#dusty warren

[bbsxsaa]

honey wake up, there’s more bird psycho lore 🥺

[warningsine]

[mari-animates]

Man fuck EVERY single one of those kids from under the bridge

[bonkobarnes]

it would be interesting to see if warren and gabe end up being sort of parallels to one another, or maybe rebecca feels for warren because he’s the same age as gabe was; in the book (no spoilers!!) warren seems to be portrayed pretty empathetically and i think the show is definitely leaning towards that as well- rebecca’s first encounter with him being her panic attack at the party and him checking on her, trying to help, and then seeing him at the diner asking if theres a shift he could pick up

I think probably both? I guess we don’t know much about Gabe or Warren at this point but it’s obvious Rebecca sees something in Warren. I imagine Rebecca feels for him and is probably where her interests differ from Cam’s. Cam wants to catch the person that did this and get justice for Reena. Rebecca does too but I think she will see Warren more as a kid than as a murderer

[slvttybvys]

@lonelyheartedheathens [X]

"Maybe. Maybe not. But does it really matter if it's both our temptations" Warren asked with a small grin as he moved closer to the other. "I mean a mutual cure doesn't sound like a bad thing to me."

[lonelyheartedheathens]

“you know, the only way to cure temptation… is to give in to it.” (Warren for whoever would like him)

[ Baldur's Gate 3 Sentence Starters - Astarion Edition ] @slvttybvys

A wide smirk pulled at Dusty's lips hearing that as he gave a soft snort. "Oh is that so?" he teased, giving Warren a once-over. "Sounds a lot to me like you're trying to get me to cure your temptation. Not my own." Was Dusty going to give in to it as Warren said? Probably. But he couldn't not tease the older man, if only a little. Maybe see how far he could push Warren until he was less trying to convince Dusty and more maybe begging him to.

[fear-is-truth]

Which of the Evans would be into tacky Christmas (bright colours, mismatched decor, nostalgic and warm, etc), and which would prefer the more tidy Christmas (beige 🤢)?

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans + x-mas decor preference .ᐟ

a/n: yo why you gotta diss on tidy & beige 💔 …

“tacky” decor : tate, kit, kyle, jimmy, warren, peter, colin, luke, stan

“tidy” decor : james, kai, austin, gallant

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t give a fuck about christmas decor on his own, but if constance insisted on a beige, elegant aesthetic, he’d absolutely go out of his way to sabotage it because he’s a spiteful little shit.

when his mom told him to set up the tree, he’d rummage through the basement for the dusty, mismatched string lights and garlands she’s refused to use for years.

would take silent satisfaction with the clashing colour, obnoxiously flashing lights, and haphazardly placed ornaments… mostly because his mother is pissed off.

tate would prefer the nostalgic, warm vibes in private, though.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

definitely a big fan of mismatched lights, diy decor. he’d help the kids make paper chains, paint ornaments, string popcorn garland.

he’d also love doing little things like baking cookies, hanging stockings, and maybe even putting up a silly inflatable santa on the lawn.

he’d smile fondly at every decoration, especially ones with sentimental value—his favourite is a family photo ornament framed with painter popsicle sticks that your kid made in school.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

he’d love the sight of multicolored string lights and as many ornaments as you could fit on the tree.

you go out to pick a tree together and then buy way more lights and ornaments than you’d ever need. “we can always find room for more, right?”

he’d insist on stringing the lights together and would make sure every bulb worked.

kyle would gasp excitedly when he let you plug in the lights and see the tree glow.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

you’d have loads of mismatched ornaments, many of them handmade or found in secondhand stores.

he’d have a soft spot for stringing up multicolored lights, especially red and yellow ones.

the blinking lights hold bittersweet nostalgia for him. they remind jimmy of the freak show days—the camaraderie, the makeshift family—but also the pain and loss he’s endured. even so, he’d smile softly while putting them up, his focus on creating happy memories with you.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

would insist on a meticulously planned, elegant christmas. the tree would be tall and symmetrical, the lights would never blink, and the ornaments would all match.

that said, if you really wanted a messy, colorful christmas, he’d indulge you because at the end of the day, james would want you to be happy.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

would absolutely favour a clean aesthetic, because it’s orderly.

he’d hate colourful, mismatched lights, blaming them for being “distracting,” and his use of adderall would heighten his aversion to anything that felt visually cluttered. you’d hear kai mutter something like, “who can think with this circus lighting? it’s like a fucking rave in here.” (he’s a blue grinch lol)

you’re having beige/white decorations or no decorations at all. despite his outward annoyance, if kai saw you enjoying yourself while decorating, it might mellow him slightly. maybe.

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

would prefer tidy decor to match the sleek, minimalist aesthetic of his vacation home.

the tree would be artificial, tall, and perfectly symmetrical, adorned with white lights and monochrome ornaments.

beige, white, and grey would dominate his decor.

