#angsty AF

[puredaydreaming]

what is it with the winchester bros and being so damn dramatic with their breakups?

dean: hey, i'm taking off, i will leave your ass, you hear me?

sam: that’s what i want you to do. (not really, please stop me)

*they stare at each other for a bit*

dean: goodbye, sam.

sam: :(

and then there's this:

dean: i'll find gadreel. and i will end that son of a bitch. but i'll do it alone.

dean: i can't... i won't... drag anybody through the muck with me. not anymore.

dean: (face screaming 'please stop me')

*they stare at each other*

sam: go. i'm not gonna stop you.

dean: :(

script: "DEAN's face falls in defeat and surrender"

⬆️ lmao bro, just stay then. if you want him to stop you so badly, just don’t go. both of you.

[dreamlandcreations]

Imagine finding Sauron after the defeat of Morgoth...

Imagine finding Sauron after the defeat of Morgoth and somehow becoming his guiding light, only for him to realise that it will eventually doom you to darkness...

He didn't notice the change in you for centuries but as he finally started to feel like he was truly free from the suffocating darkness clouding his mind he began to see the scales of this odd balance tipping between you.

He tried to find a solution, reverse it, stay away from you... but nothing worked. Desperate, and consumed by fear, he begged the Valar for help. He thought if the plea is for your sake not his own at least one of them would answer, he was sure if no one else then Nienna would take pity. He was wrong.

The Valar did not come, someone else answered.

Eru led him to understand, for who else could but the one who coveted order above all other creatures of his.

The darkness of Morgoth remains in Arda until the world is remade. To defeat the source of darkness and corruption, men above all else have to overcome true evil in this world, for they can make a path of their own unlike any other before. For this, theirs is the Gift of Death.

The unimaginably difficult part to accept is that darkness needs a host that men and the other races can fight and defeat.

Knowing he would never let you go through that, Sauron grieves the loss of you before he can properly accept his fate, only asking that you shouldn't have to witness what he'll become. Eru grants his wish and departs with you, and with a heavy heart he waits for the day he can see you two reunite in the light.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 5: Scared Enough

Authors Note (CW: substance abuse)

Previous chapters linked in my Masterlist

Word count: 4.6k

 The chauffeur observes you all too closely, pacing outside Dami’s dressing room. You're both waiting for him to do a final line of coke before leaving for the airport. Then he flushes everything down the toilet and scrubs out the pill case.

“Are you gonna be okay for another four hours?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll be lucky if this high lasts half an hour.”

“So what do you do on airplanes?”

“Drink and suffer.” He laughs at the face you make. “I deserve it, I did this to myself.” Dami keeps that smile plastered on, but it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks downward to hide it, awkwardly scuffing the end of his boot against the carpet. You sigh heavily, yearning for the right words, but being unable to find them.

“We have to leave now if we want a chance of making our flight.”

“Yeah.” Damiano essentially chain smokes all the way to the airport and refuses to eat, so you end up consuming half the pizza. He insists on carrying your bag while the valet checks his. On the walk to the gate, you trail behind Dami and tuck your hair under a beanie. Unfortunately sunglasses at night draw more attention, not less.

You make it with negative five minutes to spare; they’re already boarding business class. To avoid a disgruntled traveler filming the entitled rich couple cutting in line, you stand at the very back. The stewardess panics over the fact that first class passengers were the last to board. Damiano uses a bit of his magic to calm her and stop attracting curious glances.

“No complaints here, I promise.” He leans forward enough to just barely breach her personal space and lets his husky baritone take over. Dami has this ambiguous closed lip smile that's totally up to the eye of the beholder. Their interpretation reveals the victim’s motivations. This girl wants to fuck Dami, and you don’t blame her. In fact, she’s so taken that she can only manage a nod. 

Once out of earshot you murmur, “that poor girl.”

“What?” Damiano says under his breath.

“You know what.” He smirks and steps on to the plane. “Let's hope she doesn't fuck up some poor family’s travel itinerary while dickmatized.” Dami scoffs as he shoves your bag into the overhead compartment. 

“It’ll be fine,” he dismisses.

“Says the one without the screaming toddler and 15 hour layover.” This earns a chuckle and he gestures for you to take the window seat.

“Proximity to the bathroom is probably the best plan of action.”

“Stomach still upset?”

“I’m hoping that now it's the kind of upset that can be made better by food that way I can drink.’

“Charming. Maybe wait a bit?”

“Ah, but there's a method to this. You’ve got to start drinking preemptively, that way you’re already drunk when the time for alcohol consumption arrives.” You can tell by Dami’s delivery that he’s used this line at parties and it always landed well. When he sees your face, his confidence drifts away.

“While you're…away I’ll stop drinking, too. That way you have a sobriety buddy.”

“Mm, ‘buddy,’” he winces.

“Yes, ‘buddy.’ Until I’m confident you’re not gonna put your ass in a coma, again. And then some.” 

“Fair, that’s fair.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Damiano leans his head back against the seat and exhales heavily. The sound of the pilot's voice on the intercom makes him startle.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Out of habit you rub his leg, then realize that rubbing his arm is much more platonic, albeit awkward. You decide that the middle ground is petting his hair. The buzzcut is surprisingly soft under your fingers.

“Will you grow it out while you’re there?”

“Do you want me to?” He turns his head to look at you, eyebrow raised. Suddenly, making requests about his appearance has much more significance than it did a moment ago.

“Yes,” you answer timidly.

