#murder mention in the tags

[daloy-politsey]

Jews from post soviet countries wouldn’t be so reactionary if the Soviet Union didn’t target communist Jews. I mean, imagine if the bund never went away. There would be some strong Jewish antizionist socialist presence in Eastern Europe, but I guess we can’t have nice things.

[umblrspectrum]

hi heres art so you pay attention to me now go read the tags

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[gingerswagfreckles]

It's become extremely obvious over the past 15 months that the only reason much of the Western world ever basically agreed that the Holocaust was bad and was willing to teach about it is because for a brief period of time, Jews and gentiles in most of Europe + America had a common enemy in the Nazis. But this acknowledgement of Nazi antisemitism was only ever the same kind of acknowledgement of antisemitism that we get right now, where people are only willing to acknowledge the antisemitism of the people they already had a completely separate reason to dislike or fear. Antisemitism in this worldview is just a tool, a secondary accusation one can lodge at someone who is already for different reasons an enemy. It is never acknowledged as a form of bigotry in and of itself, that exists on its own and not as a follow up to another "more serious" form of oppression or bigotry against gentiles.

Obviously any Holocaust education we do get in Europe and the US has very much been the result efforts by Jews and our allies in a practical sense, but it is undeniable that there was a brief 70 or so year period where the white Western consciousness found it valuable (or at least politically convenient) to recognize antisemitism as wrong and the Holocaust as horrific. As true, original-brand Nazism fades, though, we see opposition to antisemitism and the Holocaust becoming less and less valuable to the white Western identity, as actual threat of Nazi occupation fades to historical memory. Newer, rebranded neo-Nazis and leftist Hamas supporters pose little to no threat to white Western gentiles. And thus, we see now not only a growing acceptance of antisemitism, but also a growing hostility towards the idea that we should study or condemn the Holocaust as anything particularly terrible. The Holocaust no longer represents a way for gentiles to additionally condemn an ideology that also threatened them, that also killed their families, that also resulted in their own countries and communities being occupied or destroyed by foreign fascist governments. It no longer represents to them an ideology that is in any way a threat to their own safety or way of life.

This is why we see such a massive rise in Holocaust denial among Gen Z, and, even more broadly than overt Holocaust denial, the rejection of the idea that the Holocaust should be particularly studied or condemned. More and more, we see people "questioning" the "propaganda" of The Jews Crying Victim All The Time, we see young people wondering why they are so cruelly forced to acknowledge on very rare occasion the suffering that the Jewish people went through in their own homes and towns. Often this is framed not only as intellectual bravery but moral bravery, as if this new generation rejecting Holocaust education is somehow fighting back against the unfair valuing of Jewish tragedy above gentile tragedy. What they don't understand, of course, and what many Jews up until now didn't understand either, is that no one ever valued the Holocaust because it WAS a uniquely horrific event in history, because it WAS the first and only industrialized genocide that gassed millions to death on a scale we can only pray the world will never see again, because it WAS only 70 years ago and is still a living part of the history of many Western countries. No. The Holocaust was only ever given the acknowledgement it was because it represented, at one time, an ideological threat that also included gentiles, though less overtly than it targeted Jews.

That ideological threat against Jews has not gone anywhere, and is in fact is seeing a new glory day dawning with the rise of fascism worldwide and the normalization/glorification of antisemitism on the left. But this new form of antisemitic hatred, be it neo-Nazism or support for Hamas, does not represent a threat to white Western gentiles, their way of life, or the integrity of their governments. And so we as we see the decoupling of the Holocaust from something that also incidentally threatens gentiles, we see standing against the Holocaust and antisemitism as a symbol of white Western identity disappearing as fast as it came.

[pillowspace]

Moon and Marinette talking is the cutest thing. Sun and Moon feeling bad for this child who was locked out and killed.

[chirrups]

I feel like I have nothing to ask, I simply would love to hear more about them fucked up mermaid and murderer

And I would absolutely love to tell you about them, Tin.

This AU takes place somewhere vaguely in the Pacific Northwest (circa. 1970s-80s) in an isolated fishing town along a storm-wracked coast.

Fisheries in and around the bay have collapsed due to extreme winter weather patterns + overfishing + an oil spill from a tanker run aground down the coast, leaving most of the bay's inhabitants to live pretty much hand-to-mouth off contaminated fish in recent years.

get ready for LORE (and more drawings but mostly the LORE)

general warning: this is pretty long

The "story" as it were, kicks off when Gem finally gets fed up with another fisherman in the area, Grian, over continued conflict about ownership of fishing grounds in the mouth of the bay.

