#maybe he was buried with it and drug it out if his grave with him

[rawrsatthetree]

I can’t stop thinking about Astarion’s ratty ass blankie that he has at every camp and even on his bed at Elfsong.

[indestructiblelittlefuckers]

@vocesofmd (continued)

It wasn't that Edward hadn't tried. Once he felt well enough to actually move around, he tried to fix the cottage. He tried to just accept that Izzy was gone and that he would have to just move on. But how could he? It was like the grief was pulling him down, to the ground, an unbearable weight on his shoulders. It would kill him and if he wanted to be honest with himself, he wanted it to kill him. Before he dragged Stede down with him. Stede... he didn't seem to be dealing with this any better — Ed saw him, almost every night to sit by Izzy's grave and talk to him, when Ed refused to even acknowledge that he had been there at all. And when one night he came back to bed crying because probably an animal had disturbed the grave, Ed knew they couldn't stay. They couldn't just move on either.

Ricky would come back to the Republic eventually, and they had to be ready. Only the wait made Ed get lost in his head too much and for once again he found solace in drinking and drugs. He had several ideas about their revenge plans, but one day, just like that the thought was pushed away. Ed had just too many ideas about what to do with their lives to think about that. The Inn seemed boring, fishing was something he wasn't that good at, but he could make clothes, couldn't he? He made made his own leather jacket, after all, and it was fun doing that, so he could be a tailor... a leather tailor. Now that was a business idea, wasn't it? They'd open a shop with leather outfits, or at least one that matched Ed's beloved style. Blackbeard's style. Follow the trend. Merchandise. Or whatever Frenchie had called it. Frenchie! He could be of help, he was good at these things and he had to find him, so he asked the fishermen to let him know when Revenge returned to Nassau. What if they combined a outfit shop with alcohol? Mixed drinks and trying outfits, now that sounded even more fun?

Stede barely seemed to follow Ed and his ideas, but he didn't protest much. He had been drinking too, so maybe Ed's mixed drinks idea would work perfectly. He had been looking for a good rum deal at the market when he saw something... someone that made him freeze. It had been as if he had been high, dancing, having fun when suddenly he was sober. Almost as if he was in a trance, Ed walked to the man, his hand on his shoulder to make him turn around.

It was Izzy. ❝Izzy?❞ Ed grinned and let out a small sigh in relief... before reality kicked. It could not be Izzy, could it? That man had died. In his arms. They had all buried him, sobbing. Was he really losing his mind? Had he drunk too much? But why wouldn't his mind recreate the same image Ed held of him? Why give him this new look? ❝How... Are you real? ❞

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Forget-me-not - Eddie Munson x Reader

Forget-me-not (Myosotis) - Meaning: Don't forget me, remembrance

Summary: Reader visits Eddie's grave. Little does she know what awaits her there.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 958

Warnings: Drug use (reader smokes weed), ANGST (with a happy-ish ending), dead!Eddie, Reader was part of ST4 events, cemetery setting, Vampire!Eddie, blood

Day 17 is another angsty one but I think it ends on a positive note. I love Eddie, and I fully believe the Cas storyline is what we'll see in season 5 cuz there's no freakin way I will just forget about this sweet metalhead, you hear me Duffers??

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! ❤️

You held your breath for as long as you could, feeling the smoke invade your lungs before sputtering it loose. The smoke filled the inside of your shitty beater car. You knew you’d reek of it for the rest of the day but you didn’t care. 

You hadn’t cared about much for the last few months. Not since Eddie died. 

Taking another hit, you glanced over at your passenger seat. A bundle of fresh cut flowers — white daisies, the flowers Eddie had brought you on your first date because he heard they were your favorite. A pang of sadness hit you right in the gut, like a punch and you blew out the smoke, feeling the calming effect of the weed. 

You’d only been here a few times since the funeral. It was difficult to bring yourself here, to stand where his uncle had buried an empty coffin and pretend Eddie was down there instead of stuck in the hellish landscape that was the Upside-Down. 

God, everything was so fucked up. 

The whole town was convinced he was a bloodthirsty maniac who deserved what he got. Only you, Wayne, and Hellfire club knew him for what he’d been. A sweet, brave, incredible guy who lived in his imagination because reality was difficult. 

He’d called you ‘princess’ and ‘love’ and drove you to and from school every day in his van, holding your hand the whole way there. He planted kisses on your cheeks when you passed in the halls and wrote you little love notes that he snuck between the pages of your notebook or textbooks so you’d find them later. 

He’d been so gentle when he took your virginity (after having listened to your long-winded feminist rant about how virginity was a “bullshit patriarchal concept”). Every touch and sigh and moan etched on your memory forever. Afterward, he cleaned you up and wrapped you in his lanky arms and told you he loved you for the first time, his big doe eyes shining in the dim light of his room. 

You’d been so incredibly, irrevocably in love with him. And he was gone. 

If you didn’t get out of the car now, you never would, so you stubbed out your blunt and grabbed the flowers and got out. The cemetery was quiet, despite being next to a busy highway. It was early evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and casting everything in an orange glow. Walking through the rows and rows of headstones until you found the familiar name. 

‘Edward Munson’

‘Now at Peace’

Except that wasn’t the truth. His body was rotting in another dimension, probably torn to shreds and completely unrecognizable by now. 

“Hey, love,” you said to the chunk of granite. “I brought daisies.” You crouched, laying the bouquet in front of the headstone before plucking out a few longer blades of grass that threatened to obscure his name. 

You sat down in front of it, not really sure what to do. Talk to him? Cry? Another long feminist rant about how you hated the idea of marriage but how you would’ve married him in a heartbeat? 

Because you would’ve. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said, absentmindedly picking at the grass around you. “I should’ve gone with you and Dustin. I could have dragged you back so at least you’d be here and not there. If I’d been there, you’d be home. Or maybe you…” you trailed off with a long sigh. “It’s no use living in the past, is it? Except that’s where you are, it’s the only place you are right now and I can’t — how do I keep going on without you? I just want to hear you laugh again, Eddie. Feel your arms around me one more time…” 

Tears spilled down your cheeks. The gaping wound in your chest reopened and you doubled over, letting yourself sob. You cried until the sun disappeared, at some point laying down on your side in the fetal position. 

At some point you must’ve fallen asleep, because you woke up sometime later to a brush against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open and you shivered in the chilly night air as you sat up, looking around. You had the strange feeling you weren’t alone. 

The sound of leaves rustling behind you made you turn, and you choked on your gasp. 

Sitting on top of his own headstone, looking a little worse for wear but still beautiful, was Eddie. His clothes were torn, but free of blood. His curls were frizzing out under his bandana, and his rings glinted in the moonlight. 

He looked up at you from under his brow and smiled wickedly, “Hello, princess.” 

You scrambled toward him, a fresh wave of tears falling down your cheeks. Eddie met you in the middle, kneeling in front of his headstone and welcoming you into his embrace which you dove into, clutching his leather jacket and burying your face in his neck. 

“Shh, princess, I’m here,” he muttered soothingly. Placing kisses from your cheek down to your neck, you barely registered a pinching pain from his teeth. He groaned. “Ohh, you taste so good. Missed you so much, so sweet for me…”

You sniffled and pulled back from him to look him in the eyes — his big brown eyes that you swore you could drown in — but your gaze was drawn down to his chin, covered in something that made it dark. With a shaking hand, you reached up and traced his lower lip, gathering some of the substance. 

Blood.

You looked back at Eddie, who was still holding you and gazing down at you like he always had. Full of love, hope, all-encompassing joy. 

And then he smiled, revealing two long, razor-sharp fangs.

[miscellaneoussmp]

I miss my beloved cubito, aka happy pills Pac, so here's a fic! It's been a year, come back to me!!!!!!!!! (cw/tw: character death implied/mentioned, medical terminology, mentioned drug abuse).

This isn't the first time Pac has dug a grave. It won't be the last. At least it's not raining. At least he's wearing his own clothes. At least the blood in the room is his. At least there aren't bodies from him to cry over. Maybe that's worse?

His heart rate is rapid. Pac feels like he can feel his heart touch his ribs. Tachycardia caused by the pills? Maybe the withdrawals? His breathing is shallow. It's a cycle. The quicker his heart beat, the less time his lungs have to switch out carbon dioxide for oxygen. Pac bets if checked his blood pressure, it would be way higher than 120/80. That's why he feels like he's going to die. Or maybe it's the pills? Who could say? Maybe Pac needs to go to the doctor?

