#Dreamer writes

[daydreamerwonderkid]

I need to make myself write one of these ...

Update: Forgot one.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Patton couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and outcast after the way everyone had been looking at him recently. The looks of irritation were too much to handle, so the imagination was his only escape, but not for long. He heard the familiar footsteps of Janus approach him cautiously and he wiped the tear that rolled down his cheek hastily and tried to chuckle to hide how he was feeling.

"How do you do it?" Patton asked, as the footsteps stopped in their tracks.

"Do what?" Janus replied, keeping the distance between them for now. Patton took a moment to look up at the sky and rapidly blink to keep any more unnecessary tears at bay.

"How do you deal with them looking at you that way?" Patton felt the bitterness corroding his tongue like acid and Janus stepped forward a few paces.

"Patton. Look at me." Janus' soft tone was enough to make Patton turn around in an instant, and he looked into Janus' eyes feeling a wave of calm wash over him. They stared at each other for a moment, or two, time was never something they cared about.

"... I've never had to deal with that before." Patton sadly admitted, not to Janus, but to himself. Janus stepped forward again sighing softly, understanding Patton's emotions completely.

"I know. You'll grow used to those looks. Believe me, I did. However, I... I hope you can find some solace in knowing that, when I look at you..." Janus stopped himself in his tracks, unsure of how to explain to Patton what he truly meant.

So he clicked his fingers, and the bright daylight of the imagination immediately swirled into the starry night, the dark sky blinking with every possible star and constellation. Janus smiled softly as Patton gazed up in awe at all of the stars encompassing them. He pointed at the brightest star and guided Patton closer to it.

"That's the North Star. It's how sailors find their way home. When I look at you, Patton, that's what I see."

"See what?" Patton almost whispered as Janus pulled him closer gently wrapping his arm around his waist as they both gazed at the stars.

"I see my way home."

[dreamerdoesthewritething]

Have you ever felt yourself fading away into someone's memory?

The agony of desperately reaching out, of trying to hold onto them because you don't want them to leave you, to become a memory to you.

The pain of reaching out with shaky hands and quivering lips, wishing you could retract your claws and hide your fangs because you don't want to hurt them, you just don't want to lose them, and the urge to sink your teeth into them and not let go is so strong that this is all you can manage.

You don't want them to see you like this, so as desperate as you are, you retreat to solitude. It's easier to convince yourself you're just a memory if you keep your claws to yourself. Don't reach out. If they want you, they'll reach for you.

Have you ever let yourself suffer a self-fulfilling prophecy?

[inkdrawndreamer]

Behind the Wall of Sleep (BTAS fic)

After putting the Mad Hatter in Arkham (again), Bruce gets a mildly depressing window into his foe’s mental state. I wrote this up in less than 24 hours, but it’s surprisingly not bad. Many thanks to @desertarabianhorse and @ryuunoyuki for helping me edit it. Y’all are the best.

It was partially a joke on Bruce's end when he asked the man Tetch hypnotized to make a worry doll in Batman’s likeness. After the ordeal he was put through, the craftsman was willing to humor the request before he took his leave of the city for good. A tongue in cheek reminder to Tetch that he messed with the wrong people. They got a good laugh out of it, though Bruce did not expect the doll to last long. After all, with enough tossing and turning, it would probably just fall out from beneath the man's pillow. He figured he could at least get some surveillance in before that happened. Tetch had no prior criminal record before the incident with Alice Pleasance, save for the occasional parking ticket, so Bruce had not kept a very close eye when Tetch was working for him. It would have been a shame for him to stay on this path given his history and inventing prowess though, so he had visited once as his consoling boss and left him at that, with the promise of a new position on another project once he was better.

Bruce had already checked up on Alice Pleasance before visiting Tetch. She was in good spirits all things considered, and was slowly beginning to return to work. If she requested it, he already had a job lined up at a branch of the company a few states away, but she never took him up on it. She had proved rather resilient, and even a bit sympathetic toward the man that had taken her captive. However, she still had no desire to see him, and Bruce did not want to risk Tetch impeding her recovery. So far, he had not tried to contact her in any way nor had he gotten anybody to do so on his behalf. Bruce hoped to keep it that way, but making sure that each of them got help was a balancing act. What he had not expected was for Tetch to develop a fixation on Batman.

