#referenced suicide

[grainscharacter]

Grian has blood on his knuckles.

He can’t even be sure any of it is his. It’s mostly Scar’s, he thinks, the blood under his fingernails definitely is, but he must have split his knuckles in the fight.

Some of the blood might be his own. He doesn’t want to think about it.

Scar has blood on…

Well. Scar has blood everywhere.

Scar is—

Scar’s blood is on Grian’s hands. And all over his body. Scar’s blood is the only thing that Grian can see.

He’s holding Scar. He’s got Scar’s head in his lap, eyes closed, a horrible parody of late nights spent at the top of their little fortress in the desert.

When he first turned red, Scar’s skin had turned gray. He had looked dead. Grian didn’t know he could look more dead than that. His skin has somehow become grayer, and he’s no longer warm.

He’s supposed to be warm.

When they slept together, on the nights it was especially cold, or lonely, or—when they had slept together, Scar had been warm. It was nice. He had—

It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s cold now.

It’s not even the worst part. It’s not even—

The worst part had been how long it had taken. The worst part had been the cacti pricking him, the worst part was—

Neither of them are fighters. Scar is—was—a builder, just like Grian. They had builder’s callouses. They had rough skin from swinging a hammer, not a sword.

Now Grian has split knuckles and blood on his hands, cradling the body of a man he pledged his life to.

(The worst part had been how neither of them knew how to make it quick. Had been the tears turning red from blood and the sand in their eyes and the apologies in their mouths. The worst part had been trying so hard to be kind and only making it worse.)

Grian doesn’t want to think about what comes next. He won. He won a death game; what do you even do with that? What could possibly be a worse prize than an empty server with only the ghosts of the people you’ve killed to keep you company, and empty buildings covered in blood and gunpowder to explore.

He can’t hear the ghosts anymore. He doesn’t know if it’s a relief or a form of torture. They fell silent when Scar took his last breath. They stayed that way as the red faded from Grian eyes. Stayed quiet as he took in the body, and the blood, and the flowers that used to be braided into his hair on the ground in the sand, trampled.

He can’t even bury the body. The sand here is too shallow for a proper grave, and the body dissolving too quickly to be brought down the mountain in a place it can be done properly.

All Grian has is blood and the desert.

All Grian has is himself.

The sun is setting; Scar always looked best in golden light.

Grian sets the body down. He tucks Scar’s hair behind his ear, and kisses him, gently, on the forehead. He closes his eyes, turns around, and walks until there’s nothing left.

He doesn’t see the ground vanishing beneath him, but he feels the wind as he falls.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 24 - Regret (Alt.)

Eowyn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: The night before the Gondor charge, Eowyn speaks to you of her regrets.

Warnings/Notes: Referenced suicide/depression

Word Count: 1461

  “Why have you chosen this path, my lady?”

  You asked the question in a hesitant voice, unsure what type of response you would receive. In your mind could vision Eowyn snapping at you and pressing her blade to your throat, but you could also see her eyes locked on your face, expression growing teary as if you were the first and only person to ever care how she truly was.

  The blonde woman took her own beat to reply, then she lowered her gaze to the fire in front of you.

  “I have no other path to take.” Eowyn’s voice was hardly loud enough to hear over the softly bustling camp.

  You hadn’t expected to find another woman that had snuck her way into Theoden's army. You’d found Eowyn by accident when she thought she was alone and she pulled her helmet off to let her hair down. You would recognize her anywhere, as would the rest of the army.

  Eowyn made sure the two of you were alone this time and cornered you with a threat, teeth bared and eyes almost hysteric. Nobody was going to take this from her. Her last chance of glory before death would not be halted by some nosy soldier.

  But when you removed your own helmet and found yourself gazing up at her with wild eyes, she sheathed her sword and the anger faded from her own. 

  It was then that the two of you had become silent companions. It’s not like you had much else of a choice. The other soldiers would probably not turn you in but they would not accept you either. You were both of some royal blood and least expected to take on a challenge such as this. It was you and Eowyn alone in the world. 

  Over the two days you had been traveling together you spoke and became more than acquaintances, though there were still stubborn boundaries between you two that you could not break down. At first you weren’t sure why but the more time you spent with Eowyn the more you realized something… 

  She was on this journey both to seek valor, and in search of death. Whatever hope Eowyn once had was crushed through sorrow after sorrow her weary body faced, leaving her alone with this option.

  “There are other paths besides rushing towards the end of it all.” You moved to sit a little closer to her, shivering at the chill of the air.

  Eowyn cast you a sideways glance before returning her gray eyes to the flames. She dared not look away from their warm yet tantalizing glow for too long.

  “I long not to be cast aside, forgotten beneath names of history and victory. If I cannot find valor by the blade of my own sword then all I have done has accounted for nothing.” Eowyn spoke coldly. “No longer can the chains of my life hold me down, nor will the say of any man. If I die in this war then so be it. I prefer death in action rather than death by use and age.”

  An awkward silence settled over the two of you. You glanced down into your bowl, no longer hungry. The way Eowyn viewed the world through a darkened veil nearly pierced your heart but you fought it back.

  “There is still hope.”

  “Hope for others maybe.”

  “You speak as though you have seen the future with your very eyes. Going into war with the taste for death is no more use to Gondor than acting like it doesn’t exist at all.”

  “You know nothing of this matter!” Eowyn stood up. Her cold eyes turned from your face and she grabbed her helmet. “Do not try to change my mind. I will not have another soul controlling my life.”

  And with that, she stormed off, face concealed beneath her helmet once more.

  You let her be, finishing up what you could of your dinner and quietly tending the fire. Eowyn would come back around once she calmed down and you’d be there to handle whatever came afterwards.

  When she did return it was 15 or so minutes later. She sat back down though a few feet away from you and made no move to pull her helmet off.

  “Do you regret, y/n?” Eowyn asked.

  “Everyone regrets something…”

  “Tell me something you regret.” 

  The tone of her voice was still cool, but beneath it you could sense the desperation, the yearning to connect, a blessing she’d been so long deprived of.

  “When I was younger I fell off a horse and hurt myself. In a panic I blamed the stableboy for failing to tighten my saddle. He got in trouble for it.” You chuckled softly though guilt was clear in your gaze. “I’ve always felt awful about that. I apologized and he’s fine but… that was not one of my brightest decisions.”

  Some sort of sound came from Eowyn. You couldn’t tell if it was a chuckle or scoff. She turned to look at you, eyes hidden beneath the shadow of the metal.

  “Do you believe it’s possible to regret things you had no control over?”

  You pondered the question for a moment. It’s easy to blame yourself for anything, even those which you had no say or part in… Perhaps Eowyn was in the same boat.

  “Can I have an example?”

  She was quiet for a moment, displeased. She was hoping you’d jump in and share another moment rather than her having to dig deep and spill, but she didn’t fight.

  “If I were to… say I regret everything?” Eowyn asked softly. “I regret how my life has turned out… how the choices that I and others made for me… that if I could go back and change it all, I would… Is that possible?”

  “Anything you feel is possible.” You watched the flames of the fire lick higher and then sink as a cold wind blows through the camp. Eowyn shivers and you slowly move closer to her. She doesn’t scoot away. “Do you harbor those regrets?”

  The woman beside you was quiet. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out of her cotton filled throat so she closed her lips, a slight tremble now noticeable. Instead of responding, she let out a soft whimper.

  That’s when you realized she was crying.

  Carefully you closed the rest of the distance between the two of you until you were at her side. You gently undid the strap of her helmet and pulled it off. Beneath the cover was her flushed face, eyes watery and red. Paths of wetness dribbled down her face and were filled by further tears. There was such a deep look of grief and pain in her eyes as though it made up her very soul.

  “I don’t think this war will be your end.” You pressed the pad of your thumb to the bottom of her chin, tilting her head ever so gently. She didn’t look away this time. “There will be a time when these regrets are not the only focus of your mind. They will not weigh you down forever.”

  “How do you know?” Eowyn’s voice cracked and more tears fell from her eyes. She finally tore her gaze away, lashes fluttering as her eyes closed. Her cheek felt warm against your palm as you moved your hand to the side of her face. “What if I am too far gone? If… if it's so heavy to bear that I cannot heal?”

  With a heavy sigh, you shook your head. “If there is hope for Gondor, and little there is, yet hope still remains, there is hope for you.” You whispered.

  “Comparing me to a fallen city… I fear we cannot be saved the same.” Eowyn chuckled weakly. Her eyes opened when you pulled your hand from her face, lips forming a watery pout. Though when you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her flush against your side, she settled and began to cry harder.

  “I will not let either of you fall.” You whispered into her hair, just cradling her tight and letting her weep. “I promise.”

  And Eowyn wept for a long time. She sobbed until her eyes were dry and her throat sore. Then she snuggled even closer and tucked her face into the crook of your neck. A heavy cloud of hopelessness still sat upon her shoulders but within your arms she began to feel the slightest rays of light peeking through. No amount of regret could change her past, could have her be born to a different body, one still capable of joy and valor… and if there was one thing she would not change, it would be this.

