempted to mug you with a knife, they’d end up more scarred than you.

. .

In vampire society, hybrids weren’t too uncommon. They could lean more towards the human side, or more towards the vampire side. Only few were blessed with eternal life, human genes far too weak to overcome the venomous vampiric DNA. A key way for a full fledged vampire parent to tell just where their child lies on the line is brutally known as the stabbing test.

Yes, stabbing.

Its piercing through the skin that sets a vampire apart from a human.

Full fledged vampires could be stabbed and feel almost nothing at all, fully healing soon after. Its the lack of blood that was the telltale sign, the only small amount left inside their bodies being a black color.

This was the reason why full fledged ones felt cold to the touch.

A hybrid leaning more towards the human side would feel a somewhat regular amount of pain, but it’s dull in comparison. Fresh blood would spew from the wound, creating a large mess. Hybrids like this were rare.

You were on the line closer to vampires. You’d feel the piercing sting, the rush of warmth gushing from your wound, but barely flinching. It just didn’t bother you.

This barbaric test was admistered by your mother senior year at Nevermore during parents weekend - right across from Wednesday Addams, a girl you didn’t even know but sat near on this day only because your mother and her mother were friends from their academy days.

She stabbed you right in the neck, already fully confident that you would be completely fine. She just had to test this theory. She didn’t mean to catch you off guard, she fully expected you to dodge or something.

But you didn’t.

Your blood spurted onto your mother, who wore a knowing yet disappointed grin, still maintaining her conversation with Morticia. Unfortunately, you choked on the blood bubbling in your throat and coughed a significant amount onto the gothic girl.

Red mixed with black, a beautiful sight just like the one you saw at the Rave’N some time agox

You wouldve apologized immediately if your mother hadn’t temporarily rendered you inable to speak.

Surprisingly, though, it was Wednesday who reached across the table, pulling the knife from your neck before you had the chance, her eyes glued to the unusually dark blood spewing from the wound. Even if you were more vampire than human, you still bled quite a bit.

It was a gruesome and a horrific sight to most people, but you supposed the Addams family wasn’t like most people.

In fact, you were pretty sure Wednesday in particular liked the sight of blood.

Of course, the sudden significant amount of blood loss made you faint, but it wasn’t really that painful.

By the time you woke up, the wound was completely healed.. but you were in dire need of a new uniform. You looked like you were just murdered.

After that day, Wednesday was infatuated by you. Or perhaps you had just imagined it, because for the rest of senior year she was constantly trying to catch you off-guard and stab you.

A deadly dance. It was a bit annoying when you were carrying something like a cup of coffee or juice and you accidentally spill it to avoid the blade.

You learned from a text from your mother a month after you fainting that this was because she had asked Wednesday to keep you on your toes, not at all happy that you couldn’t react fast enough to stop her from stabbing you - claiming that you embarrassed her.

It was easy to conclude that vampire society was beyond fucked up from this text, but it was hard to complain. A pretty girl constantly stalking you, trying to catch you off guard to deliver a bloody blow was like a romantic gesture in your eyes.

You admit, you senses were shit, and she was helping you listen to them more by doing this. You supposed it was necessary, on the account of the real world, the world outside of Nevermore, absolutely hating vampires. No doubt in your mind, someone else would probably stab you too - and it would ruin your clothes. Regardless, a blow to the heart was still fatal, you had to be careful.

It was like cat and mouse, but the mouse wouldnt die from the cat piercing its tiny body with its razor sharp claws.

And you definitely knew the chase excited her as much as it did you - you did become friends from this after all.

And after Nevermore, you became lovers.

She was no longer as persistent in her persuit to catch you off guard and drive a dragger in your gut, especially after you finally learned how to dodge, far too busy with university.

Writing was still her passion, but so was gore and detective work. Yes, she was working towards becoming a forensic investigator, planning to use real life experiences to aid in her writing creativity - just like she did while at Nevermore.

There was no doubt in your mind, she would be the best.

She always was the best at most things she did, and bringing you pleasure was something she believed only she could do.

Yes, a sickeningly twisted match made in hell.

Luckily, you found a cheap house to live in after you graduated from the academy. Multiple people mysteriously died in it and now it was dirt cheap. Perfect for the creepy duo.

She wanted it to stay a creepy, an abandoned looking mess, but you eventually compromised and got a contractor to renovate the place with leftover funds. It quite literally looked like it could fall apart at any second.

Once done, it was still creepy but now it was beautiful, like a black dahlia.

Though it’s definitely haunted, the only one with permission to end your life was Wednesday herself.

Every time she tied you to your shared bed and lightly dragged a knife down your stomach she’d remind you. She could easily sink it into your heart at any moment, twisting it in your flesh.

You swore this.. kink.. only developed after getting involved with this girl. Not that you minded. You adored being the only one who could fulfill her twisted desires.

Wet squelches filled the air, your thighs trembling as they sat wrapped tightly around her small waist, her black strap on pounding into you with trained exact precision that made your insides feel like goo and set your mind on ablaze.

“Mine..” She’d rasp, leaning over you to gaze into your hazy (e/c) eyes, bloodied, custom carved knife sitting right against the base of your neck, “You’re mine.”

Wednesday was a pretty possessive person over what was hers.

She carved a W into the skin just below your collar bone, above your heart that skipped a beat. Wednesday watched in sick satisfaction as your back arched, your slick lips parting to moan like a slut with each slice as your own warm blood trickled down your body, staining the white sheets that was already covered in blood.

It looked like a crime scene. The bed groaned as you tugged at the restraints, white hot pleasure blinding you. The burn felt so good, pleasure blossoming like flowers in the spring.

Your abused pussy clenched down so hard on her strap-on that you momentarily made it hard for her to move deep inside of you, eliciting a slight chuckle from her.

“Sweet thing, my dear poisioned apple..” She drawled as you whimpered, staring with doe eyes up at her, knife digging into your skin as she dragged it up your throat to just under your chin. Blood painted your skin in a beautiful black cherry color as you shakily inhaled.

The silvery light of the moon poured in from the hastily shut black curtains, illuminating her breathtaking form. She looked like more of a corpse than you, beauty ethereal.

It was moments like these that you swore you were under some sort of spell, frozen in time.

“You amaze me.”

The bloodied knife was discarded beside you, having already served its purpose - evidence being the multiple healed stab wounds from earlier in the night.

Her cold hands smeared with crimson moved one of your legs up onto her shoulder so she could fuck you deeper into the creaking mattress, spiders crawling around in her stomach at the beautiful cries you let out. She then grabbed the red vibrator sitting on the bed, turning it on medium before holding it to your cute, twitching clit.

“A-aAh!”

The sudden buzzing sensation against your sensitive bundle of already abused nerves made you yelp, damn near pushing her away from you as your hips jerked, body subconsciously squirming to get away from the sudden intense pleasure.

“W-Wednesday!! Wednesday-! Aa-aahn!! S’to much!! It’s ugNN!”

The smirking ravenette eagerly drank up your besutiful cries, even going as far as to lick away the stray tears leaking from your eyes.

You couldn’t escape her intense love even if you tried. Not that you would want to.

There was a safe word, you’d use it if you needed to.

Roughly grasping your face with her other hand, she pulled you in for a searing hot kiss that was undeniably lewd, your fangs accidentally cutting her lip as she kissed you deeply.

Her lips felt like molten hot lava against your own.

Your brain was absolutely fried, the delicious taste of her own blood seeping into your mouth sending you over the edge as her tongue fought a one sided battle with your own.

You could barely think, she once again fucked you dumb.

Pleasure so intense you felt as though your nerves were on fire shot down your spine as she drank your moans and pathetic whines with lips painted in her own blood. The familiar, embarrassing feeling filled your system as your squirted all over your lovers lower body, creaming on the strap-on that was fucking you through your intense orgasm.

Your nails dug into your palms, feeling so helpless from the mind-shattering pleasure overtaking you.

