#i know she's not dead but still makes me cry

[sunflower1experiment]

Children (Risk's Prequel 2.0)

pt1, pt2

Harley is so full of himself, sometimes dating him was like dipping your hand in a rose bush. Like him they were beautiful. charming, hell you even considered the relationship with him to be a thorn bush without the roses. But it was the day something happened in the labs, you went in and noticed the toys were crying? "What happened?"

You march by and comfort them, "What is wrong with them!?" The other scientist who fails to answer at first, backs away but then she feels you lean in. "What happened? Answer."

"You really don't know? Of course not, not when you're busy playing work wife for Sawyer." You glance at Leith, eyes filling with animosity.

"Mind running that by me? What is wrong with my children?"

"Ah so you claim them. Well, let me break it down, your children, they are not just toys. You of all people should have noticed the vast majority of the new high rise of emotions and tension between them and us." What is he spouting about!? You look at Stelle with a curious eyebrow quirk, she avoids your gaze and once more you return to Leith's cold side glance.

"Sawyer didn't....inform me..."

"Of course not, why would he want to break his favorite sentimental experiment's heart." It goes quiet.

The toys who coward behind you, look up as he leaves, as everyone leaves. You kneel down to study them, then your eyes begin to well up. "......Prototype was serious."

The little ones start to hug your feeble form, while you realize how terrible and naive you are the sounds of shoes fill your ears. "You, you're different..." A pink hand holds your shoulder, a long arm follows after and hugs you.

"No need to cry, Mommy's here." You look at this so-called Mommy, and realize why you recognize this voice, it couldn't be, not her.

"Marie Payne?" She backs up with a slight chuckle and the little toys cling to your hand sadly while Mommy stands on the ground, "So you know, or you did know. What makes you think you're different from them?"

"I'm not, I failed...I-"

"Then stop wallowing and do something!" Mommy's hand punches the ground, this was obviously Marie talking. You firmly nod but then hug the toys again, Banzo bunny, the mini huggys, Daisy, Cat-Bee, so many of these little ones.

When you leave the toys behind you take one more glance at them, Mommy watches with a somber stare, Harley took you for a fool didn't he? Or did he simply know how senstive you were.

You couldn't let these children starve, going back home, it meant missing dinner, breakfast, sure but they had to eat. Risking your job would be worth it regardless, Leith calling you an experiment was one thing but to be embarrassed by everyone? Over his dead body, whenever you returned to work with food, you'd just make a simple curt excuse, then place the boxes and containers down.

"What is this?" Mommy grabs the food, "This will feed you all, starvation leads to difficult actions. Now come on. We have to take care of the kids."

She was in shock, for you to get back up after a day, why weren't the adults who hurt her like you? Even if you played a role, the willingness to do better still prevails. Maybe, she looks at your lab coat while you feed the children fruits, "Maybe there are some good people."

It was a lot to handle, a bit overwhelming even but you didn't pull any punches, but when you met with Harley, you both were quiet. He was sent to sleep on the couch that night. Three days would pass, and he’d check on you, “Dear?”

“What did you do with those orphans I cared for?” Harley kicks himself, cursing Leith, Stella and Eddie. Those three were told to keep you away, how can he adore you if you know too much!? Your face of revulsion or disappointment, so he gently holds your hand, “What do you mean?”

“Harley, do not play dumb with me, you’re smart and that's what I love about you…” Of course, of course he should be honest…. “I, well Elliot said we should do this for the betterment of humanity, I’m simply following orders.” The audacity, you were there when he argued with Elliot and everyone knew he had anger issues. 

That was why you chose to avoid Harley but you both attracted each other, he was enamored by your genuine curiosity and adoration for simplistics, meanwhile he always had such charisma with that gentle tone, polite demeanor and fascination with anatomy. Were you in love with a facade perhaps? “So you knew, and didn’t tell me?”

 He didn’t deny the knowledge but to deliberately not tell you, why? So Kissy, her stress, Mommy, Huggy, and who else? Harley hated it when you cried, he knew when the tears fell that you’d rebel or probably not speak to him. Relationships were complicated, but you both communicated and that was what made Harley stay, yet this time he knew you’d speak your mind. So he did what he could to try and change the perception of the situation.”You know I love you, I would never lie.” 

His hand falls flat and he clutches it, your face wasn’t shedding tears but they looked disappointed. You then hold your stomach before hugging him sadly, “.....One more question, what did you do…with him?”

No, not him, not the boy… 

“Him?” That was the answer you needed, “How can I trust you if you won't even tell me the truth?"

Why? Why were you so sentimental!? Did you not realize the risks? No, of course not.

--

NSFW, CW and TW // Minors DNI (signs of pregnancy, intimacy for NSFW)

CW// Signs of emotional abuse, self-loathing, child experimenting, and abuse

TW// Slight suicidal thoughts. (If you ever feel this way, be sure to call a trusted friend/adult or the hotline, know that you are not alone, you are deserving of care and to be heard.)

"I'm sorry, I’ll make sure to do better..." You nod into his hand while his gentle gaze remains on you, he may be a liar but Harley knew he adored you, you’re perfect. His perfect experiment, the only one who understands him, the only responsive and reactionary force he wished to invest in after he was tired from his other sets of experiments. He slept in the bed beside you, his larger hands resting along  the arm while you remained in Harley’s arms, you were naive even when you held so much unconditional love for him. His lips travel to your neck, hands intertwined together in the moment where Harley’s lips touch, he notices how much your lips embellish his growing adoration. 

When things start to heat up, Harley is there, his arms will wrap around your waist while you admire him, those worry wrinkles, his gentle hands with calluses, and most of all his gaze. Bed creaking, your soft sounds of breathing filling the doctor’s ears whenever those hands of his would roam your frame. At some point he had a moment of lingering, a longing, and it makes him wonder what would you have done if he told the truth? Would you love him enough to fix things, perhaps give him a chance. It was wishful thinking on his end, especially when it comes to his lover. In the intensity of this heated moment between you both, he could feel your hands resting along his face or they’d move to hold him close. 