She orchestrates his death (with the eager assistance of Scott and Impulse) out at sea and passes off his death as a tragic accident in the winter swells with her being the unfortunate finder of his remains.

And it works.

See the thing is: Gem has a history of causing disappearances. It started with some accidents with out-of-town poachers. She would chase these people off and one or two would just slip overboard and happen to drown. It wasn’t her fault and besides they deserve it. But things start to escalate from there. Poachers become outsiders become fellow townspeople. Grian is someone Gem’s known for years, whose friends are tangentially her friends or acquaintances. His death is a cold-blooded murder driven by hatred and frustration. This time something is different about what she's done and Gem knows it.

But Gem is a reputable and well-known person. Her prices are fair, she drives poachers out of the bay and maintains order around the pragmatic fishing ground policy that undoubtedly helps everyone to survive.

She is the type of person to look to for guidance when things get hard because she can make those hard choices. So how on earth could it be her fault?

No one is wiser until Grian's funeral brings an old friend into town who is more than a little suspicious about the circumstances of his death.

Scar was one of Grian's crewmates when they did trawling much further south. They split when Scar took up (illegal) whaling and Grian moved into the bay.

As an outsider, Scar isn't so swayed by the goodwill the town has around Gem's name. He's no detective but for the sake of an old friend, he might as well try.

In this AU, mermaids are social mammals part of the Hominidae family that went back into the ocean similar to Cetaceans. They live in matrilineal family groups or in any other female-led organization of pods and have a very "survival-oriented" global culture (with regional variation).

Pearl is a lone mermaid whose pod lived in the bay until they were starved out by the collapsing fisheries. PNW mermaids are more territorial than other ecotypes and value strength over anything else. Pearl's inability (read: unwillingness) to oust other pods for better fishing grounds and the loss of one of her pod members summarily lead the other two to abandon her.

Without a pod to help her, hunting enough in her dwindling territory has been difficult and lonely, leading her to slowly starve just as the humans in the bay have begun to.

She took to trailing fishing boats to steal from their catch, which is how she met Gem who was mid-throwing some unfortunate soul overboard.

They have an interesting relationship.

Gem is enamored with Pearl at the halfway point between a person and a large apex predator. She loves the way Pearl needs her to live and the way Pearl, as a social creature with no pod, craves her attention. It's thrilling to have a predator at her beck and call like this and, in turn, to be so desperately needed. She also loves the way Pearl doesn't look at her like she's dangerous (the way Scott and Impulse have begun to when they think she doesn't see them). Her interest in Pearl seems to be leaching into something more than just wildlife admiration. She's begun to learn the mermaid language just to talk to her. For what? Who really knows. Meanwhile, Pearl is hungry enough to eat just about anything Gem throws her (including human bodies) and desperate enough that she lets Gem get much closer than many humans in this area have ever been to a mermaid. (They even touch, scandalous for mermaids.)

It's skewed for sure. From Gem's perspective, they've got something special going on. From Pearl's... not so much.

This being Secret-Life based, you can imagine how this story ends...

Bonus piece: Pearl and her old pod.

IN GENERAL, Biological females are generally larger with a set of rotated tusks protruding from their lower jaw for dominance displays. Biological males are commonly smaller and more agile, with more dexterous hands due to decreased adipose tissue distribution over their bodies. (They actually have 3 biological sexes and tons of social gender variation but that's a talk for another time). Pre-cultural awakening, these pods would form around a biological female and their harem for reproductive purposes. That female would then protect the harem from other females looking to "steal them" or their territories (like horses but reverse-style). In modern times, these pods are often composed of groups of friends/related family members as sort of "platonic life partners" and stealing other pod members is seen as a very archaic sort of thing. Territory stealing, however, is still up for grabs.

[cameleonvermillon]

Dmmd love interests ranked based on whether or not Koujaku would kill himself if they and Aoba got together

[triglycercule]

so the dust smokes headcanon is really popular!!! i have an addition to it :33 cigarette smoke CLINGS to your body for a loooong loooong time,,,,, i don't know if monster dust has a smell but if it does maybe the cigarette smoke from his cigarettes could be used to cover up that smell so he doesn't have to deal with the scent of death all the time and yk,,,, feel the guilt :33

[givemedamage]

ultimately!