The juices from your cunt left a large puddle below your ass, mixing with the arousal that dripped down her own creamy thighs.

Her hips continuing to snap into yours did nothing to ground you, neither did her tender touch on your cheek. Your whole body was shaking as fresh tears poured from your eyes from how overwhelming and overstimulating the pleasure she graciously gifted you with was.

“There, there, (Y/N),” She cooed, voice sweet like sugar, “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Her voice, usually monotonous but now sprinkled with adoration, faded away as black dots overtook your vision - you passed out from exhaustion.

That was the fifth intense orgasm of the night, after all.

Wednesday had a lot of pent of frustration that night from work and school, and you were all too willing to indulge her.

Stilling her hips, she kissed sweetly at your neck that was absolutely covered in her love bites before licking a long stripe up your throat, tasting your own metallic blood on her tongue. She quite enjoyed the taste that was uniquely yours.

Pulling away, she observed your bloodied form with unblinking eyes whilst sitting back on her haunches, huffing out a breath from the workout.

You were just what she needed.

All your wounds were already healed, the blood from older ones from earlier in the night having already crusted while the newer blood remained wet.

Sighing, Wednesday pulled out of your sweet pussy, watching for a moment as you clenched around nothing.

Intense after care was always a must after love-making sessions like these, and she prided herself in being an expert at it. A warm wash cloth was already on your chest as she began gently wiping away the blood, occasionally kissing at the freshly cleaned skin.

Any ghosts in this house were definitely traumatized, and no doubt afraid of her at this point. Wednesday’s lips twitched with a slight smile at the thought.

She had already turned the bath faucet on, your favorite essential oils already in the tub, as well as a few lit candles around the room to add to the ambience. She loves you, and she knew little things like this showed it.

You’d wake up soon, and she’d be damned if you werent relaxing in that tub when you did. She knew your body would be sore, the warm water should have already relaxed your arching muscles by the time you awake.

While your sex life may be fucked up and twisted in a way normies couldn’t understand, hell - you were pretty sure only some vampires saw the appeal, it was fun and full of unwavering love, devotion, and loyalty. Even if it looked like medieval torture and you both had to constantly buy new sheets.

Yes, you were hers as she was yours - the W above your chest may have fully healed, leaving no trace of it’s existence, but Wednesday had already stabbed her dagger into your heart years ago.

please be kind im fragile lolol

.

[sssapplebottomjeans]

moon au braindump complete with plotholes! i infodumped this to my friend and it's going here too

so there's roughly four levels of power that you get from the sun and moon as a human

1.) no powers- normal human

2.) born with it- rapunzel's healing magic/glowing hair/likely stays healthier by default. varian has remnants of moon magic from the blast in the dark kingdom 25 years ago through quirin being directly shot by it, but because it was so many years after the blast before varian was born, the effects on him are milder (both due to that and also due to the moon being inherently less powerful than the sun) so, the stripe, more resistant to injury and that's why he didn't die during qfad cuz he was walking through that blizzard for way too long to be fine ok i'm rolling with this. and maybe he has insomnia because of it, and in high stress situations his eyes look a little too blue to be natural. strange but definitely not "my hair glows and heals people" type weird.

3.) stolen magic- both moon!cass and rapunzel's hair being indestructible via tbea fall under this category. (rapunzel didn't want this but since she did inflict it on herself i'm counting it in this category.) VARIAN- buckle up people this is gonna be a long one. so flash forward to cassandra's revenge. varian's cage has been brought in and rapunzel and cass are dueling it out. the moonstone cracks, this time varian catches the shard, but in the chaos of battle no one really notices and varian barely realizes what he did until he's headed home. he experiments on it later in secret, trying to harness its power into something akin to what project obsidian was, but it keeps failing and he doesn't know why. turns out- the moon's power (also the sun's too) only works on living organisms so basicallyyyyyyyy it needs a human host. (SIDE NOTE- in this au quirin stays dead in the amber because of that reason- the decay incantation just doesn't work because the amber isn't alive) varian kind of figures this out but he doesn't really want to try it on himself because a.) the rocks haven't exactly been a high point in his life, and b.) the reason he kept this whole project secret in the first place was because he didn't want team corona thinking he was doing nefarious things with it and turning against them cough cough cass and sporting this wouldn't keep it secret whatsoever

i haven't thought the next part out too well but he turns to trying to summon Moon herself somehow for answers because at least he has a lead with this. and i want it to happen at the great tree but i don't really know why. anyway he summons her, how, i don't know

4.) possession- okay so basically varian and moon don't hit it off at all. varian's extremely bitter about the rock situation that yknow. destroyed his home and indirectly led to quirin's death and moon-

(okay so vague incomplete backstory for moon. when edmund literally tried killing her in that same blast 25 years ago because she was deemed corrupted, she survived but it left her critically injured. gods have no known way of dying ad no one knows how to kill them, but they also have no way of healing from injuries, so that wound is still just as fresh as it was 25 years ago and she's in so much pain. the rocks are somewhat akin to blood/tears, and i think the way i'm going with this is that the only way gods CAN die/be born anew is by making contact with another god, aka the rocks chasing rapunzel/sun. so moon's body is trying to destroy itself as, ironically, a survival instinct but her mind isn't aware of it, to her it's just her blood tearing up the earth.) anyway things get heated and varian gets forcibly possessed out of moon's desperation for someone to understand what she's been through, so in the flash of a few seconds varian gets 25 years of unimaginable pain, all of her memories and thoughts, and the full extent of her powers. but being possessed by a literal god is way more dangerous than, say, being possessed by something from our world, like a ghost or small magical artifact (think: ulla) so i'm REALLY not sure how much damage that would do to varian, the human, even for the few seconds that moon's outburst lasted, but i'm guessing some pretty bad burns (think: cass's charred hand) and some level of mental damage. the longer you stayed possessed by a god, the worse it gets, so eventually you would just. die from the strain

this goes for the other levels too, to some extent. like cass's health will get increasingly worse over the months and if rapunzel tries to use too much of the sun's power, she'll start literally burning up cuz- cuz sun. sun hot. (side note: moon HATESSSSS cass for taking her stone, cuz not only does humans having the gods power drain the gods of energy and health too (sun can stand this more because she's inherently more powerful- she can take it but moon CAN'T), but cass stealing it and telling the sun to take a hike disrupts moon's subconscious decision to try and rebirth herself by colliding with sun) (zhan tiri's pissed off by cass's decisions too and she's constantly trying to make her and raps interact for her portal thing yada yada when honestly all cass really wants to do is get away from rapunzel and never look back)

i think it's possible that if moon realized why she was trying to collide with the sun, she COULD possess him and just ram him into rapunzel like a bulldozer, but that would definitely kill him and rapunzel too, so as long as moon stays ignorant, they're both fine-ish. she might could convince him to take the shard for himself for some reason but idkkkkkkkk. would definitely be a lot safer than outright possession but it would not have the same level of power as someone like cassandra, moon would have no reason to make him do this though and i seriously doubt that varian would take it for himself unless out of severe desperation

i think i'm done. if you've made it this far, congrats, have a homemade muffin <3

[konjkitkatty]

Is there a deeper reason why leshy doesn't like kitty? My guess with the babygirl drawing, the fact their monster form looks so much like a worm, and just how hard they seem to try to get leshy's love(?), leshy is a bit creeped out by just how obsessive they are about him

Plus leshy is a chaos God. I doubt he wants a sucking up yes man, he probably wants someone that wouldn't be afraid to stick up for themselves even if it leads to arguments. Bring their own chaotic ideas instead of constantly trying to do what he says

Not at all, though I do understand where you’re coming from!!! Allow me to explain in the best way I can without spoiling anything😋

Kitty actually isn’t as kuckoo as I would have you believe- at least in terms of the world around them and time spent actually WITH Leshy. They’re the most devoted out of the Guardians BY FAR and pretty willing to do some crazy shit- but the bishops have THOUSANDS of followers willing to throw themselves head first at the Red Crown’s vessels in their name, HUNDREDS willing to be mutilated in their name, and who knows how many willing to be sacrificed in their name. When you’re a god and a cult leader, allegiance like that just makes things much less messy for yourself. Amdusias is a model follower (and one of Leshy’s favs), after all, and they’re not that much different from Kitty aside from species and ranking.