His deep chuckles and breaths, while you both share more kisses than one can count, Harley would let himself sink into your arms while he indulges in everything he loves. About you, it was strange to be in love with someone, someone of his intellect falling for you. A scientist with a bleeding heart and someone who was always willing to cater to him.

Harley would simply lose his mind at the idea of not being able to cradle your form, in life or death maybe but, he simply wouldn't allow it. Not when someone as perfect as you, could fit his standards of experimentation.

Every fiber of your being knew something was wrong, even after you began cuddling again, his grasp of you was firm with the iron grip. The way he’d kiss your forehead while you lean into his bare chest, “Hey....if Leith ever talks to you poorly, let me know…and, try not to worry about the toys. You should be focused on our work.” It goes silent, as you cuddle into him with a distant sad gaze, taking note of his slightly serious tone. 

“Okay..”

--

You lied, now you were worrying for the children more than ever, feeding them and then the visit to Kissy’s room, carefully feeding her you note the long gaze. Kissy slowly moves forward and then her slender arm moves carefully; she begins hugging you close. “It's okay Kissy, I’m fine.”

How could someone of your caliber be so naive and caring? Especially when she and these children rely on you, the only adult to make this right?

"So, you and Harley?" Stella tries to make conversation, you merely nod in agreement, even if he had to sleep on the couch for a couple of days. Somehow it always worked out, because you'd still feed him, tend to him, you could be angry right now and he's already slipping through those cracks and crevices. But when he was angry, he was never one to aim it at you but when he did, you'd offer a hug, some time alone or just to talk.

The thing is this anger wasn't ever aiming to you: his partner, but instead your coworkers who could feign innocent all they want, yet none of them were any better than you or Harley. That is why you hated your sense of morals; how could you date a potential child abuser? What if, he hurts....

"Mz.?" You startle when Stella speaks again, gently moving the Candy-cat toy so he wouldn't get hurt. "I- need to check on the children."

She frowns, "Hey, um...If...Harley is..."

"What?"

"You'll come to me if he does anything right?" Stelle asks, you pause then turn to her while she gives a somber smile to assure any form of Desolate emotions that threaten to spill out.

"Stelle, you and Leith know what he is doing. You never told me; we are no better than him and you shouldn't try to be of help when these children are being treated this way. The least I can do is comfort, nurture and love them." As your back turns to the woman who watches your retesting form she looks down, gripping the Zinnia while Harley, as if to mock her walks by with a Tuberose flower.

He places it in your vase, then looks to Stella, "You should focus on work. I'm sure you both will find a way to rekindle whatever friendship you had."

Whatever Harley told you it was obvious he didn't realize how much it would hurt you at the end, Stella saw the signs clear as day. She was your friend, easy to socialize with, but you always took the time to listen to her dreams and desire to care for the children. As you place more food down for the little ones, Mommy finally speaks again.

"I saw you with Kissy, she's being moved...further down, and... there are more...down below."

"Down, below?" Mommy couldn't help but scowl at your naivety, she felt sorry for you. ".....That boy, Quinn?"

What about Quinn? She tells you softly while you listen, her hands grip your arms to keep you from running. Being outraged, it was quiet...

Down below, Quinn, Marie, how many children...

One last thing to do.

You step into the lab, where Prototype remains. "gOoD tO sEe-E you, mY dEAr.." His metallic hands carefully hold your soft fleshy ones.

But you merely look away, he senses the hesitation to speak and realizes how much you knew. "s0 thE dOcTeR t-TRu-TRULY! Truly did fail, you know a lot but how much?"

Enough to where you were sitting before his creation, "I...I am not any better than him. I asked him to stop hurting you, he was...."

"Angry?" The experiment says in his voice to which you wince and then nod slowly, "Yes but it wasn't enough, you and I both know that." Prototype lifts your chin up.

"oF cOurSe."

"I'm sorry, I cannot apologize enough, I so badly wanted to think that, not everyone is truly a monster, and these children deserve the best....as many have said: Children deserve parents, but parents do not deserve children or deserve to even be parents. But I was truly naive, Mommy knows this." As the Prototype listens, he also twitches.

Harley was coming, so he gently shushes you and then points. You stand, grabbing the files but before you leave. You speak one more time, "Please do not hurt the children, and don't let vengeance cloud your perception."

With that you leave with the door shutting behind you, Harley walks in and notices the files. At first, he wanted to start a long lecture about his experiments being disturbed but you hand him the files. "Sorry, I wanted to help you work..."

Harley smiles at you for a quick moment but then you both go your separate ways, until you stop. "Harley."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever considered the thought of children?"

He pauses at the question, thinking of the implications of you having his child...the thought occurred to him during your intimate nights together. But he truly didn't see the resolve, especially when there are children surrounding you every day. "No, not when we have the Playtime Co. You and I are truly different."

It goes quiet and you leave, but not after chuckling to his little banter. Of course, Harley Sawyer is so full of himself. Very apathetic, very....

Foolish.

Sometimes, life felt like grappling at a thread just to see you survive, the more food you'd distribute the more guilt you felt.

The last straw was probably when you asked him to go down below. ".....Of course, is there a reason?"

"Of course, I want to see my partner's work up close." Harley couldn't help but crack a smile, he holds your hand, like always as if trying to form some sort of emotional power balance. Then his lips connect to your head, "I'd be happy to."

.....

What have you done?

[nightingale-prompts]

The thing in the graveyard was called "The Lover" (Harlot it too mean)

Despite what the stories say he rarely appeared. Tourists and armature ghost hunters have tried to capitalize on the popularity of the trend. A sort of fandom formed for those who guessed about the appearance and origin of the supposed ghost.

Truly to only people who saw him were lonely. The lover would appear to them as a young and beautiful young man. He didn't attack and only sometimes did he try to convince you to leave with him. Other times he'd just sit with you and listen. He'd lean on your shoulder. He'd cry for you. Anything that could ease your pain.

You couldn't film the encounters and no one could describe him in detail.

Tim wanted to investigate this. He researched every story he could find of the ghost. Some stories said he was the spirit of a man abandoned by his partner and others said he was a demon that seduces mortals to drag them to hell. Tim gathered that The Lover only comes when you are alone, arrive after midnight and come on a moonless night.

Tim chose the right date and time as he entered the iron gates.