In the first month of Tetch’s incarceration, Bruce had found himself busier than usual, between putting out the many fires around the city, both figurative and literal, and Alfred taking a much-needed vacation. In his exhaustion, Tetch’s escape from Arkham managed to escape his notice. When he next saw Tetch, it was after waking from a long dream in the middle of a dingy warehouse. He had stretched himself thin enough to land directly in the man’s clutches, but rather than kill him, Tetch had sentenced him to a much kinder reality than he was used to. It was not what he needed nor where he was needed, however, and Bruce ended up breaking out of the illusion before the night was over. When pressed, Tetch broke down.

“I was willing to give you whatever life you wanted! Just to keep you out of mine!”

Those words were still echoing in Bruce’s head by the time Tetch had once again broken out. While he retained some sympathy for the man, he had lost much of his patience by that point. In an attempt to con some of Gotham’s wealthier citizens, Tetch was quick to get Bruce on his trail, with predictable results. Bruce was honestly disappointed by the turn, though not surprised. Tetch was growing more violent, and thoughts of rehabilitating him soon took a backseat to keeping him from causing more harm. It was becoming enough of a problem that Bruce saw fit to put extra eyes on his former employee—with the aid of the bugged doll.

Arkham had a long history of corruption, and every other year saw a member of its board get ousted for one thing or another. Bruce had been a member himself since before he donned the cowl, but those in charge were resistant to change. It was problems like these that drove Bruce to other methods of surveillance—to make sure the asylum did things by the book. He had eyes and ears everywhere, from orderlies on his payroll, to listening devices scattered around the building. Bugging Tetch's room was easy. The doll left under his pillow had a small recorder planted inside of it, and the device only transmitted recordings one way, which left minimal risk of the parts being used for any new mind control devices. It had been just shy of a month since he was last incarcerated, with no obvious plans to escape. Bruce spent a couple hours each week going through the recordings from inside the asylum. 

Tetch talked to himself a lot, occasionally singing or humming off-key, or tossing in his sleep. He clearly had some nightmares, though his pained whines told Bruce nothing of their contents. He only hoped the man would bring them up to his therapist at some point. He seemed stable overall, which gave Bruce hope that he could be rehabilitated before any potential relapse occurred, though Bruce was reluctant to put any weight behind it. Whether or not he could be rehabilitated in earnest depended on Tetch himself.

He finally found the doll a few weeks into his incarceration. After trying for the umpteenth time to find a pattern in the Joker's evening ramblings, Bruce was surprised to find activity on the feed in Tetch's room. He was talking, not just reciting lyrics or lines of prose to himself, but conversing with somebody. Bruce turned up the volume, but he could not make out any other voices underneath the white noise of the asylum. Tetch appeared to be alone.

"It explains the dreams doesn't it? You've been in my head and under it." He sighed beneath the crinkling static of the recording. "Cruel if you ask me."

A bit of shuffling ensued and the audio suddenly grew clearer.

"We're not so different, you and I. Getting into people's heads, though you're not exactly honest about it." A sharp sound hit Bruce's ears and forced him to turn the volume down. Tetch's mumbling resumed. "I wonder what possessed you to leave this little token. A souvenir perhaps?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. Rattling metal and yelling could be heard from far away.

"Good night, I suppose."

That was the last Bruce heard from Tetch's room for some time. At first, he assumed he must have found the listening device or simply disposed of the doll altogether, but if he strained his ears enough while listening to the feed, there was still noise in the background. The feed never actually went offline. The Joker managed to break out a week later, which kept Bruce too busy to examine the rest of the Arkham feeds. It took a few days to haul him back in, bound in TV cables and cackling loudly, but the job got done. Dr. Leland thanked him with a tired smile as she had the Joker wheeled to the infirmary. She offered to examine Bruce's injuries, but he declined. They were minor anyhow, just contusions and a busted lip. Only Leland's remarks to a passing orderly reminded him that he had not checked Tetch's progress in a while.

After the most recent incident with the Joker had settled down, Bruce took the time to go through the recent feeds with Tetch. As expected, there was little to report, and he found himself speeding through most of them. Only when he moved past a bit of dialogue too quickly did he rewind it to listen in earnest.

"I saw you earlier today. Couldn't stomach a proper visit could you? Not even after waking half the building with your racket."

The timestamp on the recording was shortly after two in the morning, right around when he brought the Joker in. No wonder Tetch sounded so cranky.