“Then I’ll grow it out.” It's the most tense airplane ride of your life. You’re trying to monitor how hard Damiano’s crashing, while realizing you have no actual experience with cocaine or withdrawals. What do you look for and how do you look for it without him noticing? One fact is abundantly clear, whether you catch his symptoms or not, there isn’t jack shit you can do about them. 

Soon after the plane has leveled out, he gets jumpy. A cough or the ding of the seatbelt light spook Dami so severely that he has to catch his breath. He starts craning  his neck, looking around at the rest of the plane. Eventually he leans all the way out into the aisle then snaps upright, gluing his back to the seat like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“What is it?” you whisper.

“I feel like people are filming me.”

“Lets trade seats.” While switching places, you scan the plane for phones. Everyone in first class is laying down except for one woman reading an article on her computer. There's an opaque, closed curtain between first class and business class. The pattern is gaudy, mustard yellow and cobalt blue. Realistically, the only people that could film Dami were those walking up the currently empty aisle or fatigued stewardesses who would be fired for the transgression.

“No one's filming, you’re good. They’re mostly sleeping.” A bored flight attendant infers your concern and hangs a temporary privacy curtain on two small hooks. Damiano orders a mini charcuterie board and two shots of whiskey.

“They’re still filming me,” he hisses, slouching down in his chair. The plane is dark, so you search for the bright light of a camera flash and see nothing.

“Dam, I’m positive no one is filming. If they were, they couldn’t catch anything.” The flight attendant returns with his order and a payment terminal.

“Oh, and two bottles of water please.” You reach down for your purse, but Dami bats your hands away.

“I –”

“No. Do you want anything else?”

“I’m good.” He gives you a dirty look. “I ate your dinner on the drive to the airport.” Dami lets this slide and passes her his debit card. Already knowing that the beep is gonna make him jump, you take your hand in his and whisper, “gonna be a noise. Deep breath.” Dami keeps hold of your hand, even as the stewardess passes his card back, even as he puts it back in his wallet, even as he shoves his wallet into the pocket of his hoodie. Then he leans over and presses his forehead to your temple and all you can think is thank god he’ll be in a secure facility. Because nothing short of that could keep you from throwing your morals to the wind and rechristening your once shared bed.

“It was Aimee, the girl who’s roommate I started – I first did H with.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“But I broke my promise,” his voice wavers, barely audible. “At first it was celebrating the new contract, but then I couldn’t stop. I thought I wouldn’t need any of it, once SME let up. Like I’d forced their hand and the drugs had just been a tool to get my way. I wasn’t an addict.” You push the armrest up, undo your seatbelt, and turn to hug him. “My quality of life is better, but I still needed all this shit to alter my perception so I could exist. In my mind it was strictly a causal relationship. That was fucking delusional.”

“No it wasn’t.” Damiano cries against the shoulder of your sweater and you rub his back.

“I’m so fucking scared,’ he confesses. “I thought I had control so it was like the floor disappearing out from under me. Months of rationalizations built on a lie and I was just falling and it still feels like I’m falling.”

“I’ve got you.”

“That fucking feeling is the reason I don’t go on rollercoasters and now I get to feel it all the time, how painfully ironic is that?”

“Fate has a really twisted sense of irony.”

“The world is punishing me and I deserve it.” You pull back and cup Dami’s colorless face in your hands.

“No you don’t,” you emphasize, brushing tears away with your thumbs. “Thinking you deserve pain, that's the reason it's so hard for you to quit, because you can’t bear to be alone with yourself. I love being alone with you. Dami, you are a beautiful person.” He kisses you, and really you shouldn’t have expected anything else. The responsible thing would be to pull away and gently reestablish a boundary, but you’ve been craving this so hard. Five seconds, that’s the amount of time you allow.

In those five seconds, you kiss back with equal vigor. The hands cupping Damiano’s face end up extended behind his head. With elbows out of the way, you can press your torso against his while Dami pulls you close, then closer still. His tongue has just found yours when times up. Unfortunately, you don’t have the discipline to wrench yourself away and instead pull back slowly. Damiano responds by trying to haul you into his lap, but you make a noise of dissent. There's a chaste goodbye kiss and a sexually-charged disentangling of bodies. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it's uh…” Not out of my system by any measurement.

“It’s just that, um –”

“Mhm”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, no sorry I didn’t –”

“No, you go first.”

“Saying anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything, sorry.”

“Oh..okay.”

“What were you saying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a second ago, you were saying something before I interrupted you.”

“Oh, I was just gonna say that…five months – well, it's almost been five months – is a lot of time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Yeah…since the breakup.”

“Since we last made lo – the breakup. Since we made the break up.”

“Also since we last made love,” you smirk. You hold eye contact, just like you’ve been all day, but this time there's heat behind it. Damiano’s eyes fall to your lips and he leans in again. You hold up a hand to stop him while grimacing. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault. I’ve been giving you mixed signals, acting like we’re still in a relationship physicality-wise while saying we have to keep our distance for now. I’m just so used to comforting you through touch and I have no idea where the line is to be honest.”

“Sometimes touch is the only thing that is comforting, especially yours.”

“I’m just a physically affectionate person, like I need human contact to feel grounded.”

“I know,” he empathizes emotionally.

“So I’m not good at this,” you admit. “But I wanna be, it’s just…” you sigh while staring at the 80s patterned carpet.

“What?”

“I think if we’re physical my body will forget that we’re broken up. My mind will know, but I think I’ll still feel heartbroken if you aren’t there.”

“Baby, no,” he coos.

“I can’t go through it again and still be the support you need me to be and that I want to be. The affection…for lack of a better word, withdrawals were…rough. But I don’t want to act like strangers either. Like this,” you lace your fingers together, “should be fine, right?”