It was a desolate walk, like walking into nowhere. Until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. They were cool to the touch. A weight pressed against his back.

"You finally came for me." A warm voice echoed in the silence.

The sounds of wings fluttered and beat in the distance.

Tim stilled. It's him.

Tim pulled away and turned to see the fabled "Lover". And he was everything described and more. He seemed to glow in the lantern light that Tim had prepared.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

He steeled his nerves whatever happened next he shouldn't let the ghost use him to escape. Every time so far the victim has run away.

"You are one of her knights. You must be here to free me." He said with a soft smile as he hugged Tim tightly. "I'm so glad it over. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about who's knight?" Tim asked unhooking his arms and feeling how solid they were and not ghostly at all.

Tim wreaked his brain to figure out if this ghost was mixing up something from hundreds of years ago. Maybe during the rule of the queen in colonial times? No, that didn't make sense either.

"It doesn't matter. You're here now. And we can leave." His smiled only faltered for a moment but it soon returned as he excitedly grabbed Tim's hand.

"Where do you plan on going?" Tim asked trying to ignore the way the boy looked at him like he was his savior.

"Home...I want to go home." He said sadly. "I don't belong here."

"You're a ghost. Shouldn't you stay here and rest?"

"I'm not dead!" He yelled pushing close to Tim "I'm alive! I swear! Can't you feel me?! I'm real!"

Suddenly Tim felt a pain of lips on his. They were cold but...soft. I'm pushed the boy away quickly.

"Stop that! What are you doing?" Tim yelled.

The ghost boy clenched his jaw as he was shoved away. His eyes were wide as he was caught off guard.

"That...usually worked. Guys usually listen when they think they will get something out of this." His voice was cold and bitter.

"So you really think I'll let you leave if you kiss me?!" Tim said incredulously.

The ghost's expression twisted in confusion.

"I don't have anything else to give. I just...want to leave. I'll do anything. No one will listen to me." Tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

The graveyard was deathly quiet again.

"Are you going to leave me here too?" A sob broke out as he spoke. "I can't last much longer. And she let you come here. So she must have forgiven me. She'll let me go if you let me out."

Tim saw the pain in the ghost's eyes and he did something stupid. He reached out and hugged him. A real hug. The kind his emotionally constipated family rarely gave. It was probably the only affection the ghost boy was given that wasn't forced or initiated by him.

Tim was still unsure if he should go through with this. He wanted answers but now only one question was on his mind.

"What's your name?"

"Danny....my name is Danny."

Kiss of Death- DCxDP prompt

A valentine horror.

Didn't matter why you were there or why you didn't run.

There was a graveyard older than Gotham itself. The names on the grave are weathered and unreadable from hundreds of years of exposure. The only reason one should come here was if you had managed to track your heritage to this gravesight after searching museum archives for burial records since the city wouldn't keep ones so old in the government building.

Unless...

You came because of the legend.

It's a new one. So it's more of an urban legend.

The story goes that the graveyard is haunted and a that anyone who comes here late at night will die. It's a simple legend, a very cliche and uncreative one at that.

But here you are. What was your goal? Ghost hunting? Graverobbing? Or perhaps your curiosity had consumed you and you had to know.

The air was thick. Like you are slowly choking on the darkness around you. Have you ever been in a room so quiet it was deafening? Like you are sure you must have lost your hearing because not even the wind would greet your ears. It was just empty space that wordlessly told you that you are alone. But that was just a room. A room that you leave and find solace in a trip of a light switch. This however was no room. It was the wide expanse of the outside world. In a place where streetlamps were not even a flicker in the minds of the residents that rest deep below your feet.

You chose a bad time to come. Perhaps you would be spared the wondering in the dark if you had the forgiving light of the moon on you. But such things were an afterthought, wasn't it? No tonight the moon was shadowed and the light of the stars would be your only salvation...but this was still Gotham. Could their light even reach you with the distant city lights over the horizon? Could the clouds mercifully move out of the way to give you some hope that you were not abandoned?

Now you were ill-prepared but you must have had some sense to at least charge your phone before you came. It's flashlight might be enough to get you back. But you're come this far. Brave or foolish you continue forward.

Until someone approached. You couldn't see them, only hear the muted footfalls of something coming near. Your ears so starved for sensation drank it like water in a dessert.

And in the light of your torch, a face appeared. A pair of baby blue eyes simmered in the light. A relieved smile on a pair of soft pale pink lips. A young man with tousled black locks appearing holding a small arm full of lilies and tulips.

"Finally, someone else. I thought I'd be here till morning." He said in relief as he came closer.

"What are you doing here?" You ask surprised that you weren't the only person here.

"I was cleaning the graves here and I must have lost track of time. Can you lead me out of here?" He asked softly and you'd hit yourself if you said no.

He clung to your arm as you walked him down the path.

The air began to get colder.

Where there was once silence you hearabout d the sound of crows beating their wings and making their wretched calls.

He clung harder to you.

That horrible curiosity got the better of you and so you began to speak.

"Why were you out here cleaning graves anyways." You asked.

"I was...helping. I come here alot." He said simply.

Nevermind the fact he was not dressed in clothes fit for cleaning. His white button-up shirt and dress pants were not something you get dirty. In fact, he didn't have a fleck of dirt on him.

"Where are your supplies?" You ask.

"I left them behind. I'll come back for them." He said curtly.

His grip on your arm tightened and it got colder.

"Just stay close please. I don't want to lose you in this darkness." He cooed.

You begin to feel lightheaded. The cold damp air made it hard to breathe.

You hear the crows...no ravens call out again.

"Never leave!" They repeated

"Trapped!" They called.

You hear a growl come from those pink lips, only they weren't pink anymore.

You look down at your companion and see a pair of bloody lips and a smile curled into a cruel but somehow sweet smile. A pair of glowing acidic green eyes that narrowed into pinpricks like a bird locking onto its prey. His once soft ebony lock now as stark white as snow caps.

You try to pull away but their grasp crushed your arm, hands like icy claws dug in.

" Where are you going?" He asked calm his eyes baring into yours.

Suddenly he did look very scary. No, he looked...so sad...so helpless and lost. His eyes where so warm and inviting.