Leshy doesn’t like cats. The wounds may be 1000 years old, but they’re still very fresh.

I AGREE WITH THE LAST PART THO!! He would though actually really prefer if Kitty (and in turn the rest of their following) had their own ideas from time to time. Disorder isn’t really disorder if it’s caused by people following orders yknow?

[rockanroller]

yknow i remember it being said somewhere either by viv or sam haft or someone on her crew that all of the helluva boss episodes (or all of one of the seasons?) were written around the same time. in other words they weren’t writing each episode one at a time.

many people thought they were writing one episode at a time bc of all the plot holes and inconsistencies.

but i find it kinda funny that some fans think “they wrote them all around the same time” is a gotcha to that—when it’s actually kinda *worse* if they wrote the episodes around the same period of time, which should’ve kept the details of other episodes they already wrote fresh in their heads, and they *still* wrote inconsistently.

(personally i think it’s a case of not having prior writing experience/experience writing on a team/experience writing a lengthy and involved world, and trying to just jump right into it; which has led to them learning as they go along which causes details to be missed along the way as they improve—or at least discover what they want to do with the writing—which is mostly stuff you’re supposed to figure out *before* you start writing and likely why we’ve wound up with what feels like a show divided by two very different tones i.e. assassin comedy vs. stolitz drama)

[shotmrmiller]

Hello! It's me again! Thanks for the help! Alltho I have read my ask and noticed I didn't really explain well. Well because I write before I sleep for work. 😅

Also! I have few more things to say to mean, cold Ghost with reader's 09 Ghost's wife! If I was reader's shoes. I would be so done with 22 Ghost's attitude already. Of course we know why he acts like that. But I still be pissed. I would say to 22 Ghost "Look, I know why you act so cold me, and If you don't believe me that I married the other Simon that I know, fine! But I have enough of your attitude. And just act mature. The only thing you and others do is bring me home, and we never seen each other again. Okay?" Like I just want to go home man! My boi Ghost is dead, and want to mourn him in my sleep!

Sorry, I just want to get out of my chest of how I feel to mean ass Simon Riley of universe 09 Ghost's wife reader x 22 Ghost. Also, I should read more angst CoD fics!

lmao totally! it's just hard to let go, yknow? the wound is too fresh, his corpse still cooling in his casket and then she's there.

personally, the cod fics i like the best that are angst are just straight up hurt/no comfort. that bitter sting of an unresolved ending is soooooooo good.

[blood-injections]

hiiiii wpuld llove to hear some funghoul thoughts if you gotany

I always have fun ghoul thoughts :)

His identity or like my headcanons for it kind of fluctuate because i tend to project on him a lot of the time lol, and right now my thing for him is its kinda inhuman, not literally, but he feels detached from being a person, his pronouns have always been he/it, and he says he/hims his favorite, but whenever someone uses it/its and he hears it he gets a crazy flush of euphoia. It doesn't happen often, though, just with his friends, and they only use it/its half the time cause, yknow, and its never opened up about just how it makes it feel, he could ask them to only say it and they would. But the rest of the zones? Eh. Even killjoys are weird about it/its a lot. And he still likes he as well

But yeah, he feels inhuman a lot of the time, and he likes that, he likes his identity being something Other, something scary, hes not sure if its something animal he feels like or something unknown, he just knows he'd rather lunge and bite in battle instead of shooting a gun, get blood and skin under his nails, it feels more natural, and he likes when people look at him like hes a monster and he should get to have sharp teeth and claws.

He loves stories!!! Stories and cultures!! Hearing and learning, and oral storytelling is such a big thing in the zones, with there being few books left and with most zoneborn not knowing how to read, like him, not zoneborn but raised on the streets in battery city, he can read some, but not well, and it just makes his head hurt. But ghoul grew up around androids and ritalin rats and the latter never had much on their minds but addiction, but the droids, well they had nothing to do but dream. And they told him stories, so many stories, stories of the future when the city would be free and they wouldn't have to rust in the streets, thrown aside by society, nothing more than products. They told it stories filled with hope, stories of Destroya, of the grafiiti bible, stories of a future where no one would have to work or starve or hurt.

Then he got to the zones and heard different kinds of stories, old ones, not of the future but of the past. It met Jet first, and theyd sit around a fire and shed tell him all about the desert, not about her own past, something it could guess was still a wound too fresh to face, much like his, when he first escaped. But she tells him of the zones, of the Phoenix Witch, how she takes masks or guns or keepsakes and leads your soul to your next life when you die, and how she commonly watches over the desert in the form of a raven, and hes fucking enraptured. And then jet takes it to visit dr d, a friend of a friend, and he gets to hear stories of the wars that he was never taught of in the city, and he gets to hear of the world before, because it has so many questions and dr d is more than willing to answer them, he loves Talking, telling stories, sharing what life used to be like.

And later, from Cherri, he learns older stories yet, myths and legends passed down from forgotten times, of giant birds that brought rain and thunder, to a myth of fire and a technicolor raven, stories of spirits and heroes and the desert itself. Everyone has stories to tell and it loves to hear them and pass them on, to Kobra, who especially loves the sort or stories he got from Cherri, of legends from an old people who were one with the land; and when the girl comes along and they take her in, he retells all the stories hes heard to her. Her favorites are of the world before the wars, things Ghoul never saw but learned of through dr d and older joys, of bustling citys not like bat city at all, of concerts with thousands of people in the stands, not just a small pit of joys, stories of people flying to the stars and landing on the moon, and of waterparks and airplanes, or high schools and ice cream trucks. By then he has stories of it's own, too, and she loves to hear those too, stories of bad firefights and hearty laughs, memories from the fab four before they had her, of poison doing something stupid or kobra getting sprayed by a skunk or that time jet woke up to find a mouse has nested in her hair in her sleep, the girl giggles the most at those stories.

He'd write novels if he could, if he the time and supplies and skill. Or he'd at least copy some of the stories hes heard back to paper, for when theres no one left that remembers them to tell them by voice alone.

[cambria-writes]

hello! a week late for this one but believe me when i tell you it has felt like a hundred year war has been going on in my head. i'm alright now i think! should be getting better from here. i hope!

and here's to hoping that next week will have an upload, because that will be marking the end of Ravenloft. :)

thanks for sticking around! also sorry for any mistakes i did my best to proofread this but shit happens. yknow how it goes.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader rating: T warning: swearing, mention of death, reader's afab but doesn't have much description, lots of jump cuts but it's okay i promise, reader maybe has powers? 👀, mention of hospitals, intravenous hydration and needles, mention of wounds (and blood I think?), two people being idiot saps word count: 4, 253

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕰𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: 𝔇𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔬𝔫 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔊𝔲𝔦𝔡𝔢

Eddie sits next to you at the top of the stairs, shoulder pressed into yours. He looks significantly better than he did when he walked in; as soon as your mother saw the sorry state he was in, she immediately ushered him into the bathroom with fresh towels and ordered you to get a change of clothes. Wayne tried to say that wasn’t necessary, but you and your mother both just kept talking like he hadn’t tried to turn down your hospitality.

Taking a quick glance at Eddie, you still find it unsettling. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants you plucked from your brother’s room, and one of your old oversized Cocteau Twins shirt. Though he looks comfortable enough, you still think Eddie looks... out of place.

You take a breath and open your mouth to say something—anything, honestly, to break the silence—but Eddie clears his throat. Leans his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang low before turning to look at you.

“Carver’s dead.”