[starlightshore]

psst. question. i get TERRIBLE secondhand embarrassment. on a scale of "literally just a momentary goof everyone laughs off" to "crops ruined, every bridge burned, worst day of your life" how would you say Loop's life goes in winning hats??

I FEEL YA BECAUSE IM THE SAME WAY. i literally have to leave the room when there's something cringe/embarrassing happening in movies and it annoys the hell out of my family

and yet!!! i can stomach horror movies pretty well nowadays! I'm a huge horror fan... so it was inevitable that's the part of ISAT that really hooked me

i love this mentally ill star <3

So we're taking the character who was already suicidal and self-hating and desperately needed help only to become that help and lose both their world, body, and identity. I mean, they are literally losing their humanity. that's so fucked

they're discarded by the narrative (and universe) only to win a fight ("win" is incorrect, Siffrin refused to fight) they finally return to being who they were supposed to be!

but it's at the cost of another them, it wasn't earned, and they'll always be Loop inside.

The main conflict of the story is Loop refusing to let go of the loops (because being human is so terrifying and trying to deal with the aftermath hurts others.) while simultaneously desperate to leave Dormont and how that's just actively destroying them.

^ Loop getting rid of any mention of the suffering they endured during the timeloops by, ironically, timelooping and thus suffering more.

THANKFULLy they only just now decided to expose just enough of their vulnerability and suffering to convince the party to leave ASAP out of Dormont

their mental health is also just complete crap at this point. they've zoned out for days because they don't have a script anymore, they're hallucinating and dealing with a brand new trauma they gave themselves by looping

so they're really not doing so hot, but its probably as bad as it'll get for a while until, inevitably, their secret "I'm not human and i killed this world's version of me and am wearing their corpse" gets leaked

by which, they've already regretted the moment it happened and can't undo. whomp whomp.

but hey if u meant socially awkward only then i'd say they're laughably bad at it, but its in good nature. nobody is judging them they're only amused/confused by their antics

[zer0expektation]

MORE arcane high school au doodles >:]

< part 1 :3

[electrozeistyking]

Hello, welcome to The Rare Bites AU! I was going to draw J and V, but my eagerness to show this to you was far too strong. Here's some notes on it:

-the disassembly drones are pretty much starving and scrawny. uzi hates that her colony basically lied to these guys because they're only attacking because they're desperate to feed. she's like "DAMN WE'RE A BUNCH OF FUCKING LIARS HUH."

-j, n and v are some of the rare few disassembly drones that reached close to adulthood. they're all shaky and weak by this point, but still strong enough to take down a worker if they absolutely pushed themselves to do it. their population has been shrinking for years, due to starvation, overheating and killing their own young.

-"And our parents are leaving these fuckers to starve over one stupid deal they failed to uphold and won't even tell us about?! Like, come on! If these guys were human, they'd be all bony and shit! That's gross! What the fuck is wrong with us?!"

-n unwittingly reveals how bad their situation is by announcing that j and v might kill him in order to feed themselves when they find out he's had more than enough to drink (uzi's like "damn" and gives him some extra oil canisters. the workers have enough as is, so she doesn't bat an eye over having to give any up to disassembly drones).

-because these three don't really have a major reason to hate each other, i like to imagine that n, j and v basically fell asleep in a very shaky cuddle pile in order to feel less alone in this cruel world, and eventually begin to include uzi. at that point, they feel safer and start gaining weight and showing their true personalities. :3

-long story short, they start off in a bad place but then everything gets better because of uzi's input. :3

[eilarae]

yknow murder drones did a really good job at feminism and like yeah it's partially because we get this awesome protagonist who's complex and has agency in the plot and undergoes fantastic character growth and that's great. like solid +20 feminism points good job protagonist uzi

but then we get all these women who are actual freaks who commit atrocities who have murdered countless innocents who are covered in blood and do heinous things on the daily AND BABY NOW THAT'S FEMINISM. +10000000 POINTS GOOD JOB GIRLS KEEP IT UP

[vi0l3tluvsu]

Dead Girl’s Paradise.

hc!au!Tate Langdon and dead!reader

Tags ; spiteful reader , clueless Tate , bonding, death, biting , violet mention!! , comfort , yelling

Word Count: 2868

A/n ; Tate langdon is a bit ooc and this is an AU fic. I got this idea from a Jack Kays’ album (deadbeat) . it’s very little reread and it’s probably terrible 🫶🫶 enjoy it’s my first work