"Don't leave me here. Help me. I promise I'll make it worth your while." His smile was so warm and inviting.

"Leave!" The ravens screeched.

"Run!" They called.

Even the screaming of the birds where drowned out as he pressed his lips to yours. It was too late. The sickly sweet scent of death and flowers filled your senses.

Why though, was his lips so cold? Why did they fill his mouth with the coppery taste of blood? Why did you feel so empty in the space you had hoped he'd fill in your heart?

But then a sharp pain struck your head and the warm trickle of blood flowed from your wound as a bird flew over your head.

You pulled away from the cloying embraces you perked in pain. And then you saw it. His face half half-rotted and skeletal. The once handsome man was a monster.

You sprinted away from him trying to frantically call someone for help on your phone. But foolish one had you forgotten. Your phone is also your flashlight and as you tried to use it you could only run blindly in the dark hoping you were still on the path. The sound of wind slicked the air behind you as you felt his icy breath on the back of your neck. You could only guess what was behind you as you heard no footsteps behind you only the feeling of being chased.

You dared not stop not even a moment and prayed that you didn't stumble. But mercy had found you as you saw the gate come into view and the solitary streetlight just beyond the boarder.

"You said you'd get me out! You can't leave me here!" A bloodcurdling screech rang out.

But you had already won as you made it out just barely with the graze of clawed fingertips at the back of your neck.

You closed the gate behind you and as you gazed into the dark abyss beyond the metal barrier you half expected it to be there. For it to snarl at you in anger watching you leave or slamming itself at the gate. But there was nothing. Not even the wind.

[binomech]

i think what gets me so riled up about the goat-adjacent theorising part of the severance fandom is that it's always about what the goats do for lumon, instead of what the goats mean to the employees.

and they never even think oh, the goats sound like crying babies. the mammalians worker was so worried were being taken before they'd even finished nursing. oh, the goats are a herd and mammalians department acts like a herd and they feel each loss as a group. oh, we're just animals. oh, masturbation and homosexuality are punished because like the goats we're just here to make more goats. oh, the goats are alive and used as produce. oh, helly is scared she might be sending them to the slaughterhouse.

it's never about that. it's always about cloning. it's always about pip's food. it's always about the company. it's never about the worker. it's always about the use. it's never about the body.

it's always "what is lumon doing?" and not "who the fuck cares what their motivation is when the show is literally relentlessly just saying REGARDLESS OF MOTIVATION, THIS IS ABUSE. REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH YOU THINK YOU KNOW BETTER, THESE ARE PEOPLE." they don't think about the innies as children, about expectation, about the trauma of reproduction, about being a body being dismissed in favor of using a body.

lots of "wow cobel is a freak MILF" and jorjorwell but you can't even look at her clutching a respirator after tearing apart a literal altar to a pharmaceutical that just fired her and her knowing how to help a baby latch. you can't fucking sit with why she's spying and fucking with a widower to see what happens when he sees his dead wife at work after a lobotomy and why it still feels uncomfortable and invasive as hell.

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Five

Prompt: Not Trusting Reality

Caretaker ran ahead of Team. They made sure Whumper wasn’t home before rushing in, the rest of the team clearing the house while Caretaker ran downstairs to the basement; to Whumpee.

They flicked on the light as they reached the bottom and gasped. Whumpee was chained to the back wall. Her arms were spread wide to her sides, shackled at the wrists while a thick metal band was wrapped around her throat. She was in scraps of clothing. Her bralette and what looked like boxer shorts.

She didn’t lift her head when the lights flickered. Fear grabbed Caretaker’s throat and forced their limbs forward, mumbling Whumpee’s name. “No, no, no. Whumpee, please… please don’t be dead.”

Caretaker grabbed her cheeks in his hands, lifting her heavy head. God she was so much skinnier than last time he saw her… what did— Whumper would pay for what he did to her. Caretaker would make sure he’d suffer.

Whumpee moaned. Caretaker’s heart fluttered in his chest and he gasped. “Whumpee, hey,” he said softly. “Whumpee it’s me. It’s Caretaker.”

Whumpee opened her eyes. For a moment she stared at him as if he were a ghost. Then recognition flashed across her eyes. “It’s me,” Caretaker continued. “I’m here with team. We’re here to rescue you.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened with fear. “No! No! NO! NO!” Whumpee screamed, thrashing in her restraints. “No! NO! NO! NO! I WAS GOOD! I WAS GOOD! PLEASE YOU PROMISED!”

Caretaker grabbed her, trying to still Whumpee’s jerking movements that looked painful. Whumpee’s head shot forward, neck straining as she gnashed her teeth at Caretaker going to bite him.

Caretaker recoiled. “Whumpee! It’s me! It’s real.”

“YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN’T MAKE ME SEE THEM ANYMORE, PLEASE WHUMPER! PLEASE!” She wailed like a banshee. “I was good! I was good. I have been so good. I obeyed. I followed the rules. Why?! Why! Why! WHY! WHY!”

“Whumpe—”

Rage contorted Whumpee’s red face. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” She roared. Then she started growling and snapped her head back against the concrete wall of the basement. Caretaker lurched forward, putting a hand between her head and the wall.

“GET AWAY! GET AWAY!” She didn’t stop trying to slam her head against the wall. She was acting like a wild animal, thrashing in the chains that held her firm.

“Caretaker?” Leader asked as he descended the steps. He paused when his eyes found Whumpee. Caretaker turned his pleading gaze to Leader.

“Help me! I don’t know what he did. She— she… she doesn’t think it’s real. That we’re… actually here.”

Whumpee slackened when she saw Leader. All of a sudden her fight left her and she went boneless in the chains. Leader stepped in cautiously, a warm smile on his face.

“Hey, Whumpee. You remember me?”

“I was good,” she whimpered. “Please, don’t. I was good. I’ll be good. I’ll be… I’ll be better I promise.”

“Whumpee, it’s Leader,” Caretaker said, but Whumpee trembled in her chains. Tears welled behind her eyes as she kept her head bent. Submissive.

“Please. I was good. I’ll be good, Whumper, please.”

Leader and Caretaker froze. “Whumper… please stop. I can’t see them. I can’t see Caretaker, please, I was good.”