You blink twice. “Excuse me?”

“They found his—someone moved his car,” he says quietly, quickly glancing at the bottom of the stairs. You can hear your mother and Wayne talking. “They found his car at the Creel house. I dunno, someone reported a body, and...” Eddie clenches and unclenches his fists in front of him.

“You don’t,” you start, exhale sharply. “You’re not blaming yourself for—”

“Wha—no! Fuck, no, just...” Eddie sighs and brings his hands up to rub at his eyes. “I guess I figured if we could save Max, maybe...”

You nod. You understand. Maybe no one else would have to die.

“They’re pinning it on him, too,” Eddie whispered, running his hands through his damp hair before crossing his arms. “All of it. Cause of all the army surplus shit in the car.”

“Fuck, that’s...”

You don’t know what to say. Jason Carver was never someone you particularly liked; his behaviour was too strange, too erratic. You could never get a good read on him and, honestly, after seeing how he treated Hellfire—and pretty much anyone who remotely approached the punk vibe—you kept your distance.

Not that the hyper religiosity wouldn’t have been enough to keep you away, because it absolutely would have been.

But to know that he’s dead, now, probably because you’d left him in the damn house... and that he’s getting blamed for Henry Creel’s horrors in death? That didn’t. That isn’t fair. It’s a struggle to come to term with the fact that maybe this could’ve been avoided—

“Hey,” Eddie calls, turning a bit and placing a hand on your knee to grab your attention. “If I shouldn’t blame myself for it, neither should you.”

You huff and look away.

“Am I, uh,” Wayne starts, peeking out of the doorway to the kitchen, up the stairs at you. “Am I interrupting?”

“Wha—no, uh,” Eddie stutters, nearly tripping in an effort to stand up maybe a little too quickly. You clear your throat and shake your head.

“Where are you going?” You ask, craning your head to look up at Eddie. He gently pats his abdomen with a wince.

“Hospital,” he answers, carefully making his way down the stairs. “Now that I’m showered and been demoted back to town freak from murderer, y’know.”

You look down the stairs at Wayne for a few seconds, before getting up yourself to go down to see your mother. You lean into her side where she’s putting away the dishes.

“Do you mind if I take Eddie to the hospital instead?” You ask in a whisper. Your mother keeps a straight face and barely hesitates in her movements.

“Sure, why?” She asks quietly, stacking the plates and carefully placing them in the cupboard.

“Wayne looks exhausted,” You point out, stacking clean cups before passing them over. “Do you have any idea when’s the last time he slept?”

Your mother hums and puts her hands flat on the counter. She looks back at Wayne, still in the doorway, talking quietly to Eddie.

“I haven’t seen him sleep at all.”

Going through triage is easy—for Eddie, at least. One look at the few injuries he’d gotten in the Upside Down had gotten him into a small room with a doctor right away. One look at you had a nurse bringing over an IV to help with what was apparently blatantly obvious dehydration.

No one puts up much of a fight when you and Eddie insist on remaining together. There were enough injured because of the ‘earthquake’ that the small rural hospital was already way over capacity, and they wouldn’t squander an opportunity to save rooms and beds.

The few bites and cuts Eddie had gotten from the bats were thankfully small enough not to warrant stitches, but they’d done up half his chest. You can see a few patches on his arms, too. Without being able to identify exactly what bit him, Eddie had also been antibiotics, fed through the IV he was also sporting for dehydration.

You lean back in the chair you’d been sat in while Eddie’s perched on the edge of the bed next to you. You stay quiet for a bit after the nurse leaves, after informing you both not to move your arms too much.

“So that...” you start, unsure what to say. “That was one hell of a spring break.”

Eddie’s bark of laughter catches you off guard. He laughs harder when he sees you nearly jump out of your skin.

“It’s not that funny,” you mumble, but you can’t help but start laughing, too.

It doesn’t even take a minute for your laughter to calm down, but the next deep breath feels a little bit easier afterward. Like there had been a vice around your chest that’s just... gone, now.

“I’m just glad we basically wrapped up the Cult of Vecna campaign,” Eddie sighs, fiddling with the IV with his off hand. “Don’t think I’d be able to keep going with it after...”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, at least now you’ve got songwriting material, right?” You’re rewarded with a short chuckle. “No, seriously, you could—”

“Hey, sorry, can I ask you something?”

“What—I mean yeah, sure, any time,” you answer quickly, frowning.

Eddie’s moved from fiddling with the IV to cracking his knuckles. You bite your tongue to keep from asking what’s wrong and decide to be patient about it. He opens his mouth to speak a few times but shakes his head. The fourth time, he speaks up.

“If you hadn’t been... caught up in all this shit,” Eddie starts slowly. “Would you have, I dunno, like. Would you have believed it?”

“What, the whole thing about the Upside Down?”

“No, I mean,” Eddie exhales sharply before raising his head to look at you. “About me. That I—that I killed Chrissy.”

You’re honestly so shocked by the question that it takes a second for you to try and formulate an answer that conveys just how unbelievable that bullshit story was to begin with.

“I’d literally eat my own arm before I’d believe something that stupid,” you try to say evenly, voice cracking. “No one who’s bothered to talk to you for more than ten seconds would honestly believe that.”

“Would... would you have come looking for me? If you hadn’t seen me?”

You open your mouth to answer right away, but pause to actually take a second to think. It’s almost easy to imagine a world where you’d never spoken to Eddie when the nightmares came back with a vengeance. A world where you kept either to the quiet shelves of the library or the silence of your room. Where you hear about Eddie’s alleged involvement in the murder of a high school girl and couldn’t believe your ears. Where you grabbed your car and headed straight for Forest Hills.

“I would’ve wanted to,” you answer quietly, turning to look down at your own lap. “I would’ve wanted to help.”

You turn your head back up when you hear the hospital bed creak. Eddie’s sliding over to make room, and pats the space next to him. You breathe out a short okay before carefully getting up from the chair and hopping up on the bed, careful to take the IV pole with you and not jostle your arm too much. Eddie brings his good arm around your shoulders and pulls you in; gently, though, like he’s worried you’d pull away.

You let yourself be reeled in, let him guide your head to rest just beneath his collarbone, and let him rest his head on yours.

Your stomach feels like it’s full of static. You feel like running away and crying at the same time.

You stay like that until the nurse comes back to check in.

April 12th, 1986

You look around the apartment before dropping the last box on top of one of the stacks in Eddie’s room. Might not have been as big as his room in the trailer, but this is one of two rooms. Which means Wayne gets to have his own space for the first time in god knows how many years.

And Eddie is beaming. Not an ounce of care that the place is a bit narrower than he’s used to. You interrupt yourself mid-sigh when you notice that he’s already put up the Corroded Coffin flag and several posters. You can’t help but laugh.

“Dude, you don’t even know where the furniture’s gonna go yet!”

“Incorrect,” Eddie says, slapping the remaining corner of an Ozzy poster with a bit more force than necessary. “I know where shit’s not gonna go, so I know where it will go.”

You narrow your eyes and shake your head at him when he turns to look at you triumphantly. “Sure, bud. Come on, Pizza’s waiting.”

“I’m kind of weirdly happy those made it you,” you point at Wayne who, despite being at it since the crack of dawn, was still busy unpacking his collection of mugs, of all things. “Shame about the hats though.”

“Old man’s gonna have to live with the reality that he’s been balding since I was twelve,” Eddie quips, patting the man on the shoulder and trying to herd him into the kitchen.

You’re halfway through your first slice of pepperoni-bacon-onion pizza when you hear thumping and cursing from the direction of the front door. Eddie scoffs around his own slice of pizza and rushes to open the door.

“Thanks man, really appreciate it, super quick response time,” you hear Steve say, clearly through clenched teeth.

“Can we move, please?” you hear Dustin calling from behind the couch he’s apparently helping Steve carry. “Or did we forget I’m literally missing bones?”

