#char: bad omens

[ineffably-human]

Aziraphale forgiving Maggie's rent by being like 'what if I just took these and didn't pay tee-hee' with all the energy of a couple of stereotypical girlfriends on the town saying 'let's be bad' about ordering the ice cream sundae.

[syntherunner]

Hi everyone. I'm fucking obsessed with Furina

[pronouncingitwang]

sorry I'm never gonna shut up. the writing was BAD it was SO BAD

[vancilart]

shot out of dark comes a fiery serenade / through your heart as your innocence fade away

[the-hipster-nugget]

The ranchers were such a beautiful match up in double life I love the way double life brought unlikely duos together. Pairing up somebody doomed to die an insignificant forgotten death with somebody whose death is so important is literally a bad omen? It’s so gorgeously beautiful and clashes in such a good way.

Tango has never been with somebody who ever mourned him, and Jimmys never been unconditionally loved. Tango loves jimmy in a way he’s never experienced before, Tango treats Jimmy so well and never teases or belittles him. The ranchers never once blame each other for anything, they trust each other completely which is something neither of them are used to.

Tango is often treated as unimportant by everyone, especially his allies. He’s just an asset at best, never a friend and never somebody they even think twice about when things go sour. Tango dies, and nobody notices.

But not Jimmy. Jimmy is noticed. Jimmy is treated like a burden, and mocked and laughed at by his allies more than anything else. When Jimmy dies, it’s the start of chaos— and it’s all jimmy is watered down to be. “Silly stupid jimmy, dying first again.”

The two are so used to being tossed around and mocked by people who are supposed to be their friends, to experience such genuine unconditional love and trust is so new for them. The ranchers finally get a fresh start, and get to live life without fear of being betrayed by one and other.

They really are soulmates, and had no clue until double life came along to finally push them together. The two match so well, the unseen and the seen. The bad omen and his unlucky lover. The canary and the fire that burned its wings.

Tango no longer dies with nobody there to remember him. Jimmy no longer dies in the dark, first and alone. They have each other.

Tango is not used to someone remembering, so when he sees Jimmy waiting there for him in the afterlife, he cannot believe it. Why is he still here? Why hasn’t he moved on and forgotten tango like everyone else?

“You’re still here?”

“It’s over.”

“Go…”

“Go home.”

But Jimmy is home.

Tango does not realize it, but he is finally loved. Jimmy is still there, and he’s home. Along side tango in a charred and empty ranch, they are home. No matter what afterlife brings, whether it be a sunny field of cows, or a black void of nothingness—

The ranchers are with each other, and they are home.

[snowcollector]

CARLYRAEJEPSANS is a proshipper who lies about it, ships char(asriel and is mutuals with popular UTDR in(cest shippers, necrophil(ia fic posters, UTDR ra(pe fic posters, sh(otacons and groomers

readmore for triggering content since people requested it after my last callout

first of all carlyraejepsans posted this on their good omens blog which shows that they think anticest people on their utdr blog are basically stupid children and they talk about having a nec(rophilia/corpsef**cking mutual

and as you can see in the first few screenshots they HATE people who are against in(cest fic. they're also friends with imptwins who they used to have blocked for making under(age UTDR art

but now they're friends again.

IMPTWINS makes r(ape fic of S(uselle (drugging and r(aping her) and carlyraejepsans used to have them blocked for their reputation but doesn't care anymore and unblocked them but they definitely know about it

imptwins also admitted to committing actual se(xual assault against real people and downplayed it by saying it's just what all teens do.

despite Imptwins admitting to se(xually assaulting multiple people carlyrae has defended this and changed the story so it was just one person in a bad relationship imptwins se(xually assaulted and then threatened to beat people to death for bringing it up

imptwins and kimberlyeab made friends with a minor who read their s(mut (like the Suselle drugging/ra(ping fic they advertised in the main UTDR tags with no content filters so it can't be blocked or filtered) and invited the minor into their private discord servers and sent the minor into my askbox to defend them and "prove" they aren't being groomed.

carlyraepesans is also mutuals with wordbending who is a sh(otacon

who is a supporter of kimberlyeab and wordbending loves in(cest, as you can see here

wordbending also makes in(cest fic of underage UTDR characters including char(isk s(mut which carlyraejepsans reads because it's aged up and they think aged up Frisk is hot

they also think it's okay to se(xualize the kid characters and age them up to do it

(this was about flowey/asriel but they use it to excuse them reading "aged up" sm(ut of charisk and finding frisk attractive)

carlyraejepsans is a big supporter of fictional in(cests and thinks toby fox is too

they interact with people who have proship DNI because they don't care.

they unfollowed Ish_Bruhh after they made a callout post for Zixzs (who makes in(cest porn of Kris/Toriel) but they used to follow them

and they support kimberlyeab who lies about their age and intercts with a 15 year old who reads their utdr ns(fw content and blocked me for telling them kimberlyeab was a groomer (proof post here) and liked this tweet AFTER I showed them proof kimberlyeab was a groomer

they also ship char(asriel which is an in(cest ship

they also lied about having the tag blocked because they often reblog art that open tagged ch(asriel which they wouldn't see if they had the tag blocked

this was reblogged from their mutual wordbending who again writes s(mut of them char(isk and char(asriel and likes sh(otacon

carlyrae pretends the reason they don't interact with wordbending anymore is because of the sh(otacon thing but it's actually just because wordbending got banned, imptwins also retweens lol(isho and carlyrae is still friends with imptwins.

carlyraejepsans knows about what these people do and says that who they interact with is none of my business even though they're admitted pe(dophiles who have committed irl se(xual assault

so if you're wondering why they blocked you for no reason it's probably because you're against in(cest and und(ragefic and sh(otacon and all their friends and mutuals are into it but they're hiding it from the public for their reputation so they can keep following people with proship DNI in their profiles

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie takes a drive down memory lane, a situationship is revealed, clove finds herself in some harrowing situations in a feeble attempt to cope with eddie’s return.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark! fic, dark themes, ddlg type of relationship but not what you would think, controlling behavior in a relationship, controlling finances type of abuse, narcissist behavior, emotional abuse, hint at sex trafficking/ trading sex for business 18+. drug use/addiction etc.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

That night Eddie didn’t sleep. 

He watched your figure bounce to what he assumed was the dressing room as he sat in solemn silence for what felt like a decade, your eyes engraved into his. 

Jeff understood, or rather wasn’t too upset when Eddie called it a night, dropping off the beers you had poured. He was preoccupied with one of the girls, twirling her pigtails as she sat in his lap, crimson lip stains on his deep cheeks. 

The sweet dew of spring night air met him as he pushed the door to the club open, letting the night’s darkness swallow him as he crunched through the gravel to his motorcycle. 