“Yeah,” Damiano murmurs, but his eyes say so much more.

“So I just have to do my best to keep it at this.” You squeeze down simultaneously, all too easily falling into rhythm with each other. “And ignore the part of my brain that tells me to crawl into your lap, take off all my clothes, and give you a bath with my tongue.” Damiano’s eyes go wide and he blinks a couple times in quick succession. 

“Sorry, that was a little graphic.”

“Actually I’m mentally bookmarking that image for tomorrow afternoon.”

“That's when things will get ugly?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve never detoxed from H before, but they have medication to help with that.” He’s visibly nervous and sweating. Damiano opens the shot with one hand and his teeth, then knocks it back. You set a bottle of water on his tray in response. He drinks a quarter of that, which you're feeling good about until he takes the second shot.

“Eat something or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“I know,” he retorts, annoyed. To be fair, Damiano does know a lot more about substances and how they combine than you do. As he’s eating, Dami looks at the row behind us through the crack between the seats. Finally, you recognize it as paranoia.

“I’ll check for phones again, you just keep eating.” The woman on her computer is now working on a spreadsheet and the person directly behind Damiano is watching Casablanca on his phone. Definitely not the Maneskin demographic. Beyond first class, even more passengers are dozing and there's not a single flash from a phone camera. 

“Still no one.” The guy behind us is watching a movie in black and white, so I seriously doubt he knows who you are.” 

“Fine,” Dami concedes, still on edge. He orders two more shots and you haven’t seen him consume alcohol like this since he was a teenager. Sure, he’d have four drinks at an egregiously long event, but shots of crappy whiskey in quick succession was a different behavior entirely. He unclasps his hand and excuses himself to the bathroom. It’s so casual that you can’t ascertain why. When Damiano returns, he doesn’t take your hand again, so you pretend to be on your phone.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good.” If you weren’t broken up, you’d fling your legs over his lap and coax him to look at you. If you weren’t broken up, he’d stroke your hair and tuck it behind your ears. Then he’d massage the shell of your ear. If you weren’t broken up, you’d press your foreheads together and Dami would say everything he meant with his expression. Totally vulnerable, he’d confess his thoughts in a whisper, wrapping an arm around your waist. If you weren’t broken up, you’d know details he’d never disclose to anyone else. The emotional intimacy would throb with the beat of your heart. You’d become so accustomed to having your person, and the total vulnerability which accompanied that.  

But you were broken up, so you sat in silence. By the time the place descends, Dami is visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. He has no patience, glowering at the passengers around him. At first the lights coming on is the problem, then the ding of the seatbelt warning, then the way the pilot is descending.

“I need to be off this motherfucking plane,” he hisses. He yanks down the privacy curtain then complains how exposed first class is. You just listen to him and don’t comment. Luckily, the flight attendant allows the both of you off first. This time you carry your own bag until that pisses Dami off too and he lugs it over his shoulder with a scowl.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” he announces, when you arrive at baggage claim. You grab his hand and point to the family bathroom.

“Use that.”

“Why?” he bites. “Why can’t I use a normal fucking bathroom.” You scowl right back.

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot. Because you could ask someone for drugs, or sneak away, or refuse to get in the car. I am far too tired to deal with that shit.” He rolls his eyes, sighs loudly, and heeds your request. Five years of dealing with his mood swings had prepared you for this like none other.

The chauffeur finds you, then finds Dami’s bag, all while he’s still in the bathroom. Had he somehow gotten his hands on something? You’d been with him the whole time. After ten minutes you knock on the door.

“You alive?” He undoes the lock and you slip inside. Dami is bent over the sink with his face in his hands.

“I’m not gonna survive the drive there.” He takes a shaky breath in and sobs. “And I can’t detox from both simultaneously, so don’t fucking asking me to. I want to go home!” 

 “Damiano, in five months you have been hospitalized four times for your substance abuse. You’ve been in a coma. You’ve started taking two of the hardest drugs known to man. You’ve been one modicum of self-control away from doing crack. You’ve poisoned your body to the point that it can’t retain food or liquids. You are going to die.” He looks up in shock. “You are going to die unless you get sober and if I take you home with me, you are gonna do it in our apartment.” There's a long silence where Damiano opens and closes his mouth a couple times, then swallows hard.

“I’ve never experienced physical withdrawal symptoms like I’m about to. I’m…I’m not – I mean, I can’t.”

“You only have to do it once and this is the easiest it's ever gonna be. I know you’re brave enough.”

“You know fuck all!” he lashes out. “It’s not about bravery or some positive affirmation bullshit.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I know you hate me right now.”

“I don’t hate you,” he grumbles, standing upright. 

“What you’re feeling is a result of withdrawals. That doesn’t invalidate your emotions, it just means that this particular brand of shitty is very temporary.” Damiano nods and washes his face, beginning to regulate. “That also means that your perception is skewed. The world isn’t nearly as horrible as your brain chemistry is fooling you into believing.

“Okay,” he sniffs. Then he repeats himself with certainty. “Okay. I’m gonna do this. I’ll be okay.” On the walk to the car you trail behind him again, prepared to catch Damiano if he makes a run for it. Once everything is in the Sudan you relax, but Dami has his hands balled into fists as you turn out of the airport.

“Just 40 minutes” you remind him. “Less since there's no traffic right now.” 

“Partition, please,” Dami requests, creating privacy behind the tinted windows. Barely perceptible is the sound of a small motor as the driver rolls up the partition between himself and the backseat.