What is he doing? He looks down at the crudely dug hole. What is doing in the lab? What was he doing before this? One of the lab tables looks messier than usual, even in the dim room. Right. His notes. The cure. A possible cure. Pac isn't that good at chemistry or medicine. He isn't even really a scientist. He just pretends to know what he's doing. It worked well enough raising himself and Mike. There's a reason why Mike is (was?) better than him in every way conceivable way. It's because he stopped listening to Pac before it was too late. He wonders how long it'll take before everyone else stops listening. He hopes it's soon. There's crumbled up paper in his hands. Right, notes. Focus.

It's definitely worse not having a body to bury. There's nothing to cry over. An empty grave feels worse. Pac isn't even able to leave the lab to go look for the bodies of his best friend, his child, and one of his newest friends. Why is he in the lab? An antidote. Right.

Tachycardia has many reasons to happen. The heart doesn't need the brain to tell it to continue beating. It has its own nervous system, basically. The heart will keep the blood moving for as long as it can. Shortness of breath often goes hand in hand with tachycardia. The lungs try to keep up with the heart to perform gas exchange. There's many causes for high blood pressure, too. Ranging from genetics to diet to medication side effects. What is he doing again? There's blisters forming where his grip was tightest on the shovel. Pac is in the lab. Notes. An antidote. A cure. Right.

There's a black liquid in one of the bottles. It's bad lab practice, but he reaches for it, to drink. Pac stops. He can't do this. He can't. He wants the artificial euphoria. Pac can't face reality. He can't. What is reality if not something Pac can manipulate to his benefit? His reality. He drains the black liquid down the sink, washing it away with cool water. For a brief second, he thinks about trying to consume the small remainder of the antidote. That thought is chased away with the taste of plastic and artificial sweetners in little white capsules.

[pupyr0arz]

kidnapping headcanons:

Gaz: honestly would either drug you or lure you someplace. Doesn’t want to use physical violence, if you’re struggling enough to force him he’s going to hit you in the head hard enough to daze gou and then spend the ride muttering to you about how he’s so so so sorry but you forced him he doesn’t want to hurt you, don’t ever make him hurt you again okay? He has a nice comfortable spot set up for you and any neighbors have been fully convinced you’re just dealing with a mental breakdown or something and anything you did tell them would just be paranoid delusional babbling. He’s such a good husband for taking care of you even when you scream and try to pull away from him up the driveway isn’t he? True love. And if you behave he might even let you talk with them sometimes. His punishments tend to focus more on sensory deprivation and isolation. He hates actively hurting you but if you really forced his hand he’d be so awfully sweet through it, crossing a bunch of wires when he cries and kisses you before breaking your thumbs :)

soap: it’s off the cuff honestly, you either got drunk around him and he was going to bring you home, really he swears, but he took a wrong turn and started getting ideas. Or you fell asleep and he just, he can’t handle it anymore. Chokes you out if you’re not already unconscious or intoxicated, keeps you in his car then his basement. He’s already got noise proofing for unrelated reasons, so it’s convenient. He’s only got chafing rope at the moment but if you’re good he’ll buy you a nice collar. He’s very impulsive and half and half, he’ll punish you one day for a behavior and then feel sorry the next. Kisses you sweetly and shows you off only to the other 141 who don’t care that you’ve been kidnapped. He loves you even if you don’t love him, and he’s got you here, so there. Falls apart at every sign of affection from you.

price: he’s been watching you for a couple of weeks and earning your trust before he slips something in your drink, or he breaks in and sets things up before hand while you’re sleeping. Loved sneaking around your house and seeing how you lived in it, very fixated on the idea of sharing a space like that. He’s got a cabin in the woods with your name on it. Gives you a lot of initial freedom, not even bindings. You’re in the woods away from civilization and you sure as hell aren’t going anywhere he can’t track you, or getting anyone’s attention. If you want to be spared a punishment and a lot of stress you’ll stay put. Encourages you to garden and bake to relieve stress. Calls you his wife from day one but refrains from touching or other pet names until you’re more malleable. When you’re real good you can come with on supply trips and buy yourself a little treat.

Ghost: pulls up in your apartment or alleyway and just slams your head against the wall or drugs you. Rough and quick getting you out of there, like it’s a mission. He’s got things set up in advance but for a while all you’ll be seeing is a dingy floor. Invested in a dog crate,which is where you’ll sleep until you earn having a bed. Rewards and punishments are consistent, he knows what he wants from you and how he is going to get it. His affection for you even when you behave is hard to see but when you do you might realize you prefer it when he’s mad. Would threaten you with killing you, maybe he murdered some of your close friends while trying to drive you into a state where your disappearance wouldn’t be as scrutinized and buried them in the garden of the house he’s gotten on the outskirts and he drags you outside onto the grave and kicks the dirt off the bones and tells you you’ll end up there if you don’t learn how to behave. He’s bluffing of course but you don’t need to know that, all you’ve got to do is behave. Restricted areas of the house, has everything marked and has 100% memorized the layout of the home. No access to knives or anything for you.

roach: extended road trip time. Maybe he’s your friend who shows up late at night and vents abt how life’s been awful lately and you’ve been feeling like shit too and maybe some drinking convinces you to do something crazy and just leave and he gets you in the car and a few days in you regret it and you’re talking about going back and roach nods along and locks the car. Handcuffs you to the steering wheel. He’s very insidious about however he does it basically, he doesn’t want you to realize what’s going on until the trap has been closed. Pulls some pity cards, gets your sympathy and gives you a good time that he can hold over your head, cause if you just fucking behaved you two could go back to that. Don’t try and flag any other cars down or he’s just going to Thelma and Louise the two of you. He’d find you anyways, get out of custody and track you down and next time he won’t be so nice so really you should just thank your lucky stars. Forget about your family and friends and just focus on roach, he’s here for you like no one else will ever be.

[allgremlinart]

haiiiiii friend can you explain jianzhu to me I keep seeing you post about them and I’m nosy and wanna know (<- stopped watching atla bc I realized zutara was never gonna be canon)

also jetko. can you explain jetko too (I’m thinking they’re more on the ghostbat spectrum where it’s like. intense friendship that left both emotionally scarred for the rest of their lives)

TEEHEE HEEHE HEE <- me when I get the opportunity to explain/infodump cross-fandom stuff to mutuals

ok so Jianzhu... ahhh Jianzhu... ((SPOILERS for anyone reading the Kyoshi novels))

This is Jianzhu and also like... probably one of maybe 4 canon images/art there is of him... he's not from the original cartoon he's from the Avatar Kyoshi spin-off novels that take place abt 400 yrs before the events of the show (idk how much you know abt atla lore from osmosis so this might get a little tedious? I'm just gonna explain as succinctly as possible.)

To be brief, he's a cunty old man. But unlike when I call, say, Minhkhoa a cunty old man it's not really loving ... its more like... I love to hate him. He's a REALLY good villain.

He's a politician. He made 500 people dig their own graves and then buried them alive. He beheaded his friend of like 20+ years. He drugs and kidnaps teenagers. etc. It's great.

His whole character arc is like... He's in control. You start off the book and he is very clearly in control, and he knows what he's doing, and he even sounds halfway reasonable sometimes but over the course of the novel he gets more and more desperate to grab hold of a situation that spirals wildly away from him and you get to watch it happen. His justifications for his actions get crazier, he gets sloppier and sloppier with his murders....

OH also you know how sometimes people think Bruce is some callous asshole who was only using his adoptive son who worshipped him as a weapon, and when he died he quickly sought to replace him without remorse ? Yeah he's like that but. Like actually this time. His dead adoptive son also then comes back after eating an eyeball in the spirit world (idk) and kills him by pressing a pebble through his sternum so. More successful than Jason at patricide I'd say. Look there's a lot I didn't cover, here's his wiki.

ok Jetko... ah... the ancient yaoi..

Important required reading before I explain this ship is this post. What you have to understand about Zuko is that for basically like... 40 episodes the only person he shares significant screen time with is his uncle so when him and Jet met in s2 and had a decent 3 episodes worth of interactions ... it was enough, lets just say that.

The basic Jetko timeline is they meet on a ferry while Zuko and his Uncle are disguised as refugees and they steal food together -> Jet tries to get Zuko (who he only ever knows as "Li") to join his emo band gang which Zuko refuses -> Jet sees Uncle Warcrimes heating his tea and correctly deduces that they are firebenders (ie not who they say they are; the enemy) -> Zuko and his Uncle work in a tea shop while Jet stalks them and steals things from their house and watches them from behind clotheslines (yeah) -> Jet confronts them in the teashop, sword fight, Jet gets arrested and brainwashed by the secret police (yeah) -> Jet dies under a lake which Zuko only finds out about a season later.