Turning the opposite direction from where he should have been heading, Eddie cranks the handlebars to head downtown. The lonely hotel mattress could wait another hour before he slipped his body into the pilling worn sheets. 

The steady rap of his bike hammered into his chest as he drove down the broken unwelcoming streets of Hawkins. Down town was desolate, the Radio shack was boarded up and closed, graffiti tagged and windows shattered. Melvald’s windows showed handwritten posters for heavily discounted items. Newspapers tumbled along and caught on light poles, Hawkins resembled a town post apocalypse. 

He couldn’t remember what it used to look like. 

Back then his biggest worry was leaving and taking you with him. For all he knew, Hawkins could have always looked like this. Getting you away from here, that was the only thing on his mind. 

Pushing the thoughts away he cranked the throttle and sped through the streets, unconsciously driving further, his memory taking over. 

He drove past Hawkins High, vague memories formed like wisps of smoke around the parking lot. A younger version of him and you sitting in his van listening to his new Motörhead cassette before Higgins would eventually stroll the parking lot and hand out each of you detentions. 

Hawkins Middle School where he doodled in the margins of his composition book and passed you notes about Mr. Walter’s toupee. Your giggle hidden behind chipped fingernails and a fresh tattoo, eyes squeezed tight to stop from laughing. The memory burned a hole in his heart.

The familiarity drove him on, leading the path down to where you and him used to call home. 

The dust kicked up when his tires wove around the gaping holes of the driveway to Forest Hills Trailer Park. His chest was tight, all air punched from his lungs at what lay before him. 

The trailer he once called home was standing like a decrepit omen. The tires it rested on were flat, wires bulging from the rotting rubber. The entire trailer had sunk into the soft earth beneath it, creating a funhouse effect to the back side, putting it on a tilt. 

The windows that weren’t busted out by rocks were covered with foil, a cheap attempt to keep the sun out. 

What was left of the aluminum siding glistened in the moonlight, taunting him. 

From the way the door stood wide open, and the accumulation of last falls foliage littering the entryway, he guessed that no one lived here anymore—save for the fat mice that kept the trailer cats fed. 

Years of decay and neglect replaced any sort of nostalgia he would have felt being back here. The bad memories came easy, it was the happy ones that he had to dig for. 

Glancing behind him he didn’t notice it at first. The frail frame of a burnt trailer. The roof was swallowed in on itself, charred and soot surrounding the dead grass. Whatever caused this fire had taken the trailer fast, engulfing its matchbox body like kindling. 

His one tiny flicker of hope that maybe you still lived here, maybe he could catch you when you weren’t working, was put out like this fire surely wasn’t. 

Ghost flames danced in his eyes as he blinked back tears. The agony of years away filled him with grief. He didn’t grieve for his loss. He had no reason to. Al Munson was the last person he needed closure from. He hoped for his death. Wished for it. Hoping that some inner dimensional being would crush him like a coke can. But he’d never get that lucky. 

People like his dad, and yours, seemed to live forever. Cockroach luck with bodies that were pickled by alcoholism— they’d roam until they saw ninety, tainting everyone they got close to, poisoning their veins and stealing their dreams.

As he rode away, tears spilled down his face, not for him and his misfortunes. But for you. A little girl lost. A girl he had failed. 

—

1974

ping, clink

You could hear the radio through his bedroom window, the new * tape he had bought  crooning out in muffled tones. 

clink, ping, clink

“c’mon!” you muttered under your breath. The rough cinder block you were balancing on was starting to dig into your bare feet, jagged rocks and concrete stuck out every which way. 

She hadn’t come back. 

Hours had passed and she said she was going to the store with the baby, getting some milk and cigarettes. You watched as the short hand on the clock moved from 3 then 4, 5 to 6, and now it was at 11, moving closer to 12 with each tick that went by. 

Dad wasn’t home, spending the night with friends in Indianapolis looking for “fresh meat” whatever that meant. 

You were left home alone. Not a first time occurrence, but definitely not on a night when the wind was howling like a wolf. 

The trailer groaned, shadows appeared in all shapes over your shared empty room. Scary faces with pointy teeth. Long witch-like arms that scratched against the aluminum siding, the air vent whistling against the tin roof had you yelping, hiding beneath your covers. 

When the power went out, it took the tiny brightness from the shell nightlight with it, leaving you in an eerie darkness, and you had enough for one night.  

Eddie’s trailer was one down from yours, a quick 15 second run through the tall weeds would get you there in no time. Tucking the oversized shirt you wore as pajamas into the waistband of a pair of cotton shorts, you opened the trailer door, your blankie tucked safe into the crook of your arm. 

The screen door was ripped from your hand by a large gust of wind, but you couldn’t be bothered with that upon realizing that the entire trailer park was cast into darkness, not a single stitch of light to be seen. 

Your feet found the familiar path from Eddie’s trailer to yours with ease as you raced past the Peterson’s chained up rottweiler. His bark loud enough to scare a grown man into hiding. 

Racing up the front steps you knocked quietly, not wanting to wake up Eddie’s dad and deal with his wrath, his fuse shorter than your own fathers. Wiggling the handle you realized it was locked, which was strange considering that the Munson’s didn’t even own a house key. 

And that was what led you here, knocking on Eddie’s window at 11 o’clock at night, standing on tiptoes on the cinder block used as a step ladder. 

“Eddie!” you whisper yelled into the night, your voice traveling away with the wind, “Eddie! P-please, it’s me!” 

Giving up on silent little knocks of your knuckles against the glass, you hit the window hard with a fist and an open palm, tears flowing down your cheeks in desperation. 

The sheet covering his window that served as a curtain, moved back quickly the same time a round orb of light shined in your eyes. 

His hair was a god awful mess, smushed to his head from sleep, curls limp and frizzy. He mouths your name in a question, tucking the flashlight under his chin, his fingers work to lift the window up the broken track. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, like I was…hey are you okay?”

The tears slip down your face faster than you could stop them, and you wipe them away hastily with the corner of your blankie. 

Eddie moves stuff from his dresser, sliding books into a milk crate and plastic army guys to the floor. 

“Put your foot there,” he instructed, pointing to the siding of the trailer, “like if you were climbing a tree or something.” 

You do as your told, and Eddie leans through the window, grabbing your hands and hoisting you into his room. 

When your feet are on the warm carpet you take a shuddering breath, “thanks, the wind is—”

“Scary, I know, that’s why I have the stereo on… makes it hard to hear it.” 

You stand there for a few seconds, fingers fiddling around the hem of your blankie, embarrassed, not sure what your plans were after making it inside. “Your door’s locked.” 

“Oh, my uncle Wayne is here, he must’ve done it, I dunno.” 

Your face stays puzzled, “your uncle?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chirps almost gleefully, “Took me to supper and then we went bowling! I’ve met him once or twice, seems cool.” 