Tate Langdon moved into your house just over a month ago and since moving in he’s rearranged your furniture, taken down your posters, and blasted terrible music from a strange device. You glare at him sometimes, watching him lazily drag about the house and complain in his sloppy journals about school and his mother. If you could speak, you’d laugh at him. His journals were that of a mad man. The world needs to burn. Everyone must suffer. You scoffed at his insane rambles, at his thoughts of going into his school and .. well he’d never do it. He was a coward. Every time Constance opened her mouth, he fled. Hid in his room and cried, scribbled and ripped pages. Some of what he wrote was almost poetic, if it weren’t him writing it. The world will bend and all that will be left is the ashes of what could have been the best, but failed before making it. You rolled your eyes, kicking the papers about the floor. Sometimes, just to drive him insane, you moved his CDs around his room, Nirvana in his closet. Kurt Cobain singles CD in his boxer drawer. Tate was boring. The most boring teenager you’d ever had the misfortune of watching move in and then, just as expected, move out. Except only his family moved out and, despite every wish you’d had, he’d stayed.

You stayed relatively hidden from him. A shadow in an empty house as he rotted in his bedroom, but his mopping was getting annoying and now he was the shadow that was torturing you. In your own house.

“Hello..?” Tate’s voice called out into the dark of his bedroom. The scuffled sound of his desk chair moving away from his desk had startled the poor boy awake and he sat, eyes wide, staring into the darkness that almost dared to reach out and touch him. A gun cocked somewhere on his bed and your eyes moved from the chair to him. You were standing just about ten feet from him, your blood stained hands pulling the chair closer to you, further from the desk. “I’m - I’m not afraid!” He spit as he said it. As if he needed to convince himself before anyone else, “I’ve .. got a g-gun!” He called out, aiming into the darkness and at you.

The moonlight barely lit his room, like a dull candle in the center of a ballroom, he was shaking and you could hear it. You sneered, stepping towards the shell of moonlight cascading across the floor in front of his bed, your feet were light. The floor board creak just barely audible as you touched the wood, three feet from him. “Who are you?! How’d you get in?!” His voice cracked, you could hear true fear. From the same boy who had said he’d kill all who wronged him. You leaned your head forward, hair just barely falling in front of your face as your eyes met his. His blue eyes struck a cord in you as your nerves spiked. He was really holding a gun at a ghost.

You grunted at him, eyes narrowing. His lip pulled up and he made a face that was somewhere between disgust and fascination. Your eye brows folded in which narrowed your eyes even more. You stepped closer to him, hands reaching out toward the bed. His gun followed you as you pushed your way toward him until the barrel was sticking to your forehead. He seemed frozen in time, his eyes fixed on yours, unmoving. Unblinking. You turned your head slightly to see him past the gun and his eyes moved to follow yours instinctively.

“You’re..” his hands trembled under the weight of the small pistol in his hands, “you’re dead too?” The words struck you funny. Too. How could he be dead? He was more alive looking than any living person who passed through. You huffed, sitting back onto the bed and watching him. He put the gun down, well, dropped the gun down… “How long have you been.. uh.. stalking me?” His words stuttered out of him like he wasn’t sure where to start. You shrugged, eyes dropping to his covered legs. “Okay..” he sighed, “uh.. what’s your name?” His eyebrows knit together and he backed up slightly. You put a hand to your throat and looked around. It’s hard to answer someone with cut vocal cords. You grabbed his arm and he flinched, instinctively pulling back with a yelp as you forced up his sleeve and were faced with scars from wrist to elbow. You skimmed past it and started tracing letters onto him. He leaned his head forward and looked at the rest of your body. The collar of your shirt was drenched and smeared in thick dark red, the gentle lace of it forever ruined, the cream shirt layered on top was also stained but not as badly . It laid just off your shoulder to show off the Lacey under shirt, the sweater bunched up where it met your jeans. He scanned back up until his eyes fell upon your neck. He pulled back, a little red. You pulled back too and you must have looked as confused as he looked concerned. “Uhm. Sorry, I like your.. sweater..” his eyes shifted to your sweater, then your neck, and back to your sweater. “So .. pretty name..” he smiled softly, his sudden okayness with you seemed weird but you chalked it up to him enjoying not being alone anymore. “What’s your- oh.. wait.. - I mean-“ his legs slid out from the covers and he stood. The sun was rising outside the window and as the light started to hit the curtains Tate paced mumbling questions to himself.