"I asked about you, but you know these people. They don't say a word to you unless they have to." A bitter sigh crackled over the feed. "I suppose you do this often? Can't spare a word to any of us unless you're bringing us here in chains, hm? I should have figured."

It was the word ‘us’ that caught Bruce off guard. He knew Tetch had mostly kept to himself since he got there. It had been over a month since he was last brought in, but he was beginning to see himself as one of them rather than an outsider. It made sense, Bruce supposed. There was not much to tether him to anything outside those walls.

A couple of days passed and he had forgotten about the recordings. There had not been much to glean from it, so it was of no immediate concern. Days passed without so much as a glance at anything related to the asylum. Mob activities in the city were growing more frequent, and it took most of Bruce’s focus to gather evidence for the police. After a few weeks of work, they were able to arrest a few high-ranking mobsters. It was not as good as taking down the whole organization, but it would at least slow the gangs down while they tried to regroup. In the meantime, Bruce was free to examine the inmates at Arkham more closely. Although their particular brand of crime was on the rise, he found that they were also amenable to special privileges while in the asylum. Keeping them entertained could be almost as effective as keeping them under lock and key, so he tried to improve the conditions where he could. He furnished the asylum library and replaced the many dog-eared board games in the rec room. Unfortunately, the many pleas for a new game system fell on deaf ears after Tetch managed to create mind control cards out of the previous one. It was promptly scrapped and never replaced.

After that particular incident, Bruce kept a closer eye on Tetch. He seemed sullen, per usual, and a bit bored, but he was talking to himself less. He did not speak to the other inmates often, but they were generally lukewarm exchanges rather than anything malicious. He argued with Dr. Isley and the Joker over the TV remote, but seemed to avoid them otherwise. The only thing of note was the nightmares. He seemed to be a fitful sleeper, sometimes waking up several times a night, and when he did, he would often speak to the doll Bruce had left under his pillow. The thought of his former employee consulting with the doll like a child with a stuffed animal was oddly disarming, and Bruce was unsure of how to feel about that. 

“Again, again with this,” he heard Tetch mutter one night after a particularly bad jolt. “Who would choose this?”

The sound of creaking bed springs filled the cave, punctuated by a sigh.

“‘If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't.’ I’ll never understand why you would choose this,” Tetch muttered. 

Bruce could easily picture him lying on the thin mattress, peering at the doll in his hands as if to interrogate it. 

“The machine was scanning your brain, you know, all the while. It kept track of your hormones, when you had elevated dopamine levels, incorporating your responses into the program. I guess it still wasn’t enough for you though.”

Hearing that gave Bruce pause. That function had been part of the tech that got Jervis arrested for the first time. It was originally intended to help patients with severe OCD and schizophrenia, allowing the patient to pinpoint specific triggers and work around them. As Tetch continued to work on it however, he ended up tweaking the controls, removing the failsafes that kept it from locking the user into the machine without a way out. Bruce blamed himself in part for not keeping a closer eye on the project. He was careful with who he brought on to manage and run projects for his company, doing multiple background checks both in and out of the cowl. Tetch had no prior arrests or ties to anyone who would normally raise his suspicions at the time. In fact, he had few ties to anybody. Most of his relatives lived out of the country, and he had few associates whatsoever.

“I could almost consider it noble, if it wasn’t so infuriating,” Tetch’s voice lilted through the speakers. “I handed you the keys to paradise and you spat on them. Do you have any idea what I would have done for such a thing?”

Creaking could be heard under the static, followed by a series of rhythmic thumps. Pacing. 

“I tested the machine, you know. On myself. I still dream about it, and it’s so much worse than the nightmares.” His voice broke, and the pacing stopped. “I always wake feeling like such a fool for thinking that things could be good, that I could be good enough. Permanently.”

Bruce turned the volume up.

“Well of course I considered staying in it! Just allowing myself to dream and forget all that ugliness for good.” He was manic, almost chuckling. “But someone would have to be there to maintain it. And I. Had. No one!”

A loud chirp pierced Bruce’s ears through the speaker, followed by muffled static. He thought Jervis had broken the recorder after all, but a voice came through from far away, broken up by sobs, so quiet he could barely hear it.

“So beloved, even by your enemies,” Jervis said bitterly. “Lucky you.”