“Cool.”

Eddie whispers loud, “Hey! I know some good ghost stories if you wanna have a sleepover?” 

“Um sure, okay.” 

You help Eddie arrange his room, placing the flash light on his bed and angling it towards the closet so he can find an afghan he swore was in there. 

When all was said and done his bed held a thin sheet and a frumpy couch pillow. A smile on his face as you sat side by side, backs pressed into the thin walls.  

Your voice was small when Eddie placed the flashlight under his chin, illuminating his face and casting shadows against the walls, your blankie tucked beneath your nose.  

 “Eddie, I—I changed my mind, don’t wanna hear any scary stories tonight.” 

“Yeah, ’course,” the flashlight falls between you to shine lazily on his dresser, and he hesitates a question that had been burning since you crawled through his window. 

“Clove, where's your mom? Didn’t see her car when we left, or when we got back.” 

Tears squish against your eyelashes as you try to stop them from falling, and your chin quivers. “Th—the store.” 

His voice is soft, “Is your dad home?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the worn comfort of the thread bared blankie. A hand lays consciously on your back rubbing in a little circle between your shoulder blades. 

Eddie hadn’t had to comfort someone before he wasn’t even sure he was doing it right but he just kept trying. Hoping whatever he was doing would make it better. 

After a few minutes you perked your head up, wiping the wet from your eyes and looking at your friend with swollen eyelids.

“Do you know any happy stories?” 

Eddie’s lips stretched into a small smile as he leaned partly off his bed to find a cream paperback from his nightstand, “The Fellowship Of The Ring” written on the cover. 

He holds it towards you, “Wayne gave me this… I haven’t read it yet but he said it was good.” 

You nod your head, “okay.”

He wiggles his hips down into the blanket, and hands you the flashlight, clearing his throat he begins. 

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton…..”

—

1989

“…wake up..”  

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return. 

“fuck, did you hear me?”

…The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say…

The young boy’s reassuring voice morphs into a woman's panicked squeak. The warm arm that was buddied next to yours, the soft lumpy texture of your blankie, the Pert shampoo smell of the percale pillowcase drifted away like smoke from a fire. Traveling higher and higher into the sky until it blended with the atmosphere, weaving and connecting until it was nothing more than a euphoric elevated induced memory. 

You close your eyes to try to find your way back to Eddie. To hear him, see him, feel his voice booming in theatrics as he changed characters. The solace he brought you just by being him. 

A splash of something cold and wet hits your face causing you to gasp, sputtering from the passed out dream land you were in. 

“Oh my God! Shit, Clove! I almost called 9-1-1!” 

Veronica was standing before you with a glass in her hand, water dripping from the mouth of it, falling in unison with the ones from your chin, your hair. 

Her eyes were larger than the moon, staring down at you like she was looking at a ghost, a hand pressed to her chest in relief. 

“Cold,” you muttered, wrapping your fingers around your arms, teeth chattering. Looking out from the confined corner of the cooler, sheltered by cases of beer and an empty keg.  

“What are you even doing in here, thought you left already.” Veronica asked, lending a hand down to help you up. 

“Inventory,” you say motioning around you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was being ridiculous for even asking. 

“Oh..” Veronica’s voice goes small, “you looked… dead.”

You chuckle to hide the shake in your voice, straightening your wet shirt. 

“Never heard of throwing water on the dead, but you’re into that weird voodoo shit so it makes sense.” 

Your joke falls flat. 

Her green emerald eyes let on that she's not stupid enough to think that you had just fallen asleep. Her eyes stare back at you and you roll yours, “swear I just got a little tired and sat down for only a minute, haven’t been sleeping much lately.” 

Veronica knew better than to challenge you. She was your friend, and like Jolene had done with you, you’d  taken Veronica in like a school pet, teaching her the do’s and dont’s of the industry. 

“Okay.” she says in defeat, and you lower your shoulders a bit to look relaxed.  “I thought you’d left already, Rick’s looking for you, he’s called twice.”

Shit.

—

Hawkins was quiet this late. And the drive to Rick’s house gave you just enough time to get your shit together. 

Eddie always came to you in your dreams but never that vividly before. It was almost as if it were real. Just two kids, finding solace in one another. 

God you’d give anything to go back to those simple days.

When the solution to being scared was just a few steps from your trailer found between the pages of a paperback book and the heart of a best friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. 

Books were a luxury, an easy way to escape reality when things were worse than they’d ever been. Outside of a car magazine in the bathroom and the black book that held numbers, dates and dollar amounts, your parents didn’t keep anything like that around, not even a cookbook. 

But the fantasies kept you company, kept you safe, and Eddie’s voice was like a lullaby, always keeping you grounded. 

It was simple when your demons weren’t fought alone. The armor Eddie wore then was scuffed and scarred by countless swords, its job of keeping you safe accomplished. 

But the armor was tossed aside and you had to put it on yourself—finding it heavy, digging at your shoulders, metal pinching your skin, bruising your body in places. The armor wasn’t made for you, it was made for him, the gaps between you bared yourself to the danger, and before long— the strength of the armor was challenged, broken down. 

Did he know? That you were defenseless? That the armor didn’t fit you? 

Rick’s house was dark when your headlights shone against the cedar plank siding. Steering wheel cranking to straighten your tires, rocks crushing against the concrete. 

Grabbing the nightly ledger and the tin lock box from the passenger seat, your door swings open with a grinding thud, and clanks back into place when you slam it shut. 

A single table lamp was glowing when you knocked with a tight grip on the front door. A cleared throat and the burning end of a cigar meet you on the porch, lounging in a wicker chaise. 

“I don’t like tardiness young lady.” leaning forward into the moonlight, Rick finally showed his face. 

The breath you were holding goes out in a shudder, but you plant one of your famous smiles on your lips and twist your body towards him, landing softly between his legs on the corner of the lounge chair. 

“I’m hardly younger than you are,” you tease, offering up the deposits like you’re bestowing him a gift. “b’sides, I’m not that late anyway.” 

“Tardiness and back talk?” He questions bitterly, “surely this won’t be a habit for you?” 

Grabbing the tin from you, his cologne burns your nose, a minty scent you’ve always hated. “You have enough little habits the way it is, niñita.” 

His thick fingers rattle a pill bottle out from his pocket, but keep it just out of your reach, as he counts the intake from the night. You waited silently as he thumbed through the large stack of money, looking over the ledger and ensuring that everything was all there and accounted for. 

The girls were allowed to keep their tips from the stage, but anything more than that.. other services that kept the laundromat in business with bedsheets, went to Rick. 

He leans back against the lounger when he’s satisfied,  setting the tin box down and carding fingers through his short brown hair. “Tommy stopped by tonight, had a lot to say about your little attitude problem.” 

fuck, Tommy has had it out for you since high school… but that’s a story for another day. 