“You wanna lay down with your head on my lap?” He nods and undoes the seatbelt, curling his body to fit in the small space. As soon as your hand makes contact, Dami begins crying. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to be exposed, to be truly seen. It's the part of him that used to ask for French braids. He’d never actually wear them in public, but loved the sensation. It was the part of him  that got genuinely nervous about you enjoying a family recipe. The part that could relax and receive when you fingered him with two digits.The part that lay with Princess on his bare chest because he liked the way her fur felt.

“I don’t want to be alone with myself,” Dami confesses. “I can’t remember the last time I liked that person. Fuck, I’m starting to hate my own stage persona.”

“Front men are supposed to be obnoxious to non-fans. If you were likable to the previous generation of rock listeners, you wouldn’t be rock and roll.” 

“Maybe I’m a shitty musician.”

“Someone could justify that statement about most rockstars.” 

“Every tour, every album, every new fucking setlist, I watch the power trio get more talented and I just say the same.”

“That’s objectively not true, but I know I can’t convince you of that today.”

“I should take vocal lessons.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Suddenly he’s abrasive.

“Because it will make you feel more productive and more confident. It could also help the longevity of your voice.”

“Oh.” He settles and allows you to stroke his head. “Why is it so quiet?” he gripes.

“Could you roll down the partition and hand me the aux, please?” Leaning over to dig your phone out of your purse also results in Dami getting a face full of your boobs. He seems to be in better spirits afterwards.

“This band is called Snowy Dunes. It’s bluesy hard rock, I think you’ll really like it.”

‘“That's not what I’ve been listening to lately, but sure.”

“Crotchety old man.” Damiano does, in fact, keep his head on your lap the whole way there. There’s two fences, the first with an attendant and the second with an intercom. The security level seems to pacify Dami.

“Just stay in the car, please. I’ll get it,” he says to the valet. You hop out as he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. It’s the very beginning of dawn, when the world is painted in a deep blue light and the birds start to chirp. The facility is just as beautiful as you expected, well manicured trees barely visible and a grand entrance with double doors. The care idles, red taillights ominously hitting the octagon cement tiles. You take Dami’s hand and walk him inside.

“And I thought the other places I’ve been to were nice,” he murmurs.

“Remember that you put yourself on the waiting list three months ago.” He chuckles, before speaking on another intercom.Theres a clicking sound and the left door opens automatically.

“Hey there, we only keep this entrance locked at night,” is the first thing a staff member says. “Are you Damiano?”

“Uh, yeah.” He looks at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to run.

“I’m y/n, I spoke with you earlier.” You drag him inside and use your free hand to greet someone in a white uniform.

“A little apprehension is normal. Or a lot.”

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asks curtly. 

“Right through here,” responds who you now assume to be an orderly. He leads Dami around a corner and follows him inside.

“Hi there, would you mind if I ask you a couple questions?” A newly appeared nurse seats herself behind a counter on the other side of the hall. The lights were almost as low inside as they were outside.

“Oh, uh yeah! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. And uh, he doesn’t have anything on him. We just traveled through two of the biggest airports in Europe. His stomach has just been upset from y’know…”

“Right, of course,” she responds with genuine sympathy. Now you feel better about leaving him here. “I’ll say goodbye and get out of your hair as soon as he’s back.”

“What's your relationship to Damiano?”

“Well, I was his girlfriend for five and a half years.”

“Woah, five years is a lot in your early twenties.”

“Yeah…but we broke up, because of the…addiction issues. Plus the fame makes things…it makes them complicated.” What you really meant is that global popularity is so intrusive that vital aspects of a relationship go unattended because there's simply no room. She nods like this is something they see daily.

“Do you know what he’s taken in the past 24 hours?”

“Cocaine, uh alcohol, and maybe heroin, I don’t know. He smokes weed and rolled tobacco, plus normal cigarettes.” There's not an ounce of surprise or judgment. She enters the information into the computer like it's the weather report.

“Crack cocaine?”

“No.”

“Okay.” The clicks of the laptop seem loud, but maybe that's because the world around you is so silent.

“He only started using heroin regularly three weeks ago. I don’t know if that matters.” You feel defensive of Dami, then like an dumbass because you were standing in rehab for fuck’s sake. Anxious, you look over your shoulder.

“Do you know when the last time he used heroin was?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he’s ingesting it?”

“No.”

“And do you know what type of heroin he’s using?”

“Um, no. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she reassures. “We’re just happy to have a little extra information if you’re able to provide it. Do you know when he last ingested cocaine?”

“Four hours ago.”

“Alright. Do you have payment information? It looks like his intake fee has already been paid.”

“Yeah, that was me.” While you were dating, Damiano paid rent and you paid utilities. It was far from equatable, but you made a lot less and he insisted. Post breakup, you found out that a spacious apartment in Rome with private parking was even more exorbitantly priced than he’d led you to believe. So you’d called your landlord to clarify a move out date and were informed that in addition to taking himself off the lease as agreed, he’d paid out the two year contract in its entirety. If you were to move out, the remainder of the money would be yours. 

Subsequently, you decided to stay in that absolutely gorgeous apartment, right up until you needed the money for something. After thoroughly guilt tripping your landlord, he gave you half of the remaining lease payment, which you used for application fees and to eventually secure a spot at rehab for Dami. It was, after all, a totally ridiculous amount for him to essentially give you, with no way of rejecting or returning it.

“I’m not sure if his label is gonna pay directly or reimburse him or what.”

“Alright, so I’ll just collect that information later.” She looks up from her computer screen. “The important thing is that you got him here.” You bite the inside of your lip to suppress the urge to cry. No doubt you were gonna end up lying in a pool of your own tears and snot later today, but if you started now saying goodbye would be very ugly.