“Okay. What’s y-“ he turned towards the bed, and you were gone. Retreated to the safety of your attic to avoid being really seen. You sat, cradling yourself until you started to doze off, small dreams came to you in flashes. Your parents at the funeral, your body still lying in a river not too far away. Your dog, Clover, left to forever search for you.

“Hello?” Tate’s voice rang out from the floor below, he was searching every nook and cranny to find you. Your sudden appearance had given him a chance to socialize and apparently he wasn’t letting that go. “Uh.. HELLO?!” His calls became louder, almost piercing. He called out your name, opened every cabinet, closet, and drawer. His desperation leading him everywhere but to the attic. For now, your haven of silence was gone but you hoped he would give up searching and- “there you are!” You had missed the creak of the attic door opening and now Tate was staring at you, a weak smile on his face as he carefully approached you. “Uh.. I was calling for you. I guess you didn’t hear.” He sounded cold, but kept a smile anyway. You shuffled away from him, trying not to let him get close enough to touch you like you’d touched him. He stepped closer still, backing you against the far wall of the attic, “you know. It’s been months since I had someone to talk to.. it’s nice to have company.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke, picking at the sleeve of his dark sweater, “Why’d you run away?” His eyes were piercing as he asked, his footsteps getting closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with you. “Why’d you leave me alone again?”

You were stunned, fear took over you. You stared up at him. He wasn’t much taller than you, maybe two inches, but it was enough. His eyes trailed to your neck again, the scar that spanned the width of your neck. You bent your head down raising your hand to cover it, his hand reached to grab yours. It was a gentle tight, the kind of pressure that wasn’t uncomfortable. You bent your head more trying to cover up your neck as much as possible. His other hand slowly touched your cheek, his light touch a shock to your nervous system, he pushed your head up until you were looking at each other again. His face was soft, his eyes searching your face up close now. He was taking in all of your features as you struggled against his wrist. He hummed to you, but his sudden sweetness didn’t change the bitter taste that was left in your mouth by the position you found yourself forced into. He’s hand drifted, thumb running along your lip, you parted them letting him fall into a false security before leaning forward and biting down on his thumb.

“Ow?! You bitch!” Tate stumbled back, falling over a box and hitting his head against the low ceiling, “I was trying to be nice!” You fled, tripping down the attic steps and nearly falling down the main ones until you reached the basement. The cold cement felt good against your socked feet and you found a corner curling into a ball and taking deep breathes.

After your first “run-in” with Tate you let the weeks pass hiding in his shadow as he searching relentlessly for you. You assumed his searching was to hurt you, but as you watched him pace and write, as he became more desperate to find you, the realization that he was just as lonely as you were hit like a brick. Eventually, he gave up searching and went back to his room locking the door and playing his awful music again. He gave up finding you and so you gave up watching him, retreating to the attic only to find a neat pile of clean clothes on the floor behind the door. You had spent so much time in your new hiding spot, the basement, and following him around that you hadn’t thought to check on the attic. Now, you had a pit of regret about avoiding him. In the pile was an oversized gray sweater, a pair of jeans, and mismatched socks. They must have been his sister’s clothes at some point. Guilt started to eat you as you slipped into the new clothing, it was weird to not feel the starchy and stiff of blood on your shoulders and around your neck but the change was welcome along with the new smell. You sat in the attic, the idea of going and talking with Tate felt foreign, like a small knife cut into your chest and dug out your insides. Grinding your teeth, you stood in the doorway clicking the knob’s lock as you debated whether to go and see him. The idea left you nerve wracked so you turned and locked the attic opting to stay hidden just a little bit longer before letting him find you again.

It took a few days for you to work up the courage to actually go and knock on his door but the day you did his music had ceased. There was no noise coming from his room and the door was wide open, Tate sat motionless on his bed holding a picture. You stepped forward into his doorframe pushing at the hinges of his door as it creaked open. His head shot up and he took in the image of you in fresh clothes, it was midday and despite not enjoying being seen in sunlight you couldn't be picky anymore. "Oh. it's just you." his tone was cold, any trust that had been built or affection that could have been gone. "I see you.. found my gift." he swallowed the words clutching the photograph tighter, you stepped forward sighing. The closer he stepped the more protective of his photo he became until you were sitting next to him on the bed and the photo was flipped upside down. "I was looking for you, you know." His mouth twisted into a sort of frown as you nodded, of course you had known. He was practically screaming your name all throughout the house. Awkwardly you rubbed your legs and Tate relaxed a bit, the guilt you had felt was still eating you and without being able to say sorry you were left with the feeling. Your eyes drifted down to the photograph. Instinctively, you raised an eyebrow, curiosity was never your strong suit but the silence was enough to kill even the bravest person.