“I guess I’m confused on who you think you are, Clove.” 

Cocking an eyebrow you shift your shoulders, “I know who I am.”

“You’re late, mouthing off, do you not remember the things I’ve done for you?” 

Of course you remembered, it wasn’t that long ago when you were made into his. Traded like a baseball card. One good for another. 

“Such a shy little thing when you came to me, but I taught you well bunny..” 

In all the time you had known him, Rick never raised his voice, and he didn’t now. His tone was almost formal, and he spoke with sophistication licked with malice that made your blood run cold. 

“…I-I know.”

His head cocks, and he leans forward, peering down at you. “You forget so easily how your life was before me…” he coos, running a finger along your jaw. “Would you like to go back to that?”

Not answering, Rick continues, “sharing a room with whatever loose pussy your daddy was fuckin’?” 

You shake your head, remembering countless times how your stuff would be ransacked with each new “talent” that had the misfortune of crossing paths with your old man. 

“Fending for yourself and your sister for weeks on end?” 

His fingers dig into the skin on your neck, pressing harder with each reminder, and you suck a breath through your teeth.

“Crying yourself to sleep hoping your whore mama would come back home…” his voice drops an octave and he whispers into your ear, the heat of his words itching your skin, “..or maybe you’re still waiting for that Munson loser to show up?” 

“Quit it,” the tears were welling in your eyes now.

“Aww, did I strike a nerve?” he holds your cheek, “that deal was the best thing to ever happen to you, but I'm afraid you’re starting to forget who you belong to.” 

“I’m not,” you blink, “I promise.” 

Rick’s eyes watch as the tear travels down your cheek.

“Maybe you have too much freedom, living in the apartment complex with the other girls?… Do you need to come back here? Have me treat you like you’re insubordinate and reckless?”

“N-no, plea—”

“Then why do I have to listen to that inbred spit complaints about you? Do you think I want people coming to my home?”

You shake your head, fingers working the hem of your skirt. He hooks a finger under your chin, making you look up at him.

“I thought my expectations were clear… or am I deceived?” 

Rick liked power, he got off on the idea of submissive relationships. Dominating weak and frail women was his main job, drug smuggling was a hobby. You’d been playing his game for years now, and you knew what he wanted to hear. 

Your hand skirts up his thigh and rests daintily, “I’m sorry, I understand my place…always have.”

Like any other dick driven man, Rick was easy to please. 

“Good,” his lips close around yours and your stomach rolls, the sickly sweet cigar he was smoking lingered and surrounded you in a clutch you couldn’t get away from. 

“Stay tonight,” a command not a question, “my flight leaves in the morning.” 

Looking in the window you notice his house is still dark, “what about Karen?” 

Rick places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the front door, “she's with her husband tonight, graduation party.” 

The pills rattle in his robe pocket, and the sound of them sets your teeth on edge, aching for the high. Rick’s hand engulfs the knob and he swings the door handle open, holding up a baggie filled with white powder, “what do you think little rabbit?” 

—

The highway was anything but quiet behind the rickety bricks of the motel walls. Semi engines braked loudly adjusting to the sudden speed limit change, teenagers squealing their tires out of town to impress their girlfriends. 

It was a mistake going to Forest Hills, what did he expect would come from it? You haunted him wherever he went, but being back home was a deeper kind of pain he hadn’t felt in years. 

A cricket played a lonely song in the corner of the outdated room, teasing him by being just out of reach, hidden away.

Watermarked ceiling tiles and a countless number of sheep later, the clock still hadn’t seemed to move. His eyelids showed him your face, the horror of realization when you recognized who he was. 

Pillow pressed into his eyes he couldn’t see anything else, and maybe he didn’t want to. 

He laid there motionless, bare chested in the chilled room, air conditioner broken on the coolest setting. Regret looming around him. 

Back then it was life or death. He didn’t have a choice, he wondered if you ever figured that out. He couldn’t tell you that then… probably not even now. 

He was a coward then. 

Sitting up he tossed the pillow across the room, folding his knees up to rest his forearms against them. Sleep wouldn’t come, not when your eyes were playing in his head whether he was awake or asleep. 

Your face. 

Something else was written between your brow when you saw him tonight, just a small flicker, a ripple to your eyes, but it was there�� plain as day. 

Fear. 

—-

Rick had passed out next to you, his naked body slung over yours in some lame attempt of cuddling. You didn’t know how many lines you had done, or the number of shots you took, before stumbling in here. 

Didn’t remember the lick of his tongue in your mouth, the feel of his hands on your curves, your was body numb from the drugs and to him. All you remember is right now, waking in a puddle of tears, the taste of blood on your lips, your nose full of it. 

Peeling Rick’s limp form from you, you make for the bathroom connected to his master bedroom. Your reflection was horrific. blood dripped from your nostrils and coated your teeth, eyeliner dragged down your face like a halloween mask gone wrong. Your body, stark naked except for a purpling hickey on your collar bone, and white residue between your cleavage. 

You look away in disgust, hatred for the eyes that stared back from the mirror.  

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up like this. Having spent the better half of every night for the last seven years the same way. Reaching for his hand, watching him slip through your fingers. Voice hoarse from crying, yelling, screaming his name. 

Reaching for the plush hand towel Karen kept, you plop it into the sink and turn the faucet to hot, wetting it completely. 

“So I'm a stranger now huh?” 

Eddie’s words from early stuck with you long after you had left. Eddie fucking Munson. Seven years…No high or amount of time could ever make you forget his face. 

The pain was always there. You were only able to paint over it with each new high you could conjure. But no matter the number of brush strokes, no matter the opaqueness of the paint color, Eddie always showed through. Like a ghost in the background of a photo. 

The sink was nearly overflowing before you pulled the towel covering the drain, wringing the scalding water from it as you sat on the toilet lid and draped it over your face. The heated temperature having your skin raw and burning, a welcomed kind of pain.

Seven years and here he was, waltzing back into town like he hadn’t left you in shambles. Although him being back brought forth memories you wished would stop, seeing him alive and in the flesh settled a sore in your soul. 

It also dug up anger. And under the wet towel you saw red. 

Answers. That’s what you needed from him. You were just a kid then, you couldn’t understand, and maybe you still didn’t want to know why. But you craved to know, your mind gnawing at your skull to make sense of why he would decide to leave. 

You had adapted to your surroundings, learned how to survive. He couldn’t. He was weak and spineless, that’s what everyone had said, and after a while you believed it too.

Stronger than Eddie Munson had ever been, you kept going. Living this god forsaken life because you didn’t have a choice. 

You had your own place, a cute little two bedroom apartment. One you decorated to your liking. You had a job that paid your bills. You had someone that loved…someone that took care of you in ways you didn’t know were possible. 