So they never had the 4 years of intense homoerotic cohabitation that ghostbat had,.. their chemistry and potential are pretty much instigated by a few of Jet's weird intense lines, such as "As soon as I saw your scar I knew exactly who you were - you're an outcast, like me." And the crux of the ship is like.. Jet both does and doesn't know who Zuko is.

He knows he is also angry and restless, like himself - he knows he is running from his past, like himself - and he knows he is going to Ba Sing Se to create a new identity. These things are all true, for both of them; what Jet doesn't know is that Zuko is from the imperialist nation that brutally murdered his parents and invaded his home and he incorrectly assumes that the anger he recognizes in Zuko stems from the same need to enact violence on those who have taken everything from him.

So I guess the "thought you were exactly like me but then I found out you're not which enrages and humiliates me so know I'm going to beat the shit out of you" thing from BTK no. 6 is something they share with ghostbat but.. Jet's anger is probably a little more justified than Minhkhoa's lol...

In conclusion it's your basic "doomed relationship/they work great together but that doesn't fix anything" ship premise. It used to be more popular back in the day... pretty sure I owe my life to maybe 3 different Taiwanese/Chinese doujin artists from 2009... yeah that's the gist of it.

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Dick couldn’t do this. It was like all the guilt from not being there for Jason had flooded back up and was drowning him. Dick had forgotten what Jason’s full smile looked like. Jason hadn’t smiled like how he smiled at Cass since he’d gotten back. 

Dick was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice Damian sitting under the sink. He was out of his Robin uniform, but for some reason he was wearing Jason’s leather jacket.

“Richard?”

“You ok, Damian?”

Damian crossed his arms, which was probably meant to showcase indifference, but if anything it made him look smaller. Especially with the leather jacket that was swamping him. “Tt, of course.” Damian rolled out from under the sink and went to leave. But not before wrapping his arms around Dick in an embrace, “Not because I need one, but because you look like you do.”

And then Damian left. 

Dick would figure out what was bugging Damian, just later. Because he needed to collect himself. Dick had seen the way Bruce had froze when Oracle had told them Jason had been reverted to his 15 year old self. Dick was probably going to have to do a good amount of interacting with Jason, because Bruce was sure as hell going to be burying himself in Batman until Jason was an adult again. Dick had never been the best brother to Jason, but now he could try to do better. And it’ll be easier with everyone. Jason has always been Alfred’s favorite, he’d warmed up to Cass basically instantly, Duke has always been easy to get along with, Stephanie and Jason were basically the same person, Dick could bribe Damian to be nicer, and Tim… well maybe if they just never mentioned the Robin thing they’d be fine. 

Yeah. This is all gonna be fine. 

He opened the door to find Cass, Duke and Steph in a heated whisper conversation that abruptly stopped when he opened the door.

Cass just wordlessly engulfed him in a hug, and then Stephanie and Duke followed. 

“He’s so tiny.” Duke mumbled. 

Jason was shorter and lighter than Damian who was currently 3 years younger than Jason. So yeah, Jason was small. It was actually a lot more shocking when he turned up the same height as Bruce. 

Steph pulled away from the group hug, “Alright, what are we gonna do?”

“What do you mean what are we gonna do? Bruce and Tim will figure out how to reverse this. We’ll help if they let us.”

“First of all, Tim’s sleeping, for the first time in probably a couple days, so we’re not gonna wake him up. Second, I was talking about what we're gonna do with Jason, and third, Bruce is probably gonna be… Bruce… right?”

Dick nodded, “Just treat Jason normally.” he paused, because the way they treated Jason “I put 12 heads in a duffle bag and became a drug lord” Todd was distant at best.  “Treat him how you would treat a 15 year old. Not how you would treat 20 year old Jason.”

The three of them nodded as the motor of the Batcycle echoed through the cave.

Let the show begin.

Jason was currently swaddled in his Wonder Woman blanket getting his blood drawn. Alfred had already taken his height and weight, which according to Alfred, was the same as the one from five years ago. He also noted that Jason’s eyes were more green than blue, which apparently happened to him over time with age or something. Which doesn’t really make sense because if he was de-aged then wouldn’t his eyes be the same color? Then again, he still has the white streak in his hair and that’s just hair dye. And he still has a bunch of scars that he doesn’t know where they're from. So who knows how this de-aging thing works.

Alfred took the needle out and placed a bandaid on the hole. “I am going to give this to Master Bruce. Why don’t you head off to–”

“Wait, Bruce is here?” Jason tugged down his sleeve and wrapped the blanket tighter “I’ll come too.”

Alfred looked like he was going to stop him, but didn’t.

Bruce was at the Batcomputer, still in his cowl, and it looked like he was plugging in a red helmet– oh wait, that was Jason’s red helmet– into the computer.

He walked up behind the chair, and looked at the footage that was being played on the screen. It was the same alley Jason was in when he woke up. There was a lady with a giant glowing stick– scepter, who was shooting bolts of magic at the camera. Then a spell hit the Camera directly filling the screen with static.

“Ahh, so we’re dealing with a magician. I dunno about you, Old Man, but I think I have enough sparkle in me to take this lady down.”

If Jason didn’t know any better, he’d say that Bruce was startled at the sound of his voice, but Batman is never surprised. 

But he didn’t turn to face Jason. He didn’t even give him a grunt of acknowledgement.

“Uh, Bruce–”

“Todd!” It was the sound of emo Robin’s voice coming from the stairs. Though the kid was no longer wearing the Robin uniform. He was actually wearing the jacket that Jason had on earlier. “I, urm, require your assistance. With… feeding Batcow. And maybe you could meet Goliath.”

“We have cows ?” Jason was about to jump at the chance to help feed the cow and Goliath, who was probably another cow, but then he realized that he kinda had a mini magical mess revolving around him, “Um, I’m not sure if Bruce’ll need me–”

Dick’s face looked between a proud father and like a sudden realization came over him,“Go ahead Jason. We’ll call you if we need you.” And Jason wasn’t dumb. He could read inbetween the lines, and those invisible lines were saying, get the fuck out, the adults are speaking.  

So Jason shrugged and skipped to the stairs. Now that Jason could see the kid without the domino mask, he looked familiar, in a way Jason couldn’t put a finger on. “Alright, let's see those cows.”

“Actually, it’s cow , singular. Goliath is a Dragon-Bat.” Yeah, the kid looked a lot like an old picture of Bruce. Except with tanner skin and green eyes, but a part of Jason knew that wasn’t why.

“Excuse me, a what now?”

“A Dragon-Bat. Get with the program, Akhi.”

And just like that, a flood of memories with a kid around four or five drawing a bat in front of him. A kid leaning against him with a fire going in a pit. A kid a few paces behind a woman. 

Jason blinked, “You’re Talia’s kid.” Jason looked at the kid as he froze, “Damian.” 

There was a moment where Jason could see the longing in Damian’s face, before it was painted over with a look of apathy,  as he opened up the back door. “You should not have been able to remember that.”

The locations in the memories were clearly of the League of Assassins, so maybe they wiped his memory. Which sounds truly invasive, but that’s a thought for another time. Jason nudged Damian’s shoulder with his own, “I’m proud of you.” 

“Do not patronize me, Todd.” Maybe it was just cold out, but Jason could swear he saw a dusting of red at the tips of Damians ears. 

“I might not remember much of anything, but I still feel proud.” Jason put a hand to his chest, because even though he barely knew the kid, he still felt it. 

Damian paused at the barn doors, “You were the first person to show me kindness. Though, I didn’t really understand it back then. I didn’t even realize it was you until–”

“You were little, I don’t blame you.” Jason shrugged. They entered the barn and low and behold, there was a cow. With a spot on its face that kinda looked like a mask. “So, what’s the story? How’d we get a cow? Did Alfred and Martha Kent make some sort of barter?” They often exchanged cookies for pies, so it wasn’t too unreasonable.

Damian went to a stack of hay, “No. We rescued her from a slaughterhouse that was infecting the animals with diseases.” Damian recounted the mission as they both moved stacks of hay to feed to Batcow, until there was a chime from Damian’s phone. “That should be enough for now. We’re wanted back in the cave.”

They were opening the clock entrance when Jason finally stated, “We didn’t actually have to feed the cow. They just didn’t want me there, right?” It was the middle of the night.

Damian started down the stairs,  “Tt, Father just needed a moment to process. You would too if your adult son was suddenly twelve again.”

“I’m fifteen, first off, and second, I suddenly have four more siblings, and he’s the one that needs to process? He must be getting really old.”