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

he’d hum along to cheesy christmas music, snack on gingerbread cookies, wear ugly sweaters and blush at the mention of mistletoe.

would have a soft spot for sentimental decorations. if you had old ornaments from childhood, he’d make sure they were front and centre on the tree.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[crownedinmarigolds]

A Golden Opportunity! - A Gary Golden writeup for @laughatlocksmiths!

A fly flits its way into the den of the spiders. A little red drop of blood cut straight from the vein, slipping down a white arm into his warrens. It’s probably not even aware of how futile its efforts are. Gravity dragging it forward by the toes, a shambling joke in its death throes. Hah. Well, the uninvited guest had managed to shake off the Sabbat abominations that kept he and his trapped. An impressive enough feat, he’ll give the little morsel that. It’s just too bad that the circumstances for meeting are so… tedious. Oh, he knew exactly why this freshly dead fledgling was here. The hotshot young Prince that decided to take a chair, put it up in the tallest tower and declare himself king, was throwing himself a little tantrum. A decorated old box with a dead body inside went missing on the car ride over, a common mistake! Can’t trust any delivery men these days, especially ones that aren’t paid well. Just because he’d been the one to set up the delivery, suddenly it was his fault the product got lost? He'd been tucked in at home, watching old films and having a good cry at the time of the crime! It was frankly insulting to be once again fingered for a burglary they have no proof he was involved in… though we can all be honest as we sit and chat in our heads, can’t we? Now, old Gary didn’t know what use LaCroix had for a corpse (a non-locomotive one at least) but he didn’t expect them to be playing tea party together. So when opportunity knocks, Mr. Golden likes to answer and give it a seat at his table. So he may’ve let slip (through a few channels and voices that weren't his) to a few mafiaso types where the box may be headed, and they made a pick up. These kinds of Kindred were always into the old things, thinking they can scrape off some spirit mumbo jumbo from it, of which he couldn’t care less about. The Prince throws a fit over a lost artifact for a while, but the city will swallow his complaints up and he’d move onto the next dusty object to obsess over. There's some extra funding for his kin to keep the lights on, as well as the added pleasure of annoying some pompous little young Ventrue. Unfortunately the box has been more trouble than its initial face-value worth. The Prince really into whatever it had inside like it was a lost Christmas present - and not to even mention the Kuei Jin and their underlings also starting to feel around with their nasty little tendrils. It makes his clammy skin get clammier to imagine what could even stir their attention, so he had a trustworthy and capable man try and take a look into what is really going on in Chinatown. His man was snatched up, something he should’ve expected to happen given the circumstances. He felt something awful about it, considering this merry band of freaks were his responsibility. There's no safety out there for his kin, and with how hard Los Angeles and its surrounding cities were becoming to navigate in modern nights, old Gary was needing someone to get into Chinatown for him. The Kuei Jin weren’t going to take snoops lightly, and he was already greatly unpopular over there. No no boss, this is a golden opportunity walking down their little tunnel hallways right to his room. The fledgling gets his glory by rescuing the old box from the evil thieving necromancers… with information so generously given by Gary as soon as his man is rescued from the clutches of the Kuei Jin and their kine help. It’s not the most multi-dimensional chess way to go about it, but a classic is always worth a rewatch in his book. Dirt makes way to cobbled stone, then to tile. Ruined shoes tracking mud into his party space. He is cloaked from the mind in the corner, a sharp smile in the dark as the little morsel has no idea what he’s looking for. Theatrics were his specialty, and it was time to make it worth the wait. “By the clack-smack cracking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”

Thank you so much to @porcelainseashore for putting together the VTM Writer's Secret Santa event! It was challenging to get into a non-OC character's mindset but it was also very fun once the flow came! I love to write and don't get to do it often so this made me sit down and get to it. I hope I did Gary some justice!

[henghost]

it is my firmly held belief that somewhere, on some dusty forgotten hard drive, wildbow has a document that explains exactly how 9/11 was prevented on earth bet. this is his lost literary masterpiece. as delillo writes in libra, "the warren commission is the book james joyce would have written if he moved to iowa"--this is the quality mr. mccrae's occult modernist masterpiece will have. all political mysteries of the parahuman universe--and indeed of the events of september 11th, 2001--are revealed, up to and including bin laden's trigger event (in which i feel certain the cia was involved). it also contains a steamy romance between members of cauldron. i will find this document. it will save me. my holy grail.

[gamesofmuggles]

warren and june.

a little image.

summary : june, billy's and graham's little sister is a part of the band in her own way. she told us in exclusivity how she found the inspiration for all the most successful songs!