Rogue barrelled down the steps. “Guys, what’s the hold up?”

She was walking towards Whumpee before Whumpee could cry out or protest. She lifted her hands to the chains and they burned a radioactive red, melting the chains that held Whumpee to the wall. First on her hands and then the one with the collar around her neck.

Rogue looked at Caretaker pointedly. “Well? Grab her and let’s go.”

Whumpee looked up with wide eyes. “W-what?” Her hands fell heavy to her sides, slapping against her thighs. She glanced at Leader. “What’re you doing? Stop it! You— you never made them free me.”

“Whumpee, I’m not Whumper,” Leader said, his voice thicker than before.

“Don’t— Stop them! No! Get off ME!” Whumpee screamed as Caretaker picked her up bridal style. She thrashed in his hold, but he held her firm as she squirmed.

“Stop! STOP! NO! WHUMPER I DON’T WANT THIS! I DON’T— I’M SORRY!” She screamed as Caretaker walked past Leader and took to the stairs.

Leader stood frozen, staring at the place Whumpee was. Whumper had… Whumper had made her think that Leader was… Leader was him? A hand on his shoulder startled him and he glanced up to see Rogue, her face impassive but he could sense her unease.

“We’ll get her back, Leader. We’ll undo what Whumper did to make her think that you… are a threat.”

“I…” Leader began, but words caught in his throat. What could he even say?

“Come on,” Rogue said, turning him and pushing him ahead of her to the stairs. “Everything will be fine. We have her now. She’s safe.”

Leader couldn’t stop the knot of dread tying itself in his gut. Whumper would… he tightened his hands into fists and took a deep breath.

No. First, get Whumpee better. Then… then they can get revenge.

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list: @whump-in-the-closet

[blondemrk]

hi ill become an anon 4 u! would you write chenle x reader who's really obvious w their crush? like they make him lil things all the time and gets so blushy around him so lele decides to take matters into his own hands :3 (you can do wtvr you want with the confrontation >_o) okii ty!!

♡ marks wife

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

p chenle x fem!reader g fluff

hi anon!! tysm for req. what do you want ur emoji to be :3

chenle wasn’t stupid.

if anything, he prided himself on being sharp—on reading people well, on picking up things others missed.

so when y/n started acting weird around him—stammering when he got too close, avoiding eye contact, blushing like crazy—he noticed.

and the gifts? yeah, those were hard to miss.

it started small. a neatly wrapped pack of his favorite candy left on his desk one morning. then a custom keychain with his initials, which she shoved into his hands so fast she nearly tripped over her words. then a handwritten note before his basketball game, wishing him luck with a tiny doodle of a dolphin in the corner.

chenle wasn’t dense.

and if y/n thought she was being subtle, she was dead wrong.

which is why, after weeks of watching her fluster herself into oblivion, he decided to do something about it.

the opportunity presented itself after school, when he caught y/n stuffing yet another carefully wrapped gift into his locker.

“you know, most people just say hi when they like someone.”

y/n jumped.

she spun around so fast she nearly knocked herself into the locker, her face instantly going up in flames. “chenle?! what are you—”

chenle grinned, leaning casually against the row of lockers. “what am i doing?” he tilted his head. “the real question is, what are you doing?”

y/n looked horrified.

“i wasn’t doing anything!” she blurted, immediately stepping in front of his locker like she could physically block the evidence.

chenle snorted. “yeah? then move.”

her eyes went wide. “why?”

“because i want to see what you definitely weren’t putting in my locker.”

y/n clamped her hands over her face, groaning. “oh my god.”

chenle just laughed, stepping closer. he didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, the way she gripped the sleeves of her sweater like it might help her survive this.

she was so obvious. and honestly? it was cute.

“i think i get it now,” he mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “you like me, don’t you?”

y/n’s whole body twitched.

“you dont know what you are talking about”

chenle leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make her squirm. “is that a no?”

she opened her mouth—probably to deny it—but her words got stuck somewhere between her brain and her throat.

chenle grinned. “thought so.”

y/n made a noise that sounded somewhere between a whimper and a cry for help.

“hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly. “relax. you don’t have to freak out.”

“this is so embarrassing ,” y/n muttered into her hands.

chenle chuckled, then—before she could spiral any further—reached for her wrist, gently pulling her hands away from her face.

“listen,” he said, softer now, meeting her wide, embarrassed eyes. “if you’re gonna go through all this trouble just to get my attention…”

y/n swallowed hard. “what?”

chenle grinned. “you could’ve just asked me out.”

“what?"

“i’m serious,” he continued, watching her carefully. “you like me, right?”

y/n stared at him, her lips parting slightly.

it took a second, but she nodded.

chenle smirked. “ i like you too.”

for a solid five seconds, y/n didn’t move. didn’t breathe.

chenle laughed, ruffling her hair before turning on his heel. “c’mon, let’s get something to eat. i’ll consider it our first date.”

and with that, he walked off—leaving y/n standing there, still frozen, still reeling, still trying to comprehend what just happened.

@chenlezip @injvns @polarisjisung @narcisstict @mrkified

[sturniololuvz]

Could you write a fic where like there sisters only 17 and they find a positive pregnancy test and at first there mad and asking who the guy is but then they support her the whole way if that makes sense

omg yes!!! I LOVE THIS ONEEEEE

“Always By Your Side”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : crying , yelling , comforting

Y/N had been keeping a secret.

For weeks, she’d been feeling off—tired, nauseous, emotional. At first, she brushed it off as stress, but deep down, she knew something was wrong. So, with shaking hands and a racing heart, she bought a pregnancy test and took it in the safety of her bathroom.

And when the test turned positive, her world flipped upside down.

She didn’t know how to tell her brothers.

How could she? They were protective, overbearing, and sometimes a little dramatic. She wasn’t ready for their reaction—wasn’t ready for the yelling, the disappointment, the questions. So, she hid the test in the bathroom trash and planned to figure things out on her own.

Except she wasn’t careful enough.

Discovery & Breakdown

“Y/N!”

Her heart nearly stopped when she heard Nick’s voice from the hallway, sharp and panicked.

“Come here. Now.”