Damian dryly smiled, “Something like that. And five.”

“Five?”

“Five siblings. Well, technically, Brown hasn’t been adopted by father, but she’s at the manor to the point where I think we should get a restraining order.”

Who’s Brown?

“Hey!” Steph shouted from the main area of the batcave, “I heard that, brat! You guys love having me around.”

Oh, right, Damian for some reason only calls people by their last name.

 Damian jumped the rest of the way down, “No we do not, you dreadful shrew.”

“Your face is a dreadful shrew.”

“Your–”

“Alright, Master Damian, Miss Stephanie, we do have some work that needs to be done.”

There was a T-chart on the batcomputer screen. one column labeled “Jason 15: 6 years ago” and the other one labeled “Jason 15: now” Under the columns was his height, weight, hair color, eye color, skin color. That stuff. They were playing spot the difference.

“I, uh, I have a buncha scars I don’t recognize.” and suddenly all eyes were on Jason, “I mean, you guys are tryna, ya know.” he gestured to the screen, “Right?”

Duke was the first one to recover, “Yeah, we’re trying to see what’s different. So far it’s just your hair and eyes.” 

Dick’s hand flew up to rub the back of his neck, “Would you mind showing us?”

Jason looked around the room. He barely knew four of the seven people in the room. He was barely comfortable with Dick seeing him without a shirt, much less people who he met an hour ago. And, yeah, they were his siblings, but that doesn’t mean he was currently super comfortable around them.

There was the sound of rustling, and Damian came back to the table with a sheet of paper and a pencil. Then he quickly sketched something, flipped the paper, and sketched something similar. Damian slid the paper over to Jason. 

It was a drawing of a body, the front was on one side and the back was on the other. It was also really good for something sketched in under a minute. “Holy crow, kid, you’re a prodigy.”

“Tt, it’s hardly my best. Though, this way you can show us without actually showing us.”

Jason plucked the cup of highlighters and colored pens off the desk and got to work. Red were the scars he didn’t remember and Blue were the ones he did. And areas he highlighted yellow were healed burns he didn’t remember and blue highlighter were the burns he remembered getting.

Jason really hoped someone knew where he got some of his scars and burns because he had a lot. Which, yeah, they were vigilantes, some of them didn’t really look like scars he’d get in a fight. He placed the sheet in front of Bruce, who still was barely looking at him. Who still had his cowl on. 

“Did I–” Get hurt? Get kidnapped? Get tortured? No, that wasn’t the right way to phrase it, he huffed, because Bruce still wasn’t looking at him. Jason swiveled the chair so that they were facing each other and gently pulled the cowl back. 

Bruce looked a lot older. He had gray hair, and the creases between his forehead were a lot deeper. Bruce's blue eyes were more gray and somber, like the past seven years had put him through hell and back.  “Did something… happen?”

Bruce took in a deep, finally taking in Jason’s face. “I think it’s past your bedtime.”

“Bruce, I don’t have a bedtime.” Jason crossed his arms, “Don’t’cha think I deserve to know? It’s my life .”

Bruce just put his cowl back on and turned back to the computer. 

“Ya know what? Don’t cross off alternate dimensions just yet, because my Bruce would at least look at me.” And Jason stormed up the stairs.

[kissingrhi]

oh shit bro!!! ok! ahh if you have time and you would like to, would you have anything at all in the realm of hurt/comfort for lalo and/or nacho? ngl im down in the pits and ur writing is like a grilled cheese sandwhich on a cold rainy day, its amazing.

idk, maybe the reader is kind of going through it mentally and hella withdraws from everyone which causes conflict bc ahhh cartel work or something (idk man i dont deal drugs) and so The Boys go and check up on u bc "dude did you die or something?" (bc cartel stuff yknow?) and YOURE like "no i didnt die im just vibing bro but the vibes are tainted and gross" and theyre like "cool lets fix that." yknow? idk man the world is your oyster, i trust you. go nuts. but only if you would like to and have the time, i dont wanna pressure you to do anything homie :,) i hope u have a good day.

by far the cutest ask i have ever been sent. i'm sobbing. ily. and i am a WHORE. for hurt/comfort. you just get me!

cw: this gets kind of heavy at parts! maybe releasing something subconsciously with this man idfk. some of talk of depression, anxiety, stuff of that nature. enjoy!!

you legitimately wanted to disappear. forever.

your brain was constantly scrambled, erratic, and loud. you thought of everything and remembered nothing 99.9% of the time. what you did remember was nothing short of miserable reminders of what got you to where you were. who you were. what you'd done.

the shaking of your desperate hands and shuttered breathing of your lungs were nothing compared to the mind-numbing, seemingly endless spew of unfortunate findings in the barren wasteland that was your brain.

you hadn't come into work in 3 days. it had been 3 days since you'd step foot onto the tiled floor of el michoacáno. 3 days since you'd showered. 3 days since you'd moved, besides the awkward shifting during the freezing cold in the middle of the night, when you attempted to sleep. you were miserable, and the worst part was you couldn't decipher why.

it had also been 3 days since you'd checked your phone. oblivious to the countless amount of mixed calls from some of the only contacts you had: nacho and lalo. when you finally made it to reaching your phone, shoved in the drawer of your nightstand, your eyes widened. you ruined something again.

the texts varied from

L: ¿dónde diablos estás?

N: lalo me está molestando.

to

N: hate to say it, but i miss you

L: come back pls

you felt terrible, throwing your phone back to its place with a groan, hiding under the covers like you could escape the tenderness of missing your coworkers. more specifically, your friends.

all you could try to focus on was the gentle beating of your heart, remembering the time that nacho calmed you down the first time you had a panic attack in front of him after nearly dying. his hands were ice cold against your hot cheeks, pulling the hands that were hopelessly wiping away the streaming tears all the way down to your chest.

"el corazón. no cesará. no te dejaré tampoco."

you can still recall the pattern of his slow heart that you heard while you cried against his chest.

you weren't sure how long it was until you felt a change in the air. minutes, hours, days? time was moving irrationally slow and fast all at once. you were still blankly lying against your bed, buried under your blankets. nacho felt like he was at your wake.

you were zoned out, eyes only focusing when the two men you were worried about had seemingly teleported in front of your bed. instead of dropping a sarcastic, self-deprecating joke (like you usually do), you merely turned to the other side with a dramatic sigh.

a pair of rough fingers jumped in front of your line of vision, snapping rambunctiously.

"hey, hey! what the hell, mi amigo!?" his tone was dripping with comedy. "you have no right to ignore either of us. we've been so good to you."

you knew it was lalo quickly, thanks to the delicious grandiose of his gravely voice.

you finally turned around, hearing your bones crack as you pushed yourself up to lay against your bedpost. nacho and lalo drank in your disheveled state, agitation on their faces quietly fading into a look you knew all too well: concern. you glimpsed down at nacho's hand, rubbing his thumb over something he was obviously nervous about before shoving it in his pocket.

"i-" you started, blood suddenly running cold at the what you thought to be shameful eyes staring right at you. for some reason, a lump that had been building for what felt like years finally exploded in the back of your throat, a quick tear that you attempted to wipe away slipping down your cheek, going to push away nacho's anxious hand that reached for your back.

"what? you what?" lalo's posture had completely changed, eyes softening.

the tears were flowing fearlessly now, your eyes still dim and lifeless. you seemed to be fading away, in real time. it was melancholy.

"i am not-" you swallowed, putting a hand to your heart subconsciously.

"i am not ignoring you guys." you said firmly, staring lalo right in the eyes with your stoic, but unconvincing gaze.

the two exchanged looks at each other, nacho biting the inside of his cheek, lalo scratching the back of his neck. they had no idea what to do. they killed people for a living! even if you three weren't the most fond of each other at times, you obviously cared about each other.

"i'm just adjusting. i've got a lot going on. needed some rest." you explained, pressing your fingers together so hard that when you pulled them apart, the skin eased open slowly.

"haha." you were unconvincing, and unrelenting in how much you swore that everything was just fine.

lalo was already strutting his way into the kitchen, starting on something he knew you'd like: chicken noodle soup. when you went to scold him for barging in your home, he just pressed a gentle kiss on your head, making your eyes widen because that is so unlike him.

while lalo got to work in the kitchen, nacho cautiously sat at the end of your bed. when you went to talk, still tearful and messy, nacho politely put a hand up.

"you don't have to explain yourself all the time, you know?" he asked, genuine curiosity brewing in his deep eyes.

"i mean, especially not to me or him." he nodded towards the kitchen, past your doorway. "do you see how we have spent our lives?" he asked, pressing a tickling finger into your side, grinning ear to ear when you smiled the tiniest bit.