Billy's little sister, Graham's little sister, The Dunne Sister. In the background, discreet, calm, sweet as honey. The secret ingredient that not many people know of regarding Daisy Jones and the Six.

Interviewer : You’ve been secretly writing most of the band songs over time without people knowing about it. Why?

June : (chuckles) well not everybody wants the spotlight.

Interviewer : The most beautiful lyrics, the more remembered, the critics' favorites are songs with a common factor: love. Where does everything start for you?

I agreed to come to the house in LA, of course. Graham was so pushy about it, I think he was afraid that I would get bored without them and that ill wouldn’t write for them anymore. Billy, oh Billy was just happy to be my big brother and protect me. I was the first fan you know, and I will be the last. I remember there wasn’t enough room in the house, but Graham and Camila urge me to accept the nicest room. « To keep her mind fresh,» said Graham before dropping my suitcase on the bed. « I’m coquette too you know » I heard Warren say to Graham after he closed the door.

Warren: I slept in the bathtub for a while.

June: Karen arrived a few days after, finding Graham, Warren, and Eddie fighting in the living room. I was on the couch supervising the points, it was my first encounter with her. She asked « is it always like this » with a raised eyebrow. « Most of the time » I answered. Then I show her her room.

Warren: I wore her hoops back then, I looked fabulous in them.

June: I said to Warren I needed the hoop back. But he did look fabulous in it. To return to the question, my inspiration, well all the nights at the Filthy Mc Nasty, in the back writing while smoking and listening to the band play, alone except for the barman sometimes with more crowd. All the hangover brunch near the beach. The movie nights on a dusty screen. The fighting was because nobody -especially not women- wanted to clean those boys' mess. The adventurous meal cooked with cheap cans. Yeah, that was the inspiration. « June, how is your mind so powerful? » Graham asked me one day reading some of my last work. « can’t recall some of the highest heights / but I’ve memorized you, yeah we need to use this in the future» he added. Lyrics that were used for Midnight, I’m very proud of this song. I remembered I tried to hide blushing, cause every writing was always easy when I was thinking of Warren.

I had found the perfect spot in the Filthy McNasty so I could have an eye on him behind all those men on stage. I knew how he liked his eggs and his beer. His taste in movies. The curve on every one of his hair. I watched him a lot, a writer needed a muse you know? But also what a muse if he didn’t know he was one. Cause I never wanted to meddle with the band whatsoever and wished to keep my feelings very private, except when I wrote the songs of course. Every flirting interaction Warren may had have with me was pure imagination, it must be. Also, Warren was always a flirty guy.

Warren: It was no imagination. We were all clueless, awkward, and well, a little bit high back then. Every time I thought about it, I had to go out and smoke some. The small idea that everything could go to shit because of a tiny crush was frightening. But how could something could go wrong with June, sweet June who makes my eggs, perfect eggs every morning she can. Who went to search for the best curls cream for my hair. Imagine how someone could be this important that no matter the numbers of tits fans show you, you only want one?

June: He said that? How romantic. Where was I?

I remembered one night. We were on the beach, Graham and Billy playing guitars. Eddie Karen, Warren, and I are in the waves. Eddie wanted to fight, he’s such a fighter sometimes. He picked up Karen on his shoulder, Warren did the same with me. I was on top of his shoulder alarmed to move after the sudden physical touch. I was no prude and it was the 70s there was no secret but yeah. Karen took my hesitation for a win and pushed the both of us in the waves, Warren's hands still holding onto me. He asked if I was alright. Yeah. He had brushed my hair away from my face, a big smile on his. I remembered, ok. I need to have this smile in my life forever.

Billy: Are you asking me If I knew my little sister had a crush on Warren? Well, Ringo Starr was always her favorite so take a guess. Graham: I knew of course. Karen: Graham is gonna say he knew but he was clueless. They were pretty damn secret at first. But Warren was taking too many drugs to keep his mouth shut you know? Daisy: June still sends me Christmas cards. She was what glued this band I can tell you that. Eddie: I still can’t believe Warren scored this well.

June: I was scared of Billy’s reaction. Nothing happened at this point but I kept thinking about it. We were at a diner, the band suffered from the lack of notoriety while working their ass off. I wanted to comfort him. At least the band had a shiny new name.

Eddie: About damn time!

Warren: That night, I was ready to join that couch as always. Breaking my back. When June ask me to meet her in her room after everybody was asleep. So I did. At 2 am, I knocked and enter. She was wearing Billy’s old Black Sabbath tee shirt, writing on her stomach. Man oh, man.

June: I was very nervous, but It was time I also lived a little bit. Also whatever occurred it would have been good materials for the band you know (chuckles). He entered and he was wearing his flannel pant. I nearly jumped out of bed and I ran to his side, practically smashing him against the door and I kissed him. I (blushing) I never was nearly as adventurous as Karen, or Camila. It was a bold move for me you have to know that.