“How much pain is he gonna be in?” Before she can answer, there's two sets of footsteps behind you.

“No windows?”

“Not ones that I could reach.”

“If you were the proper height for a basketball player…”

“Oh, shut up,” he jokes (mostly). “So which one of you is gonna tear apart all my belongings like a racoon in a dumpster?”

“Damiano!” You’re laughing too hard to reprimand him, as are the two staff members.

“They’re gonna throw out my 70€ shampoo!”

“You don’t have hair!”

“That’s true,” he smiles, rubbing his buzz cut. This was so like him, rallying at the end so you could leave in good spirits. He was trying to spare you some anguish. It also meant he’d decided to commit.

“We actually have storage lockers for this very reason. Once we feel confident, you can have your shampoo back,” reassures the nurse. “Do you have a form of ID you can show me?”

“Uh, yeah.” His voice wavers ever so slightly. Next he signs a release to provide treatment.

“Looks like you’re all checked in,” she announces in a cheery voice. It's your cue to leave. Both staff members find a reason to look away so you have a moment of semi-privacy. It becomes apparent that your tears won’t wait for a more convenient moment. So you hug him to give yourself a tiny bit of grace to wrangle your emotions. 

“Are you crying?”

“Yes.” The hug isn’t platonic at all, with your arms thrown around his neck and his dangerously low on your back. Body to body, standing with your feet between Dami’s, any closeness that can be acceptably achieved in public has been.

“I’m so angry with the world that you have to deal with this and I’m –” You take a steadying deep breath. “I’m so fucking proud of you and for facing it an – and grateful.”

“Even though it scares me shitless?”

“Especially because it scares you shitless.”

“I love you.” He whispers it right in your ear and kisses your temple

“I love you, too,” you hiccup.

“Give Princess a kiss for me.” He pulls away, takes a step back, then another, and he’s gone without ever meeting your eyes. Seeing as they have actual patients to care for, you drag yourself back to the SUV. Then you cry so hard that the chauffeur stops at his brother’s gelato shop on the way home. 

Notes: Well if it isn't some more nice, light reading from your gal FilthforFriends!

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess13 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera @ami--gami

[summerongrand]

You're Losing Me

Summary: Lucy gets shot and her teenage daughter finds out.

Read the fic here.

Chenford Week Day 1: angst. Read this post which explains why I've rearranged the order of the CFW "days" for my stories.

[lovesbiggerthanpride]

give me a sign (Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

WC: 200

summary: is it too late?

notes: angsty af, established relationship, ups and downs of celebrity and living in Hollywood, feelings

masterlist • AO3

_

He searches for the ring he gave you so long ago. Its presence would give him hope. A physical sign that you’re still here, that you still believe in what the two of you have shared.

Something precious among the messy, relentless, and chaotic world that is Hollywood. A place where true love is constantly tested.

There isn’t much left to give. You’re both exhausted and frustrated. Prying eyes and the cameras are looking for cracks in the polished facades you display. Fun personas and colorful outfits can only go so far.

It’s a tiring game, being in the spotlight while maintaining a relationship that is shaky at best. Others in your position gave a valiant effort and failed. Is this how your story ends too?

Your heart aches as you cry. The conversation you’ve been dreading, but agreed to have. In person, in private. In a room where countless memories were made with the person you love.

You reach for his hand, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the golden band that’s wrapped around your fourth finger.

He exhales deeply, but still cautious of what you will say.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dieter,” you confess. “How about you?”

[somorrow]

This Bites: Chapter 1 of 3-5 (Reader/Uchiha Sasuke) 18+ Thanks for your patience, everyone! Here is the first part of the Sasuke one-shot. Sorry your birthday update/fic is so depressing Sasu. Enjoy!

You smelled so fucking good he wanted to rip your throat out and sink his fangs through to the bone. A shock of pain shot through his jaw as he gnashed his teeth together, fighting off the instinctual need to feel his canines scrape against the hollow, firm skeleton that slept underneath your soft, strawberry-scented skin.

[sorchathered]

Yall this Tyler Owens fic is just straight emotional damage. I’m so sorry.

[android-and-ale]

AU Where Spock Lives Out Both Sides of a May/December Romance

I had an angsty A.U. idea drop into my head where Spock gets to be on both ends of two different May/December romances. Since I am all about lighthearted shenanigans right now, I’m putting it out there for anyone else to use, in whole or any bits and pieces you like. 

TL;DR - The timeline here has changed so Pike and Kirk are separated by 50 years. 

Spock meets Pike when Spock is in his late 20’s and Pike is in his 50’s. They end up together for the rest of Pike’s life. 

After Pike’s death, Spock is only in his late 70’s, which is still younger than Sarek was when he married Amanda. He goes back to the last place he felt belonging and contentment before he met Pike, which, of course, is Starfleet. Within a few years, he’s risen in the ranks to become the Chief Science Officer of the flagship, the Enterprise. A brash young Captain takes over. Kirk is 50 years his junior, not to mention his CAPTAIN, but despite his best efforts to resist, there’s a spark between them. 

THE ANGSTY DETAILS:

The biggest difference here is Pike and Kirk’s personal timelines. Instead of their service overlapping, they’re decades apart. 

Spock meets Pike fresh out of the academy and there is an instant mutual attraction. Since he’s not a predator, Pike decides OH HELL NO, this kid is way too young for me. Meanwhile, Baby!Spock has just ended things with T’Pring and is entering his Slut Era. Pike resists Spock’s charms for a couple of years, but during an away mission gone wrong when they both think they’re going to die in the next hour, they end up furiously making out and giving each other handjobs. 