[lilac-gold]

An analysis of Hero's healing, his position as an older brother and his relationships with Aubrey and Kel

Hero's healing:

I love exploring all the links between Headspace and the real world, and today, another's been on my mind. Hero is a healer in HS, but he heals and attacks through his food & frying pan; his position in the team utilises his strengths and passions, those being medicine and cooking. And in one of the flashbacks in Memory Lane, Hero asks Sunny if he should be a doctor or a cook when he's an adult. He personally wants to be the latter- that's why cooking is embedded so heavily into each of his skills in HS- but his parents want him to be the former.

Hero's a healer because that's what's necessary, what's expected of him, what he's good at. He heals through his food because that's what he likes making, trying his best to turn his strong suit into something he loves. Mari wanted him to be a cook, but after she died, Hero couldn't face that career. Instead, he did what his parents wanted, going to medical school. He's smart, and does well at it, but it's not something that he enjoys quite as much as he does cooking.

In Headspace, there are no parents: not Sunny's, not Aubrey's, nor Basil's, and not Hero's (and Kel's). But there is Mari, the opposite of in the real world. And yet, Hero's talent for healing and career as a doctor is still embedded into his fighting skills, even without any influence from a parental figure in HS since he has no parent there to take advice from. There's only himself, the younger kids, and Mari.

I like to think that Hero's a healer in HS not only because of his parents wanting him to be a doctor, though, but rather as a result of his older brother figure in their friendship group. Having a biological little brother who he cared for deeply meant that Hero had experience with littler kids, and he's the sort of person to look out for them, taking on a slightly parental role in HS. Particularly to Aubrey and Kel, he's very much an older brother figure.

He settles their disputes. He has a messy love life they like to get involved in and tease him about. He comforts them when they're upset. He's in charge of where they go (e.g. SWH's Quest for Hearts). He offers advice to characters like Omori. He's responsible, he's polite, he's a role model to them. Nice to everyone and always willing to help out. He reprimands Aubrey when she gets a little too angry, and tells Kel off when he aggravates her.

Above all else, though, Hero looks after them. He heals them when they're injured, offering good food and protection from enemies and threats. Hero takes on a defensive position, always there to offer help, support and recovery.

So, he's a healer.

This most likely applied in the real world, too, when the kids got any minor injuries like scrapes or bruises. 'Dr Hero' was able to look after them, patching them up with colourful band-aids. And Sunny experienced that, and integrated it into his mind that Hero (and Mari) were he, Aubrey, Basil and Kel's protectors. They provide warmth, shelter, healing and food.

Hero & Aubrey:

That makes it hurt even more when you think about how alone Aubrey felt. Her parents split up, her mother turning to drink as she stayed in her tiny, barely-filled room in the attic. Her friends all left, she lost an older sister figure in Mari- and an older brother in Hero. She didn't see him again for a year, and when he finally went back to school, he devoted himself to his studies and that image of perfection Mari had strived for. He didn't have time for her anymore, and wasn't there to even see if she was okay.

Of course she'd be angry, and hurt, and upset, on both her and Hero's behalf. She's mad at Mari for leaving them like she did, for crumbling Aubrey's only support system in one day. She's mad at Hero, for abandoning her in his grief. She's even mad at herself, for not being able to help somehow.

So she finds new friends, and she becomes the leader, the protector. She looks over the Hooligans, sometimes telling them off, getting defensive over them, buying food with them at Gino's. But there's nobody to look after her, or to stop her from doing anything she wants because her mother doesn't care, or to make her food that's actually filling. She's alone.

Then Hero comes back, and he doesn't even recognise her. He leaves her behind at the lake, walking away with Kel and Sunny without even hearing her out. She's been abandoned again, she's messed up again, and she doesn't know how to fix it. There are too many emotions for her to process, and she's far too exhausted to go after them. So, she goes home, and resents Basil for ruining her memories, and Kel for reducing her to the image he's built of her inside of his head, and Sunny for only coming out now and hurting her, and Mari for killing herself. And she resents Hero for leaving her, for not being there, and for walking away from that lake without a second glance.

She's still so, so angry, but then he goes to visit her and she falls apart. He came to see if she's okay. He wants to listen to her. And he recognises the rift between she and Kel as 'your typical Kel and Aubrey fight'. And he fixes it, making them say sorry like they're still just kids. And Aubrey hasn't said sorry in so long, not since her mom doesn't care and she's a known delinquent and she's so angry. He reprimands her lightly, seeing just how upset she is, but he's acting like a parent, like a brother, like Hero.

And Aubrey's missed that. She's been alone for so long, and now she's not anymore. They put the photos back and she cries and she apologises, and Hero just accepts it. He acts like it's nothing, not blaming her like Kel and the people in the church did, acting like everything's the same as it was years ago.

Then, he asks to hug her, and that's... Well, that's a little too much. But they've made a start, and yeah, he's embarrassing, but he's still like a brother to her. And she's missed him.

So when he says that they should go check up on Basil, she agrees. Just like all the times in HS when Hero suggested they go somewhere, Aubrey agrees, and they all go off together, a group again.

In the good end, things start to get better. In the bad end, things get so much worse. In any version of the neutral end, things fall apart beyond any seeming repair. But through all of them, she sticks with the person she used to view as an older brother, who still treats her like his sister even after those four years of loneliness.

Hero & Kel:

Now, consider Kel's thoughts on the matter. Hero's always been his older brother, someone to look up to and ask for help from. But when Mari dies, it's Hero who falls apart. Kel doesn't know what to do, the source of comfort over the years for he and his friends having been left broken as a result of Mari's seeming suicide.

Hero blames himself, and Kel can't find a way to convince him not to. Hero doesn't speak to him, doesn't get out of bed, doesn't do anything for a year. Like with Aubrey, Kel didn't just lose Mari; he lost Hero as well. His older brother didn't act like a brother anymore, like Hero anymore, not in the slightest. And he wasn't there to help Kel, because Hero himself was in need of more help than anyone could provide him with.

Hero used to take pride in his appearance, knowing full well that he was considered handsome. Hero used to love baking and cooking, dedicating hours to the craft. Then, Mari died, and he stopped everything, not even taking care of himself, let alone Kel.

So Kel tries his best. He bottles up his feelings, acting like he's fine. He made new friends, tries to comfort Hero like Hero used to him, brings food to his brother's bed in the hope that Hero will eat more. Kel tries to be the responsible one, the stable one, the unfaltering pillar of support Hero had been for so many years.

But Hero doesn't respond to him. Kel and his parents try their best to be supportive and help, but Hero stays the same way. Hero had always been fine, charming his way out of problems and fixing anything that went wrong. And then he wasn't anymore.

And after a year, Kel had had enough, desperately trying to get through to him. He missed his brother, his best friend, and had reached his breaking point. His parents' focus was on Hero, his friends had all drifted apart, Mari was dead, Sunny never left his house- and Hero seemed to be gone forever too.

Mari wouldn't have wanted to see him like that, Kel knew, suicidal or not. He wished she would've talked to someone, confided in them- at least confided in Hero- but knew she still cared about them greatly, Hero and Sunny in particular.

But the mention of Mari meant that Hero had reached his breaking point, snapping in a way Kel had never seen before. Hero was supposed to be calm, stopping arguments when Kel got into them, always polite and considerate. A far cry from the Hero before him just then, furious and wild, yelling at him.

Insulting him. Some of what Hero said was really hurtful to Kel- especially since it was coming from Hero. His brother, the person whose own perfection made Kel feel a little forgotten, the person who Kel admired and looked up to more than anyone, said things that were meant to hurt.

Kel blocked it out later on, only remembering how much Hero cried. Hero used to be a source of comfort. Used to help him heal. Instead, Hero was hurting Kel and hurting himself and Kel didn't know what he did wrong.

He did everything possible to calm Hero down, the outburst unfamiliar. But Hero had been unresponsive for a year, bottling up every emotion regarding Mari's death, and Kel mentioning her completely smashed those bottles into smithereens.

And it scared him. Kel felt scared because Hero was collected and level-headed and smart and mature, someone to go to for advice who would always help him feel better, someone seen as 'perfect'. His brother. Then, Hero didn't seem like Hero the slightest bit anymore, and that was terrifying not only because of Hero's wholly unfamiliar rage being directed at him, but also because Kel felt like he was losing his brother more by the second.

Then, his parents rushed in and helped Hero, and Kel was still crying alone on the floor, then his brother hurried over to him and tried his best to help. Kel felt like a little kid again, but it was so, so nice to be hugged again. Hero was back to his senses, back to being a healer rather than hurting him, apologising profusely and that was more relieving than Kel could imagine.

After that, Hero's self-destruction slowed down. It never disappeared, not when he decided to become a doctor for their parents' sake, not when Hero stopped doing anything he loved to focus entirely on his studies, but at least Hero started taking care of himself again.

Hero became far more closed-off after that, Kel could still see his guilt. But he couldn't help out, terrified to repeat what happened last time and feeling awful for it. Hero worked incredibly hard but was still naturally good at everything, which Kel found himself envying a little even then. Hero excelled at everything... Expect for sport.

So Kel went to basketball practise. Kel did his best to do something, anything better than his brother for a bit of his parents' approval- and to be worthy of Hero's attention. Basketball players were tall, and Kel desperately wanted to be taller than Hero. Basketball required a lot of running, and Hero was far too unathletic for that. Basketball was a team sport, and Hero had been running solo for over a year by that point.