Tate noticed you take an interest and quickly put it in his nightstand, "It.. It's none of your business." he blushed saying it, like it should be your business but he couldn't explain why. You rolled your eyes and stood heading for his door. It was useless to try and be friendly with someone like him. "Wait.. where are you going? Don't disappear again." He stood with you grabbing your hand and tightening as you turned to meet his gaze. There it was again, that gentle pressure that had driven you away the first time. You didn't pull away this time, it was as if some invisible line was wrapping around you. A voice begging you to stay. You turned, hand in his, and stared expectantly into his eyes. "I just.. I don't want to be alone again." He rubbed his thumb over the pad of your hand, the gentle circles felt like fire igniting under your skin but you let him. You huffed, letting him lead you back to the bed. You spent the next few days this way, laying about his bed and letting him ramble to you about what he called, "the latest". You didn't understand any of it. He slowly taught you about the current 2006 "pop culture", how to properly use a computer and what the name was of the strange device that played his horrid music. A Boombox. It became apparent that since your untimely end, a lot had changed. That you had changed. Tate rambled on about My Chemical Romance and how overrated The Fray was, almost all of it was lost to you. Yet, you were still content listening, despite not answering almost any question you were given Tate could answer them for you. "Do you think Nickelback will always be this popular?... Probably not. I mean like two of their songs are good.." You never tired of his talking, theories, and weird movies. Soon you were consumed by Deep Sea, Silent Hill, and Air Buddies. Tate's strange taste grew on you, now you were picking out movies, songs, even TV shows to watch on his old laptop. It wasn't too bad, hanging out with him, and obviously he didn't think you were too bad either. Until you walked into his room early in the spring of 2007, wearing a purple knit sweater. You had found it in a box hidden in the basement, and Tate screamed. "Where did you find that?! Take that off! You've ruined it! It was pure!" he had ran at you, frantic, but had been careful where he touched the sweater so as not to damage it at all. The shock of his yelling had startled you too much and you fled. Fled to the attic, locking the door. Tate followed, close behind but not close enough when you slammed the door in his face. "Wait, I-.. I can explain- Please give me the sweater back. Please. You don't understand it's hers." You didn't answer, just stood breathless behind the door as he walked away. A few minutes past when you saw a photograph slip under the door.

"It was vio- .." he went quiet, unsure of his words, "it was a .. friend of mines.. we met at school and. She was important to me, so please. Give it back." you took off the sweater, careful to fold it neatly before opening the door a crack and giving it to him. His sigh of relief once it was with him again was a calm you'd never seen in him, as if the mere reminder of her was enough to tell him it was okay. "I'm.. Thank you.." he mumbled. You closed the door and picked up the photo, it was creased and smudged in the corner where you could tell he was holding it too tightly, his sweat wearing it down. The girl in the photo looked beautiful. She stood next to Tate, just a few inches shorter, holding a lit cigarette and flipping off the camera, her tongue sticking out. Tate was holding the camera and smiling, a peace sign just barely in view, like he held his hand a certain way so as not to cover her. She was wearing that purple sweater, the same one you had put on. You walked silently to Tate's room, he was curled up on his bed hugging the sweater. You put the photo down on his nightstand and curled up with him, hugging him from behind. "She was everything to me." he buried his face into her sweater as your hand pet his hair, you had never comforted anyone before but this was how your mom comforted you when you cried. He let out a sob, turning to you and wrapping an arm around your waist, "I'm glad you didn't disappear again. You remind me a lot of her."

A/n: eeeee Thank you for reading!! I'm sorry it was so long<3 and I'm sorry if the ending was unsatisfactory.. I ran out of ideas for this one but I wanted to post it because i liked the writing

[thenonbinarydetective]

some of the things people say about Damian on here are fucking disgusting

I don't care if he's fictional, I would never say these things about a child

[pillbugshehhee]

Say, can you draw the RAT and Cyn being best friends like Skid and Pump

And then they hit the spooky month dance