The audio eventually faded back into nothing. When he checked again in the morning, Bruce found the feed completely offline. The recorder must have been broken. He was reluctant to send another one out in the same form, but he wanted to keep a closer eye on Jervis. Arkham’s monthly board meeting was at the end of the week, and he figured he could stay a little longer to meet with his contacts among the employees. They had nothing to report that he had not already heard about. Slipping a new bug into a light fixture along the wall of the costumed ward turned out to be the easy part. Setting up a meeting on short notice was much harder.

“He is still in therapy Mr. Wayne. I can’t just take him out in the middle of a session,” Dr. Leland scolded.

“I understand. I don’t mind waiting.” Bruce beamed, and his understanding tone turned conniving. “Besides, I was hoping you could look over the minutes from today’s board meeting. See if we missed anything.”

She shot him a familiar smirk as she plucked the documents out of his hand. As it turned out, there was quite a lot that the board had left out of their to-do list for the month. Bruce made casual mention of two trustees’ desire to make budget cuts just as a group of orderlies were dropping off paperwork. He greeted them briefly before they left, though not without mentioning a little too loudly that the Gotham Gazette was looking for editorials from medical personnel first. Between handing out Vicki Vale’s business cards and taking photos with a couple of staffers, the time flew by for Bruce. Pretty soon, Dr. Leland had returned to let him know that Jervis’s appointment was over and he was willing to see a visitor for a few minutes.

Bruce followed her down the hall to the familiar sight of the visitors’ room. After his last escape, Jervis was not allowed to meet with anyone unless he stayed behind the bulletproof glass. Although he was not restrained, his hands remained clasped in his lap, out of sight. A security guard was present as well, though he seemed to focus more on Bruce than on his prisoner.

Bruce took his seat with a gentle smile. “Hello Jervis.”

“Mr. Wayne? What on earth are you doing here?” He fixed him with an incredulous stare.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I would pay a visit. I’m sorry it’s been a while.”

Jervis hung his head, his gaze fixed on the table. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

“And that’s partly my own fault. With everything going on, I didn’t want to risk making your recovery harder.”

Jervis’s mouth curled into a hollow smirk. “Well, aren't you optimistic.”

Bruce chuckled. “That’s a nicer way of putting it. My friend Harvey used to say I was a doormat.”

“I’m not calling him wrong.”

“I prefer to be optimistic though. Just because someone has a few setbacks doesn’t make them a lost cause.” 

Bruce watched Jervis’s eyes through his own reflection in the glass, watered down blue. 

“I know you’ve made some mistakes, Jervis, but please know that you have my support. And don’t hesitate to call me when you get out of here.”

Jervis stared blankly at him for a few seconds before breaking out in full-throated laughter. “Like I said, optimistic to a fault.” His laughter tapered off, but there was still a hint of a smile on his lips. “But I do appreciate the thought. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce smiled back, even as he noticed the security guard eyeing the clock on the wall. As he stood to leave, he noticed how Jervis’s hands remained clasped in front of him. A hint of black fabric poked out from beneath his fingers.

“What have you got there?” He kept his voice friendly, but measured.

“Oh.” Jervis looked almost surprised to find the object in his hands.His left hand unfurled to reveal the ragged worry doll. “It’s a… souvenir of sorts.”

“Interesting,” Bruce’s mouth twitches slightly as he turns to leave. ”Take care of yourself, Mr. Tetch.”

[alwaysdreamer-u]

I WROTE SOMETHING!!!

So if any of you have been here long enough you have heard of my oc Wonder. She is a monkey and she is very precious and well... I decided to make her and me suffer so.

HERE HAVE THIS

*Throughs the link and runs away*

[illumi-nati-png]

The Greywaren

Quite suddenly Ronan was cross with both voices. He was cross with himself. Both sides telling him what he was, and him believing it. How long had he been asking: Tell me what I am?.

Never once had he simply decided for himself.

It wasn't a choice at all.

He woke up.

-Maggie Stiefvater

[where-dreamers-go]

Romance/Flirty/Fluffy/Cute Dialogue Writing Prompts:

(A/N: Some fluff prompts to use, reblog, and have fun with.)

“You know I love you.”

“Do you need anything? Or I can just keep playing with your hair, if that’s okay?”

“I only wanted to matter to someone.” “You matter to me.”

“You’re like a dream.” “Oh. Um. Thank you?”

“Some people call it ‘love’.”

“You, me, your favorite hoodie of mine, and the couch. It’s a date?”

“We can’t leave the bed now. The pillows have accepted us.”

“Laundry day doesn’t mean walking around in your underwear, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“Hey, cutie! I’m home.”