And still, Hero got so many more trophies than him without even trying. But Hero had no passion, and that was upsetting and frustrating to watch because Hero got the same achievements for doing things he used to love with a sort of mechanical detachment that was completely new to Kel.

But he's got his brother back. His healer, his protector, his brother. And Kel isn't going to anything to put that in jeapordy again.

[sunbeamah]

Deleted Scene from Trouble in Tokyo #3

i wrote this scene before chapter 1 of TIT and wanted to put it in the whole time, but it didn't make the final cut!! it's just a short one this time, please enjoy! and please check out TIT if you haven't! ch8 is coming soon :)

TIT deleted scenes 1 and 2

“Yuuji! Your boyfriend’s here!” Kechizu shouted back into the house. His eyes sparkled in what felt like anticipation as he watched Megumi’s face carefully. All he gave the man was a flat stare, too used to man-children at this point in his life to be surprised. 

Megumi listened closely to Yuuji’s distant footsteps, no longer having to exchange small talk now that Kechizu had decided to go on his phone and leave him at the door. Before he knew it, that pretty head of blossom-pink hair was in front of him, and Yuuji was looking up at him with his beautiful golden eyes filled with tears–

“Hey,” Yuuji said, his voice cracking a bit. It snapped something in Megumi’s mind.

His body moved on its own, cupping his boyfriend’s cheeks and thumbing one of the tears that rolled down them. 

“Yuuji,” He said, coming closer, crowing him. “What happened?”

Yuuji swallowed and broke his gaze, and Megumi felt so violent he almost wanted to take his hands away from Yuuji out of fear his anger might translate into his touch– but he would never hurt his boyfriend like that. He would never be able to. 

He dropped his hands anyway, grabbing one of Yuuji’s own and pulling him into the bedroom he shared with his twin. 

“Who did this?” He asked when the door shut, his voice dangerous and cold.

“H-huh? Oh– sorry!” Yuuji said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m not sure if I texted you about it– I just watched this American movie, and the guy at the end, he committed suicide, and it was just really sad…” 

Internally, Megumi felt relieved. Yuuji was okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Externally, he scrunched up his nose and tch’d, flicking Yuuji’s forehead viciously.

“Oww! Hey! Am I not in enough pain already?!” Yuuji said, covering the spot with both hands and pouting up at him. Cute.

“If you’re crying– tell me why immediately. I thought something bad happened. It stresses me out…” He said firmly, frowning down at Yuuji to make sure he got the point. 

Yuuji straightened up a bit, letting his hands fall and looking him in the eye properly.

“Sorry, Fushiguro.”  Yuuji said. “I’ll let you know next time.”

“You better…” Megumi turned away and surveyed the state of his room, unwilling to express this much vulnerability all in one go. “And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Megumi?”

[imnova]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s11e17 Red Meat (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, POV First Person, Getting Together, Sibling Incest, Canon Temporary Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, (for deal reasons), rated not for sex but because Dean Romeo and Juliets regularly Series: Part 5 of Supernatural week Summary:

In a Red Meat coda, a few truths will come out.

As ever, if you’re a ff.net aficionado, here it is.  Aaand happy Supernatural Day, everyone!

[home-for-wayward-fawns]

༺♥📺 𝒜 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 🦌♥༻

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 9: 𝒩𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈, 𝒫𝑜𝓌𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓈

What should've been a simple game of role-play goes terribly wrong when Carla is thrust into a flash back of the past.

TW: Hi everyone, thank you for your lovely comments and kudos! I want to give a HEAVY trigger warning for this chapter. It contains heavy references to mental health problems, substance abuse, and references to a character overdosing.

Carla sat on her armchair in the lounge, sewing circle in her lap as she continued her floral design. Alastor stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder as he peered down at it. Carla had a soft smile plastered on her face as Charlie explained her latest little game to the residents who sat on the floor in a circle. 

It reminded her of little Poppy dragging all her big brothers down to the living room for a tea party. Of course, they’d always indulged her, indulged the little miracle that blessed their lives. 

Charlie started, clapping as she sang her little introduction, and the snake followed suit. Carla hummed to herself contentedly as Alastor tapped his fingers on her skin in a smooth rhythm. 

“This is stupid,” Angel interrupted, rolling two of his eyes. 

Carla looked down at him, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the twitch in his hand. She’d seen that before, and it left a sour taste in her mouth. It was the struggle before the storm, the moment just before the walls came crashing down. Angel was after a fix, and this game wasn’t helping. Carla noticed Charlie’s eye twitch, and let out a cough for attention. She felt Alastor’s rhythmic tapping cease and didn’t need to look back to know he was doing that curious head tilt in her direction. 

“You don’t have to play along, sweetheart,” She said gently, hoping her soft voice would coax him away from whatever demons plagued his mind. 

It never did. It never worked. It never worked with Junior either. 

“This–is–not–stupid!” Charlie interrupted, still clapping and Carla had to bite back a sigh. It wasn’t her fault; the poor naive thing just couldn’t see that this was not what Angel needed right now. “It’s just a game! Sir Pentious did it well, so now please try to do the same!” 

“Charlie, that isn’t very kind. Angel, if you don’t like this game, what do you want to play?” Carla asked, keeping her tone soft and light. 

She felt a sharp claw scratch along her collar as Angel got a sly smirk on his face. Husk groaned, apparently aware of something Carla was not. 

“A productive game,” Vaggie interjected, her voice laced with suspicion. 

Why was everyone so harsh on the boy? Husk got to drink himself into oblivion; Pentious got to build his dangerous contraptions; why was Angel looked upon so harshly? 

“We could do some roleplay ,” Angel suggested, his eyebrows moving suggestively, specifically in Husk’s direction. 

Husk rolled his eyes, but Charlie quickly jumped to her feet in excitement, oblivious to the obvious tension in the room. She pulled Vaggie up by her arm, with a surprising amount of strength for such a lanky young girl. 

“Roleplay!” Charlie exclaimed, her entire body already shaking with anticipation, “I’ll go write the scripts!” 

The tall blonde quickly dragged her girlfriend out of the room, and Carla chuckled at her enthusiasm. 

“This oughta be fun,” Angel snickered, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to subside slightly. 

“Thank you, Angel,” Carla said to him earnestly, “It means a lot to her that you’re trying,” 

“Huh? Err, yeah, sure,” he mumbled, looking down at his phone, but the beginning of a blush had spread across his face. 

Small steps, gentle steps; you didn’t change problems like this overnight. She couldn’t save Junior, didn’t see him slipping through the cracks of the family unit. She couldn’t save him in time, couldn’t make him feel seen before it was too late, but she could save Angel. He was a part of this little family they were building, and she’d keep him safe. She’d make sure he felt safe. 

“Pet,” She heard Alastor purr in her ears and she turned her head to look at him. His smile was broad across his face as he spoke— he was beautiful. “I’m afraid I must take my leave to make arrangements for this evening. I’ve instructed Niffty to take care of dinner for the evening so you can focus on dolling yourself up for me tonight,” 

Carla bit down on her lip in concern, that was a big task for one so small. “That’s a big meal for such a little one, are you sure we need to go out for dinner? I don’t mind cooking before we leave.” 

“I assure you I have never given her a task she cannot excel in. She enjoys cooking just as much as you do. You trust me don’t you, doe?” 

She pressed a gentle kiss against his knuckles, and he raised an eyebrow but made no move to take his hand away from her. She felt a shift in the air, the usual soft thrum of static that surrounded them seemed to thicken for a moment before he tilted her head up to steal a soft kiss. She gasped in shock, and he took the opportunity to deepen it. 

“You’re bad.” She whispered against his lips and he chuckled. 

“You’re mine.” He whispered back, before pulling away. 

She watched him as he took his leave, not able to hide the wistful expression on her face. She returned to her sewing circle, and she’d almost feel at peace if she wasn’t blatantly aware of Pentious’ eyes on her. 

“Do you trust him?” He hissed, rolling his tongue on the s sound. 

“We know our roles, and we play them well.” She replied, her tone clipped. 

She had promised Charlie she would try, she would play along. That didn’t mean she owed him any more information than she was willing to give. It was hardly any of his business how she felt about Alastor. Or Kek. 

“Forgive my intrusion, I was under the impression you were wed to another,” 

Her head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes, her smile still firmly glued in place. The snake eyed her nervously, aware that he had just prodded at a particularly sore nerve. It was laughable, wed to another. Last time Carla checked, death do us part was very much still in her vows. She had waited her whole life to move on, how much time did she owe Clarence? How many tears, how much misery? How many dead kids?

“How interesting; I’m sure Alastor would be very interested in finding out you keep tabs on me.” She said evenly, keeping her smile gentle while she pleaded with her heart to calm itself down.

“Don’t Smiles got a problem with your and Vox’s whole,” Angel said, waving his hand in the air, “situationship,” 

“Me and Vox do not have a situationship to discuss. I was never married to Vox ,” She hissed out his name like a curse, a disease. 

“Damn, toots, you really hate him,” 

She narrowed her eyes in Pentious’ direction, the rage bubbling beneath her skin, threatening to spill over. She was so much more than Clarence’s wife and the mother of his children. She had made a life for herself. She had built entire charities designed to help the needy, the desperate. She had created foundations to help men with mental health problems, and help the young with addictions they weren’t able to deal with on their own. The Gill name was so much more than the legacy he’d left them with. She had built something for her family, her children. He might’ve been the worst of her, but he was by no means all of her. 