Karen: I heard a bang, yeah. Thought it was the ghost of my room. Or a bird.

Warren: Man oh man, I can’t tell you more about that night.

June: You have your answer, but you knew about it don't you?

Warren: You just wanted the sweet story to cover the bad ones don't you?

Interview : (smiles) sunshine after the rain, and by the way congrats on your 10th anniversary.

June: thank you.

[carte-blanco]

IF YOUR LONELY, COME BE LONELY WITH ME...

Summary: Nightmares couldn't be more real then fighting for your life, especially when you haven't had them for years. Warren awakes from a nightmare and has trouble falling back asleep but fortunately someone, who's the first in a long time to treat him like a person... Understands his pain

Crimson red seeped through Warren's fingers coating his scarred hand and dripping on the patchy gravel. His shoulder, gashed and piercing through his entire nervous system like salt. Shit. He grumbled under his breath wiping the blood from his lip, snatching for the rouged handle, barely even registering the mirror like cracks in the dusty material.

Chants and roars echoed through the pits, eager for a show that they paid for to the death. Foaming at the mouth like animals and a gleam of satisfaction at my pain. Warren glared at the crowd with, feeling his eyebrows dig into his forehead.

A guard chuckled kicking pebbles, swinging his sword and nodding to the audience with a grin that told a thousand truths behind his gloating, cocky exterior. It made his throat tighten behind the strangling strap around his neck, telling him his place.

He couldn't lose...?

He gulped, glaring before reaching and raising the cracked sword, pressing his entire palm into the hilt of handle and his shoulder ached even more causing the sword to falter a little.

And then his smile widened, his fucking smile widened with masochism dripping from his eyes and then- he lunged, fast, relentlessly with a monstrous attack that made Warren barely be able to block which made him stumble slightly and slam against the metal bars behind him, hands and fingers gripped at his skin from behind him attempting to hold him in place, digging into the flesh with a thrilled excitation. The guard raised his sword high and roared with crazy smile, causing spit to fly from his mouth.

He couldn't lose....

With a quick reflex, Warren bared his teeth around one of the audience members arm and bit down, ravishing the skin until he drew blood which made them jerk back, tossing the other sword into his injured arm and blocked with a wobbling effort. Warren then rolled from under the violet hold and stood on one knee, breathes strangling his throat as he tried to catch air before the next rushed assault came.

Blocking, Parrying. Blocking, Parrying. Again and again. Without a second breath, other cuts plastered his bare skin. Shit. The guard raised his chin and scowled, Worm. Falling out his mouth as he spit blood at the dirt, ready for another violet assault. Dizziness played in my eyes, creating spirals of light to dance.

He couldn't lose...

He couldn't lose...

He couldn't....

A figure appeared at the corner of his eye as he lunged forward, foot forward. A women, a noble. A face he couldn't forget. It made his throat dry and swell slightly, or rather the singular gash stopped him dead in his tracks. One across the chest, near his heart, made his throat swell.

Warren swayed before dropping his sword and tumbling to the patchy dirt, that bit into his face and neck. The crowd erupted into hoots and chanting, throwing jabs at the "The Most Famous Gladiator in Steelgate". He shook almost violently as a cold washed over him as he attempted to crawl near the gate, near her. Near the woman who abandoned him. To save him. How could she do this to me? How could she stand there and watch?. As he reached out the scrap of a sword made him freeze as the guard stopped near him, glaring and smiling with so many words in his mouth.

Warren glared and continue to crawl near the gate as another figure appeared from the shadows. Another he couldn't forget either. One he looked for after he was taken away. His last blood. His last family. His brother. Warren wrapped his bloody hand around the bar, before the shadow of a heavyweight hit his neck and darkened the amber lights.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

A chill of coldness suddenly washed over him as he jolted awake blurring vision staring up at the darkened living room ceiling, hand to his heart and struggling for air. Mouth wide and trembling, almost like a yearning scream was lodged in the back of his dry throat. He was alive?, he questioned, the thought almost unreliable to believe as his hand enclosed around his neck, searching for the pressure that choked him almost to death.

Coughing and sputtering, sweating and sniffling, Warren wiped his brow and buried his head into his knees, clenching the weighted blanket for assurance. A dream? A nightmare?. When did he start having those?. And why did it seem so real?. Every thought was never a solution to the answers he wanted, to why she was their. Why he was their and the distant look in his eyes. Almost like he didn't know who Warren was. But the memories didn't lie. And that sensation of discomfort and loss was very real. He cleared his throat feeling a sharpness of a bitter and dull sensation that ran dry on his tongue.