"listen. i know how it feels." he started, eyes searching around the floor to try and put what he wanted to say politely, into terms he knew wouldn't blossom into spouts of dangerous overthinking in your unpleasantly fragile mind. he looked just about as sad as you.

"i know what it feels like to have no one understand." he finally looked up at you, hands gently pressing into your shoulders. his eyes were almost watering. maybe you were hallucinating.

you started to cry more, and his frown grew.

"please, please do not cry." he started.

"estás muy cerca de romperme el corazón." was said under his breath. mumbled like an unforgivable sin at the altar.

while his hands wiped away at your tears, he just silently told you, "we care about you. we all care about each other. we have to."

his touches that were so comfortable against your tense body led you to your bathtub, and before you knew it he was sitting on the edge of your toilet and rubbing body wash against your spine. his grimace grew at your sorrowful, hunched figure.

"please do not cry." was uttered again, like you crying would shatter his world just as much as yours.

as soon as you were dressed in fresh clothes, and your messy hair was neatly pulled away from your face, nacho brought you back to your newly cleaned bed.

you felt like your only lifeline was his warmth surrounding what felt like the arctic that you had embedded yourself in.

lalo invited himself back in, pressing a beautiful tray of chicken noodle soup onto your lap, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders with an airy sense of comedy (he pretended like the job was a massive issue to him, groaning each time he had to move, watching you deeply to see you laugh).

you just stared up at both of them, like you had never experienced this kind of care before.

if you were being honest with yourself, you definitely hadn't.

"well?" lalo started, looking right back at you. "eat." he said, almost in a way that a mother does to their child. he scolded you, but in the way that you know had the purest and most loving intentions.

when you did, you noticed the sharp, grainy pain in your throat was instantly washed away. you couldn't stop. your nutrient-deprived body scarfed down the meal, chugging the glass of water he added on the side.

"thank you guys." was all you said, looking away with a gentle smile on your face.

"are you kidding me? of course!" lalo laughed. "you just need to come coddle me every time i get sick. deal?" he asked, rubbing your head.

after hours of hugs and distracting conversations, the pair decided you were well enough to leave for the night.

"get lots of rest, okay? don't need you to lose any focus at work." lalo pointed a demanding finger at you, chest raised like he was the king of the world. "be safe."

you nodded, your head leaning into your pillow with a grin. nacho situated himself in front of you once more, reaching into his pocket. he made his way out while you read the tiny slip of battered paper.

you noticed a gorgeous blue, dried flower pressed against the right edge. in his messy handwriting you could dechiper:

"el corazón. no cesará. no te dejaré tampoco."

[giorno-plays-piano]

Thorns In His Mouth

Part V

Pairing: fae!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: obsession, dubious consent, minor character death, drugs (neither reader nor Steve are involved), slight eating disorder, mentions of tumor, high tech elves.

Words: 1.7k

Summary: Maybe it was a good idea to chat with a waitress a bit more once she brought you your order. Perhaps she could at least tell you with whom you should speak because you simply couldn’t force yourself to look at others, most of them already high, shouting something loudly or laughing or weeping. You could constantly hear the flapping of someone’s wings, weird whispers and noises, and the sound of boots and hooves that made your hair stand on end.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

________

You didn't remember how you've gotten home. Whatever happened yesterday in that fallen fae's hovel already became a blur except for the face of a dead elf laying on a dirty sofa, his black veins like spider silk threads, shaking you to the core. You saw his peaceful face when you slept, and you woke up weeping, your lids puffy and wet.

Although you knew nothing of him, and perhaps there was nothing surprising about a drug addict like him dying, he had been a living being, still. He wasn't born but made this way. It was hard to believe that a brave warrior, a protector of his kin, even if he failed to win one of his battles, deserved to end up like that, abandoned by everyone, human or fae. Did anyone, though?

Julius got no help, no sympathy, no hope. Surely, he wasn't the only one, and your human world was full of homeless and troubled people who faced the same things, but seeing a man - an elf - die like that made you want to scream until someone came and set things right.

He should have gotten help. He deserved it, at least. If he had gotten it on time, wouldn't he be alive now? He'd meet you that night with Steve, tell you his story, listen to you asking him to meet that mysterious High Lord who was searching for his brother, and perhaps returned to the Sacred lands where he belonged.

But now Julius was dead, and you had to live with it.

The water was cold, but you still spent good twenty minutes in the shower, letting the water wash away the fatigue - it felt as if you hadn't slept at all - and tears that kept rolling down your cheeks. You felt exhausted and scared. Why didn't you anticipate this when agreeing to the deal with that elf? He told you honestly what became of the fallen fair folk. You should have known what to expect. What were you going to do? Shouldn't you have at least called the police to report Julius' body? How did elves go about this? Did they even bury the bodies of the folk? Would they leave it up to humans? Would they take a grave offense if people showed up and took the body of one of them? Have Steve done anything?

When you almost gathered enough strength to call the police, you realized you hadn't the slightest idea where that place where you found the dead elf was. You had no address, and with your sense of direction it was impossible to guess where Steve had taken you yesterday. You did walk quite a while, after all.

You hoped Steve took care of Julius. You were scared to go looking for that place, shaking as you wrapped yourself in your thick cotton robe.

But you'd have to come back anyway, wouldn't you? You had to respect your end of the bargain. You needed to get back in that café that smelled like piss and vomit, full of addicts and alcoholics and all sorts of degenerates and stay there as long as it took until you found that one elf your mysterious friend was looking for.

You couldn't do it. It was simply out of question.

Before you could give this thought some time, figuring out how to deal with you High Lord elf, your phone suddenly rang, and you immediately recognized the number of your mother's doctor. Why was he calling? Why so early in the morning?

The screening. They had her screening early in the morning today. Good God, you forgot.

You gripped the phone tightly in your hand, pressing it to your ear, "Good morning, Mr. Alves."

The man on the other side greeted you in a somewhat nervous tone, albeit trying to mask it, unconvincingly, and your heart fell somewhere down your stomach. Good God, you despised hearing back from the hospital. They rarely brought you good news.

"How's she?" You asked grimly, setting your eyes on your reflection on the mirror but seeing nothing at all, too invested in the conversation.

There was a distinctive silence on the other side of the phone, and you trembled, gripping your own so hard the display's glass protector threatened to break under pressure. In your mind you have already invisioned numerous scenarios, all rather apocalyptic, involving your mother and you, and you breath grew shallow from the wave of anxiety. Why was he silent?

"We have... an unexpected development," the doctor mumbled, and you tore your lower lip, tasting blood on your tongue. "The... the tumor stopped growing. Abruptly."

"What?"

You stared stupidly at your own reflection, finally noticing how horribly you looked after a sleepless night, crying your eyes out, but you dismissed your fatigued face, licking the blood off your lip as you pressed the phone closer to your ear, afraid you misheard.

"I-I'm sorry, could you say it again, please? It has stopped growing?"

Despite how aggressive it was before?

"Yes, it has. Before you ask me why, we're still not sure if your mother started responding to the latest changes in her treatment, but... but it has stopped growing. For now. Which is good."

"Yes. Yes, it's... it's good."

"It's good."

"It's very good."

You clapped a hand against your mouth so the doctor wouldn't have to listen to your hysterical cries and wailing. It has stopped growing. It finally has. Your mother was stable, for once, the first good news you got in forever. How long has it been since Dr. Alver told you anything hopeful? More and more your visits to him were making you sick as you failed to have any kind of support, a reassurance your mother would be alright. On the contrary, he was telling you to prepare yourself. You dreaded your visits to his office, each accompanied by such anxiety you were close to having a panic attack.

And now your mother was good. Maybe not entirely, but safe. She responded to the treatment.

... or has she?

For a second, you froze on the stop. The treatment? The treatment she was unresponsive to for so long, with all these inadequate doctors just waving their hands off when you asked them about new treatments or experimental programs that may help your mother when they themselves couldn't?

No, she wasn't responding to their crude method of treating her tumor. She was responding to the elf and his ways. To his magic, in exchange for your services.

____________

You were at the cafe right after you finished your work. You were exhausted beyong measure and still frightened of what may happen, but your determination made you put that aside. Your mother mattered above anything and anyone else. She was in there, fighting for her life, and the least you could do was to give her a chance.

But when you spotted a familiar tall elf with a distinctive bleached hair reaching his waist, you almost ran away. Steve had to yell at the top of his voice to stop you when you tried to squeeze yourself into the wall from fear, facing a dead end.