When they’re rescued Pike says listen, kid, that can’t happen again. Spock is prepared for this. He makes a PowerPoint outlining why this relationship is logical. They’re intensely compatible, mutually attracted, and frankly, their lives will only overlap for a maximum of five years. After all, they both know Spock is on a fast track to being promoted to X.O. of a science vessel, and later his own command. Let us acknowledge the fleeting nature of time by embracing this all too brief opportunity to be mutually beneficial to one another. 

Pike tells himself he’s going to hell for this - a lot - but gives in. 

Over the next decade, Spock does get promoted up to Chief Science Officer, and eventually also steps in as X.O. when Pike’s Number One is offered her own command. Starfleet repeatedly tries to give Spock his own ship, but he’s happy where he is, at his Captain’s side. Life is good. 

And then Pike’s accident happens. 

Starfleet Medical says it’s bad. Really bad. There’s no brain damage, but his body is a ruin. He’s going to spend the rest of his life essentially with locked-in syndrome, only able to communicate with the outside world in a very slow binary. 

Spock calls bullshit. Instead of taking Pike to Talos IV like he did in The Menagerie, he contacts Una and asks for the biggest favor of his life. Transport both of them to Illyria and put him in touch with people who can use their genetic engineering technology to help Pike. 

Una says she’s so glad he called, because if he hadn’t, she was planning to kidnap Pike herself for that very same reason. As soon as they touch down on Illyria, Spock resigns his commission so he can be there for Pike. 

Pike spends the next two years on Illyria getting treatments and therapies. Eventually, they’re able to restore his hearing to 70% of what it was, his vision to about 20/80 (so now he wears sexy glasses), his VOICE, and a limited amount of his mobility. He’s still disabled, but he has autonomy again. He’s able to get himself in and out of his wheelchair, and even take a few steps when absolutely necessary, but he’s never going to walk unaided. He needs at least 10 hours of sleep a night to be fully functional, but when he’s awake, his mind is as sparkling as ever. 

Because of the differences in how much sleep they need, Spock ends up living two lives. When Pike is awake, he’s the center of Spock’s world. When he’s not, Spock maintains a thriving part-time career in the sciences. As far as he’s concerned, this is a very satisfying have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too compromise. 

Pike tries to tell Spock to go back to Starfleet. Pursue his own command. Stop wasting his time with a disabled old man. Spock tells him sorry, it’s too late for that. I told Starfleet we were married in order to get access to your hospital room, and Una backed me up. I meant to tell you, but we’ve been busy, you know, kidnapping you then performing illegal medical aid. According to Starfleet paperwork, we’ve been married for the last 3 years. Our anniversary is in March, and Una will be throwing us a party. Do you really think I would break Starfleet’s (very human-history-centric) laws and bring you here in the first place just to abandon you?

Because of Starfleet’s draconian anti-genetic-engineering laws, Pike essentially loses most of his citizenship rights. He and Spock give zero shits. Sarek steps in and says hey, your husband has a lot of diplomatic experience, having been Captain of the Flagship, and you Spock grew up in my shadow. Let me set the two of you up in a new career. Spock and Pike become a well trusted power couple, frequently sought out by anyone needing fair and impartial diplomats. 

They stay together for the rest of Pike’s life. 

And then, in the worst year of Spock’s life, within three months he loses both his human husband and his human mother. 

He knew this would happen. Human lifespans are so much shorter than Vulcan ones. On top of that, Pike was well into middle age when they met. That doesn’t make it any less devastating. 

He’s only in his 70’s, which for Vulcans is pretty young. Sarek didn’t marry Amanda until his 80’s, and it’s not uncommon for Vulcans to put off starting a family until they’re over 100. Everyone he meets tells him he’s young enough to start his whole life over, and he wants to punch them all. 

The only person who understands is his father. 

Both he and Sarek are devastated. They lean on one another in their grief. After a year, Sarek asks Spock what was his last happy/contented memory before he met Pike. Spock tries to deny it, but when he’s finally able to be honest with himself, the answer is Starfleet. He spent years there before he met Pike, and was well on his way to what everyone expected to be an illustrious career. Sarek says perhaps you should go back there? It’ll be different than it was decades ago, but that too is a good thing. 

Una’s still around. Illyrians have longer lifespans than humans, though shorter than Vulcans. When he asks her advice she says if he didn’t bring Starfleet up soon she would’ve. She’s already reached out to her many contacts in the fleet about putting together an unofficial refresher course so Spock won’t have to go through the academy again.

He buries himself in taking virtual, updated versions of academy classes, and uses his diplomatic assignments on a variety of ships as an excuse to get a real world refresher in modern ship design and culture. When he’s satisfied, he gathers his new transcripts and references and sets up a meeting with an admiral (because he’s the kind of diplomat who can casually do that). They agree to put him on a smaller vessel to get his feet wet again, but with full understanding that he will absolutely be able to rise quickly in the ranks if Starfleet is still a good fit for him.

He spends a year on a science vessel, then a year on an exploration vessel, then is offered the position of Chief Science Officer of the Enterprise - the very post he left when Pike was injured all those years ago. Yes, Sarek and Una are absolutely pulling some strings in the background, but Spock rises to the occasion. 

He’s missed this more than he would admit to himself while Pike was still alive. His duties bring him contentment and peace - but also excitement and adventure. He has no regrets about the decades he spent with Pike, but now his One True Love is space. 