He needed water. Warren lifted himself off the couch as best he could, trembling legs and blurry vision made him feel immobile as he stumbled into Cupcakes table of potions and bookshelves full of thousands of history. He soon made himself to the kitchen, dishes clattered and cupboards rattled as he slammed them shut, rummaging through the shelves like a mad man for a cup and soon getting the water he needed and Downing it.

Water dripped from his chin and down his neck, wiping away the remaining droplets relieved him from the dryness of threatening memories. His hand flexed around the cup as his thoughts still ran vigorously. Nightmares. He scoffed. They were unbecoming of him. He hadn't had them around his last master and the one before that.

So why now?. Was it the pressure of having the freedom of looking for his brother or just his mind reminding him of what he was. Warren scoffed again, rubbing his neck, subconsciously checking for the scar that he had felt, almost real. As he walked out of the kitchen, a faint light caught his attention, it illuminated the cloudy darkness that indicated that a late night storm was coming. Cupcake was still awake?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Coffee stained pages brushed against her finger, squinting ever so slightly at the cursive words illuminated by the amber light. Cupcake yawned. She was diving in her fourth book of the night, it was currently late morning as sleep was being her enemy.

Sleep didn't come easy when it came to her, nothing ever came easy to her. Whether it was staying up late nights to get the formula right to her experiments, monitoring her plants so that they would flourish with no problem, erasing staggering pencil marks on her sketch book pages. Being a scientist wasn't easy, but being overworked and perfectionist didn't come easier. She wondered on late nights like this if everyone had thoughts like that, to stay awake and read till the sun shined, "Why couldn't I sleep". "What left me so restless?". But no matter what she asked there was never a answer willing to make up for the loss of sleep she was getting. But behind that silence there were other answers to questions she'd been asking all night.

"How can I appeal to the counsel?"

"What else can I do to make them understand why i do what I do?"

"Why did I leave home?"

"What am I doing this all for?"

It was bombarding her. It was all bombarding her. Cupcake sighed, a sudden frustration washed over. She closed the book ever so slightly, clenching it beneath her fingers ready to fling the book at the wall before a creek caught her attention near the open stairs. Warren peeked his head around the corner, eyeing the illuminated room before looking at Cupcake and the amount of books at her side.

"Hey". She said clearing her throat and placing the book down by her bed. "I didn't know you were still awake, did I wake you?". Something was off. He grunted shaking his head, stumbling slightly against the door frame, as if he wanted to be closer into the room. "I didn't know you were still awake either" he rubbed at his throat, soreness still present and aching. "I just got up to get some water". He picked at the wood at the wall. Silence fell over the room as Cupcake observed Warren. The stumbling, the roughness in his throat, the semblance of leftover sweat that clung to his forehead. Cupcake was familiar with those symptoms far too well.

"Warren are you okay?, you look a little... Shaken up". Cupcake asked sincerely. Warren jaw clenched as his stare turned defiant, well tried to if not for the exhaustion that pulled at his eyelids. "Yeah" He scoffed, "I'm good". Warren was usually the one that always fell asleep first. As much as he would've hated to admit it, even when we first got here. He had fought sleep like the plague before he ever decided to sleep around her. He was a deep sleeper and not much could wake him, not even when Cupcake got up and started working on her daily chores for the day. And waking up in the night for water was a bit unlike him. Cool, calm and collected is what Warren said when he was around her. But Cupcake saw through it. Why wouldn't she?

"I just-" he stammered, scoffing again about to turn his heels. "I just wanted to see why you were awake, good night". Cupcake crawled to end of her bed, quick to tell him not to leave but stopped herself before asking, "Did you have a nightmare Warren?". He stilled, stiffening, glaring at her over his shoulder. "It wasnt-".

It wasn't the heat of the moment to embarrass him or make it feel bad for it, but rather to know. To know why he still carried himself like this. Nightmares were normal, they happened to everyone, weak, strong, alone or together. And the nightmares he faced were never gonna be under bed, in the shadows lurking around the corner or in the closet. They were inside him and they were tormenting him and he was letting them.

She extended a hand out to him with a fond expression and a knowing smile that made him falter. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to ask her why she would care if he had a nightmare or not. She was his master, his owner.. She wasn't supposed-. A gentle hand enclosed around his calluses palm, pulling him away from the cold stairway.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sheets were soft under his hands, a scent of flowers and books surrounded the comforter as she wrapped it over him. That's not to say that her couch wasn't comfortable despite the living room being the best place he's ever slept, but something about the smell of the room itself made him feel dizzy. The room was now dark and only illuminated by the moon that still peeked out from the dark clouds. Distant thunders rattled the walls. Cupcake reached a unsure hand near him, under his ear and head before moving him closer to her chest, over her heart. He could feel his face warm up slightly as his body stiffened under her touch. What.... What was this?. What was she doing?. Warren questioned as her heartbeat echoed through his ears. Calm... Steady... Fluttering.