“None in your arms, numbskull,” you hear Steve mutter. “Wait, did you guys start eating without us?”

“The fuck?”

You decidedly ignore the sausage fest at the front door.

“How’d you find this place anyways, Wayne?” you ask, pouring yourself a glass of coke. “I didn’t think anything would be available in April, especially after what happened.”

“Strangest thing,” Wayne starts, putting his slice down and leaning back in his chair. “Some government agent showed up at your parents place while y’all were out. Said the government’s giving me paid leave and ‘providing accommodations’, on account of the earthquake.”

You freeze, glass of coke nearly at your mouth. “A government agent?” Wayne only grunts in confirmation. “You’re right, that is strange.”

“Eh,” Eddie interjects, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter next to the pizza. “We’ve seen stranger things.”

You twist and throw your arm around your chair to look back at Dustin and Steve as they make their way to the joint kitchen and dining room.

“Yeah, I heard Mike saw Susie on their way here. Spending time in a Mormon household...” You shudder and turn back to your pizza slice. “That’s definitely weirder.”

You ignore Dustin’s indignant and shocked gasp when Eddie catches your eye. He nods toward his (new) bedroom before hopping off the counter. You don’t bother excusing yourself; Wayne’s already back to unpacking and Dustin and Steve are busy bring a shining example of unrelated siblings.

“What’s up?” you ask when you enter the room. Eddie’s already bent at the waist going through one of the boxes.

“Got something,” he says shortly, quickly picking up the box and putting it aside to look through the next one. He gestures at the other boxes. “Find the one with the records?”

“Uh, sure,” you agree, hesitant, but you don’t have the chance to open a single box before you hear a loud ‘aha!’ Eddie’s victoriously holding a record over his head, before letting his arms drop and holding it out for you.

“What... Frank Sinatra? Dude are you good.” You frown down at the records—Fly Me to the Moon, of all things. It’s always been one of your favourite, but... but it’s not like you’ve ever told anyone that. Much less Eddie.

Not that you don’t trust that he would treat you the same as he always had, but... but, jazz isn’t. It doesn’t really match the rest of your personality? You’ve very much been catering your more punk inclinations, and jazz is...

“Your mom told me,” Eddie explains quietly, taking a careful step toward you. He leans a bit over to the side, trying to get a better look at your face. “She, uh. She said your grandpa played it for you a lot when you were a kid.”

You can’t swallow the lump in your throat.

“I... thank you, but why?”

Eddie nods at the record in your hands. “Pull it out.”

You look up at him long enough to give him a confused look. You pull the record out nevertheless. And it, itself, is completely unremarkable. The envelope that falls out, however, very much catches your attention. You slip the record back in its sleeve and pass it over to Eddie without looking.

You crouch to pick up the envelope and flip it over in your hands. No writing, huh. You flip it open, and it just takes the quickest of glances at what’s inside for you to scream and throw the envelope to the floor.

Two tickets for Judas Priest stare back at you.

You vaguely register Eddie shooing both Steve and Dustin away.

“You’re uh, you’re makin’ me nervous here,” Eddie says eventually. You crouch back down to pick up the tickets in their envelope.

“How?”

“Hush money,” Eddie shrugs, and with the amount of frowning you’re doing you’re almost worried your face will stay stuck that way.

“Judas Priest. In August, in Indianapolis. For Turbo.”

Eddie bites back a grin and nods. You look at him, down to the tickets, and back up at him.

“You’re coming with me right?” You’re barely done talking and Eddie’s pumping a fist in the air. “Wait, did you not intend for me to take you?”

“Uh, well, y’know I didn’t wanna assume—”

“And you put them in a Frank Sinatra sleeve?” You laugh, carefully tucking the envelope in the back pocket of your jeans before throwing your arms around Eddie’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. You almost pull away when you feel him tense.

But then Eddie sighs and wraps his arms around you, before promptly lifting you up just enough to spin you around once. When your feet are back on the ground, you look up at Eddie and can’t help but laugh again.

“We’re gonna see fuckin’ Judas Priest!”

May 4th, 1986

It’s movie night, and this time it’s at your parents’ place. In light of which day it is—and the fact that the host gets to pick the movie—you’re forcing Steve to watch Star Wars.

The house is blessedly empty, save for the invited few. Your parents’ wedding anniversary is, very conveniently, also May 4th, which means they’re out enjoying a lovely vacation far, far away from the gaping hellmouth that is Hawkins. Your brother, after the initial mess and organization post-quake, went back home.

Steve is comfortably reclined in your dad’s La-Z-Boy, Nancy and Robin are glued together at one end of your parents’ 4-seater while Jonathan tries to look like he’s not bothered by the distance, leaning against the opposite arm. You’re sat in your mother’s rocking chair with Eddie sitting with his back against your legs.

Just as R2 starts playing Leia’s message, you hit the pause button on the remote and clear your throat.

“Just wanted to say that I’m moving out in July cause Helen owns a place but her tenants hauled ass when everything went to shit so if y’all wanna help just scream.” You hit the play button.

You get about a second of hearing Leia plead with Obi-Wan before she becomes absolutely inaudible under the cacophony. Robin and Eddie both stand up in shock, Steve tries to argue that he doesn’t even know if he can help you move, while Jonathan and Nancy seem content to let the other three run wild with their questions.

You can’t help but laugh. “So you’re all helping then?”

Eventually, when everything calms down—which is to say, once Robin and Steve have calmed down—and you’ve paused the movie again, you take the time to explain. Properly.

“So Helen,” Robin starts, staring down at her hands to keep track. “Library Helen that didn’t like you two years ago, went to see you, first, to offer you a house.”

You make a face and lean your head back.

“I mean yeah, but like. It’s not too far from Forest Hills, so the guy who lived there with his brother just left the day that—the, when the...”

“Wait, so is it like, furnished?” Steve asks, and you can already see the shining beam of hope flashing in his head. So you nod.

“Yeah, pretty much. Sense of style’s gonna be horrible but it’s whatever, right?” You look down at Eddie, still dutifully sat on the floor in front of your legs, and playfully tousle the top of his head. “What matters is that I have my own place now.”

May 24th, 1986

“You didn’t have to come,” you say quietly, gripping your umbrella like it’s about to run away. Your shoes squelch uncomfortably with the rain. Your clothes feel damp and your left shoulder’s soaked.

“I know.” Eddie doesn’t say anything else, just occasionally bumps his shoulder into you to try and get you out of your own head.

And you were very, very deep in your own head.

It’s still hard to... to process, just. Everything that’s happened. There are three people dead. Three kids dead. And before that, there was—

Your throat still clenches when you think about what happened at Starcourt. Everything that led up to it—the progressively more imposing and suffocating feeling of something closing in. People going missing, the rumbling of the earth underfoot something massive.

Eddie bumps into you again. He doesn’t look worried or weirded out when you nearly jump out of your skin. When you look up at him, he just turns to look back ahead.

“We’re here,” he says, but gently puts a hand on your shoulder to hold you back. You can see Eddie’s gaze going from eye to eye to gauge your reaction—or maybe your current state of mind?—before gripping your shoulder a bit tighter. “If nothing happens...”

“Then I lose nothing,” you reply quietly, slowly reaching up to take his hand off your shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Eddie swallows thickly but nods. You don’t let go of his hand.

It was... maybe a little weird. It was probably a lot weird, actually, to want to come to a cemetery right around dinnertime. But with everything calming down, with no sign of anything extradimensional fucking with shit again, it was like there was a gentle pressure at the back of your neck pushing you forward. Nothing creepy, nothing unpleasant, just something like a hand trying to guide you somewhere.

You’d asked Eddie to come just in case.

You pull him along with one hand, first to Barbara Holland. Heavy in your other arm is a bouquet of carnations—two toned, the scarlet red edging the petals a contrast to the stark white of the rest. You place one in front of Barbara’s grave before taking a knee in the muddy ground. You put the bouquet down next to you after passing your umbrella over to Eddie. And then you just close your eyes and... and wait, for a bit.