"Please! I won't hurt you!" He exhaled, cornering you as the passing fae with horns looked at the two of you, curious but warned against intervening by an exasperated elf and his icy stare.

You gulped down, shivering.

"I swear I won't hurt you. Please, don't run," he pleaded.

As if you had a choice with him blocking the road, you thought, clenching your black bag against your chest like it was a magic shield. What did this deranged elf want with you? Was he now tied to you by some ridiculous ritual he needed to perform since you saw the death of his kin? Did he need to erase your memory? You wouldn't mind it, actually.

"How may I help you?" You asked, puzzled and unsure how to even adress the elf. Were you on friendly enough terms to call him by his human name after what you had seen yesterday?

Steve gave out a sad laugh, turning his head away for a second before he looked at you and pulled something from the pocket of his leather jacket, making you tremble again until you saw they were your pearl earrings you had given the elf yesterday. Why was he giving them back to you? Did they not suffice? Did he want something better?

"Take them," he said with longing as if he was partying with a king's crown, placing them in your palm, his pale skin cold to the touch. "This is my apology to you for... for everything."

You stared at the white round pearls in your hand, blinking, not knowing what to say. Was it customary to return a gift given for fae's services if that fae failed to provide them? It made sense, sort of. But had Steve really failed? He had only promised to take you to the elf who might have been someone you were looking for, and he fulfilled his end of the bargain. Why was he giving you your earrings back?

As you watched them, suddenly thinking they were heavier now and bringing them closer to your face, you realized those were not the cheap plastic pearls you bought from a local store for a couple of dollars. They were real pearls, round and shiny and impossibly beautiful.

"You replaced the pearls?" Taken aback, you stared at the man, open-mouthed.

He nodded, nervously tucking his bleached hair behind his ear, "Yes. I made a talisman out of them, and it required decent material for a strong enchantment. Pearls are durable... and pretty."

They were enchanted?

Dear God, please let it be a good enchantment, you thought, sweating profusely with a goddamn faery relic in your hand.

_________

"It's a protection spell. A good, strong one," he added quickly, noticing your discomfort. "It'll help you when we'll be searching for the elf you're looking for."

Part VI

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen @magnificantmermaid @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @youngdreamer3214

[lost-inanotherlife]

Hey, it's the same anon again. Thank you for the reply, I completely relate to everything you wrote!

I'd like to add that people often call Jack an asshole who "doesn't understand" other survivors, but the truth is, other survivors don't understand him either.

For example, I've seen many viewers bashing Jack for snapping at Kate in s1e12, after she retrieved her toy airplane, but they seem to forget the events of the earlier episodes.

Jack was the one who ultimately had to put down the marshal and even buried him by himself (Kate asked him why he didn't burn the marshal with the other bodies in the fuselage, and his answer was "I had to bury him").

Obviously, taking this man's life was a difficult moment for Jack (it's also implied that he sees mercy killing as murder), then just a few days later, Kate casually asks him to dig up the marshal's body, essentially asking him to reopen a painful wound. She then tries to deceive him with the key, and when he keeps his promise to her despite everything, she pulls out a random plastic airplane and shuts him out as if he didn't just desecrate a grave to help her retrieve this seemingly useless toy...

(I love Kate btw don't get me wrong hehe)

Omg Anon I love your cut-to-the-chase approach because YES! "Other survivors don't understand Jack", say it louder for the people in the back!

Let's be clear: I'm NOT making excuses for Jack's behavior. If people check my blog they will see that I call him out quite often. The thing is that I think that the way he reacts kinda makes sense with how the narrative treats him.

Let's take Kate as an example since you've brilliantly pointed out how people tend to side with her and call Jack a douche. Which okay, fair BUT.

Premise: I love Kate. I don't find her relatable at all but she's a goldmine in terms of characters whose potential was squandered because of a love triangle that ended in S3. But I digress.

Kate is a deeply, deeply flawed chatacter like honestly ALL characters on that damn island. This is not a flaw but she is like the other losties in that she sees Jack as an IDEAL.

Of course, compared to other people she actually gets to know him etc. But she's primarily fascinated by Jack because she wants his approval and validation so badly (I'll link some of my metas about this specific topic) sometimes it makes her look a bit... confused.

Take for instance that episode in S1 or maybe 2? where she drugs Jack. Not cool, am I right? Well, Jack finds out and takes it out on her but he's also quite soft about it. Well, to that what does Kate reply? She actually tells Jack in the face something like "how could you even think that I'd do something like that?".

I meaaaaaan, guuuuuurl. Come on. This is Manipulation 101. You can't get mad cause he got you. Change tactics. But no, she insists because she wants Jack The HeroTM to tell her she's a good girl.

I find all this absolutely compelling and fascinating because it makes Kate feel more 3D and alive and real. As any human being who's full of contradictions and unknown desires.

To sum it up: even Kate tends to see Jack not as Jack Shephard, A Real MessTM but as Jack The Good Guy.

If you ask ME who on that crazy island better understood the real Jack I'd say Sawyer.

Their relationshio could have been so much more than a love triangle and I'll forever be mad about it.

Thanks again Anon! Your smart takes give me the excuse to yap and I'm loving every second! Hahhaha!

My Meta about Kate (THEY ARE VERY LONG POSTS): detailed but incomplete analysis of the ep "I Do' (it's incomplete cause nobody was reading it so I stopped posting it).

foundational analysis of Kate, "What Kate Did" is THEE Lost episode.

[deadboyfriendd]

Hello my dearest Flea, the light of my life, the chimi to my changa, the cheesy to my gordita crunchwrap,

Might I pretty pretty please request

"Throwing a party it's like... it's like an invitation for abuse. It's like the last desperate act of someone who hasn't had a lasting relationship since Junior High."

Forrrrr….. Video Girl? :3c

Ah, Video Girl, the fic that started it all for us. Who would have known that it would explode into two multi-fic AU's and change the way we write forever?

Here you go, crockpot.

+

Eddie isn’t in college, but he sells drugs at college parties. 

This party had to be breaking some sort of fire codes, college kids sardine-packed from wall-to-shared-wall. The bass from Mark Morrison’s Return of the Mack rattled both the studs in the walls and your brain between your ears. It was a sardine can in here, and would not be less suffocating if it were packed in oil. 

You didn’t know why you were here. You had only ever really come to these things for Eddie, now. You felt like a ghost, haunting this party. You felt like a body sunken into a grave and then forgotten about, buried over, headstone covered in moss– You knew you were being insufferable right now, but the alcohol made you feel more sick than sociable now and the pot smelled more familiar than you were comfortable with. 

You barely knew anyone here. 

You pouted in your own shitty solidarity, the heel of your sneaker hitting the hollow cabinet beneath you with a rhythmic thud– a reminder that you still existed and were still, unfortunately, tethered to this mortal plane. 

You looked up from your bubble of solidarity in this kitchen, to be met with disgustingly familiar eyes– frozen in the doorway in front of you. 

Scratch that, you knew the drug dealer. You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

He learned his body across the door jamb, arms crossed. This left you with no escape route and no way out of this conversation. Though, you were a glutton for punishment, and an even bigger glutton for his attention, “I was hoping to see you, here.”

“I shouldn’t have come.” You said to him, only halfway truthful. You didn’t let your eyes meet his. 

“So you didn’t want to see me?” He asked you, brow cocked and expression waning.

“No.”

He couldn’t help the smile that pressed vallies into the glycerine of his face. “Then, why did you come?”

“Because I wanted you to want me to come.” 

“I did want you to come.” 

Actually, you wanted him to want you. 

"Throwing a party it's like... it's like an invitation for abuse. It's like the last desperate act of someone who hasn't had a lasting relationship since Junior High."

Eddie thought about Gareth, who shared the rattling walls of this condo with Jeff, who also invited Eddie in as an inhabitant on a night-to-night basis. They had all met in middle school. When Eddie was in eighth grade. He tried not to let it sting. 

“Maybe I like your abuse.”

“Maybe I like yours, too.”

[rfxiii]

Hey, I don't remember if you're taking requests but I'd like to make one 😉. About a few weeks ago you wrote that mind-blowing post with some reasonable questions about the Pre&Post-Ludendorff/North Yankton Era, and they're stuck in my head even since. So I wanna ask you to pick some you're most interested in and guess the answers in the form of headcanons or little fanfics, as you wish. I'm so curious about your theories

Aah tysm! I’m really trying to get better at writing so I’m always taking requests! So feel free to send anything in at any time ✨

I did a few headcanons for some of the questions and then a short little fic at the end if that’s ok!

*TW: slight child abuse mention

[Word Count: 1429]

Was Amanda close with her family?