Was... This allowed?. He lifted his head slightly, ready to ask her why she doing this, what was the point in allowing this behavior that all of the counsel would disapprove of. Cupcake placed a hand over his head, gently pushing him back to her chest. Soft fingers scratched at his scalp and rubbed his neck, while her other hand rubbed over his back. Releasing the tension like it was never there. That was his cue that he needn't move but just to stay.

"Its gonna be okay". Cupcake whispered as she nuzzled her chin into his hair. Its- its gonna be okay? When had anyone told him that?. Why did she tell him that?. Weights began overshadow his eyelids as he could feel himself sinking deeper into her chest. Over her heart.

Rhythmic, Slower, Reassuring. It was everything that she was. And more. Warren had known a rough life since the day he was put in chains and branded with a collar. Soft beds, eternal words and long lasting nights that didn't end up with him bundled in a corner on a bloody floor was something he'd cling to forever if he could. Breathing in the scent of the flowers still clinging to her clothes, He wrapped his arm around her waist and under her Back and nestled in closer.

This was unlike him in so many ways. A slave laying in bed with his master? The city would have a fit, maybe even collapse. But for once He wondered how many dreams he'd actually get tonight for once. Warm darkness enclosed around him and nothing was felt other the softness of her hand in his hair and words.

"If your lonely, come be lonely with me"

[memento-morri-writes]

Proud of Tag

I was tagged by the very talented @talesofsorrowandofruin Thanks!

Rules: Post a snippet you've written that you're pleased with/proud of, and tag some friends!

Take a snippet from some experimental description for future events from Rook's D&D campaign: (tw for injury and illness)

As you readjust, picking him up carefully, so as not to jostle him, he murmurs quietly, “I’m sorry, Warren.” He rests his head against the hollow of your neck, and you can feel the warmth of his feverish skin even through your clothes. Blood is still oozing from the cuts on his back, staining your shirt.

(I feel that it is important to mention that the person carrying him is not Warren, because Warren had been dead for over a week at this point. Rook is just very, very sick, and more than a little delirious at the moment.)

And I'll give you another, less sad/gross one, because I feel a little bad posting nothing but whumpy shit lately, for those of you who aren't really fans of such things. (Still from the D&D game, sadly.) This is the description and introduction for my temporary character, Val.

You see a purple-skinned person standing before you. While their horns are obscured by a black hat adorned with a vibrant purple feather, they are undoubtedly a tiefling. They appear young (no older than mid 30s), but dusty grey hair emerges from under the hat’s wide brim. Their eyes are solid black, lacking iris or sclera. Or rather their eye, singular: the right is hidden behind a black eye patch with a simple symbol of an eye stamped into the worn leather. They’re dressed in a vibrant teal coat with slightly puffed sleeves, its collar and cuffs adorned with gold filigree. Their lips are parted in a warm, friendly smile and you can see the hint of pointed teeth behind them. “I hear you’re looking to hire a ship?” […] “Captain Kyron Valris of the Devil’s Scorn, at your service.” They give a slight bow.

(I'm not 100% happy with this, but it's better than any other character description I've ever given in a game before, so that's good enough for me.)

I'm going to tag @space-writes @oh-no-another-idea @cherrybombfangirlwrites @tc-doherty and @writingamongther0ses (so sorry I never got around to answering your STS ask!! I greatly appreciate you sending one, though!! <3)

[everysongieverwrote]

I gotta admit, I love the last scene we get of Jo in the latest episode. When she silently watches as Kelly happily walks away from her (after she just asked her about Reena) and she just stands there alone, then looks from one side to the other and Dusty is avoiding her eyes, no one is paying her any attention, and the other girls and Warren are nowhere to be seen. Because this is it, this is the moment. She's alone now, she's no longer a leader, she no longer has a gang. The only family she had, the family she fought for, is gone. That's a "queen" who just realized she has been abandoned, betrayed, and dethroned. The whole episode does a great job of showing how the power dynamics shifted in the group. How Jo went from being the leader to being a follower. From being the one who uses people to becoming the one who gets used. The fact that she's the only one following the case and the one who asked Kelly about the dreams (after both Warren and Dusty confessed to having them) also speaks volumes and develops her character even more. Chloe Guidry and the UTB writers and directors have done an amazing job with this character and her particular story. Like, yes, of course she's not innocent but she's human and I think this is what made her realize that.

[ygsunflower]

Under the Bridge 1x07 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Absolutely no one has asked for this, but here’s my review: A very quality episode all around- Storytelling, cinematography, acting, all superb work in my opinion. Exactly how I imagined this episode would go after finishing the Under the Bridge book in terms of the case. Definitely stirred up the same emotions as when I was reading the book.