You’re not sure you expect anything to happen. You’ve tried messing around with the cleric spell list, for lack of a better way to put it, but you seemed back to normal. No weird powers, no weird dreams. Back to being just a small down librarian.

You jolt back from a near-doze, and Eddie has to catch you—awkwardly, trying to manage two umbrellas—before you hit the muds.

“You good?” He asks, passing the umbrella back over to you once you’ve picked the bouquet back up.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, looking back at the grave for a second. “Yeah, I’m... good.”

You go through several people like that; you find the grave, give a flower, kneel down for a second to... meditate? Only to eventually be shocked back into wakefulness.

The last person you go see is Chrissy Cunningham. If there’s a second of hesitation in his step, Eddie hides it well. There’s a moment when you feel bad, when you’re both standing in front of the grave. Eddie’s breathing sounds strained, even over the sound of the rain hitting your umbrellas. Your fingers bump into his when you blindly reach for his hand. You give his hand a last squeeze before taking a knee again.

You close your eyes, and when you let your fingertips brush against the headstone, it feels like a shock. The back of your eyelids are painted white, before everything gets eaten up by an endless black. This feels familiar.

When you open your eyes, you’re here—this strange in between place you’ve seen Eleven in. The headstone is still in front of you but there’s... something else, here. Something nagging at you.

You stand up to look around. There’s a feeling like knowing, in your bones, that there’s something else here. You take a deep breath and start by looking down at your feet. And then, slowly, outward.

There. In the shallow waters, something... red?

When you make your way to it, there’s no mistaking it: that’s a whole ass rose bud. Just sitting there like it’s always been there and this is exactly where it should grow. So, naturally, you move to pick it up. The thing doesn’t budge.

So you kneel down by the almost-flower, and gently try to pull it up. Somehow, it’s like the entire plan is... beneath you? And this bud is the only thing that’s made it to the surface. You don’t want to just—well, no, you don’t think you should just pluck the thing. That... doesn’t feel right.

Instead, you start digging your fingers into the ground as best you can to try and unearth the would-be rose. When you’ve cleared enough of the stem to get a grip on it and pull, you have to take a second to warm your fingers.

You don’t think about why the water’s cold.

Carefully, trying to dodge and protect the rosebud, you wrap your fingers around the stem and tug.

Nothing. Not that you figured a tiny tug would do it.

You flex your fingers around the stem a bit more firmly. This time, you take a deep breath, dig your heels in, and pull.

It’s slow at first, but as you keep the tension, the stem starts to budge. Then, all at once, it’s like an explosion of colours; like fireworks and paint flying everywhere. There’s a cacophony of sound, too; laughing, shrieking, popping corn and a crowd cheering. The sound of flash bulbs burning out, the smell of pine trees and ink and paper, the glint of glass.

You come too looking straight up at a very concerned looking Eddie. You’re having a hard time breathing; you’re not... entirely sure what just happened, there. You think you might understand, maybe. You hope that maybe you’re right. That maybe you just helped some people get... unstuck.

You only realize you’re crying when Eddie gathers you up in his arms and sighs. He doesn’t sound put out or upset.

“Your mom’s gonna kill me,” he says, nose in your hair. You laugh a little. “You’re gonna track mud all over the place.”

You appreciate that he doesn’t ask about what just happened. You don’t know that you’d be able to explain it even if you wanted to.

The two of you only spend a few more seconds like that before Eddie helps you back up to your feet. At arm’s length, he takes a look at you and makes you do a spin. He groans and pulls you along behind him, barely giving you enough time to grab the two umbrellas where they’d fallen.

“What the hell was that for?”

“My van doesn’t deserve this, man,” Eddie moans, looking down at himself before gesturing at you. “It’s gonna take forever to clean everything out! You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“...did you just—”

“Don’t. No. I didn’t say anything. Shut up and get in the damn van, you heathen.”

You return the kindness to Eddie; you don’t ask about why his ears are scarlet red the whole ride home.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@bramblequill @storiesbyrhi @averagestudent03 @alovesongtheywrote @doratheignora @fnlyroe

[chrisitsraining]

and yknow what heres the deaths of some fallen s.t.a.r.s members as depicted in the umbrella conspiracy

“Joseph!”

Jill’s scream ringing in his ears, Chris drew his weapon and stopped in his tracks, trying to get a clear shot at the raging beasts that were attacking Joseph. Wesker’s penlight sent a thin beam dancing over the writhing creatures, illuminating a nightmare. Joseph’s body was all but hidden by the three animals that tore at him, ripping at him with gnash-ing, dripping jaws. They were the size and shape of dogs, as big as German Shepherds maybe, except that they seemed to have no fur, no skin. Wet, red sinew and muscle flashed beneath Wesker’s wavering light, the dog-creatures shrieking and snapping in a frenzy of bloodlust.

Joseph cried out, a burbling, liquid sound as he flailed weakly at the savage attackers, blood pouring from multiple wounds. It was the scream of a dying man. There was no time to waste; Chris targeted and opened fire.

Three rounds smacked wetly into one of the dogs, a fourth shot going high. There was a single, high-pitched yelp as the beast went down, its sides heaving. The other two animals continued their as-sault, indifferent to the thunderous shots. Even as Chris watched in horror, one of the slavering hell hounds lunged forward and ripped out Joseph’s throat, exposing bloody gristle and the glistening slickness of bone.

.

“What—” he started, then saw what was on the carpet in front of them, laying in the small sitting area that marked the end of the corridor. 

For a moment, Barry thought it was Chris—until he saw the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo insignia on the vest, and felt a different kind of horror set in as he struggled to recognize the features. The Bravo had been decapi-tated, the head laying a foot away from the corpse, the face completely covered in gore.

Oh jeez, it’s Ken.

Kenneth Sullivan, one of the best field scouts Barry had ever known and a hell of a nice guy. There was a gaping, ragged wound in his chest, chunks of partly eaten tissue and guts strewn around the bloody hole. His left hand was missing, and there was no weapon nearby; it must have been his gun that Joseph had found out in the woods.

Barry looked away, sickened. Ken had been a quiet, decent sort, did a lot of work in chemistry. He’d had a teen-aged son who lived with his ex in California. 

.

Forest Speyer was dead, The laughing, Southern good ol' boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a bloody, lifeless imposter lumped against a wall. Chris stared down at the imposter, the distant sounds of the night lost to the sudden gust of wind that whipped around the caves, moaning through the railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly sound, but Forest couldn’t hear it; Forest would never hear anything again.

Chris crouched down next to the still body, care-fully prying Forest’s Beretta from beneath cool fin-gers. He told himself he wouldn’t look, but as he reached for Forest’s belt pack, he found his gaze fixed on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo’s eyes had once been.

Jesus, what happened? What happened to you, man? Forest’s body was covered with wounds, most an inch or two across and surrounded by raw, bloody flesh—it was as if he’d been stabbed hundreds of times with a dull knife, each vicious cut ripping away chunks of skin and muscle. Part of his ribcage was cruelly exposed, slivers of white showing red beneath tattered redness. His eyeless, streaming stare was the crowning horror—like the killer hadn’t been content to take Forest’s life, wanting his soul instead...

.

“Richard!” Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees next to the Bravo, feeling his throat for a pulse with one trembling hand.

Chris stared mutely down at the torn body, already knowing that she wouldn’t find a heartbeat; the gaping wound on Richard Aiken’s right shoulder was drying, no fresh blood seeping through the mutilated tissue. He was dead.

He watched Rebecca’s slender hand slowly drop away from the Bravo’s neck and then reach up to close his glazed, unseeing eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Chris felt sick over their discovery; the communica-tions expert had been a positive, sweet guy, and only twenty-three years old...

.