You were different, and so was he. What did he have? Nothing. No one.

The towel dripped water onto your bare thighs, and you concentrated on that little tick rhythm until it picked up, sending water down in almost a wave. 

Maybe that’s how he wanted his life to be, maybe that was why he left in the first place. Maybe you were standing in his way the whole time like a roadblock.

You didn’t realize the heave of your chest, how your breathing was uneven and shallow, choking off. 

Then you heard it. The gut wrenching sobs coming from yourself. 

It didn’t work anymore. Quite frankly you wondered if it ever had. 

Pretending Eddie was an asshole and that you were better without him was the only way for you to deal with him leaving in ‘82. 

The lies you continued to tell yourself about Eddie were falling flat. Your brain could be fooled, but the space he lived in your chest couldn’t be coerced that easily. He was inescapable, nightmares or not, you yearned for the hours when he would visit you. 

In your dreams he was real. Still in Hawkins. 

Your sobs turned hysteric. Lungs burning with no reprieve as you felt the same loss and emptiness that burrowed in your chest seven years ago. 

Why? How could he leave without you? 

The towel fell with a slap to the floor. Your body slinked alongside it like a doll falling from a child’s fist. Hugging your naked body, you wept on the cold tile for an unknown amount of time. It wasn’t until dawn broke through the window and Rick’s alarm clock went off that your cheeks were finally dry. 

taglist: @mmunson86 @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @tlclick73 @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @chrrymunson @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @mopeymopeymouse @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @littledemondani @eiightysixbaby @usedtobecooler

[bietrofastimoff23]

ep5: I've never seen a more boring episode. this is the first time I've had to skip scenes. incompetent stretching of timekeeping, monotonous babbling without any disclosure of the characters, chopped bland dialogues that do not advance the plot in any way, prolonged glances. the councils continue to spin one sexist hurdy-gurdy, as if Rhaenyra and Alicent are unable to rule because of their gender, and not because one of them is inactive while the houses of her supporters are defeated, and the other has not offered anything during all this time and has released the enemy, and demands as a "reward" for this to herself the title of regent. those close to them are fighting for their monarchs not because Rhaenyra or Aegon are capable leaders or they support their claims, but because "well, Viserys wanted it that way," "my grandma fought and I will." the enemy actions in the show are not seen as attacking, but as a bad omen for the greens (Meleys broke through the floor and killed thousands of people, but she was definitely a "beloved dragon" and everyone is very worried about her"). we continue to be poked in the face by hanged rat catchers, and this act is given more time than any crime of TB, also the fact that hotd shows more longing for the killer of the child (the dog that continues to follow the body of the former owner) than for anyone else makes the situation worse. and this is only the first thing that caught my eye, in fact, there is still something to complain about.

the only interesting thing left after the charred Aegon is Daemon's trips and Larys's equanimity (and Criston Cole's attempts not to commit s@icide a second time, fight me. well, his dynamics with Gwayne too).

and finally, the absolute GOATs of ep5:

[scarasbaefy]

seasons

chars; childe/tartaglia

; fem reader, angst to comfort

note; this is for my bff emoly who has been waiting for this since the dawn of time !!!! shes the biggest childe lover in the world. THIS ONES FOR U EMO !

; not proof-read, reqs open, join the taglist

Ⰶ  

childes life was falling apart. being a harbinger was no easy task. being a part of the FBI would be an easier task than being a criminal. at least you didn’t have to lie to your family and lover about your job.

the cold air nipped childes nose, but he didn’t mind it. he loves the cold temperature of his homeland. he was too busy thinking of other things than the way his nose tingled, or the way his hands were shivering from the lack of warmth. he dreaded to get home, where you and his siblings would be waiting for his arrival. he had already finalized his decision though.

he had to let you go.

you and teucer were playing with one of his toy horses in the living room when the sound of the front door unlocking took your attention. teucer, already knowing who it was, made his way to the door and jumped on the mans leg.

“brother! oh big brother, i missed you so much! did you bring me anything?” the young boys eagerness made you laugh to yourself as you stood up from your position on the floor. you gave childe a loving smile before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. childe immediately felt his heart drop when your lips connected, causing him to not reciprocate. 

he pulled away and gave you a small smile filled with guilt. you knew something was wrong, but masked your worry since teucer was looking up at you two. teucer loved you and childe as a couple, always asking when you would get married so you three could live together forever. 

“i did get you something, teucer. i’ll give it to you in a minute. i need to talk to y/n first though. it’s very important, but i promise i’ll give you your gift afterwards.” childe pat his brothers head, causing teucer to cover his giggle with his hands. “oh.. i see.. i’ll give you all the time you need, but call me when you’re ready!” the boy said before running off with a smile on his face.

childe held your hand as he walked you to a room nearby. “is something wrong?” you asked after he closed the door, leaving the two of you. he didn’t say anything as he stood with head head against the door, afraid to turn around and face you. the silence only made your stomach turn. after a few seconds he held your hands, all while avoiding eye contact. “i can’t be your love anymore...” he whispered, as if he was hoping you wouldn’t understand what he had just said.

you dropped your hands from his and cupped his cheek. “what do you mean? why are you saying this... what happened?” childe turned his head away from your hand to hide the tears threatening to fall. he immediately regretted saying anything. he loves you more than anything in this world, and if he had met you before joining the fauti then he wouldn’t have ever joined in order to protect your safety. 

“i’m afraid. i don’t want to ruin your life by having me as your boyfriend. i’m like a bad omen and i don’t want anything bad happening to you. i’d rather let you go than see you get hurt because of me... or worse.” he said as the tears began to roll down his cheeks, but you were quick to wipe them away. you made him look at you, tears also flowing down your own cheeks. his heart broke at the sight, knowing his words were the cause of your pain.