“When I had called you ‘a snack’, I didn’t know you actually smelled like one.”

“My ears miss your heartbeat.”

“Are you reading that romance/spicy book or did you have that dream again?”

“You know, the usual. We eat snacks/dessert, we sit on the couch, ignore the TV, make-out. The usual.”

“How do we always end up cuddling.”

[webq84]

soft yandere dream boy whose existence suddenly manifested through your dreams. you didn't know how or when, maybe it's because of how lonely you are that you unconsciously created him inside your mind. but in the midst of your sleep one particular night, he barges in. inviting himself in the land of your slumber.

soft yandere dream boy who didn't know how to explain why he seems to be the only person in your dreams who doesn't act and resemble the others, standing out from the rest of them. it was almost like he was a person with a mind of his own, having his own thoughts and colorful personality, sometimes even getting sassy with you through his remarks.

soft yandere dream boy who likes to scare and surprise you by appearing out of nowhere when you finally allow sleep to lull you into your dreams. he's always playful with you, eyes filled with mischief. a complete contrast to your more gloomy and quiet personality. he makes comments about it from time to time, not really understanding why you're like that at the moment.

soft yandere dream boy who likes to play pretend with you, especially when the setting is inside a school. he assumed you had some odd attachment to it with how frequently your dreams would end up in a school building. he never leaves you alone. joining you in random classes and pretending to be a student there as he never fails to take the spot as your seatmate, stringing you along into his troublemaking ways which always leads to the both of you getting scolded by the teacher.

soft yandere dream boy who is beginning to notice something weird is happening within your dreams. the places looks a little darker than usual, the gloominess of each area resembling pieces of your personality. the people in your imagination grows more and more unfamiliar to what is once human. some bearing grotesque expressions that are so deformed that he could only describe them akin to being a monster in someone's nightmares.

and when he asked you about it, he finally understands everything. you told him that you find it much easier to compare their appearances to monsters, because no human is more evil than them. you've forgotten how human they actually looked like because of how they treated you.

it's the reason why your dreams only consists of you being in the school. why you're constantly nothing but a floating dark cloud of somberness. every single little thing inside your dream is a reflection and parallel of your miserable life. only, you expressed it more creatively in your dreams. he felt awful for not realizing it sooner.

soft yandere dream boy who defended you against those monstrosities when he bumps into you in one of your dreams, being cornered and surrounded by those deformed images of your classmates, his eyes seeing red as he watches them litter your poor little mind with such horrible thoughts.

soft yandere dream boy who decides he wants to help you. help you take your mind off of these horrible things in your life. somehow he can also change the scenery of your dreams. often times, he'll bring you to a beach where the two of you could just sit on the sand. he would encouraged a small activity between the two of you, giving you a small canvas to paint on while he has one of his own. then afterwards, the two of you will show each other what you painted.

he can't lie that he's doing this to prevent something predictably dreadful from happening after finally understanding what you truly feel. he's not quite sure if he is actually able to cheer you up in those moments when you're with him, but he's trying his absolute best just for you.

soft yandere dream boy who can only stand wide-eyed behind the forming crowd of deformities around your bleeding corpse. you had jumped from the rooftop of the school building, shattering your bones into pieces. he was too late. and he deeply regrets that he couldn't actually help stray you away from those agonizing whispers that pushes you to do this. if he only he had reach you in time...

soft yandere dream boy who didn't hesitate tackling you to the ground when you reappeared again in your dreams the next night after he just saw you die in front of him. you're alive! he scolds you for hours while tears are running down his face. he really thought you were gone! that you're never coming back to him and he'll be all alone.

but no matter what he does or how much he pleads, his words never reaches you. ever since your mind registered that you can't fully die in your dreams since you're afraid of feeling pain, you've somehow fallen into an addiction of trying different ways to end yourself before waking up back to your own world.

there's no doubt that sooner or later, he's just bound to snap. who knows what he would do. maybe he'll just take over your realm of dreams so he could stop you from doing this to yourself. he'll create you a new world where you won't have to suffer relieving the horrifying events of your reality. maybe you can even just start living here! where you don't need to wake up and can always be happy. living in everlasting sweet dreams with him by your side ‹𝟹

[adamprrishcycle]

I support everything adam parrish does. Even the weird shit like sacrificing himself to a magic forest, scamming people for fake psychic readings even though he is in fact psychic and falling in love with an ancient, sentient horror who is stuck inside the body of an irish-american catholic teenager with a shaved head

[serymn31]

They were the only ones who understood each other. They were both first learning to ride on their dragons, when they were forced to marry at a young age. Her thirteen, him fifteen. They were both not truly accepted by their father - firstborn son, yet not named heir; a dreamer, but with visions no one can discern, not even herself. Used as a vessel for your grandfather's ambition. Used as the womb that will bear your brother heirs for him to strengthen his claim against your firstborn sister's sons of questionable origin.