How I interpreted Rebecca’s “obsession” with telling Warren’s story, make sure everybody “knows his heart” seems to align with what the show’s trying to get at- Yes, Warren is a boy who’s had a quiet yet unfortunate life, but he is not Gabe. He is Rebecca. A kid who didn’t know better and did/said horrible things in the heat of the moment that had a much bigger consequene than they could possibly comprehend even afterwards.

It seems to me that Rebecca (the show character) also didn’t fully understand or maybe didn’t want to admit why she so desperately wanted and needed to tell everyone Warren’s heart- She wanted to convince or prove to “the world”- to herself really (and maybe Cam)- that she did monsterous things (bullied her brother, shouted horrible things at him) but she’s not a monster.

Again, I am not passing judgment or taking sides on the true case and real people involved in the case. I am only focusing on the characters and the show’s artistic choices to tell the story from the book. I think the show did a good job capturing the book, aka the real Rebecca’s perspective of the stories around the case, and added more-

1) When Rebecca’s dad read the draft, he brought up that in the story about Reena Virk’s case, she’s everywhere, but yet she is no where to be found in Rebecca’s book. Why is that? What is she afraid of?

2) Suman stared right into Rebecca’s eyes and said Warren saw someone who’s weaker so he did what he did. Then, questioned her if Reena looked like her, do you think he’d still do what he did?! The book in my opinion did not really touched on the racial aspect of the discussion, maybe it only implied or vaguely hinted at, but I like how the show directly point it out. I can’t quite put this into words, but I also felt that what Suman said about Warren in that moment did not see Reena as a person has a slightly different meaning from when the same statement was made during court when they tried to pin Warren for the murder.

3) Similar to the point above, I am not sure if this is intentional on the director/show-creator’s part, but I found it interesting that while the connection between Rebecca and Warren was forming, the show also established a mirror connection between Cam and Dusty 👀 I personally see it as mirroring in terms of race ethnicity but also a mirror comparison in their childhood experience aka the role they both played in the case of Gabe and Reena. Besides wanting to see them continuously showcasing the true case progress, I can’t wait to see if the show will tell us what did happen with Gabe in the last episode? We seem to know the role Dusty/Cam played in the case. We know Warren/Rebecca think they contributed 3/10 parts to Gabe/Reena’s death. We know that Kelly owed 7/10 parts to Reena’s death, then what’s the 7/10 parts to Gabe’s death?! Was it truly an accident or was there something more?

Lastly, the scene between Rebecca x Cam in the bedroom… such wonderful acting by Riley and Lily 🥲

Also, I truly see the real Rebecca shining through Riley’s Rebecca in this episode for some reason…

[wastemanjohn]

y'know I thought I was all done but I got one more thing to add to my earlier (lengthy -- sorry!) response to the wincest wednesday askbox scattergun, and that's on the topic of familial lexicon:

mundane headcanons, I hear you say? how about this one that is gospel in my heart: there are dozens, if not HUNDREDS, of songs that sam hears in his brother's voice before anybody else's.

there's songs for bathtime and bedtime, songs to make sam sit still while dean clips his sharp little fingernails, songs for when dad's been gone for so many minutes, way past the little hand on the eight and the big hand on the four. there's songs for waiting in the car while dad pumps gas or digs deep holes or lights fires that make dean go pale and a little sweaty, so his palm slides clammy-cold over sam's. there's songs for walking home from school, songs that sam gets to hear vibrating up to where he's perched on dean's shoulders, and songs whispered against his temple when sleep won't come.

(later, when he's older, there's songs for counting cadence during PT and songs for walking back to the fence to reset the pop can targets and songs for when he's fought with dad and screamed himself hoarse. there's songs for hanging out the window to the waist while dean does a conservative seventy-five of roads graded for fifty. there's songs dean sings to and for himself, but he doesn't mind if sam listens in.)

like, for sam, pete seeger didn't sing "little boxes"; dean winchester did. paul simon and art garfunkel didn't sing "cecelia"; dean winchester did. bruce springsteen didn't sing "atlantic city" and arlo guthrie didn't sing "alice's restaurant massacre" and warren zevon didn't sing "roland the headless thompson gunner" (besides, sam's pet theory is that warren's probably a hunter himself, or at least a well-informed civilian); peter schilling didn't sing "major tom" and elvis didn't sing "suspicious minds" and roy orbison didn't sing "all I have to do is dream". joan baez didn't sing "with god on our side" and tom paxton didn't sing "lyndon johnson told the nation" and hoyt acton didn't sing "greenback dollar" and fleetwood mac sure as hell didn't sing "the chain". phil ochs didn't sing "the highwayman" and john denver didn't sing "country roads" and dusty springfield didn't sing "I only want to be with you". dean winchester did; word-perfect, every time.