“I advise you to keep your comments on my love life to yourself in the future,” She said with a tight smile before standing up to dust off her skirt. 

She had just about made it to the door, hand on the knob when she felt words that stabbed into her back like thousands of knives. 

“I mean no offence, Mrs. Gill ; I just did not think you were that kind of woman,” 

She stopped in her tracks, her grip impossibly tight on the handle. They didn’t know her, none of them did. They didn’t know what she’d gone through, what Vox had done to her, to their family, to their children. 

She was not just the woman he left behind; she was the woman who survived him. 

“You have no idea the kind of woman I am.” She bit back before gently closing the door behind her. 

She pressed her back to the door, willing the black hole that had formed in her chest to cease and she began to count to seven, one for each of her beloved kids. 

One for Harry, her perfect son. 

Two for darling Georgie, who would eat her out of house and home. 

Three and Four for Gabriel and Junior, her most cheeky of the boys. 

Five for Mathew who had always tried his best. 

Six for Peter who had been taken from her too soon. 

Seven for Poppy, perfect Poppy, her little miracle.

She was fine. She was safe. She had done it. She had raised them alone, and she had done a damned good job. She had never needed a man; she had never needed him . It wasn’t her fault what happened. It wasn’t her fault. She had spent an entire life alone, and she would not be told by anyone she didn’t deserve to be happy. Alastor was perfect and she wouldn’t be told otherwise. She lifted her necklace, pressing a gentle kiss to the charm. 

Clarence had chosen for death to do them part; she didn’t owe him a damned thing. 

She was going to bake a fucking pie. 

Carla spent hours in the kitchen baking more than she’d ever know what to do with. Pies were simple, a recipe passed down through the generations of her family. You couldn’t get pie wrong, not when you’d made it so many times. She focused on the latticework, a separate intricate design for each one. They didn’t come out perfect—nothing did in Hell—but they sure were pretty. 

“Everyone is in the lounge doing this ‘roleplay’ bullshit,” Husk told her with a grumble. 

Carla pulled her final pie out of the oven, a pretty little spider design on the top. She hoped Angel would like it, that it would at least appease a very different hunger deep within the boy. 

“...You alright, love?” Husk asked, eyeing all the pies that covered the kitchen counters. She might have to ask Alastor if there was somewhere to donate them all. It wouldn’t do good to waste the ones that wouldn’t get eaten. 

“Just a spot of baking,” She said dismissively, untying her apron to hang it on the back of the door. 

Once upon a time, Clarence would’ve finished that sentence. ‘Does wonders for the soul, don’t you know?’

She followed Husk to the lounge, content to leave her pies to cool before she dusted them with sugar later. She sat down to join Charlie and Vaggie on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. She looked up at the scene before her, chewing nervously on her lip. She had a sudden urge to call for Alastor through the necklace. 

This didn’t look good. 

Angel stood in a dark trench coat reading from a terrible script. It was evident that their dear spider was playing the villain to Pentious’ childlike disguise. She felt her stomach drop as the words left the poor boy’s mouth. She clenched her fists in her lap, digging her nails into her palms as she tried to stay present. This was all wrong. This had never been how it went down. It was never a scary man in a dark alleyway; it was always so much closer to home. She could feel herself fading away, disappearing into nightmares that she’d never be free from. That was the true curse of motherhood; you never escaped the guilt of your mistakes. 

She stood crouched by a large bed, damp cloth in her hand as she wiped her son’s sweaty brow. He panted heavily, his entire body shaking, and she cooed at him gently. It wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t his fault ; he just needed some help. 

“I’m so sorry Mama, so sorry,” he panted, as she gently dabbed the cloth across his face. 

It was hard for Junior, so hard. Clarence had given him everything he had. He got the name, the face, the problems . Carla couldn’t quiet the voices in his head, couldn’t save him from the guilt that plagued his heart. It wasn’t his fault that he’d fallen into the wrong crowd; it wasn’t his fault he just wanted the voices to stop. 

“You’re doing so good, baby boy. Just a little longer. We just need to get it out of your system, and then Harry’s going to take you to a doctor with Grandpa. Won’t that be good?” She said softly, holding back tears. 

“I’m so cold, Mama; I’m freezing to death,” 

“I know baby; I know. Mama’s here; I’ll be here all night.” She promised. 

She knew Harry was outside the door, pacing angrily. He’d promised to let her do this bit; he meant well, but he was so rough, so angry. It wasn’t his fault either; he was just scared. They’d already lost Peter; already lost Mathew. Their numbers seemed to dwindle every year, and she knew he blamed himself. She couldn’t blame him; she blamed herself instead. 

“What about when the voices come back, Mama? I can’t do to my kids what Dad did to us,” He sobbed, and she felt a pang of pain in her chest. 

A dark thought crossed her mind, one she quickly flicked away to focus on her son. 

I hate you, Clarence. I fucking hate you. 

“Mama will be there then too. You just come home to Mama, and I’ll fix you right up. Nothing fairy kisses can’t fix, little champion,” she said quietly. 

“I’m so sorry Mama,” 

She was breathing heavily as she was unceremoniously dropped back into reality. Her hands were bleeding from where her nails had dug too deep into porcelain skin. That wasn’t the last time Carla had to do that with her Junior, not the last time Harry dragged him to her by the scruff of his neck. Harry was always red in the face; rage always swimming in his perfect blue eyes as he dropped Junior at her feet. Venom laced his voice as he spat at Junior that he didn’t deserve to be his brother, didn’t deserve to be her son, but Carla always calmed him down, sending Harry out to get her things she didn’t need just so he’d feel useful. She knew why he was really angry; he couldn’t fix Junior and he couldn’t stand it. 

Junior spent his whole life like that, even when he was married, even when he became a father. Always Harry, always Harry dragging him back to her by the scruff of his neck. He fought so hard, her little soldier, fighting against his need for needles, powders and pills. It was never as simple as just saying no . Carla could feel tears begin to fall down her cheeks, staining her face. He was the same age as Clarence when Harry found him, cold and empty with the final needle in his arm. Her baby boy dragged home one last time, but she couldn’t help him down this time, and Harry held her when she cried. He held her tight and didn’t let go, and she wanted to scream at Charlie . 

She wanted to grab her and shake her because she had no idea . She didn’t know what it was like to hold her grandchildren while they sobbed, to hold her daughter-in-law’s hand because she understood. She understood the pain, the tears; the rage . She wanted her son back; she wanted each and every one of them back. She wanted to laugh, to scream in Vox’s face because he wanted to give her the world, but he couldn’t give her back what he’d already stolen. 

She looked up to see Charlie hugging Pentious, praising him , while Angel stalked away up the stairs looking dejected. She willed herself to be still, to be calm, to be present. 

“You alright?” She heard Husk call out to her, but he sounded a hundred miles away. 

One for Harry, her perfect son. 

Two for darling Georgie, who would eat her out of house and home. 

Three and Four for Gabriel and Junior, her most cheeky of the boys. 

Four for Junior. Four for Junior. Four for Junior. 

“I do not know who you think you are young lady ,” Carla hissed, unable to hide her anger, “but that was vile ,” 

“But…” Charlie tried to say, but Carla interrupted her. 

“No ifs, ands, or buts. You have no idea what it’s like to love an addict, and it shows. Have you ever stayed up multiple days to hold them when they come down, to remind them you’re still here; you’re real? Have you ever held your child as they burn but they swear they’re freezing, and they’re so sorry, and you forgive them, you always forgive them knowing they’re going to do it again, and again, and again? It was never as simple as just saying ‘no’. It isn’t some shady guy in an alley. It’s your best friend, your cousin, someone you trust,” Carla ranted, panting, “My Junior was not a bad boy, and he was not unloved. I gave him enough hugs; I drowned that boy in love.” 

Her entire body was shaking with rage. Junior was good. Junior was her good boy, he’d just had a hard life. Angel was good too. He just needed help .  

“Carla, I didn’t mean…” Charlie began, tears in her eyes, but Vaggie cut her off. 

“Leave her alone; you’re upsetting her!” 

“Perhaps you should’ve thought to suggest a warning for such content then, sweetheart ,” Carla hissed at Vaggie before turning to Charlie, “It doesn’t matter what you meant . It matters what you did. Angel is not bad because he needs help . You never should have considered having him play ‘the crackhead’.” 

She took a deep breath, counting to seven as a cold, suffocating silence washed over them. 

One for Harry, her perfect son. 

Two for darling Georgie, who would eat her out of house and home. 

Three and Four for Gabriel and Junior, her most cheeky of the boys. 

Five for Mathew who had always tried his best. 

Six for Peter who had been taken from her too soon. 

Seven for Poppy, perfect Poppy, her little miracle.

She’d go talk to Angel; she’d keep him here; he wouldn’t go out, and he didn’t need to go looking for that stuff. He had everything he needed right here. 

“Now, I am going to take a pie up to your big brother’s room and see if I can get him to eat something. I advise you to write a very heartfelt apology,” Carla said, a smile back on her face before she left for the kitchen. 

She was barely out of earshot as Charlie whispered to Vaggie. 