Even then, under the weight of these, they both have perfect, beautiful children, a girl and a boy. A new hope and a promise of another beginning. Something they can call their own - neither Targaryen nor Hightower but just theirs. They don't dress them in green or in red or black, but in the colors of their dragons - gold and the blue of the sky and the shades in between. Even in their own shortcomings and youth they tried their best to raise them with the love and recognition they didn't receive.

Perhaps, he can raise his son better than his father did for him. Maybe, he would be a good king if he can make his heir a better one. He is king now and they are fine now. No father left to please. The pain has ended and we can begin again. Don't be afraid, he had promised her.

They killed the boy.

He broke that promise. He will never forgive himself. He's failed as a king, as a husband, as her brother. She was alone, unprotected, and afraid when the enemy lay their silent trap, like a ratcatcher would. He understood perfectly why she acted the way she did. He wants to reach her, but she has retreated so far within her grief. The only thing he can do is rage.

I have been a terrible husband, a careless brother. I will be a cruel, ruthless king to our enemies - I will murder them with my bare hands. I will lay waste to their kingdoms. I will kill for you. And this time, he will make it true.

[swiftiebookwormlogastellus]

"I liked Declan in The Dreamer Trilogy because he finally got his redemption arc"

Redemption from WHAT

[dreamerdoesthewritething]

Got a random hit of inspiration for a LSK x Reader thing. I write for me, so with anything I write, the Reader is almost always AFAB, unless specified otherwise.

Hope you like it~! <3 ;3

-------------------------------

You couldn't believe the news.

It had to be a mistake.

The government wouldn't nuke one of their own cities, no matter what. That's terrorism. That's un-American. That's unspeakable.

Yet that's exactly what the newscasters across all stations were reporting. The government had wiped Raccoon City off the face of the planet, along with anyone still alive within its limits.

You didn't live there, nor did any of your family members or even your friends. The only reason you care is, aside from it being a tragedy, one of your childhood friends works there. In fact, he was supposed to have started only a week ago.

Knowing the kind of man your friend had become, there's no doubt in your mind that he was there. He sought out Raccoon City specifically because of the trouble surrounding it. The bizarre murders in a nearby mountain area. That was where he wanted to be after he graduated from the police academy. You remembered everyone trying to convince him it was better to stay near home than to go somewhere so dangerous. He was too stubborn to listen.

Now, he was--

The tears started falling and wouldn't stop. You collapsed on the floor. Everything stood still, yet it would never be the same again.

The nation mourned, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, and you grieved right along with it. You hadn't grieved this much in your life. It's the first time someone you loved was taken from you. Your family and friends were there for you as much as possible. You didn't want professional help. Maybe you should, though, people said. A loss this heavy...

He was your best friend growing up. You were there for him when his family was murdered. Your parents took him in, gave him a place to stay so he wouldn't be alone. When the nightmares would get too rough, you'd crawl into bed with him and fight them off, comforting him by holding him and running your fingers through his hair. He'd loved that, and even though he asked you to stop once you guys weren't little kids anymore, there were nights when he'd be at his own home, struggling to sleep, and would call you up and say nothing but you knew what he needed and you'd come right over to do it again.

People teased, insisting that the two of you were more than friends. Rumors of you sleeping together were constant. Heaven forbid a boy and a girl hang out without there being something going on between you. That's what he used to say. You valued your friendship so much that you never told him there was some truth to it.

Then again, just about everyone who saw him felt some special way about him. That's probably why your peers bullied you so much. They saw you as an obstacle to his affections. Attacking his best friend to try to win his heart never made any sense to you or him. If anything, it made him like them less. He also never cared for those who would suck up to or attempt to use you to get closer to him. He always could see right through those kinds of people.

Why were you thinking about this now?