Swallowing hard, she stepped out of her room and into the bathroom doorway—where all three of her brothers stood, staring at the small plastic stick in Matt’s hand.

Chris was the first to break the silence. “Tell me this isn’t yours.”

Her throat tightened. Her hands shook. She couldn’t find her voice.

“Y/N,” Matt tried, his voice softer than Nick’s but still filled with urgency, “please tell me this is some kind of joke.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She had no way out of this.

Nick ran a hand through his hair, his face contorted in anger, confusion, and worry. “Who’s the guy? When did this happen? Are you seriously—?”

“I don’t—I don’t wanna talk about it,” she choked out, her voice trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Not an option,” Chris snapped, pacing the bathroom. “Y/N, this is serious! We need to know who did this, what’s going on—”

“I don’t need you guys yelling at me!” she suddenly screamed, her emotions boiling over. “I already know I messed up! I’m scared, and I don’t need you three making it worse!”

The triplets fell silent at her outburst. The only sound was Y/N’s quiet sobs as she buried her face in her hands.

Matt was the first to move. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She clung to him, shaking, as Chris and Nick softened, their anger melting into something else—concern.

“Hey,” Nick sighed, rubbing his face. “We’re not mad at you. We’re just… freaking out.”

Chris exhaled heavily, nodding. “Yeah. But you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

Y/N sniffled, pulling back to look at them. “You guys aren’t… mad at me?”

Matt shook his head. “We’re worried. But you’re our sister, Y/N. We’ve got you.”

The First Trimester - Morning Sickness & Mood Swings

The next few weeks were brutal.

Morning sickness hit her hard. She spent most mornings in the bathroom, curled over the toilet, feeling miserable.

Chris was the one who started waking up early to make sure she had crackers and ginger ale.

Nick took charge of making doctor’s appointments, reading way too many pregnancy articles, and constantly asking, “Are you drinking enough water?”

Matt, always the peacemaker, was there for every emotional breakdown—whether it was crying over a sad commercial or getting irrationally mad when they brought home the wrong kind of ice cream.

“Okay, I love you guys,” she sniffled one night, curled up on the couch, “but if one more person tells me to drink water, I’m throwing something.”

Chris immediately hid his water bottle behind his back.

The Second Trimester - Cravings & Baby Kicks

By the second trimester, things got easier. The morning sickness faded, and her energy returned. But the cravings were wild.

At 2 a.m., she shook Nick awake.

“I need pickles and peanut butter.”

He groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was back with pickles, peanut butter, and a very annoyed expression.

Then came the first time the baby kicked.

She gasped, grabbing Matt’s arm. “Oh my God, she moved!”

His eyes widened, and he immediately called for the others.

The three of them took turns feeling her belly, their excitement making her heart swell.

“That’s so weird,” Chris muttered in awe.

Nick grinned. “That’s so cool.”

Matt just shook his head with a soft smile. “She’s gonna be so loved.”

The Third Trimester - Nesting & Nerves

As the due date got closer, the triplets went into full big brother mode.

Chris built the crib (with only minimal cursing), Matt organized all the baby clothes, and Nick made sure the hospital bag was packed perfectly.

But one night, Y/N broke down.

“What if I’m not ready?” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “What if I’m a terrible mom?”

Nick knelt beside her, taking her hand. “You’re gonna be amazing, Y/N. And you’re not alone. We’re right here.”

“Yeah,” Chris added. “You and Baby Girl? You’ve got the best uncles ever.”

Matt smiled. “She’s lucky to have you.”

And for the first time in months, Y/N truly believed them.

The Birth - Meeting Baby Girl

When labor hit, chaos erupted.

Chris nearly passed out.

Nick was screaming at the hospital staff.

Matt was the calmest—holding her hand, whispering, “You got this, Y/N.”

And after hours of pain, tears, and sheer exhaustion—she heard the first cry of her baby girl.

She sobbed as they placed her daughter in her arms, her tiny fingers curling around Y/N’s.

“She’s beautiful,” Matt whispered.

Nick wiped his eyes, pretending he wasn’t crying. “She’s so small.”

Chris, still in shock, muttered, “I’m gonna teach her the best pranks.”

Y/N laughed through her tears, looking down at her daughter—her whole world.

And as she held her little girl, surrounded by the three boys who never left her side, she knew one thing for sure.

No matter what, they would always be a family.

[deconstructthesoup]

Okay, at this point, I genuinely don't care if I've made a post like this before, because I have new ideas and working on Put Your Records On again has gotten me in the fucking mood.

*ahem*

What Kind of D&D Players the Dead Boy Detectives Characters Would Be (this is totally subjective)*

Edwin: Pro bono rules lawyer, full-stop. He's the type of player who has memorized what every single spell can do, knows the best combos to make an incredibly effective build, and is one of those maniacs who's read the 2014 DMG cover-to-cover more than once. He's also got surprisingly good backstories and motivations for his characters, though it takes him a couple sessions to really get into the roleplay of the thing. (Also, you cannot convince him to play a martial class. It's spells or nothing.)

Charles: Gets insanely invested in his characters. He comes up with their name, personality, species, voice, and backstory wayyyyyyy before anything mechanics-related comes into play, and every single decision about mechanics is a "would my character pick this" question, not a "is this going to make my build broken" question. His decisions are always deeply in-character, in the way that makes the DM incredibly happy for story reasons, and he's absolutely the type to make character playlists and moodboards. It's a fifty-day mourning period on the very rare occasions his character dies.

Crystal: Also gets invested in her characters, but she goes for vibes first. You won't catch her playing a human fighter (no shade to human fighters)---if a species isn't from Monsters of the Multiverse or in the "uncommon" section of the core species part of the Player's Handbook, it's not for her, and she'll always pick a class with lots of big, flashy moves and magic to throw around. Most of the time, she even winds up multiclassing, though it's never for optimization and always for flavor... buuuuut Crystal still manages to do pretty cool things with those multiclasses. She also goes hard with making character cosplays. Her social media's now full of pictures of her dressed up as her characters.