“Hang on, Rico. We’ll get you out of here, you just have to lie still—” Enrico shook his head, still looking at Jill. “There’s a traitor in the S.T.A.R.S.,” he whispered. “He told me—” Bam! Bam!

Enrico’s body jumped as two holes suddenly ap-peared in his chest, blood pulsing out of them in violent spurts. Through the resounding echo of the shots, running footsteps clattered away down the corridor behind them.

Barry launched to his feet and sprinted around the corner as Jill helplessly squeezed Enrico’s twitching hand, her heart pounding and sick. He slumped over, dead before he touched the cold stone floor. 

[tuxedokit-thoughts]

i want to kill myself

im not going to, but mom says i should write my feelings out. says itll help me feel better

and. i mean. i know its worked before. i have this whole thing to prove it

see even just tryping that much helped a little. at least enough that ny urges are back in the harm territory and not in yhe kill territory. which isnt great. but. yknow. ill take what i can get? i guess?

i dont know anymore. it feels like theres this gaping hole in my chest, and everything i have and everything i am is just pouring and pouring and pouring out of it until there is nothing. i dont want to be nothing.

but maybe it would be easier than this

i hardly got out of bed today. i didnt get dressed, i only ate because my brother was so gracious as to bring me a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup. he put a little rosemary in it, "to make it fancy," he said. it wasnt perfection, but it was the best goddamn soup i had ever tasted in that moment. he used the last clean bowl for it. its his favourite too, a kirby themed ramen bowl with holes for chopsticks and everything.

chicken noodle isnt even my favourite soup. fi think its just. how loved i felt? when he carried that bowl into our cramped little room from our cramped little living room.

i was standing like. an hour ago? and he asked me to try to clean a bowl for him. (he does all the household chores, save for dishes. we both hate them, but i can barely do shit else, so one really shitty chore is better than a mountain of decent ones)

i took one look at our sink, so full of dirty shit you can hardly see the faucet, and i tyrned around and let myself fall limp, face first on my bed.

i put the blanket over my feet, so that if he came in he wouldnt have to see them (even the thought of feet disgusts him, i think)

he did come in, but i dont think he realized how hard it had been for me to even do that. i think all he saw was a whiny, ungrateful, pathetic mound of flesh under a blanket. someone so useless it couldnt even clean a single bowl for him without falling apart.

i heard him clean his own bowl. i have never felt so guilty for doing absolutely fucking nothing.

he already puts up with so much shit from me. im a drug addicted, mentally unstable, sorry excuse for a person.im trying, god im trying so fucking hard, but every day is harder than the last, it seems.

still. he deserves better than this.i dont know why he bothers.

... i keep finding myself scratching my cat scratches from earlier today. it stings. i feel like i deserve it.

i know thats not true. but honestly? scratching at my hand and wrist is better than actually doing something, right? its just a sting on fresh skin. no blood, no fresh wounds. just the pain thats already there. just poking at my bruises so i feel something other than this crushing despair

god. i cant believe i said that. i mean thats a totally normal thing to say in a crisis. ive just soiled my mind with references and medias and now i cant be normal about anything haha

anyway

uh

yeah.

...

i still hate myself. but. i guess this helped me stop crying as much? i dont know. i dont know anything anymore

thats not true

i know my wrist hurts. like a cat scratch, it stings on the back, mostly because thats what it was, at first. from where both my cats claws and my own found themselves digging into my skin, i can feel a bump when i glide my finger over it. and every time the pain gets too dull, too quiet, i let my nail return to its little groove and pull, just for a moment.

i know my heart hurts. like i have been carved open, my contents unceremoniously dumped on the floor. my blood spills out on the floor over my organs and my thoughts, and as i try to clean it up the lead in my veins says stop. and so i lay there, on the ground, next to the contents of the person i have become. it is all blackened by tar and resin.

i know that every breath i have taken today has felt like a chore. like slogging out of bed at 5:45 in the morning to get ready for school, knowing i wont learn shit because all my energy will be focused on holding myself together, or at least keeping myself from shattering altogether. ill just slog through another page of the textbook, wondering why i bothered when i couldve just stayed home.

i know i am loved. even if i dont feel it. even if i dont deserve it.

i know i never had a choice in any of this

...

i know that. for now. ill keep dragging myself out of bed. keep breathing. scratch my wrist so i dont cut it.

and maybe tomorrow ill apologize to everyone whos had to put up with me

{16/11/2023}

[pokedcheck]

yknow seeing 23 on a leafs jersey still feels like a fresh wound

[burgycreeper405-blog]

hey guys, i am very head empty right now

can yall uhh.. gimme me some uhhhhhhh, art requests maybe?

characters, ships, other fandoms maybe, screenshot redraws? anything unless i am uncomfortable with it, i will just not do it

(tho in ships, as much as i'm neutral with any ships that arent, yknow, bad, pls don't request t4ac0m1c, s04pcr0ph0ne and or kn1f4n due to bad experiences that is still a fresh wound,, if someoone requested that, i won't even do it anyway)

and also no mechas cuz idk how to draw them

just for now

i am in paiin

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

okay so i ran around the settlements and looked at all the people, and maybe i'm just misjudging the ages on some of the models, but there's this thing i noticed of like. everyone's either a child-to-young-adult, or an elder. there are a couple, but vanishingly few compared to the other two groups, that i would classify as like, middle-aged. a whole generation of the clans is just not there.

you could probably justify this in a lot of ways (the model detail is just like that, for one) but yall have probably figured out that i love to ignore vast swaths of canon and then obsess over throwaway details so that's what we're doing here. what if something happened to that entire generation of both clans? some plague, or natural disaster, or something, but then you'd expect those not to discriminate, especially wrt the oldest people in the clan.

...what if it was a battle, though?

i mean, we know that things used to be "a lot worse" between the clans before adaman and irida (or their predecessors) decided to bury the hatchet, but we don't really know what "a lot worse" actually means. and even adaman and irida are like—i mean, adaman's been leader long enough that he gets to rib irida about being "the leader with almost no experience," but he barely has room to talk, right.

maybe at some point in the not-so-distant past, when most of the wardens would have been children or not even born yet, tensions between the clans over who was right about sinnoh boiled over into an all-out conflict. most of the clan's at-the-time adults fought and died, of one thing or another—if not directly by each other, from the environment or wild pokemon or even that newly-emerged "alpha" problem.

and, yknow, i'm hard-pressed to think of a better way to convince people to put aside an ancient grudge against each other, than by several years of watching all your healthy adults die followed by the sky itself breaking over just above your sacred temple, which they naturally would have taken as a sign of sinnoh's displeasure. i feel like that would change everyone's tune pretty quick.

(and this also explains to me why the peace between the clans feels so shaky. because it is. because those wounds are still very fresh in everyone's minds.)

[loversj0y]

okay buckle up here's the angst royal au i promised weeks ago and never delivered.

Disclaimer: Both the reader and Wilbur are kind of toxic in the first legs of their relationship. Wilbur more towards the beginning, and then the reader kind of over-retaliates.

--

Wilbur, after his father's retirement, has become King. Due to his sudden illness, old man Philza had to be quickly transported to one of the Royal Family's summer houses, where the air is cleaner and blah blah yknow typical victorian sickly child stuff. Tommy is overseas at some boarding school, and technoblade.... is doing something. Out doing a spiritual quest in the tundra. idk.

Wilbur had been in a relationship for a few years with a fisherman's daughter-turned-royal-gardener, named Sally. He fought tooth and nail in court to uphold his relationship--- and legitimize the child he had with Sally out of wedlock.

At some point before he became King, however, Sally's relationship with him soured. It may have been a tragic falling-out-of-love, or Sally got sick of the constant judgement from Wilbur's wealthy peers, or, as some rumors put it, she found someone else to love. After everything Wilbur had done for them, she sailed upstream to live in another country, effectively cutting off their engagement and abandoning their child.