“Did she just call Angel my big brother?”

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Strange

This case is personal to Jason. If only Bruce understood the word "boundaries."

---

Jason is over this. He’s so over this that if he were a cow, he’d be jumping over the damn moon. He’s 110% through with this bullshit. He’s done.

Of course, try telling Batman to leave you alone.

“Bruce, I swear to god, you better stay hidden behind that AC unit, because if I see you following me again, I’m literally going to cut your head off.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” the only voice deeper than the Marianas Trench rasps from the shadows.

But Jason is a strong proponent of proper word usage. “I can think of eight heads in a duffle bag that would dare to disagree.”

“Hn.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jason mutters under his breath, taking a running jump off of the building and landing on the next rooftop, boots feather-light despite his size. He may hate Batman, but that doesn’t mean he lets the Robin training go to waste.

Jason crosses the roof, counting windows until he’s found his planned entryway. He hooks his grapple to the roof of the target building and then jumps, swinging to the fire escape. He double-checks the window for any hidden occupants, but the penthouse is just as empty as he expected it to be.

The window is unlocked. Seems the resident didn’t get the memo on Batman, or they’d know better than to leave their windows unlocked, even on the 35th floor. No window alarms either.

Sloppy, indeed.

Jason opens the window and slips inside, clearing the room in its entirety before starting his search.

What is he searching for? He doesn’t know yet. But he’ll know once he sees it.

The night vision of his helmet helps immensely, layering the pitch-black room with a green (but sharp) filter. Jason will accept only the best tech, stolen from the Batcave while Bruce is out. Or, better yet, given to him by Alfred, the only person in Wayne Manor that Jason is on speaking terms with.

Jason spots a laptop hidden in the bottom drawer of a desk. He pulls it out and cracks it open, flipping off night vision to make out the screen.

The password is laughably easy to guess. (When will people stop using “password?” It’s too damn obvious.) And the moment the desktop screen pops up, Jason sticks a USB in the port and backs up the computer.

He’s not an idiot. He isn’t going to waste time searching the hard drive for something incriminating when he can download everything in fifteen minutes. (Those new Waynetech USBs really are as fast as they say. Thanks, Bruce.)

The only issue with backing everything up is that Jason needs to go fifteen minutes without being noticed. And as it turns out, this particular bad guy doesn’t stay out past 2 AM, because Jason hears him enter the penthouse at 02:00 on the dot. With three minutes left on his download, he needs to buy some time.

Now.

But it seems that Jason really can’t catch a break, because before he can hatch an elaborate, genius plan to distract his target, he finds a gun pointed at his head.

“Don’t move!” the bodyguard shouts. “Put your hands up!”

Jason waits a moment, but the bodyguard doesn’t give additional instruction.

“I can do one or the other,” Jason says reasonably. “Hands up or don’t move. Your choice.”

“Cute,” the bodyguard bites. “C’mon. Hands where I can see them.”

“Hands up,” Jason muses, raising his hands innocently. “Nice choice. Classic.”

“Trevor, what’s-?”

The target enters the room, and Jason jumps into action, taking advantage of the sudden distraction. He twists the guard’s wrist, knocking the gun from his hand. Then he slams the butt of his own pistol into the bodyguard’s head, using just enough force to be incapacitating but not so much that he puts the bodyguard in mortal danger. (Because contrary to what the Bat believes, Jason doesn’t want to murder everything that moves. A lackey shouldn’t be killed for just trying to make rent.)

And then it’s just Jason and the target.

“José Garzonas,” Jason growls. “You shouldn’t have come back to Gotham.”

“What is it now?” Garzonas sighs. “Do you want my money or my influence? I promise, you won’t get either by pointing a gun in my face.”

Jason sniffs. “Neither. This is about Felipe.”

Garzonas’s expression darkens, hands balling into fists at his sides. “I’m not talking about him.”

“Fine,” Jason concedes, coming closer until he’s a foot away from Garzonas. “We won’t talk about him. We’ll talk about his father. The father of a man who raped and assaulted a woman. And who kept doing it until the woman killed herself to get away from him.”

“Felipe is dead,” Garzonas bites. “How dare you make up lies about my dead son!”

“Your dead son got more free passes than anyone should have. Guess having a daddy with diplomatic immunity will do that.”

Garzonas folds his arms, eyebrows lowered. “What are you insinuating?”

“You covered for Felipe,” Jason accuses, and just saying the words makes his blood boil. “You bailed him out of prison over and over again so he could keep hurting people. You knew what he was doing, and you didn’t care. Gloria Stanson’s blood is on your hands as much as it was on Felipe’s.”

“Who are you?” Garzonas demands, and he’s being awfully aggressive for an unarmed guy with the physique of a scarecrow.

“I’m the guy that’s gonna make you turn yourself in,” Jason replies simply. “Or, I’m the guy who’s gonna make you beg to turn yourself in.”

“I am a visiting dignitary,” Garzonas says, his volume rising, finger pointed way too close to Jason’s nose. “You will treat me with respect!”

Jason pulls the trigger, letting the bullet whiz past Garzonas’s ear and into a bedpost. “And I’m the guy pointing a gun at you. Try demanding respect again. See what happens.”

And that’s when Jason gets sloppy. He’s fuming, and under his own rage, he doesn’t hear the bodyguard wake up. He doesn’t notice the click of a gun safety. He doesn’t know anything is amiss until there’s the unmistakable crack of a pistol. Instant, hot, dizzying pain blooms in his shoulder, shirt and jacket growing wet with blood.

And then Garzonas’s backup arrives. There are another two gunshots. Jason’s vision is torn from him, consciousness fleeting, and all he can think of is how stupid he was to turn his back on the bodyguard.

---

Jason knows where he is before he opens his eyes. He’d have to be stupid not to.

The slight chill to the air? The soft, hollow echoing of a heart monitor? Someone whistling a pitch-perfect cover of “Penny Lane?”

“Al…?” Jason groans, cracking an eye open. It’s bright, but the lights dim just enough for Jason to keep his eyes open.

“Ah. Welcome back, Master Jason.” Jason can hear the smile in his voice, slight and dry though it might be.

Jason sits up slowly, one hand coming up to clutch at his burning shoulder. He gets swatted for his efforts.

“Don’t touch that,” Alfred scolds. “Unless you’d like to be awake for the restitch.”

“Yeah. Pass.”

“I suspected as much,” Alfred muses. He returns to his task, sweeping suture thread and sterile packaging from the floor.

While it's nice to see Alfred, being back in the Cave for the first time since… well. You know. Jason feels a sense of urgency. A desperate need to escape. But with Alfred here, that's almost impossible. But maybe he'll understand?

“Hey, uh, Alfred?”

Alfred pauses and eyes him suspiciously. “Yes?”

“Could I get out of here? I… I can't talk to Bruce. I really can't.”

But Alfred’s sympathy does not extend to the infamous Red Hood-Batman Dispute. “You were shot twice in the leg just an hour ago. I’d hardly call you fit for release, Master Jason.”

Jason hadn’t even realized he’d been hit in the leg. He’s just that numb from painkillers. The only reason he felt his shoulder pain was because he knew he was shot there. And now that Jason knows about the leg, he’s starting to feel a dull ache there too.

But, yes. There’s no medic on Earth that would deem him fit to leave, Alfred included. He’d probably lose his balance and fall off his motorcycle before he could even start the engine.

“Yeah,” Jason sighs. “I know. Had to try though.”

“It was a valiant effort, sir,” Alfred assures him.

“Jason?”

Oh. Great.

“I should scrub the blood from the Batmobile’s interior,” Alfred announces, leaving the med bay.

“Wait, Alfred, don’t-” But it’s no use. He’s gone, and Jason is alone with Bruce.

Fuck.

“How much do you remember?”

Cold dread pools in Jason’s gut. “I remember being shot.” He tries to keep his expression unbothered. “And you obviously didn’t listen to me, because you followed me to Garzonas’s place.”

“They hit an artery,” Bruce replies, his already-harsh voice edging on furious. “You would have bled out.”

Jason won’t let a silly thing like death soften his argument. (And besides, he’s never let death stop him before.)

“I told you to stay out of this. I told you not to mess with this case.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Bruce growls, glaring daggers at Jason.

“You know this case means something to me, Bruce.” Jason balls his fists, fingers tightening around starch-white sheets. “He protected his scumbag rapist son. He let Gloria Stenson be harassed and used until she couldn’t take it anymore. And I was the one who found her.”

Bruce’s expression softens from a scowl to a frown. “I know. I was there too.”

But it isn’t the same. That was Jason’s first case. That was Jason’s first run as Robin. He was twelve. And Felipe had just… not cared. Not even a little. And once Gloria died, he would’ve found a new victim and done it all over again.

And it angered Jason to a frenzied degree. And Bruce had maintained his logical, detective brain. So while Jason agonized over finding and stopping Felipe, Bruce had taken a cold, analytical approach.

Bruce didn’t get it. Not like Jason did.

“You know what?” Jason waves his hand in dismissal. “Forget it. Forget we ever talked. That was a bust. I didn’t get the USB, and now my leg is fucked to hell. So just… whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want, Bruce. Like you always do.”

Bruce presses his lips together. Takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “José Garzonas poses no direct threat right now. I’ll let you take this investigation. I just want to know one thing.”