-Not necessarily family of the year, but I do think they had a decent enough relationship that she and Michael would take the kids to visit them or she’d call them to complain about Michael being gone for long periods time

Did they know about what Michael did?

-yes, to an extent. They knew he made his money illegally, but Mandy never just spelled out the fact that he was a drug smuggling, prostitute ring running bank robber. They didn’t approve of whatever Michael did, but they appreciated that he made enough money that Amanda was finally able to stop stripping and could stay home with the kids.

Do they still think Michael is dead? Did she cut all contact with them when they left for Los Santos? Or was Dave comfortable enough to let Michael and Amanda tell their families what was happening?

-I don’t think, for any reason, that Trevor would have ever met or known where Amanda’s family lived or how to get in contact with them. Dave’s main goal was to make sure anyone who could cause problems (ie Trevor) thought that Michael was dead. So I feel that Amanda may have vaguely told her parents what was happening before she and her family were moved to Los Santos. And as for Michael, I don’t feel like he’s spoken to any member of his family since he left home and started on his path of crime.

Did Brad have family? A mother or father? A girlfriend? Someone else besides Trevor who would have missed him? Someone who Dave also had to sell the lie, that he was in prison, to? If he did have family, were they ever told he was killed?

-Short answer: no. I feel like Trevor was really all Brad had in the world.

Long answer: while he may have had “girlfriends” (or girls that thought they were his girlfriend) in a lot of the towns they passed through, I don’t think he had anyone who would have noticed he was gone. For some reason I have this headcanon that he grew up in foster care, but not with a good family (more than likely an abusive couple, with more children than they could handle, that they kept solely for the paychecks). Maybe Dave found their info after having Brad buried in “Michael’s” grave, but when he showed up on their doorstep they didn’t even remember who Brad was until Dave showed them a picture. To which they responded that they always knew that’s how he’d end up.

Did Trevor try to call Amanda? Did he finally get away from the cops, have a second to breathe, and make his first order of business calling her house to tell her Michael was “dead”? Did she answer? Did she have to fake grief? Did she blame him? Or did the phone just ring? Did it go to voicemail? And did he have to sit in some shitty motel, grieving alone, and knowing full well Amanda would blame him for this? Or was he too afraid and broken to even try to reach out?

-do I think Trevor tried to call Amanda? Maybe. Michael meant more to Trevor than anything, and while he and Amanda don’t get along the greatest there are little hints in game that they used to be friends too. So, if he thought he could, I feel like maybe Trevor tried to reach out? But that either Dave had moved Amanda and the kids as soon as Michael had left out for the Ludendorff score and she wasn’t there to answer the phone. Or, she knew he’d call and despite knowing that Michael was obviously still alive, the fact that they had to uproot their whole life (something she partially blamed Trevor for) had her so mad that she couldn’t even make herself answer when he called for fear of slipping up and giving everything away.

———

He’s finally stopped running. Maybe an hour ago, maybe two, maybe ten. He’s not sure anymore. But he hasn’t moved an inch since he’d checked into this shitty little motel. He’s sitting on the floor, gun in hand as he faces the door and waits for the police to kick it in. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding and his hands still shake while his throat stings from the cold he’d run through and his eyes burn with unshed tears.

It was all gone. He’s still not sure what exactly had happened or how exactly they’d gotten caught. It didn’t matter though. It was all over now. Brad would be on his way to a federal penitentiary if he survived his wounds. And Michael-.. Michael was gone. It hurts him to even think about it. Michael had meant everything to him for years. But now-.. Now he was gone.

He keeps replaying it in his head. The car crash, taking off on foot, Brad getting shot. Michael had gone to help, while he had ducked for cover. Was he wrong for that? Should he have gone back? Should he have tried harder to watch Michael’s back? It had all happened so fast. If Michael hadn’t been so set on “sticking to the plan”, if he hadn’t stood up like an idiot after going back for Brad, if he hadn’t made himself a fucking target then maybe he wouldn’t be-

He’s crying now, no longer bothering to fight back his sobs and heart broken wails as he mourns his best friend. Michael was dead, and Brad may be too, and Trevor feels it’s all his fault.

The hours pass and no police come pounding on his door. But the relief of escape is far outweighed by his grief. He thinks of jobs they’ll never go on, of nights out drinking that felt like they’d never end, of how fearless and untouchable he’d felt from the moment he and Michael had joined forces. But then he thinks about a future alone, about Michael’s dying words urging him to run, about how cowardly he feels for running instead of dying alongside his friends.

In a moment of clarity, through his own misery, Trevor thinks of Michael’s family. He thinks of how Amanda always cursed at him when he and Michael left on scores- how she always shouted about how Trevor “better watch out for him” and how she’d kill him if anything happened to Michael. He thinks of Tracey and Jimmy, and how they’ll grow up without Michael. And he blames himself for it all.

With legs trembling beneath him from hours of running, Trevor pushes to his feet and stumbles to the motel phone. His hand rests on the nicotine stained plastic while his fingers tremble. Lester’s incessant worrying fills his thoughts- warnings about a landline being traced to his location. But really, he doesn’t care anymore. So what if he gets caught? So what if he dies? What’s he got to live for now anyways?

He dials Michael’s home phone- a number he’d memorized years ago when Michael had finally settled down and bought that used little trailer for him and his family. The line rings and rings. And with every dull trill of the line Trevor feels himself growing sicker. Michael was his best friend. And despite how the already shaky friendship between he and Amanda had soured over the years he owes it to her to let her hear the news from him instead of from police knocking on her door or on the six o’clock news.

But the line continues to ring until the droning buzz of the answering machine meets his ears. He freezes. He’d been terrified to talk to her but the idea of leaving such crushing news as a message on some machine is just something he can’t make himself do. He slams the phone down on the receiver instead. The relief he feels is almost sickening. At least he can say he tried.

He thinks of Brad next. Michael had said he’d be ok. But really, there was nothing to say he’d lived. He considers calling…someone. But really, other than him, Brad had no one. He had “girlfriends” in almost every town they stopped at, and he’d mentioned once or twice the foster family he’d stayed with until he was sixteen- the family he’d run away from after years of abuse. He had no one. No care if he was ok. No one to care if he was alive. And no one to care if he was dead.

And now, neither did Trevor.

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

The Umbrella Academy season 4 episode 4

I have been excited to see this since season 1, oh my god, FINALLY gonna see how Ben died

Oh my god, Allison trying to drag Klaus out of the bathtub and FAILING (she could have rumored him but I appreciate that she didnt/tried other avenues first)

The fact Ben didn't want to go. Do you think that haunted Luther? That if he hadn't said anything, maybe Ben would still be alive? (Hargreeves would have noticed and forced him to come anyway, but survivors guilt is a hell of a thing)

All my homies hate Hargreeves

Love that Pogo is their poilet

He opened it, that's why. And he finds Jennifer

Hes gonna touch her and go boom

OH MY GOD

HOLY FUCK

ALL MY HOMIES DESPISE REGINALD HARGREEVES, HOLY FUCK

HE KILLED BEN

Oh my god, and Ben never would have known, he was shot from behind, in the head, he died instantly

They should kill him, slowly

Oh I knew she was too "normal" can't trust that on this show

ALLISON I LOVE YOU YES BEAT UP THE OLD MAN

They won't let him take their brother from them again, regardless that this is not the Ben they grew up with, they won't lose him again (they might anyway, along with everything else)

Rip him apart Viktor, fucking GET his ass

They love him. Ben. They love him because of their Ben, I think is a big part of it, but over the past 6 years, I believe it's become more than that. He's become their Ben too. Different, from the first one, but still *Ben*. And when they look at him, that love is there for both versions of him. And they will not lose him again. Certainly not like this

The freaking transition from THAT realization to Klaus being a medium is really fucking funny

Klaus doesn't know... unless he does, somehow, remember due to all the drugs and alcohol, and just never said anything cause he assumed the others knew too... hm

Oh. So uh. Was Ben a haunting, then? 16 years by his side feels like a haunting to me

PFFFTTT

This did remind me I have peaches in my fridge, dunno if they are from Georgia though

This is very uncomfy!

Nah, just Ben did that, and I do, for one, peg this version of him to have no problem killing some bitches if he deems it necessary

Would love for them to save OG Ben! But also I think that's a bad idea, and it won't work.

Luther and Diego are so funny together

Cause they're family babe, and thats what they do

The fact they they don't know who this is somehow makes me trust him even less, cause I don't know what he actually wants. I KNOW what Jean and Gene want, but him? I had assumed he was working with them to Jumpstart the Cleanse, but they don't know who he is. Which means he somehow knew that she had an opposite particle in her and touching one of the Umbrellas would mean the end of the world. So how does he know that? And why does he, specifically, want that to happen?