“don’t you dare ever say that again. we have been together for many years now and nothing has happened to me, all thanks to you. i love you so much, and i’m not letting you leave me. not now, not ever.” the stern look on your face made childe shiver. he knew you had a point, and if he were to let you go now, all his enemies would use you against him since he wouldn’t be there to protect you.

childe let out a sigh of relief before nuzzling into the hand holding his cheek. he felt a wave of relief that you didn’t agree with him or left him. he was happy you had made a point, and that you would say such kind words to a man like him. you actually made an effort to stay with him even though he thought it was best if he wasn’t in your life. he looked at you, a tired smile on his face. “i’m so stupid. i regretted my words after they came out. i never want to leave you. i now realize that having you by my side is the safest place you could be, and i wouldn’t want it any other way. i love you.” he kissed your forehead, then your nose. “i love you so much.” your cheek, then your lips. 

you took childes hand and walked him out the room. “we can continue talking later. you have a child who’s waiting for his gift.”

taglist; @exciidi @ulquiorraswife

[thewitchoflove-art]

Page 1&2 of my new comic based on the fanfiction:

Next

I love it so much, I just wanted to draw it so bad 💘 😻

Be sure to give it a read!♡♡♡

Please be kind, this time I'm barely using references and trying to keep to my own style🥲💕 So I'm sorry it it's not as realistic looking as before😔

And don't forget you can support me on

and

patreon.com/thewitchofloveart

♡♡♡

[neuroncryptid]

Farsight is a Bad Char Clone

If you disagree, I completely understand and your perspective in impeccably valid but also something in my core being tells me this is wrong. (You are still a lovely person tho <3<3<3)

Farsight is a very compelling character, even when written by Phil Kelly, but he is not really a Char clone per se. If anything, he is more of an homage to things like Big Boss. To justify my unjustified nitpicking of this I will begin by defining what a Char clone is. I will argue here that there is a core difference between them which makes it inaccurate to use the term "Char Clone" when describing Farsight: the type of broken ace they are.

Char, like Farsight, is a talented ace mecha pilot. He pilots a red suit. He goes fast, he strikes close, and he tries to have the best suit available to him. The last of these did not originally apply to Farsight as he was notable for piloting a relic of a battlesuit but with the release of Arks of Omen, it now does. Both Farsight and Char, despite their status as aces, are fundamentally broken people. This is core to the Char Clone and while it is a similarity, the type of broken they exhibit is markedly different.

Char is fundamentally unsure of who he is. Is he the son of Zeon Zum Deikun, the inheritor of spacenoid philosophy and brother Sayla Mass? Is he the soldier who takes orders with just enough protest to not simply be a loyal dog? Is he the scourge of the Zabi family, so driven to see them snuffed out that even his own life means nothing? Throughout Mobile Suit Gundam we see him morph between these three identities with the signature charisma and flair. In and out of the cockpit Char is a house of cards unsure of who he actually is and torn between responsibilities he simultaneously wants and detests.

Compare this to Farsight. He too is unsure of himself. But, it is important to understand that the type he exhibits is fundamentally different. He is a loyal soldier who feels betrayed by his empire. Still loyal, still holding to heart the central message (if misguided in his understanding of it). His lack of self understanding comes a place of not knowing his place. He is immortal in a culture which places no importance of long lasting life. He is someone who cannot face the future with idealism as he will live to see the consequences of every action. His enclaves are a place for the bloodthirsty, the misbegotten, and those scarred by war who have no place but a culture of self sacrifice.

This may sound like simply aesthetic differences but it is not. The origins of self doubt are roots which cascade out into radically different pictures. Char, by his nature is simply a facade of scheming held up by large goals, an eye for opportunity, charisma, and an inability to not self sabotage. Farsight is the disillusioned soldier making a place for those like him who have no place in kinder society, hoping to find something, anything to absolve him of his guilt.

[lilacartsmadsion]

Dark Choco Cookie observed the dawn from one of the castle's balconies, the day looking oddly free of snowstorms, as the Dark Cacao Kingdom was a sugar snow filled land

But what called his attention was not actually the dawn itself, but rather the cookie observing the dawn before him

"Father?"

"Hmm? Dark Choco, what are you doing up at this hour? I supposed you'll still be asleep"

"I would say the same to you father, I understand that you're ussually awake and about early, but I didn't knew it would be this early"

"You're right to say I don't ussually stay up at this hour, but I am sure you are awake due to the same reason as I"

"You mean, that feeling? It's feels... ominous... as if something is comming, but I can't tell if it is a bad omen"

"Me neither, that's the reason I decided to go out and observe earlier-"

A sound cut off both cookies chat, it sounded... like fire, like the sound of a wildfire like those that were rarely seen in the kingdom in extreme circumstances, but where more comming in other kingdoms, it was loud, and it felt like hitting both cookies present as well as every other cookie up at that time-

Dark Choco's eyes widened as he looked at the dawn behind his father

"Father! Look!"

Dark Cacao turned around to what could only be described as something massive, a fireball as bright as the dawning sun, approaching at a high speed and the origin of the firey sound

Both cookies could only stare, frozen in place as the bright object grew smaller but not dimmer, flying over their head and landing with a thunderous roar not far from the main gates of the kingdom, scaring a few of the watcher's that were nearby

The father and son duo looked at eachother, their heartbeats ringing on their ears as they took off running

It felt like hours, despite being just minutes, before they arrived at full speed to the landing of the foreign object

As the protector of the kingdom and as the prince, they were the first to approach, ready to assess and dispatch any posible threats

But as they walked carefully and approached the charred place where the object landed, they lost their breath

A child, with burns in a few places of his body and clear dough, was right in the place were the object was supposed to be

And he was breathing

Dark Cacao and his son ran over to the unconscious child, Dark Cacao taking the small child, who looked not older than 10, into his arms and running back to the kingdom, Dark Choco yelling for the medics to make act of presence asap and tend to the child

Questions can wait, they had a child to care for

Oooh niiice!!! ^^

I liked the way Gingerbrave comes in a ball of fire. It’s neat! ^^

[painsandconfusion]

The Carrot and the Stick

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Twenty-Eight

(tw: beating, broken bone mention, kidnapping, stress position, forced to watch, whipping boy, deferred punishment, Crawford being a bitch)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Four Years Ago...

Ethan slumped against the ropes that kept him up on aching feet, for this particular moment, preferring the charring ropeburn against his wrists and the numbness they bring to the aching in his feet and legs.

Too long.

Too fuckign long he’d been left like this.

Then again, it wasn’t like Crawford found much else that kept him in line. At least this wore him down so the fight was…well. Less.

That and he was in the perfect position to be a pathetic little punching bag like this. His bruised ribs were a testament to that, that and the aching burn where his back butted up against the cinderblock wall with each hit.

But hey.

At least the cinder blocks were cool. It eased the pain a little.

Aaaaaaand there was the garage door opening.

Ethan glared up at the ceiling at the audible announcement of Crawford’s arrival home. Stupid fucking idiot hadn’t even given Ethan water yet today - you’d think if someone paid two thousand bucks for you, they’d actually want to keep you alive. Maybe Crawford was finally getting sick of Ethan’s insolence. 

Or maybe he was just stupid.

Both were equally plausible given what Ethan had seen of the man so far.

Good at business. Good at his work. Very very bad at keeping a personal pet/toy/punching bag.

The guy wasn't a natural leader - that was for damn sure. Ethan almost understood how he needed someone to take out his frustrations on. Not like anyone at the office took him seriously - yes, Ethan played therapist enough to know about that shit. Not a good therapist. He didn’t really talk. Just glared.