Oh, no. Here it comes…

“Did Felipe really fall from that balcony? Really?”

Jason takes a breath. Chews his tongue. Narrows his eyes.

“Yes,” he finally says. It doesn’t matter if Bruce believes that. It doesn’t matter what happened on the balcony. Ultimately, Felipe got a kinder fate than he deserved.

“Hn.” Bruce leaves with a sweep of his cape. He doesn’t say goodbye. He just leaves.

Which is perfectly fine with Jason. Good riddance.

But Bruce comes right back, dropping something small in Jason’s hand.

The USB. The data that could incriminate José Garzonas for aiding and abetting. The data that could put the sick monster away for good.

“You might want this,” Bruce suggests.

And then he leaves.

Jason turns the USB over in his hands. He fidgets with it before dropping his head in concession.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

---

To the surprise of both himself and Bruce, Jason doesn’t leave right away. He waits a full day, during which he endures Alfred’s ministrations with little objection. It’s nice, almost, to have someone taking care of him. He’s so used to playing this game alone. So used to batting away assistance and forcing himself to do it on his own.

Alfred gives Jason a computer to search the USB with. There’s some solid information inside, though some of it is heavily encrypted. It’ll take ages to break it. Still, Jason asked for this case alone. He told Bruce to go away. So he can’t ask for help.

… can he?

Bruce keeps his distance while Jason is in the Cave. He walks past the med bay from time-to-time, no doubt checking that Jason is still alive, but he never enters.

On Bruce’s fifteenth lap that day, Jason calls him over.

“What’s wrong? Do you need Alfred?”

Jason shakes his head. “No, I… I needed to talk to you.”

Bruce nods. Go on, he’s saying. (Jason hates how easily he reads Bruce’s body language.)

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

Bruce nods again, but this time, the meaning is muddled. “I… am aware.”

God, he’s hopeless.

Jason holds out the USB to Bruce, but Bruce looks at it like it’s a dead slug.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asks.

Jason pushes the USB into Bruce’s hands. “I didn’t ask for your help. So this is me, asking.”

Bruce holds the USB up, squinting like he's appraising it. “You want me to help?”

Jason shrugs, winces as the bullet wound is pulled at, and makes a noncommittal sound. “I wanna catch this guy. It has nothing to do with you."

“Of course not,” Bruce hums, but he doesn't sound angry. He's unaffected, maybe even serene.

“It's a one-time thing,” Jason adds.

“Of course it is,” Bruce agrees.

“I still think you're a useless, holier-than-thou coward. I hate you.”

“That's okay.”

Jason is so used to being yelled at. He remembers Bruce picking at his every flaw and scolding him every time he disobeyed. So this calm, unbothered attitude is… strange on Bruce.

Not bad, necessarily. Just…

… strange.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

How would Eli or nine react if the other died? Been thinking about them recently...

Devastation. And I am not sure either of them would survive the other's loss a second time. Both of them tried very hard to die after their first separation, in different ways.

[alindakb]

Title: 25 Years of Christmas - 2003 Author: AlindaKB Word Count: 6000 (until now) Rating: Teen and up Prompt: Collection of Silver and White Baubles A close-up view of a Christmas tree is shown. Its branches have white tips to mimic snow coverage, and there are several baubles present in the foreground: a pearlescent-white bauble to the top left of the image and a silver bauble with a white diamond pattern in the centre of the image. Fairy lights are festooned among the foliage and baubles, their faint warm glow prominent against the darker parts of the image. Warning: Reference to a side character's suicide in this chapter. Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Author's Notes: This story is ongoing but mostly already finished (thank you NaNo) - tags on AO3 will update accordingly.

Summary:

Draco shows up at Harry's doorstep. Harry should tell him to leave, but he can't.

[twink-between-worlds]

he got better sky its okay

“Pepper…”Sky frowned, looking a little concerned. “It’s fine, he killed himself to save the kingdom in the end.” “He what?!” “He got better.” Legend was gone at this point, collapsed onto his back and laughing hysterically, while Four sat there with a big grin on his face. “He got better.”Legend coughed out. “Careful.”Four mumbled, his grin fading. “You’ll hurt yourself.” “Maybe don’t be the funniest fucker on Earth next time, then.” “Now, that might be a problem, because there’s nobody funnier than me.”

[starsisstars]

Okay sorry to triple post ISAT in one night but I've been possessed by the meme demons

[liveshauntedmoved]

lzzy, being the one who found her father ; kept elliot and eloise out of the room, refusing to let them see him like that. she called 911, and kept her siblings out of school that day. and she was starting to tr and figure out what the hell she was going to do now

[the-meme-monarch]

hey. what if i got really normal about (my designs for) the fallen kids. i promise.

my prev drawings of them here :]

also scrapped doodles involving flowey bc I forgot flowey probably didn’t exist for a while until at least most of them were dead, what with alphys’ dt experiments. i just wanted kris and flowey to meet :( they grew up together in another universe

[moeggoi]

You don't have to do anything any more. Ever.

[home-for-wayward-fawns]

༺♥📺 𝒜 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 🦌♥༻

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 8: 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼𝓉 𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒯𝑜 𝐵𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒜 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒

‧₊˚✧[Thank you to my wonderful editor @safety-pin-angel-wings, @the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]✧˚₊‧

Carla is ready to run after a new inhabitant moves in, but a certain shadow has other plans.

The gentle simmering rage bubbled beneath her flesh.

Whenever she got close to building a home, she was reminded why she shouldn’t bother. 

It didn’t matter how perfect she was, how gentle , or how kind ; these were not her children. 

They weren’t her wonderful boys or her miracle of a daughter. This was Hell, her eternal punishment; God was not going to allow her the simple joy of motherhood ever again. It didn’t matter how much she tried to bow her head or bend herself to Alastor’s will; he wasn’t her husband and she needed to return to reality. It had been a nice vacation, a delightful holiday, but it was time to return to the murky depths of depression that was her life. 

This was her punishment for not being perfect enough. 

She stood in front of her vanity, both hands pressed flat on the wood. She stared at the reflection before her. She wanted to rip out her stupid doe ears, let them be torn from her scalp as blood dripped down her perfect face, and scratch at her perfect blue eyes until they bled. A crazed laugh fell from her lips at the idea. 

Would you still want me then, darling Clarence? Would you still want me if I wasn’t your pretty little Doll Face; could anyone want a broken toy? 

She clenched her fists as she glared at the feminine form before her. She was not some prey to be hunted and cornered within her own den. She was more than that. She would not allow herself to fall for The Radio Demon’s tricks any longer. He was not some gentleman, a knight in shining armour to shield her from the darkness of Hell; he was just as much a beast as any other man she had ever met. If he wanted to play Overlord with that snake demon, let him! 

Let them all play their stupid games. They didn’t deserve a mother’s gentle touch. Love was not owed, it was a gift to be bestowed on the worthy. They had no idea the exhaustion that came from playing Mother, no idea the trials that chased her down every dark alleyway. 

It was time to go, time for the doe to flee. Vox was all-knowing; Alastor was all-powerful but Carla was fast .  You didn’t last this long in Hell without being good at something, and Carla had never been caught without her consent. She counted to seven, always to seven, as she steeled herself for what she was about to do. 

One for Harry, her perfect son. 

Two for darling Georgie, who would eat her out of house and home. 

Three and Four for Gabriel and Junior, her most cheeky of the boys. 

Five for Mathew who had always tried his best. 

Six for Peter who had been taken from her too soon. 

Seven for Poppy, perfect Poppy, her little miracle. 

She had survived worse than this. 

She had survived being alone; she had survived finding Clarence dead in the bath ; she had survived living years alone in Hell. She would survive this too— if she didn’t, was that the worst thing?  

She stood up straight, patting down her dress and pushing that gentle smile back on her face. She opened her wardrobe and began to slowly remove all of her clothes, folding them neatly to pack away in her bags. She wouldn’t stay where she wasn’t needed, and she most certainly wouldn’t stay where she was to be ignored . She would not slave away cleaning up after these children who didn’t want her; she would not spend hours in the kitchen preparing perfect meals just to watch Judas sit at her table and eat her food. 

If she had been more observant, she might’ve seen the shadow that shook with rage on the wall as she packed her bags. If she had been a tad more aware, she might’ve noticed as it quickly approached, but she wasn’t, and as such she could not give a reaction as a sharp, harsh grip wrapped around her wrists. 

“ Bad Treat. ” She heard Alastor’s voice snarl, but it was different, there was no radio static to it, just rage . 

The doors to her wardrobe slammed shut, and her arms were tugged backwards as she was forced against the wood, her face pushed harshly against it. She let out a soft grunt in discomfort. 

“ Stay. ” She heard his voice growl, and she struggled against the impossible grip, her arms beginning to ache as her wrists were pulled impossibly lower. 

“Get off me, Alastor!” She shouted, unable to even wiggle the slightest. 

A dark laughter shook from behind her, a sinister laugh that seemed to spread across the entire room, a cloud of darkness that was choking her into submission. 

“ Wrong. Not Alastor. Worse .” 

She gasped as her wrists were suddenly released, a pressure being pushed against her entire body as suddenly her hair was yanked backwards. She let out a cry of pain as sharp claws scratched against her scalp, and not Alastor laughed again, a wicked sound that caused her to shake with fear. 