Niko: The DM's ultimate hype-person. She's always asking questions about the world, gets super into the plot, and tries her hardest to get as immersed as possible into the story that's unfolding. Basically, she's my dream player who's always making suggestions that perfectly add to the lore---like, for instance, "what if Fantasy Adventure College required you to defend your thesis by actually fighting your professors?" (This is something that one of my IRL players asked last session, and I swear to god, I reached new levels of platonic adoration as soon as those words left his mouth.) I think Niko would make characters who are mostly support, not really wanting to take up the spotlight... but when her characters do get a moment to shine, oh boy do they shine.

Jenny: Starts out as a hack-and-slasher who's only playing to make everyone else happy, and then winds up having genuine fun with it. I'm pretty sure that Jenny would never be anything more than a casual player, probably the person who just shows up every now and then to play a plot-relevant character that the DM had lined up, but she likes rolling dice every now and then.

Monty: Dice. Goblin. Yes, he plays incredibly well-crafted and heartfelt characters who deliver Shakespearean monologues and have backstories that make you cry, but the most important thing is that Monty initially got into D&D for one thing and one thing only---to collect shiny dice. Glitter, inclusions, metal---you name it, he has it, and his collection is something to behold. (He's a crow, of course he loves dice.)

The Cat King: The chaos player. His characters are pretty decent, he commits to the arcs, and he's not terribly disruptive, but make no mistake---he will try to resolve a sticky situation by suggesting doing something absolutely insane, he will roll a nat 20, and the DM will have to pick up the pieces. It's pure "I-disguse-myself-as-him," "I-don't-think-you-heard-me-I-said-blimey," "I'm-gonna-conjure-up-an-image-of-a-sexy-rat" energy, and it's an absolute delight and nightmare all at once. (All of his characters are charisma casters. Go figure.)

*The Night Nurse and Esther have zero interest in D&D, Night Nurse because she has no time for childish activities and Esther because she doesn't see the point in playing make-believe slaughter your enemies when you can do that in real life

[angelsdean]

sometimes it feels like people (not you) infantilize mary the same way they infantilize jack. like she's almost 30 she's not 18 (not saying she's equal in maturity to her sons). she was an adult for a decade and chose to be a mom and then got upset because her adult children were adults and told them they weren't enough to overcome her grief (she has the right to be upset to be clear, i just feel like her wording was cruel in a way she might've not realized) and they have a right to be hurt that she isn't even trying to move on (from their perspective). (im 25 so maybe im biased tbh)

like imagine if your mom came back and then said "hey you aren't my sons. not the ones i want anyway. i can't be around you." like that's kind of cruel even if it's born out of deep hurt and not what she intended to say.

yup i touched on some of the age stuff in the ask i just answered, but yea this.

like i've said it a million times how much i understand her perspective and sympathize with her. i even wrote a little ficlet from her POV exploring her feelings of grief. i feel a lot for her in this situation. but i can feel bad for her and ALSO feel bad for sam and dean too. like there is no limit on who gets my sympathy / empathy. feeling for one of them doesn't make the others the bad or wrong ones. they can all be hurt in different ways and i can feel bad for all of them.

like you said, her words come off unintentionally (!) as cruel. dean later laments that this is hard for them too, that she's been gone their whole lives. now she's HERE. of course they're going to want her around. of course they're going to want some kind of relationship with her. of course the inner child in both of them (but i think dean especially bc he remembers her) is crying out for a shred of parental affection.

and it's hard, because mary is riddled with her own grief. and they give her time and space and she still doesn't seem to be working thru anything, instead she throws herself into hunting to cope. it's not until 12x22, when dean has to BEG her to look at him, his adult self, and really see him that she seems to finally overcome that grief.

but yea, mary hurts them with her actions. she doesn't mean to, and her situation is complicated and i'm sympathetic to her, but she hurts them nonetheless. and her age shouldn't be an "excuse" or something to throw around like a trump card to say "ok well it doesn't matter that she hurt them because she's younger than them now and they shouldn't be asking anything of her." she was their mom at 28. she was their mom at 24. she is always going to be their mom, and they have always seen this young woman (through pictures, memories, and time travel) AS their mother. they're not wrong for seeing her and going, "hey mom" and wanting a relationship with her.

also yea as someone roughly her age (29) i am like, if i had been dead my kids' whole lives and came back i'd want to know them? and spend time with them? even if it was hard? i'd be like, okay tell me everything. i'd also, probably, indeed be babying them bc the last time i was alive they were my babies. like "you still like pb&j with the crusts off? and uhh sam....you like...milk?" lmao

[cantfightmoonlight]

"More like I was desperate to try to find a silver a good in a really fucked up situation?" She admitted quietly after a prolonged breath. "When they had been appalled at what had happened to me, they made me feel seen and maybe a little validated," She let out a small sigh as she pivoted from where she was sitting to face her cousin. "When I came back, I really did think it would all be okay, you know? Like if I just found you and Luna then everything would go back to the way it should be. It might not have been the plan, but we could pivot? I could adjust. I could be adjustable. I know I never really had a good track record of that in the past, but we'd figure it out. Only, Luna never really cared about me like that. I was just a chapter in her book. A mistake she had no problem moving on from and this place, filled with people I thought would be my friends and neighbors, were kind of awful. I never had people outwardly hate me before or be mean, which I know makes me sound privileged as fuck and I probably was. But, whenever everyone seemed to just expect me to get over it, move on and figure out all this vampire stuff all on my own, Lo and Dilan had been the ones who said hey, it's okay to take a moment for yourself. Grieve or something? So, that's what's this was supposed to be is all. Less fun as much as making space I suppose? As cliché as that sounds now that everyone is doing it for the lyrics of Defying Gravity. But, it was supposed to be something. You know, if they hadn't forgotten about it and all," Her shoulders lifted and fell into a small shrug.