But hey, at least it was mildly less boring than rotting alone in the basement, so sure. He listened as the man paced and rambled and ranted, occasionally hitting, kicking, or whipping his ‘pet’.

Fucking idiot had no idea what he was doing. Ethan hated Nate and Elias plenty - but this guy? Honestly, he was just pathetic.

One of these days, he’d fuck up. He’d trust Ethan enough to take the ropes off - even just for a second. Then he was so fucked.

Ethan liked to daydream about that.

He’d dangle there as Crawford paced and spit venom at Randy and Devin (yes, Ethan knew the entire fucking office at this point. They all had accountant names. No wonder they were all dead inside), and Ethan would imagine Crawford. On the ground. Bleeding. Begging. Choking and gurgling his own blood. 

Such a pretty picture. Something he was almost proud of.

Pride was a fickle thing. Ethan never had much pride. Not much at all. Through school and activities, from foster home to foster home he’d stayed quiet. Stayed out of the way. He was the freak. Always had been. 

Somehow pride had found him through the blood. Or he’d found it. He’d found something to fight for. Something to keep the pain down. Keep his mind sharp.

It kept him alive. 

Ethan reassumed the dead-eyed gaze, pointing it at the top of the basement steps as he heard a key scrape against the padlock that kept the thick wooden door in place. Then the fucker opened it.

Ethan’s eyebrows pinched ever so slightly at the ever so confusing sight of Crawford looking…excited? Happy? Proud maybe?

That wasn’t normal. Usually when he came downstairs, he was just exhausted. Angry. Defeated or upset. He didn’t need Ethan when he was happy.

Ethan didn’t like the change. Unpredictability was always a sign of trouble. Anything that strays from the norm is an omen of pain. He’d been on this earth long enough to know that was true.

His eyes narrowed at the fucker as he trotted down the stairs, giving Ethan a charming smile. 

Crawford wasn’t charming - the expression looked wrong on him. Almost warped. Deranged.

“Good day?” Ethan’s voice was flat. Sarcastic.

Crawford stopped directly in front of Ethan, eyes wandering down his torso, roaming over blooming bruises. Yellow. Black. Red. Green. Blue. An assorted masterpiece of time well spent in Ethan’s particular predicament. “I guess you could say that…” Ethan twitched as Crawford’s hand raised, fingers pressing into a splash of mottled black and purple on his side - Ethan was about 30% sure his rib had cracked there. Though 30% isn’t high enough to bitch about it.

He bit out the response, mostly to distract himself from the flash of pain that twisted through his stomach. “Yeah?”

“Mhm - Do you remember that little talk we had yesterday?”

Ethan’s head tilted. “Honestly? I’m not really paying attention half the time you talk, so no.”

Crawford sighed, but evidently that wasn’t enough to ruin his mood. “The one about carrots and sticks?”

Mm. Yes, Ethan asking for a trip to Disney Land as incentive for being good rather than threats of more pain which clearly never worked.

Ethan smirked at the mention. “Am I getting a vacation?”

Crawford smiled in return. “Even better. You get a little friend.”

Ethan’s smile dropped. He was pretty sure his heart did, too. 

Anxious eyes flickered to the stairs. The door. 

He looked over Crawford, searching for any sign of joke or bluff. “...wh……..um. What now?”

Ethan hissed as Crawford’s grip tightened, thumb digging into the maybe-chipped-but-probably-just-internally-bruised bone. “I got a friend for you. Different kind of stick - or hey, you can see it as a carrot if you want. I don’t really care either way.”

Ethan squirmed a little to the side - away from the touch. “You–...you don’t need t…no one else needs to be here - you..-don’t do that-”

A little intrigue sparked in Crawford’s eyes. “You haven’t even met him yet and you’re already being so much better. I think this will work out nicely.” His hand pulled away, and Crawford stepped toward the stairs again.

Ethan’s mind scrambled.

Was someone already there?? How the fuck did Crawford get someone else? He couldn’t afford to buy another from Elias and he didn’t have the fucking balls to grab someone himself. ….did he?

Ethan’s eyes desperately followed Crawford - if Crawford had actually gotten someone because of Ethan - that person was fucked already. His fault.

It would be his fault.

No.

Ethan’s mouth opened and closed with protests he couldn’t quite find the words to voice. “..Sir you don’t have t-”

“Sir?? Already an improvement - you really aren't doing much here to vouch for your case, Ethan.”

Frustration bubbled up in Ethan’s chest, hot and thick. His hands rolled in the restraints, tugging at them. Narrowed eyes followed Crawford back up the stairs, dreaming of gripping him by the hair and jerking him back down them, head first. 

That would be a pretty sight.

Damn ropes.

“Fuck you.”

But Crawford was already ignoring him, opening the door and shoving a boy down the steps - he looked small. Early twenties with sandy blond hair that ran with a streak of jagged red blood. He barely stayed on his feet, stumbling and skittering down the stairs until he eventually toppled over on the last few stairs, crying out as the rough wood bit into his thighs and shoulders, and he crumpled to the ground at the bottom of the stairs.

Ethan’s blood ran cold as he watched them whimper, scrambling back with horror-filled eyes locked on Elias.

The boy wasn’t collared. He wasn’t trained.

He was new to this.

He would have been okay if Ethan had just been good - Crawford never would have needed someone else. 

Ethan felt sick, teeth barred at Crawford as the man descended after his new catch. “You like him, E? His name’s Johnny.”

Ethan grit his teeth, jerking against the ropes. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” he seethed, barely tracking Johnney’s scramble backwards - it was a little awkward with his hands bound in front of him. “He’s half your size, are you fuckign kidding me???”

Crawford shrugged, stepping up to Johnny as the boy’s back hit the far wall. “Not in the slightest. From now on, he is going to take your punishments. Most of them, at least. You fuck up? I hit him.”

To demonstrate, Crawford gripped Johnny’s hair, pulling a shrill yelp from the boy, and threw him into the ground facedown. He punted him hard in the side.

Ethan paled, tugging uselessly against the ropes. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Already told you.” Another kick, and Johnny screamed, curling up tight to protect his middle. He clearly wasn't used to pain. He couldn’t take this like Ethan could. “That’s rule two, Ethan. I give the orders. Not you.”

Ethan’s heart slammed in his chest, desperation dripping through his veins. “Jus-just stop - stop, you don’t need to do that-”

Crawford raised a brow, bending down to grab Johnny by the back of his shirt collar, dragging him up to his knees. “Are you seriously telling me what to do again?” 

Ethan winced at the cry as Crawford split Johnny’s cheek open with a downward fist. Tears leaked through the strike, dragging thin blood down freckled cheeks. 

“Rephrase, Ethan.”

Ethan’s mind scrambled, eyes locked onto this small stranger whose fate was sealed. Because of him.

His fault.

It was always his fault. 