“ He’s Weak. Wants. Doesn’t Take. You’re Mine. Submit. ” 

She let out a shaky breath, allowing herself to go still beneath the pressure and the darkness around her seemed to lessen slightly . The taut grip of her hair softened as it purred in her ear. 

“ Good Treat. Obey. Be Good. ” 

She kept herself perfectly still, perfectly pliant as she felt a sharp claw run down from the top of her neck. She hissed in pain as she felt the claw dig into her skin, the tiniest stream of blood staining her porcelain flesh. 

“I’ll be good; I’ll be good,” She promised with a whimper of pain, and it purred in her ear again as a reward. 

“ Never Leave. Always Find. Always Punish. ” 

She didn’t have time to respond before she was suddenly tugged backwards, flipped around and pushed back onto her bed. Her back hit the mattress with a slight bounce and the creature before her growled possessively. She blinked in shock as she stared at the shadow that loomed above her. It was an odd sight to see a shadow standing in the middle of her room, in three dimensions rather than flat against a surface. Ominous green eyes glowed as they stared down at her, a dark hunger swimming there. 

It descended on her, pinning her wrists above her head as it pressed down with an impossible weight. She struggled to breathe as the darkness consumed her, hot breath against her neck. She forced herself to stay still, to stay pliant lest she risk that punishment . 

“ Good Girl. ” It growled in her ear. 

It held her wrists in one hand, its other moving down the line of her face. A sharp claw dragged along the outline of her jaw, and she shivered with fear. The claw continued its descent downwards, along the centre of her throat. It purred with pleasure as she gulped, aware that she was its paralysed prey. It continued down still, stopping over the first button of her blouse and she whimpered. 

“No, please, no,” She whispered, shaking and it looked up at her, menacing green meeting brilliant blue. 

It pulled at the button, her blouse opening ever so slightly to reveal her soft skin but its eyes never left hers. 

“ Just looking. ” It said with a sinister grin before continuing to claw at the buttons, popping them open to reveal more and more skin. 

She was shaking with fear, but it kept its promise. It didn't touch, just watched her heaving breasts. Soft white lace covered her chest, delicate pink flowers sewn into the material and the shadow stared down at them. 

“ Want. So Pretty. ” It growled, and she turned her head away, a soft blush spreading across her face. 

This was bad. This was very bad. She shouldn't want this. She shouldn't like this. This was terribly inappropriate. 

“ Not now. Don't Like…Don't Want… ” It let out a frustrated snarl as it struggled to find the words, burying its face into her neck and taking a large inhale. 

“ You. You Need To Beg. Only When You Beg. ” It growled lowly, and she felt her body relax slightly at that. 

“Okay, okay. I'm being good, right? I'm being good,” she assured it, and it grunted in agreement, “ Please let my wrists go; I'll stay still. I'll be good,” 

It tightened its grip for a moment and she purposefully let out a whimper of pain, before it relented, pulling its hand away to release her wrist. She sighed in relief but kept them where they'd been pinned for the moment. 

“Thank you,” She said softly, smiling gently, and it nodded in response, “Can I touch you?” 

It tilted its head, confused, but nodded again. She ran her hands gingerly down the shadowy wisps of its back, surprised at the firmness there and it let out a purr. There was a comfortable quiet for a moment, as the shadow laid on top of her, breathing on her neck with its eyes pinned to her chest while she stroked its back. 

“ You Talk. Why Leave? ” It finally said after a while, looking up from her chest to her eyes, and she sighed. 

“Are you going to punish me if you don’t like what I say?” She asked, and it was still for a moment, pondering its thoughts. 

“ No. ” It answered shortly. 

“I’m scared, and this shouldn’t make me less scared, but it does. I just want…I just want to feel safe. I put expectations on Alastor that I shouldn’t have, I suppose. I thought he wanted to protect me, I thought he wanted me , but that’s an unfair expectation.” 

“ Not Unfair. He Wants. Imbecile. ” 

“ I don’t think he’s stupid,” She said carefully, “He has other priorities, and that’s fine. I’m not his wife ; I’m not supposed to be his main priority. I can hardly have such expectations when my husband is still showing up at the door.” 

The shadow let out an angry snarl, and she cried in pain as sharp teeth bit into her neck. 

“ Bad. Try Again. ” It growled. 

“I thought you weren’t going to punish me?” She whined, but she lifted her hand to stroke down its neck, feeling it purr against her new wound, lapping at the blood it drew. 

“ Accident. You Were Bad. ” It growled. 

“Are you going to keep biting me if I talk about him? He’s a lot of my problems,” She said honestly, and the shadow shook its head. 

“ Vox. Not Husband. Just Vox. ” It told her, nuzzling into her neck affectionately, lapping its tongue against her stained skin, “ Mine. ” 

She couldn’t help but giggle, this was the strangest attempt at courtship she’d ever heard of, but it was nice to feel wanted, genuinely wanted . 

“Okay, okay. I can hardly have such expectations when Vox is still showing up at the door. Is that better…” She paused, realising she never asked for its name— how rude of her. “What do I call you; what’s your name?” 

“ No Name. I am His Shadow, His Dark, His Evil. ” 

Well, she didn’t like that, not one bit. 

“Everyone deserves a name,” She said with a frown. 

“ Never Frown. Don’t Like It. Smile. ” 

“I’ll smile if you let me give you a name,” She bargained, and a dark chuckle reverberated from its chest. It nodded its head and she thought a moment. It wasn’t like everyone else she’d named, months and years of planning for the perfect name, and yet one came to her quickly anyway. 

Kek. The very concept of the dark. 

“Kek,” She suggested, and they sat up, sitting on top of her now. 

“ Kek. Good Name. Strong Name. ” Kek said with approval, and she did smile, a bright, real smile that threatened to split her face in two. 

Kek approved. Kek was happy. She was good. 

“I’m really scared Pentious is going to hurt me, Kek.” She admitted quietly, her smile faltering slightly. 

She gasped as a shadowy hand wrapped around her throat, and she looked up into those bright, ethereal green eyes that seemed endless. 

“ Silly. Mine. Protected. ” 

She breathed slowly, but didn’t attempt to move out of Kek’s grip; she leaned into it. They growled approvingly, moving their hand down her chest, the claw snagging on the material of her bra at the centre. She wanted them to touch her; she wanted them to squeeze, pull, and grab at her flesh to their heart’s content. It wasn’t right, it was wrong; they weren’t married. They looked up at her, cocking their head to the side slightly and she shook her head. They pulled away, and she reached up to place a gentle hand against the side of their face. 

“Maybe just a kiss?” She said quietly, shyly, and they didn’t give her a second to say anything further, as clawed hands ran through her hair. 

They pressed a harsh kiss against her soft lips, prying them apart with a long tongue. She gasped and they growled into the kiss, pushing their tongue against her own. She moaned as they pulled on her hair, manoeuvring her into a more convenient position for them. She followed their lead easily, moving as they commanded. 

“ Good Girl. All Mine. ” Kek growled into the kiss and she whimpered, trying to nod her head but unable to due to their taut grip. 

“I’ll be good; I’ll be so good; just stay .” she panted into the kiss. 

Kek pulled away, kissing down her neck, running their tongue over the wound from where they bit her. She whimpered as they ran their teeth along her delicate flesh, tilting her head to stretch that expanse of skin and they purred approvingly. She pressed her hands against their neck, pulling them closer. She gasped as she felt a knee shift in between her thighs, pressing against her damp core. She heard them chuckle as her legs spread ever so slightly and she rocked her hips down, seeking friction. It had been so long, and it felt so good— she was so bad. Their hands ran down her sides before gripping her hips, pulling down and she moaned again. 

“ Good Pet. ” They praised and that shouldn’t feel so good . 

She let out a whine, a plead for more, but she didn’t know what that more she was seeking was. Kek shifted closer, knee pushing up further into her as they hovered above her. She was desperate to be good, to be praised, to be loved. Kek pressed another harsh kiss against her lips and she opened easily, allowing them to taste and use her as they pleased. They growled against her submission, but then the growl changed. It tasted bitter against her tongue, and she flinched. Kek lifted themselves, eyes narrowing as they turned their head to look towards the door. 

“ Alastor. ” Kek growled, irritation evident in their voice, “ He Cares. Stupid. But Cares. ” 

As soon as the words left their mouth, there was a harsh knock at the door. 

An angry knock at the door. 

“Carla, open this door,” Alastor commanded from the other side. Kek hissed loudly, aggressively at the door and Carla bit down on her bottom lip nervously.

“He sounds angry,” She said quietly, and Kek nodded. 

“ Be Good. Be Sorry. He Wants . ” 

Kek climbed off of the bed, disappearing into the shadows and she sighed. 

“Just a moment!” Carla called out, quickly heading over to her vanity to make sure her hair looked at least presentable. 

Her blouse was torn open, her lips were bruised, her neck was bleeding and her hair was a mess . She sighed—fine. It was fine. She didn’t have time to fix herself up without making everything worse, so she decided she wouldn’t. It was his shadow for crying out loud, he couldn’t be mad about that —could he?