The fact that they are perfectly mirroring each other rn

"Those people aren't my family. My family died a long time ago." Is that so? Well. They see you as their brother. And they are not giving up on you

Certainly SOUNDS like fate

Heh. Six

Is the announcer voice the Handler? It sounds like her

Oh is that why he was digging up a grave in the trailer?

No, this is different. Allison was dragging him out of the tub in the original time line. Where's Allison

Buried alive? 👀

Oh honey :(

They drove each other nuts but they love each other

UHHHHHHHHHH

[ralith]

Venting time because I just got back from my stepbrother's funeral.

I will preface this by saying I understand every family has different traditions and dysfunctions, and that I'm only looking in from the outside, so I can't understand the things I saw today. But I will rant about it.

To begin, yes, they thought it was a good idea to bury my stepbrother on 4/20 despite suffering from alcohol and drug abuse his whole life, and it's a drug overdose that killed him. They thought he would find it funny. Y'know what, maybe he would've. I only met him once a few years back so I didn't know him well.

We got to the chapel late because we had to pick up my other stepbrother and his gf. He was dragging his feet getting ready and when they get in the car they stink of cigarettes, which tells me we're late bc they needed to light up.

Now my chest begins to burn from the smell.

The ceremony was good except for the one motherfucker who didn't silence their phone 🙄

We get to the graveside, a few more words are said, and the grave digger is standing awkwardly to the side, ready to begin filling the hole.

Then my stepbrother's birth mother suddenly whips out a bag of fucking Nips and passing them out before saying something rather stereotypical and offensive.

Finally the urn is placed in the ground, the grave digger begins to fill the hole, and family lingers around.

Then, in yet another "what the fuck" moment, the old gf of my steobrother sits down beside the grave, lights a joint ("in his honor") and starts passing the fucking thing around.

I'm done at this point, I get in the car, and of course my waste of human existence stepbrother and his gf shared the joint and now the car smells to hell of cigarette smoke and skunk ass.

My chest is aching from the smell and it's still tight as i type this. I'm also getting a headache in the car from it all.

We then went to a restaurant and the food was good and I could begin to unwind a bit. Then on the way home my stepbrother starts complaining how he doesn't have enough money for cigarettes and if my stepdad could give him some cash and it took every matter of my being to keep from me whipping around and saying shit like "you smell bad enough as is. You don't need more cigs."

So I'm back home now and tired and I think the secondhand smoke is ramping up my anxiety/OCD because it was maintained okay earlier, but it's bad now.

[soupdeewoop]

favorite lines from "THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT"

your wife waters flowers, i want to kill her

All my mornings are monday stuck in an endless february

but you're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down the road

we're modern idiots

You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate

i scratch your head, you fall asleep, like a tattooed golden retriever

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me, but you told lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave

'cause it fit too right, puzzle pieces in the dead of night, I shouldve known it was a matter of time

'cause i knew too much, there was danger in the heat of my touch, he saw forever so he smashed it up

did you really beam me up?, in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on, tell me I was the chosen one, showed me that this world is bigger than us, then sent me back where I came from

now im down bad crying at the gym, everything comes out teenage petulance, "fuck it if I cant have him", "I might just die, it would make no difference"

how dare you think its romantic, leaving me safe and stranded

my spine split from carrying us up to the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill

thinking how much sad did you think I had, did you think I had in me? oh the tragedy

i stopped cpr, after all its no use

two graves, one gun, ill find someone

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the alter waiting for the proof

i just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you

id rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin', ill tell you something 'bout my good name, its mine along with all the disgrace, I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empire's clothing

there's a lot of people in town that I bestow upon my fakest smiles

my friends tried, but i wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing, for just one glimse of his smile

another summer, taking cover, rolling thunder, he doesnt understand me, splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter, he was with her in dreams

little did you know you home's really only a town youre just a guest in

florida, is one hell of a drug, florida, can I use you up?

little did you know your home's really only the town youll get arrested, so pack your life away just to wait out the shitstorm back in texas

i need to forget, so take me to florida, ive got some regrets, ill bury them in florida, tell me I'm despicable, say its unforgivable, at least the dolls are beautiful, fuck me up, florida

go on, fuck me up

this cage was once just fine, am i allowed to cry?

what if hes written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

these fatal fantasie given way to laboured breath taking all of me, weve already done in my head

what if the way you hold me is actually whats holy?

they dont know how youve haunted me so stunningly, i choose you and me, religiously

if you wanted me dead you shouldve just said

crash the party like a record crash as i scream, "whos afraid of little old me?", you should be

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me, you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

you caged me and then you called me crazy, i am what i am 'cause you trained me, so whos afraid of me?

they shake their heads saying, "god, help her" when i tell 'em hes my man

ill show you heaven if youll be an angel, all mine

whoa, maybe i cant

i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed

if you know it in one glimpse, its legendary, you and i go from one kiss to getting married

you shit-talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles, i wish i could unrecall, how we almost had it all

youre the loss of my life

the lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night, i can show you lies

'cause im a real tough kid, i can handle my shit, they said "babe, you gotta fake it till you make it" and i did

lights, camera, bitch, smile, even when you wanna die

im so depressed, i act like its my birthday everday

'cause im miserable (haha), and nobody even knows, try and come for my job

and i dont even want you back, i just want to know, if rusting my sparking summer was the goal

you didnt measure up in any measure of a man

in fifty years will all this be declassifed?, and ill say, "good riddance"

i wouldve died for youre sins, instead i just died inside

so when i touch down, call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team

'cause the sign on your heart said its still reserved for me, honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

he jokes that "its heroin, but this time with an E"

you look like clara bow

this town is fake but youre the real thing, breath of fresh ait through smoke rings

the crowd goes wild at her fingertip, half moon shine, a full eclipse

youre the new god were worshipping, promise to be dazzling

beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours demanding more

you look like taylor swift, in this light, were loving it, youve got edge, she never did, the futures bright, dazzling

[historia-vitae-magistras]

"As the first molar forms during infancy, a conclusion of high status, high protein diet can be drawn. The second sample however, suggests marked poverty and high cereal and plant based diet."

Is it possible to cry over a dry statement of scientific facts? Too late, I'm crying. It took me a second to parse it, but... the first molar is from when their mother was still around and they were important and honored. And the second sample is little baby Arthur alone in the world, or maybe with his also-young siblings doing their best to take care of him. My heart is so broken. (Also, I knew it was going to be Arthur and Magnus, but I was still vibrating with excitement about "ooh, the mixed origins of the younger one's stuff!!! That's Arthur!!!!" Also, the mixed origins of Arthur's stuff... bow from Rhys, seax from his own people, figurine indicating specifically the people that make him different from the brother who made his bow... how do you give me emotions from an academic paper???? Not fair!)

“I’m not entertaining the possibility because it’s not possible.” Arthur snapped, pacing about the kitchen. Rhys dragged his hand down his face.

Look, Arthur, you wouldn't be so upset if you weren't worried about the implications. All I'm saying.

Also, huge Arthur move to react to the excavation turning up some very personal stuff by saying "that is not real and I will not permit any more digging." Almost like that's exactly how he deals with emotions.

“They can’t have drug up my corpse from the back garden when I am standing right here!”

“And yet they have.”

I just love the back and forth. I love them bickering and I love Rhys trying to calm his little brother down. (And I feel like he's gotta be having some weird emotions too? Like "hey, remember when your asshole brother who conquered you and most of the planet was just a little kid with a bow you made for him because mama was gone? We found that kid's grave." That has to be doing a number on him.) (And now that I've typed that out, is there some symbolism or commentary with the grave of little mixed-culture Arthur with things from his family vs. the living adult Arthur who's... improving now, but was very much not that kid for a long time? The less-empire-y version of him was literally dead and buried out back while the vicious empire walks around? And now I'm thinking about the axe in his back and how he considered it his fault for being "too weak" for such a long time. It doesn't mention how the younger skeleton died - was it that??? Was the version of Arthur that might not have become the empire literally buried in the empire's back garden???)

Dude, this was short. And at least half "academic language." How did you do all of that??? Like, part of it is me knowing your other fics, but you're still the one who called them to mind!

Point being, my mind is blown, spinning wildly with theories, and I am very very much looking forward to the rest of this fic. Holy shit.

God I am so happy 😭. I can't answer much yet but god thank you so much for caring when I post stuff.