A few years into his service on the Enterprise, the ship gets a brash new captain - James T. Kirk. And god dammit, there’s a spark. Kirk likes what he sees, and flirts mercilessly. Spock tries to tell himself he’s not into it, but deep down, he isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to resist. 

At this point, Spock is 50 years Kirk’s senior. He desperately wishes he could talk to Pike again. Pike would laugh his ass off at Spock getting his comeuppance. Now you know how it felt, all those years ago, when you were a tasty morsel who wouldn’t take no for an answer! On nights when the chess games with Kirk feel a little too intimate, he listens to Pike’s Captain’s Logs from the years when he was resisting Spock’s advances. This mirroring of their lives makes him feel closer to his dead husband. 

Spock gets the biggest shock of his life when his father announces he’s not only remarrying, but taking another human wife. 

Spock rages at him. How can you do this to yourself AGAIN? 

Sarek points out that first, the very few Vulcan widows his age do not want him. Second, he’s used to having a human around. And third, at his age, he and his wife will actually grow old together. Their estimated remaining lifespans are within a decade of one another.

He reassures Spock that yes, he would’ve preferred to grow old with Amanda, but he always knew that their lives together would be cut short. Being with her as long as he could was still worth it. Then he tells Spock not to let the pain of his loss prevent him from seeking out future happiness. That’s not what Pike would’ve wanted. Or Amanda. 

Sarek has seen Spock and Kirk together on assignment, and he knows a lot of Spock’s anger is because he’s repressing his own feelings. He points out that with modern medical technology, if Kirk can avoid getting himself killed in the line of duty, he could realistically expect to live another 70+ years. It’s not a perfect alignment with Spock’s aging trajectory, but they could reasonably expect to be middle aged together for decades. 

Spock says there is no damn way he’s getting involved with another human. The heartbreak isn’t worth it. He’d rather spend the rest of his life dedicated to science. He’s had his Romance Era and now that part of his life is over. 

Until one day, he and Kirk are on an away mission gone wrong. They’re trapped in a cave, and realistically believe that they have less than 4 hours left to live. Kirk says hey, we’re going to die, we should give in to this UST. Spock protests he’s too old for Kirk. Kirk laughs and says they’re both going to be dead in four hours, so who cares? Let’s live a little before we die. 

Spock remembers being the one who said the same thing to Pike. He’s hit with an overwhelming sense of deja vu as he gives in and lets Jim kiss him for the first time. He’s terrified of opening his heart again, but when Jim says his name like a prayer, he thinks yes, I could do this for the next 70 years. It’ll be worth it. He kisses Jim back, and in that moment it feels both like coming home and the start of something new. Losing this man will break him, but not as badly as turning away from a lifetime of love. 

[vennithewhitevan]

Guys I can’t

Does anyone know when the full moon ep is gonna come out?😊 (I’m not okay)

Like from the trailer I can see that Blitz took the crystal but WHAT ELSE HAPPENS JESUS WHAT HAPPENS

I’m going feral it’s 2am over here

[dragonflylady77]

Sooooo this morning I wrote a drabble with the word prompt from @thebrownstone now it's on Ao3

the word this week is hidden

I used the trick I used for the micro poems I wrote earlier and used the letters of the word.

Henry knows it’s only a matter of time until he’s found out, until Alex works it out

Inevitable, really… but there is nothing he can do to stop it or his feelings

Don’t fall in love with me, he’d said to Alex that night at the White House, jokingly

Do not let him see how much you actually love him, he keeps telling himself

Exhausting feat, truly, to constantly guard that part of him hidden from the man he loves

No other choice, he knows that; no one can find out, it would vanquish the spark of happiness, destroy him

[makmakgoose]

Stars Above, Stones Below

After the disastrous end of his betrothal to Gwen and the regret of his offer to Princess Mithian, Arthur swears off finding a wife until he's ready to wed. When Merlin offers himself to Arthur as bedmate, Arthur suggests they hand-fast in secret for a single year of mutual pleasure without obligation. As their year together unfolds, and secrets and betrayals unravel around them, Arthur and Merlin learn there is no such thing as uncomplicated pleasure. Everything they thought they knew can change in the span of a single year.

LINK

[silverhallow]

Alone

Warnings: angst, murder, stabbings… character death, poison, mentions animal abuse, mentions of child abuse.

Little glimmer of hope at the end

Word count: 890

Memories, that was all she had left…

Alone in the world as she watched the nurses walk away from her…

Her mother, gone before Sophie had even uttered her first words..

Her father… robbed from her as they were getting back on track after years of being pulled apart…

By the woman who just killed him…

Why couldn’t it have been me? She thought to herself as she sat, shaking in the hallway of the hospital. It should have been me

She’d been out, going to meet Benedict, when she got the call, to say there had been a terrible incident but she had no idea what… she had never driven so fast in entire life. Her father was all she had left…

She’d given up the man she loved, she’d pushed her best friend away and she was trying her hardest to get through everything.

She was trying to protect them from her step-mother’s evil, threats to kill them, to ruin their careers and she knew first hand the depths that Araminta would go to ensure that Sophie listened… she had poisoned her beloved pet dog so Sophie had no reason to believe that she wouldn’t hurt her friends and then boyfriend…

Benedict… he had been so heartbroken when she’d told him they couldn’t be together anymore. She hadn’t wanted to… but Araminta threatened him and his family and his career was just taking off.