A month had passed since the Raccoon City incident. How had time gone by so fast? You were staring up at the ceiling in your bed, wearing the same clothes you wore the day before and the day before that. You took a leave of absence from work. You barely ate. Hell, you barely left this bed. Why should you? Your best friend was dead. It was the fault of the Umbrella Corporation who started a viral outbreak. It was the fault of the government who chose to eradicate the city a little too quickly, without giving those still alive enough time to possibly evacuate. It was your fault for not fighting harder for him to find employment in a safer city.

You kept having horrible nightmares of what happened to him. Zombified. Mutilated. Turning to pink mist as the warheads dropped. Screaming. So many times he'd be screaming. Every time. You were constantly being showered in his blood, his remains, his death.

You didn't tell anyone about these dreams. They'd push you even harder to go to a therapist. You didn't want to be on more prescriptions. You're fine. You just needed time.

It's like you were waiting for something. What was it?

Maybe you really did just want to die, too.

What a dark thought. No wonder everyone was worried about you. They should be. But you swore you weren't suicidal, because you knew he'd never want you to kill yourself. How many times had he told you that on your bad nights, the ones where the bullies got to you a little too much and you couldn't stop the thoughts that they were right about you, the ones when you couldn't fight them alone? He'd held you and ran his fingers through your hair and reminded you how much you were loved. How much he loved you. As a friend, of course.

Yeah, you were such close friends that your way of comforting one another was the same, too. The Cuddle-Stroke, as you once called it. Then he told you never to say that again, flustered as you laughed your ass off. Silly teenagers. You considered referring to it by initials, but the number of things CS could stand for if someone heard you might raise some alarm.

But damn, you could really go for some CS right now.

Before you could start crying again, your doorbell rang. Who could it be at this time of night? Not family. Your parents had keys to your home and the others knew better than to show up uninvited, especially nowadays. That last part applied to your friends, too. Criminals don't want to draw attention to themselves, so it couldn't be one of those...Could it?

Better safe than sorry.

You grabbed the bat you kept at your bedside for such moments as these and quietly headed towards your front door. The chime of the bell echoed through the house again. You wished you had a peephole in the door so you could see who was there without opening it. You didn't have that option.

Taking a deep breath, you threw the door open and readied your weapon only to immediately drop it as you, too, dropped.

Had you really lost it?

It couldn't be him. You must be hallucinating.

Either that or you were dreaming.

The hands that touched your shoulders felt real enough. They lifted you back onto your feet, never letting go as you were brought back into your house. They proceeded to close and lock the door before guiding you towards the living room.

The man they belonged to was saying something, but you couldn't hear it. It was like you were under water. Your head was swimming. Your heart was racing. Your stomach hurt. Nothing made sense.

He realized you were lost. He felt lost himself, but less so than you. Before coming here, he discovered just about everyone he knew thought he was dead. That he died with Raccoon City. They weren't completely wrong. His heart still beat. His brain still worked. His body wasn't dead or undead. But a part of him had died that horrible night.

Apparently, a part of you had as well.

There was only one thing he could think to do in a moment like this. It wouldn't undo the month of grief. Nothing ever would. But it was the only way he knew he could get through to his best friend, to snap you out of the shock of seeing him in the flesh.

He sat down on the floor in front of your couch, pulling you down with him into his lap. Your head founds its place on his chest. You practically melted into him. He began stroking your hair, running his fingers through it gently and slowly.

Gently and slowly, you started to become grounded again. You weren't in a dream. You weren't hallucinating. He really was here, alive. Somehow. A miracle, maybe?

What the fuck did it matter? Your best friend lived! He didn't go up in flames in Raccoon City. He came back to you. He really, really made it back home.

Why did it take so long?

You wanted to ask. You wanted to get mad at him for putting you through so much suffering. You wanted so many answers, so many things. He had to know that.

But you thought about what he must've been through, and you held your tongue.

"I missed you, Leon," you said, the first time you spoke in days.

Your voice cracked, you sounded miserable. Oh fuck, you were crying this entire time, weren't you? This was not how you pictured your reunion at all, though to be fair you never thought you'd see him again in this life. You probably smell like shit since you've been in the same clothes for at least three days and haven't showered. What does he think of you, seeing you like this?

"I missed you, too," he said.

Like yours, his voice cracked. You forced yourself to look up at his face. He was crying, too. Not bawling, but tears were falling from his eyes, leaving a trail down his cheeks. He was fighting to keep a neutral expression and failing. The light no longer shone in his beautiful blue eyes like it once had.