sam's a connoisseur of the entire dean winchester discography. no matter what anybody else (the radio included) says, sam knows how those song go.

sam knows that the song goes, "my sammy lies over the prairie, my sammy lies over the sea, my sammy lies over the prairie, so bring back my sammy to me"

sam knows that the song goes, "a-round her neck/ she wore a yellow ribbon/ she wore it in the springtime/ and in the month of may/ and if you asked/ her why the hell she wore it/ she wore it for her young marine sent far, far away"

sam knows that the song goes, "I've got some fine memories of san angelo/ and I've seen some beauty queens in el paso/ but the best lookin' women that I've ever seen/ have all been from kansas and all wearin' jeans"

sam knows that the song goes, "we've hauled some barges in our day/ filled with lumber, coal, and hay/ and we know every inch of the way/ from albany to far below"

sam knows that the song goes, "my father was hung as a horse thief/ my mother was burned as a witch/ my seventeen sisters, they run the whorehouse/ and I'm a cocksucking son of a bitch"

sam knows that the song goes, "oh, my darling/ oh, my darling/ oh, my darling clementine/ you are lost and gone forever/ dreadful sorry, clementine"

sam knows that the song goes, "so take my tip before you ship to join the iron gang/ don't be too gay in botany bay, or else you'll surely hang/ "or else you'll surely hang," says he, and after that, jim jones/ way up upon the gallows tree, the crows will pick your bones"

sam know that the song goes, "bye, baby bunting, daddy's gone a-hunting, gone to fetch a gator skin, to wrap his baby bunting in"

(sam's twenty-three and newly dead so he doesn't know the next time a song from dean's back catalogue gets sung in a whisper against the thin skin of his temple, hair pushed back behind his ear so maybe he'll hear: bring back, bring back, oh, bring back my sammy to me, to me; bring back, bring back, oh bring back my baby to me)

!!!! SCREAM! ANON YOU ARE FUCKING *COOKING* this is so beautiful 😭😭😭😭 gosh. I'm screaming. EVERYONE READ WHAT ANON SAID PLEASE BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS REARRANGED BY THIS

[rogueportraits]

Any institution has its fair share of ghost stories – spirits walk the hallways of museums, schools, hospitals, prisons. Few, however, have as much of a storied history as Arkham State Hospital. Nor do they often have their own cemeteries, headstones beaten down from decades of hard rain. Jeremiah walks between the overgrown rows of paupers’ graves, a wreath of rue and forget-me-nots held to his chest. The pathway beneath him is grass sprouting in hard-packed dirt. It’s his hour for lunch.

The hospital rises to his back, ivy-covered brick and new additions to the Arkhams’ ancestral home sprawling out. The cemetery hasn’t expanded in any considerable way in recent years. More medication, more successes; less funding, less patients. The unfortunate few who have no one to claim them are buried with their names, now, instead of a number that often doesn’t correspond to anything at all. But Jeremiah is in the older part of the cemetery, dug before Thorazine. The numbers are weathered away to faded imprints. He counts by memory, by steps, and finds himself standing atop his great-uncle’s grave. Six feet below rests the bones of Amadeus Arkham, the founder of all that Arkham was and is.

He died decades ago in a scrawl-scratched room with the attending orderlies not even knowing his name. That room has been tiled over now, made shiny and new and clean. Jeremiah kneels to place the wreath.

It had taken him months of lunch breaks to piece together Amadeus’ final resting place, an hour a day spent in the dark dusty cellars that worm beneath the hospital. His predecessors had thought proper disposal of patient files too much effort and had locked them below for “archival” instead. Jeremiah had opened a rusted file cabinet only to discover a warren of dead rats. He’d wondered if Amadeus’ records would share the same fate. But he’d found them eventually, stuffed into a leather folio stuffed into a rotten bookshelf. They’re safe in his office now.

Jeremiah runs a finger along the headstone, along the numbers so faded that he only knows them from the mildewed paper they’d been written on. If it weren’t an act of gross favoritism, he would have another headstone made. He considered claiming the body and reinterring it, once. The historical Arkham family cemetery is only a short walk away. That too would have been favoritism, would have been unexplainable, would have rattled loose things that Jeremiah prefers under lock-and-key.

He gets to his feet, dusting at the green tinge to his knee. He says nothing, because he knows how much the staff talk of him already. He is an Arkham, madness and its cure run in his blood. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen talking to himself, even if such things are natural when any other man or woman does them at their family member’s grave.

In a few days, Jeremiah will return to take away the wilted wreath just like he has every year. He will bury it over the hill, where the cemetery will eventually stretch in future decades, and he will return to work as though it were any other lunch.

Today, Jeremiah stares down at the obliterated slab that marks a man’s grave. Then he returns to work as though it were any other lunch.