He was opening a gallery in two months… or so she’d heard. She’d had no idea why he’d wanted to meet her… he’d cut off all contact with her after she’d broken his heart, even Kate… she’d take his side… her best friend of 10 years… but she knew Kate was right…

Kate would never understand why she’d done what she’d done…

No one would…

Sophie sat there in the corridor of the hospital shaking, as police officer after police officer came and talked to her… only one, a man, a detective called Edward, who Sophie vaguely recognised from somewhere, actually asked her how she was and Sophie had no idea how to reply…

How do you reply to that question when your entire world has just crumpled around you?

She was alone, she was numb…

She’d been told that her father’s head of security had heard the entire incident and been the one to call the police,

Araminta had learned Richard had filed for divorce and she was going to be left with nothing, not a penny, as per the conditions of their prenup, outraged she’d come to talk sense into him and when he’d refused… she’d attacked him…

Stabbing him several times before John had been able to throw Araminta off Richard… and he’d called an ambulance… and then called Sophie…

Sophie had gotten there as her father had been wheeled into surgery where he wasn’t able to be saved…

John had gone with the police, having restrained Araminta, they were going to make the arrest and he was giving them the evidence but Sophie…

Sophie was left alone.

Richard was the last of the Penwood’s… his sister Sarah had died the year before of Breast Cancer…

Sophie had no family left, there was no one left in the world who loved her.

The nurses had sat with her for a little while as she cried but she knew they couldn’t stop with her and as she watched them walk away, Sophie ran out of the room with no idea where to go, she ran through the corridors of the hospital until her legs ached and her chest burned before she began to sob and dry heave, her back against the wall as she crumbled.

What was she supposed to do now?

She was all alone, she’d lost everything and everyone she’d ever loved… and it was the final act of torture. It had played into Sophie’s biggest fears…

Being left alone… it had been what Araminta had tortured her with for years and now… she’d finally succeeded.

With her hands over her face Sophie sobbed, until she was sure she had no tears left, her tears falling thick and fast, a never ending-stream that flowed. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her own world and heart shattering and her sobs into the empty corridor.

She wondered what was left for her now, was there anything even left to live for… her mother was gone, her father was gone… everyone she ever loved hated her and she was alone…

Was their even a reason to live?

Her heart ached and her body broken as she sobbed, for how long she had no idea, until she felt the gentlest of touches, smelled a very familiar scent and honestly, she wasn’t sure how much more hurt her heart could take if it was imagining him there.

Imagining that it was his arm she felt around her shoulders, the feel of his chest as she was pulled into his arms and cradled, the sound of his heart beating fast in his chest…

Then she realised… she wasn’t imagining it.

Sophie’s eyes flew open and she stared straight up into the deep blue eyes of Benedict, his face soft and set in a way she hadn’t seen in months… as he whispered “it’s okay, I've got you… Hugh called me… Posy told me everything…”

[soaringeag1e]

A little different...

So, sorry that a few days turned into a week, but I definitely needed some time to regain my bearings and thank you all for the lovely messages. You guys are the best!

I was going back and forth on how I wanted to do this, but I've decided to do something a little out of the ordinary just because I want to haha But the new chapter of Escape is going to go up in less than 5 minutes!

Just felt like doing it tonight than waiting for the morning.

But I'm warning you...this one is angsty. So, I hope you're ready

[spn-fic-prompts]

Prompt #1

* * * Warnings! This prompt/fic idea is dark, and concepts revolving around all forms of abuse(physical, verbal, sexual), thoughts of suicide/possible attempts, and is up to your discretion on whether you read it or not. * * *

While out on a hunt with Sam and Cas, Dean gets hit with a spell that causes him to start hallucinating. The hallucinations involve his worst memories/fears, and they can physically interact with Dean, but Sam and Cas can’t see them or any of how they are physically interacting with Dean. So, John shows up and smacks him around, calling him a failure and making more than a few homophobic comments (Dean is in love with Cas but hasn’t said/done anything about it) and just the general John related abuse. Alistair shows up to, and while they’re hallucinations and can’t kill him, he tortures Dean some(how far it goes, and whether or not any non-con type stuff occurs is up to the writer). Depending on how dark Dean’s past is, determines who/what shows up in hallucinations.

All Sam and Cas can do is work on finding a spell to reverse it, before the spell kills Dean, or Dean kills himself. Sam and Cas don’t want to learn all of Dean’s secrets, that he keeps spilling as he interacts with his hallucinations, but they don’t want to let Dean out of their sight, while they try to find a way to fix it.

(Whether there is a happy ending or not, or if Destiel is a part of the fic is entirely up to the writer.)

[modulatechaos]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Bayonetta (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Bayonetta | Cereza/Jeanne (Bayonetta), Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Bayonetta | Cereza (Bayonetta), Rosa (Bayonetta), Balder (Bayonetta), Enzo (Bayonetta), Jubileus (Bayonetta), Jeanne (Bayonetta), Labolas (Bayonetta), Madama Butterfly (Bayonetta) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, A Spot of Fluff, Non-Chronological, Snapshots, Implied/Referenced Sex, The Plot Is Vauge On Purpose, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Destructive Behavior Summary:

She chokes on copper-sweet crimson, pressing a hand to the wound burrowed into her side, blood drizzling in shocking rivulets down the side of her leg and scattering across angel gold and stardust black. Shuraba digs in, chipping gold filigree and churning enochian and she gasps through a rattling lung, staring out at the abyss below them.

There's so many stars-

Jubileus' hand curls over her, too big clumsy fingers fitting across her crumbling body. Gentle, gentle, don't crush but cradle, hold like she was something easily broken. Bayonetta bares bloody teeth, snarling up at the deity and the man contained within its remaining eye, shocking blue and piteous. She hates them.

She hates herself.

OR

Jubileus and Balder win, but not without consequence

[noahhawthorneauthor]