She took a deep breath and then opened the door. He didn’t give her time to say a word before he walked into her room, slamming the door behind him. His grip on his cane was tight, his knuckles turning white from the pressure as he stood at the centre of her room, next to her bed with rustled covers from her rendezvous with Kek. 

“I am trying to stay calm, my dear; I am trying to be a proper gentleman, but you are making it increasingly difficult,” He spoke with a clipped tone, and she felt as though if she didn’t defuse this situation soon, she was going to be in a lot of trouble. “First you act like you’re my perfect little housewife, then you storm off away from me in front of Charlotte, and now you open the door looking like that!” 

He gestured to her cleavage wildly and she blushed. It was terribly inappropriate, and she should be ashamed. They weren’t even courting, but things got a tad more complicated when one party in the arrangement was a shadow for crying out loud. She sat down on the side of her bed, but before she could even think of how to defend herself for her improper behaviour, she watched his gaze dart over to the bags filled with clothes. She felt her blood run cold as his smile turned impossibly tight, and she realised she’d locked herself in the room with the predator. He was in front of her in an instant, his fingers digging into her jaw harshly and she held her breath. 

“If you think I’m letting you go anywhere, you are sorely mistaken little doe. I know you think you’re fast, and you might’ve avoided Vox, but you will never outrun me. Do you understand?” He growled, and she nodded her head. 

She reached up to grab his wrist gently, a soft smile on her face and he narrowed his eyes with his ears pressed against the flat of his skull. 

“ I’m sorry ,” she said softly, “I got scared, but I’m okay now. Kek helped me understand,” 

“You’ve named it,” He sighed before releasing her jaw, “You’re sorry?” 

“I’m sorry,” She repeated, nodding her head. 

He leaned in close, inches away from her face. 

“Then give me a kiss, sweetheart,” He purred, and she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. 

Where Kek was rough and hungry, Alastor was gentle and cautious. He pressed one hand against the side of her face, careful of his teeth as he gently moved his lips against hers. He sighed into the kiss as she opened her mouth, and he pushed his tongue inside. She moaned softly, as he rubbed his thumb against her cheek. He pulled away, and she pressed her hands into the mattress to lean back on, looking up at him with her soft smile. 

“I’m going to court you, lovely doe,” He told her, a finality to his tone, “But that requires a bit more decorum than what I’m currently capable of showing. I promised to discuss this heaven conundrum with our Charlie. I will take my leave— shadow in tow —and trust that you are going to unpack your bags.” 

Our Charlie. 

Oh no. Charlie. 

Carla sighed; being a mother was exhausting. 

“Please send the message that I will try with this Pentious. For her. Only for her.” 

“Of course my dear,” He said, turning to leave, his shadow once again tied to his form as he took his leave. 

The door shut behind him with a definitive click, and once she was sure they were both gone, she let out a giggle, kicking her small feet against the side of the bed. She felt all of seventeen again. 

Maybe she could build a home here, a home with the both of them.

𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑜𝒾𝓊𝓈 𓆩♡𓆪

𝒩𝑒𝓍𝓉 𓆩♡𓆪

[threepandas]

Bad End - Chosen: Part 2

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When I remember the game, I mostly remember the outfits. The frills and ornate designs. In another life, I adored them. Now? They disgust me.

They disgust me because I know EXACTLY what it takes to make each and every dress the heroine so thoughtlessly runs through. Flinging herself through mud and climbing up trees in the name of be "plucky". Tearing them for bandages, as though she is not a SAINT with the power of the very GODS at her finger tips. All manner of so called "cute" actions that... that in reality?

Are thoughtless.

Needlessly, cruelly thoughtless.

It takes months to make even a single one of those dresses. Months. Heavy magic is involved. They defy gravity, are delicate and soft in ways no normal cloth could ever BE. The jewels on them? Ha. You think those came from earthly mines? Who could AFFORD that? No one. Not a single soul.

I once worked on some. For the daughter of a Duke. Awkward little thing. In turns, arrogant and insecure. More lonely then anything else. I was the first girl her age that WASN'T trying to use her for family or stab her in the back. It flustered her terribly. She kept coming up with reasons the dress "wasn't right" just so she could delay having to go home.

Never did admit to wanting to be friends.

But she DID graciously allow me to send her letters. Visit, on occasion.

I... I truely hope she made it out alive, when her Dukedom fell. Her family guarded the western front for generations. She was so stubborn. I... I doubt she fled. But in my heart? I hope she did.

I hope she was selfish.

Everyone else gets to be. That BITCH, gets to be. So why not her? Why not that insecure child? Bratty and bold? Why not Cordelia, who only ever wanted to make her bastard of a father proud? Why... w-why not me?

My anger isn't gone, when I open my eyes. But my exhaustion and sorrow are far stronger. I can't feel my magic. It would be a suprise too. What fool, after all, captures a Mage then let's them keep their access? Even a mouse is dangerous, given enough time, as the saying goes. And I was no mouse.

I hang in a remarkably pretty room, for a dungeon. My arms do not even strain. I suspect I am partially floating. Not enough for leverage, but enough that my weight is not hanging from my arms. I am merely anchored by them. It has the added benefit, I suspect, of keeping me from using the floor to aid in any escape plans.

There is a comfortable chair placed in front of where I hang. Ominous. Is my suffering going to be a show then? Some amusement? They'll be disappointed. I refuse to give them the satisfaction. I know people break. But I'll bite my tongue long befo-

My dark musings are cut off, by the quite sound of a door opening on well oiled hinges into a dead silent room. The crisp step of a powerful man, assured of his place, his path. The door is behind me, yet I already know who has just entered the room. Fear, rage, and confusion have already SEARED that scent into my brain. I will die knowing it.

I grit my teeth and refuse to acknowledge him.

"Awake and already in quite the mood, I see. Understandable, I suppose, Grandlearner." The MONSTER who has me, muses, his voice terribly pleasant. "You were in quite the wretched state. Still are, unfortunately, but we will be fixing that."

I want to hiss like a cat. It is beneath me. Would probably do nothing but amuse him. But I suddenly understand the animal more then I ever have before. If he gets near me, I will BITE. I swear to the very gods I DISPISE. I will do it!

He strolls into my field of vision holding a silver serving tray. Little dishes of finger foods. I have a sinking suspicion but immediately shove it away. No. No, it is probably for him. The tray is placed upon a side table, next to the chair. He hasn't looked at me directly yet. Merely fussing as though hosting a guest.

He stands up, finished. Turns. And SMILES.

The fear I have been so desperately trying to control breaks from of my desperate hands. I jerk back in the chains, as far as I am able. Cold sweat beading up across my skin. I can't run. Even if I could, this close? I'd never make it. But primal instincts do not listen to reason. Run, run, RUN! It HOWLS in my brain.

There has never been a more dangerous man.

He is not even threatening me.

He's just not hiding.

He hums, amused as I shake. Gentle steps forward. Gloved hands I can not escape. They cup my face as my lungs feel like they are burning with panic. Brain certain he is moments from tightening his grip, brutally, and snapping my neck. It never comes. His hands dangerously gentle. Stroking my cheeks possessively.

"Look at you... so malnourished. Barely trained at all. My poor Grandlearner," he all but sighs, as though he is looking at the proof of some great crime. Some failing against him. "Look how useless that boy has been. Dropping you in battlefields to do his job for him, while he goes panting after children a fraction his age. A lecherous failure at every turn. More a temple's dog then a mage."

The air has slowly turned to burning ice, as he grows angrier. But his eye flicks down to meet mine, no longer staring through me, but AT me. And his smile warms. It is a manic, mad man's warmth. Like the burning of a city. He slides his hands down to cup my neck, cradle my head. I freeze. Too afraid of the hands on my neck to protest as he leans forward to press a kiss to my forhead.

"Mmmm, but enough of that. No more bad thoughts. Let us focus on the now. You, my dear child, need to eat. And I have so much to LEARN about you! So many years lost between us. I have brought several dishes for you to try."

An incredulous laugh found itself trapped in my throat. Is he serious? He has me chained up like a trophy, has BUTCHERED my men, unknown intentions towards me, and he... what? Wants me to eat adorable little snacky treats?

He is completely serious.

And, I find out, has no problem forcing me to open my mouth. If I "can not behave myself", that is. I see, all to clearly, what his plan is. Stockholm Syndrome. Brainwashing. But... but being AWARE of something does not stop it from WORKING on you. How long can I hold out?

Longer then this cycle? Will he remember, as I do? Try to find me again? I don't know. Without my magic, I can not fight the fear. Even with my magic... he is the dragon to my ant. I can not even hope to match my Master, much less HIS Master. And the legendary Arch-Mage of Red? It would be easier to drain a lake with a spoon. Move a desert handful by handful.

Hands that have slaughtered countless, card themselves through my hair, as I am once again forced to eat some little decadence that tastes like ash and ruin on my tounge.

"See? Isn't this so much better?" He croons, too close and triumphant. A mockery of doting grandfather's everwhere. "With Grandmaster here, you'll never have worry about a thing. We'll correct your training, get you back where your supposed to be, and together? Fix this broken world. Be GODS. You'll be such a shining little God, sweet one. Spring, perhaps? We can pick the domain you want together~"

"I'll help you kill them. Take their heart and devour it. Then? Nothing will ever be able to take you from me ever again. No, not ever, ever again."