She didn't say anything when he told her that she deserved a lot. She had a feeling whatever she could say wouldn't exactly be the best contribution. Not when the idea of hope, a mentality she once had clung so strongly to, felt almost toxic now. "They do. But, it's okay. I'm sort of used to it now," She admitted with another small shrug. "Jonah, it's okay," Her brow eyes met his as she gave him a genuine and reassuring smile. "Jake started his speech with 'I’d tell you it starts with F' and there might not have been a 'U'- his speech was actually kind of nice despite it sort of sounding like some political advisor's stance on civility. But, I'm pretty sure I'm still one of his least favorite people in this room. Aaliyah told me when I first turned to eat oranges to stop me from burning in the sun and I was nearly fried to a crisp, so I'm sure that will come up at some point too. My own best friend, last year on my birthday, told me she was scared of me, when I lost empathy. Ken's told me to my face that just because I'm friends with Leyla doesn't mean that he has to be mine, and the list goes on and on. The people here don't like me and it's okay." She didn't particularly like herself either, so at least they had something in common. The corner of her lips itched up into a hint of a smile, however deprecating, at the thought.

"You didn't make me cry, Jonah. I cried because I realized that another year has gone by. Another birthday and, despite being back for three years, I still can't shake this feeling that I should have stayed dead. I'm not trying to freak you out by admitting that, by the way. It's just my life seemed better before. I was better before. At least I liked me better and the majority of people I knew seemed to too for that matter. And that's not to say that I don't have good things going. I love Ben, so much so, and I would have never had the chance to fall in love with him if I hadn't come back. But, I also wish I came back as a human and not this." Not as some freak of nature. It was ironic really, how as a human she used to see vampires as beautiful. She had been in complete and utter awe of them, only to realize, that she might have been one of the few people who had genuinely felt that way after turning. "I cried because three birthdays have gone by and not much has changed for me. I still don't know what the fuck I'm doing. My body still seems to be rejecting what I've become and, even if it wasn't, it's not like I have a lot of guidance when it comes to figuring it out. People are still calling me a monster, a bitch and a whole other slew of names. And, while Dilan and you came to check on me, no one defended me. Not when I was called an 'entitled asshole'. That's not me criticizing you either, I hope you know, even though I know you might take it as another way you messed up, when its not. I didn't ask you to come to my defense and I probably was being an entitled asshole. But, I cried because I was upset with my life and, in part, myself. While, I'm hiding because this was about the place I could find to have a moment to do what this whole party was supposed to be about to begin with- grieve the death of the girl I lost and get over myself," She shrugged once more.

"So," She reached out and gave his hand another small squeeze. "Don't feel bad, okay? Or feel like you can't participate in White Elephant anymore. It was never about a silly game to begin with."

.

That, her not contesting or declining the offer to drink without a glass, gave away a lot into how Bri was feeling, and all it did was make Jonah slump lower into the seat. "You were thinking it could be fun. There's no way to predict the mess before that would led to this day not meeting your expectations. They did have the right idea, to close that chapter and celebrate your life, you should be celebrated, now and always, have a good birthday for once. You deserve a lot. People don't hate you Bri, there's a lot of love here for you tonight and always," he said softly. But he couldn't help the heavy feeling that sat on his chest, to know that he couldn't help make this different for her, that he lacked something or failed at expressing he cared for her, and perhaps in a way he did fail her. In a lot of way even. He certainly couldn't make anything better no matter how hard he tried to do so.

"I'll take that as a good thing. That's something I'm doing right tonight. Drinking. Maybe it'll help me to not be so…me." He laughed and took another long swig. While her tone indicated to that being sincere, he found it a little difficult to believe, given she was hiding was a prime indicator. But he nodded all the same, "Yeah, okay. We can stay here, I don't want to leave." Her question made him scoff, "What didn't I mess up?" he answered, "I know I made you cry, there's that. I think-" he said with a nod, solidifying it within himself as he spoke, "- I think I'm not gonna participate in White Elephant anymore. Does a resolution count if you make it before the new year? Whatever. I'm not doing it again. It's not worth to see you upset."

[arolesbianism]

Despite how much I suffered making my last isat au Aris sprite redraw, I decided to do it again and once again went through hell doing it. There’s like a billion mistakes in this (such as her having the wrong arm rip) but at the end of the day I’m still happy with how it turned out :]

[purgatorygrl]

Arthur promises Mary that once he gets the money they were supposed to get from Dutch's wonderful plan he would go with her. But when you finish the game and watch that scene again, you realize that everything was lost. They couldn't do anything, there was going to be no money and there was no time for Arthur to be able to return to Mary and escape to live the life he dreamed of because he was dying. And somehow Mary knew that was never going to happen. You can see it in the disappointment in her eyes. Arthur had some hope that that precious dream would come true but Mary knew that he would not be able to escape from that world. Arthur tries until the end and I think he goes along with a lot of Dutch's plans because he partly hoped they would work out and he could get the money to go with Mary.

And after their encounters after so long, the wound of impossible love was probably reopened for both of them and it was much more difficult to forget and turn the page on that love story they had. Mary's last letter expresses it all perfectly. They hoped to escape but neither Arthur could leave that world nor Mary could enter that world. Or she might be able to get in, but she knew she wouldn't come out unscathed. They tried as hard as they could with everything they had but in the end they had to settle for dreaming it in their heads.

"I will always miss you" and "When I'm with you, life makes sense" in Mary's final letter leave me completely devastated. That and the fact how Mary has to give back the ring that Arthur gave her because it reminds her of him and the life they could have lived and it causes her so much pain that she has to give it back to him. That card represents the pain of a person who has to leave the love of their life behind them despite knowing that she will probably never find someone as amazing as Arthur.

[warningsine]

Because of Shepard... I am alive. And I am not alone. —Edi

The rogue combat VI on Luna, which later becomes an unshackled AI with integrated Sovereign technology, i.e., EDI, crying out "HELP" as the player kills it.

EDI: "Gaining awareness while under attack was… confusing. I am pleased that my relationship with organics has become more cooperative."

The Cerberus tech guy talking about VI EDI: "It is smart enough to signal for help, but will not be talking philosophy anytime soon."

Meanwhile,

EDI's goodbye before the final mission: "Shepard? There is something I want you to know. The Illusive Man ordered my creation years ago. Jeff was the one who allowed me to think for myself. But only now do I feel alive. That is your influence."

[hauntingblue]

ARCANE EPISODE 7!!!!

MY GOD I WASNT READY FOR ANY OF THIS!!! WHAT WAS THAT!!!

Also ekko wallpaper I got with my fries lmao

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[cloudbends]

IM ACTUALLY IN TEARS . WERE GETTING THERE