Ethan’s mouth opened and shut, trying again and again before eventually forming a soft whisper around “please-”

Johnny’s sharp, shallow breaths and choked sobs rang through the room for a few long, icy moments as Crawford’s eyes raked over Ethan. 

“Again.”

Ethan’s lips pinched into a thin line, a glare heating his gaze again. Until he glanced down at Johnny. 

And it softened. Slightly, but it softened. Desperation lit anew at the sight of the boy doubling over - hiding his face behind bound wrists. 

Ethan swallowed thickly, forcing the word out. “..please.”

Crawford’s lips twitched toward a smirk. “Please what?”

Ethan’s eyes screwed shut, fury and frustration and shame all burning through him. His fingers curled into fists as he forced the words up.

They caught in his throat, resting at the back of his mouth - refusing to play their part in keeping Johnny safe.

Pride was a fickle thing.

And just as soon as Ethan found it, he had to strangle it back down into its shoebox in the darkness. 

And it didn’t want to go. 

It thrashed and clawed every step of the way, drawing blood and screams and bleating like a dying animal with nothing left to lose. 

It just made this all the harder when Johnny gasped a desperate whimper.

Ethan’s eyes shot open to find a blade pressed to the hyperventilating Johnny’s throat - Crawford standing over him with an eyebrow cocked at Ethan. “I’m waiting.”

Ethan slammed the shoebox shut, trying to ignore the claws scrabbling against the cardboard.

Fuck pride.

This wasn’t worth it.

His eyes stung anyway as he forced out the sentence. “..please Master- just..please stop-”

Crawford flashed a grin, dropping Johnny who shoved and scrabbled and crawled as far from the man as he could. 

“Good boy.”

Ethan twitched away as Crawford stepped closer, hand patting his cheek.

He wanted to scream obscenities. To snap at the hand and see if he could draw blood. Kick. Anything. 

But he didn’t. 

He just pinned his eyes shut, face turning down and away.

“Very good.”

With a ruffle of Ethan’s hair, Crawford stepped back, heading for the stairs. “I’ll bring down some food in an hour or so. Make sure Johnny knows the rules. He doesn’t need to get beaten twice.”

Ethan’s glare didn’t quite have the fire he was used to as he watched Crawford disappear behind the door.

The padlock clicked into place.

Footsteps creaked through the house, disappearing up to the second floor and falling silent again.

Ethan’s gaze shifted to Johnny, softening as all of him slumped against the ropes again. 

The boy was crying. Sobbing into his arm in the corner of the basement, covered in shadows and dust.

Ethan swallowed thickly. He had to say something, right. ‘Hi’ seemed like a good option. He chose that, yet all that came out was a small, barely audible, “..I’m so sorry...-”

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump, @whumpawink, @mabledonut, @heathenwhump, @paleassprince, @happy-little-sadist @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe@jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @michaeltalks @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @shelfsdesires @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-stars @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[cherubchoirs]

Hi!

I had a weird dream about your Uriel, for some reason he spontaneously combusted (wasn't fallen) into black flames and that was left behind was his charred black skeleton, also his face and head were more smoke than anything else.

Not sure what that was about, but I hope this was interesting for you to read!.

I hope everything is going okay for you!

LOVE the visual tbh and it actually....makes me think he could have a prophetic dream much like it just before god goes and tears himself apart. because like i mentioned in his initial post, uriel will often burst into spontaneous flames as he is lit with divine inspiration from the holy ghost. and so if god should die, uriel may view himself as being burned down to ashes, no longer to be lit again and no better than dead. it would absolutely PETRIFY him to see something so obviously coming as a bad omen, to the point where he would likely seek gabriel's counsel (as he is both the messenger of god's will and often seen as an interpreter of prophecies). but uh. while gabriel would try to reassure him that this likely has more to do with some great disaster likely to befall earth, he would absolutely be shaken by it too

[gatoraddie]

Charlotte! (Or char if that's too long🫶🏻)

C - Chokehold - Sleep Token

H - Havoc B - Enter Shikari

A - Afterall - Beartooth

R - Reclusion - Anberlin

L - Laura - PHOX

O - On Your Porch - The Format

T - THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND - Bad Omens

T - Take My Breath Away - Mayday Parade

E - Eat My Hands - You, Me, And Everyone We Know

[dunnkop]

Hello! ¡Hola! Γειά Σου!

╔╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╦╩╗

• Call Me Rey!

• Any Pronouns

• Writer

∆ Fanfiction

∆ Original Works

• Artist

∆ Fanart

∆ Personal

• Multilingual

My Blog Will, However, Be Mainly In English

Sin Embargo, Mi Blog Estará Principalmente En Inglés

Ωστόσο, Το Ιστολόγιό Μου Θα Είναι Κυρίως Στα Αγγλικά

✎ I'm Fluent In English! ✐ ◐First Language◑

✐ ¡Hablo Español Con Fluidez! ✎ ◓Segundo Idioma◒

✎ Άπταιστα Ελλινικά! ✐ ��Τρίτι Γλώσσα◔

⚠︎ Ακόμα Μαθαίνω, Έχο Μικρό Λεξιλόγιο!

•Multi-Fandom

∆ Current Hyper Fixation(s):

I — My Hero Academia

II — Bad Omens

III — Logan Howlett / Wolverine

IV — Genshin Impact

• Overall, My Writing Is Intended For MATURE Audiences! Please Keep That In Mind!

• Any Piece Of Writing I Post Will Also Be Crossposted To My AO3

• Most Of My Writing Is Ship Content Of Some Kind (Char. × OC, Char. × Char., OC × OC, etc)

∆ I Do NOT Ship Seriously! Please Do Not Interact With My Content If You Pro-Ship!

- Any Ship Content I Create Is PURELY For Entertainment Purposes!

- If The Content Contains Real People, It Is A PERCIEVED Version! Real People, Fake Scenario. I, In No Way, Control A Person's Actions Or Feelings Nor Do My Fics Present A Real Circumstance That Occurred!

• Be Kind!

• This Is A Safe Space For Everyone! Do Not Degrade Or Put Down Another Person For Their Religious Beliefs, Their Sexuality Or Gender, Their Ethnicity Or Race, Etc! I WILL Block You!

• Remember To Take Care Of Yourselves! Be Kind To Yourself And Others!

• If You Don't Like Something I've Done, Wrote, Reblogged, Or Anything About My Account Just Block Me. I Don't Need Drama Here. If I Did Something Wrong, Then Please Allow Me To Clarify Or Rectify My Mistake, As I Don't Wish To Hurt Or Insult Anyone, Or Make False Claims.

∆ Moots, I'm Relying Mostly On You To Help Me Ensure I Keep My Blog Safe And Non-Offensive – If The Situation Arises

• Have A Good Day/Night!

- dunnkop