He sends Fundy, now forever the child of two unmarried parents, to live with some relatives, and then sends him to some prestigious boarding school (for younger kids, not the same as tommy). Wilbur loves his son and spoils him whenever he visits the palace during vacation, but he can't look at him for too long. he reminds him far too much of Sally.

Wilbur was obviously very hurt by this, and partially blamed the court for it. Maybe if they hadn't been so awful to his commoner gf, she wouldn't have dipped.

(but its also probably partly his fault. wilbur wasn't a BAD partner, it was just a complicated situation. )

So it's this newfound contempt for the pressures of being King, still raw like a fresh wound, that cause him to get absolutely pissed when an arranged marriage is brought up. He literally lost his almost-wife five months ago, and now the court is making him marry some (probably) snobby, stuck-up stranger from god-knows where.

But the political situation between the two countries is so tense that Wilbur is eventually forced to agree.

but he hates it. So when the reader arrives, he treats them terribly. He sneers, mocks, and even gets some servants to hide some of their things to purposefully rile them up.

The reader, who hated the marriage just as much as Wilbur but was trying to be cordial, decides to clap back. With a smile, they walk into Wilbur's quarters one night and propose a solution. Something like this:

Although they do not need to hide their feelings about each other in private, it is best they pretend to be a loving couple in public. If the marriage appears disharmonious, political troubles could arise.

If need be, either the King or the reader can take on a lover. There will be no arguing or hurt feelings about this, since the marriage is strictly businesslike.

Wilbur agrees without hesitation.

long story short: wilbur eventually gets attached to the reader's affectionate, "loving spouse" persona that they show in public.

Affection starved as he is, he can't help but melt a little when the reader hands him a cup of tea during, smiles at him reassuringly, or briefly strokes his hair during meetings. forehead kisses-- he lives for forehead kisses.

But as soon as the meeting is over and the nobles are out, the reader is back to their detached, real personality.

He doesn't have the courage to ask for real affection in private.

And like the dumbass he is, he falls for your public persona--- which makes it all the more painful when he makes the mistake of turning to you with a warm smile after a meeting, only to face a detached, vaguely baffled gaze.

This really fucks him up over time.

So, by now, the reader is over-retaliating for Wilbur's behavior in the beginning.

To give the reader complexity, we can partially explain-- but not excuse-- their behavior on how their home country is run. Women (or, if the reader isn't a woman: illegitimate children) are given no control where they come from, and are seen as purely bargaining chips. There is a law that allows the transition into a Republic if there are no male heirs left and/or viable members of the Court. They would literally abolish the monarchy instead of instate a woman/bastard as the heir.

In addition, any children that are not the first-born are kind of ignored by the family, quality-time wise. I HC that the reader became close friends with some of the guards or servants and had to leave them when they were married off.

So this power they have over Wilbur is intoxicating after being powerless for so long. They are taking out their anger about their situation on him, just like he was in the beginning.

Sometimes they feel guilty. The reader thinks back to close friends at home and wonder what they'd think of them now. But it never lasts long--- until a few changes occur.

Remember the lover clause in the agreement between Wilbur and the reader?

Maybe the reader actually finds someone they are interested in, and start going out with them and leave Wilbur alone from then on.

...Until Wilbur has issues with the reader's relationship.

Before they started going out with the guy, Wilbur had begun to avoid the reader in private so he'd only see them in public-- so he could pretend that the sweet, loving version of you was the only one that existed. that it was real. (very unhealthy)

When you take on a lover, it suddenly becomes much harder for him to avoid. He sees you hanging out with the dude, and it's like an arrow to the chest.

When the matter of the lover is brought up in court (because all official lovers must be declared i guess), Wilbur is visibly displeased.

Which raises some problems. The societal implication of allowing the other to take on a lover without expressing hostility was very important, because it would protect the other. If Wilbur had shown no problems with the reader doing this, the public would have assumed that they have a very open relationship, and any judgement would have been limited to tabloid gossip, etc. But now that Wilbur is (for some reason the reader can't figure out) making his displeasure known (even if not entirely on purpose--- okay maybe a little on purpose), the reader is not excused by high society. In the eyes of high society, they are an unfaithful spouse, an adulterer. And down the drain goes the respect for them-- and the power they have in social affairs.

The reader is angry (Wilbur had AGREED to those terms earlier in the relationsip), strife happens.

a couple years go by. the reader's reputation never really recovers, but the lover thing is old news mostly so its only mildly annoying.

like any other relationship, the reader and the lover break up after some major argument (nothing really dramatic, just typical couple stuff). Like any normal person going through a breakup, the reader hides themselves in their room and sulks.

Wilbur comes to comfort them, but as soon as he reaches out to touch them they smack his hand away, looking startled and offended that he'd even try.

Wilbur leaves in a hurry.

The reader groans and puts their head in their hands, suddenly feeling guilt along with the predicted breakup-grief.

Some time passes: days or weeks idk.

The reader finds Wilbur crying, wasted drunk and sobbing, in the corner of some dark room.

Looking at that pathetic man, the reader can't lie to themselves anymore. Nothing about what they did to Wilbur was good. Nothing about it felt good, even if they had tried to convince themselves otherwise.

the reader comforts, slow healing?

they learn how to live with each others, probably first as friends and MAYBE as lovers in the future.

So, now that I've written a bible-length of BS in your askbox,

what do you think? in terms of culpability?

holy shit this is fucking amazing. i love royal aus so much and this? amazing. reader would already be having a hard time adjusting - given they literally left their home to marry this guy and he's literally immediately being an asshole? god id be just as pissed holy shit. this si fucking amazing man oh my god

[genopaint]

Week 18 of the Daily Dragon Challenge! A little late, but it's still fresh. I kept it in the fridge, I promise.

As always you can follow me on twitter where they’re posted daily

And read more info on each of them below the cut

Daily Dragon #119 - Mantisaur

A large mantis dragon that is extremely carnivorous. They hunt down prey and strike with lightning fast movements, quickly devouring them before the prey realized what happens. Its large scythe like hands are lethal weapons

Daily Dragon #120 - Carbodon

Large, chubby, and lazy. These dragons live in the woods and tend to keep to themselves. All they want to do it eat and sleep, because of this, they're fairly non aggressive

Daily Dragon #121 - Tyrantrunk

Your eyes aren't playing tricks on youx that's a tree! But it is also a fearsome dragon! What makes this more dragon-like than other living trees are its fire resistance, as well as the acidic sap it spews from its mouth and wounds!

I've wanted to do a tree one for ages now... It's finally done

Daily Dragon #122 - Black Dragon

From Sonic Superstars, I knew I wanted to draw this guy at some point during the challenge cause, yknow, Sonic Dragon. Last night I found my stack of copy paper, which I love to draw the sonic final bosses on, so I thought the timing was perfect!

Daily Dragon #123 - Shelly Draws

Apologies for the delay, but we finally have April's most popular dragon! As voted on by YOU, Shelly Draws is the winner! Here's her shiny new artwork! Looks like she pulled a really cool card!

Shelly was probably my favorite dragon last month as well. If not her, then maybe Katie or Waves

April... April... Well... April is over. Let's just be happy for that. May is here now yay! Fresh start, let's make it a better month

And here's the result of the votes:

Waves Wyrm - 1 Vote Carbodon - 1 Vote Tyrantrunk - 1 Vote Greedylyn - 2 Votes Stressaur - 1 Vote Shelly Draws - 5 Votes

Thanks for voting! Especially on such short notice lol

Daily Dragon #124 - Crushusaur

These creatures have MASSIVE horns they use to slam boulders to pieces. The horns are incredibly valuable because they're nearly indestructible and can be used to make incredibly high quality tools!

Originally was gonna draw this with my mouse but became kinda smitten with the design so I drew it for real lol

Daily Dragon #125 - Fluttodon

Despite their big chubby bodies and tiny wings, these dragons can flap their wings fast enough to lift their whole body off the ground! It's pretty miraculous!