Oh god, what had happened to him?

He wanted to apologize for making you wait for him. He wanted to apologize for all the grief, all the tears, all the things that happened since he chose to go to that damned city. He wanted to explain why he was gone for so long, why he didn't contact you as soon as he was able. It wasn't because he didn't want to. He simply couldn't. There was so much he couldn't say or do.

All he could manage now was, "I'm sorry."

You acted without thinking, and suddenly your positions are reversed. His head on your chest, you running your fingers through his hair as you hold him there. He's much tenser than you were. Even this couldn't relax him the way it once did. What did they do to him?!

"It's okay, Leon. It's not your fault," you said. You swallowed the sobs that threatened to erupt during that last sentence. "It's not your fault," you repeated.

Of course he knew that. Didn't make him feel any better.

"You're alive," you said, and for some reason your voice dropped to a whisper. Like it was some kind of secret between the two of you.

"I'm alive," he said, matching your tone.

Words wouldn't come to you. He couldn't say what he wanted. So you just held him. He loosened up a bit and held you again, too. No words needed right now. He was alive. You were with your best friend. That's all that mattered.

That's all that mattered.

[inkdrawndreamer]

Gotta love when you’re on such a roll writing a fic that you don’t realize you mixed up the order of several events until you’re halfway through it. Hahaaaaa back to the drawing board, lads.

[alwaysdreamer-u]

TLM Update ramble

So i managed to write more of the putline for the fic today, im already in chapter 12, and by this point I'm more certain that the first part is gonna be roughly 20 chapters long, that mostly depends on how long each chapters turns to be.

Also is so crazy how a bit of planning and actually having at least some of the characters figured out before writting changes the way you can tell a story.

I've also being thinking of creating like a whole new ao3 fic instead of updating the already published chapters i have. Im thinking of this for 2 reasons:

I can keep the old version, called it like the beta storie, and its a memory and whoever loved that version can still read it if they want.

The capters are going to be extremly different from what i have planned, so changing it the old chapters for the new ones might be confusing for old readers.

Another idea that has being going around in my head is that I might publish the story once is fully or almost fully written, that way i still have time to write while being able to publish on a scheduel.

And I might do this, since having a short timeline when it comes to writting just makes me dont want to write at all ;w;

BUT

I do plan to create a death line to have at least hafl of this written so that I do finish this proyect.

NAME FOR THE SERIES

I need to find a new name for this story too, I've been thinking i might be able to get a good one, once i finish writting the first part.

Another problem i find myself in is, im torn between having a name for the whole series and that's it.

OR

Have the series name and also a separated name for each part (there gonna be 4 parts if i remember correctly) so i dont know

I suck at choosing names, so im truly struggling.

The original name is not my favorite to be honest, since the idea for it came from this being a one shot... and since its not a one shot anymore then the name doesnt work anymore.

If anyone has recomendations or tips on how to name a story im all ears, im dying here TTwTT

And i think that's all regarding the update.

----------------

Ahora en español

Así que me las arreglé para escribir más outlines para los episodios del fic hoy , ya estoy en el capítulo 12, y en este punto estoy más seguro de que la primera parte tendrá aproximadamente 20 capítulos, eso depende principalmente de cuánto tiempo dure cada capítulo.

También e impresionante como el tener una idea establecida sobre tus personajes y lo que son y que quieren hace una diferencia monstruoso en como escribes una historia :v

También he estado pensando en como hacer otra historia, me refiero a dejar la antigua y esta nueva versión publicarla a parte, y he pensado en esto por dos razones:

Puedo conservar la versión anterior, llamada como la historia beta, y es un recuerdo y quien amó esa versión todavía puede leerla si quiere.

Los capítulos nuevos serán extremadamente diferentes de lo que ya tenía, entonces el actualizar la historia actual con esto solo podría causar confusión para los lectores antiguos.

Otra idea que me ronda por la cabeza es que podría publicar la historia una vez que esté completa o casi completamente, de esa manera todavía tengo tiempo para escribir y poder publicarla constantemente, asi de elegir un día donde se sube ep nuevo y toda la cosa

Y podría hacer esto, ya que tener un cronograma corto a la hora de escribir simplemente hace que no quiera escribir nada ;w;

PERO

Planeo tener una fecha limite para tener por lo menos la mitad de la historia escrita, así me forzo a que realmente yo termine este proyecto.

NOMBRE DE LA SERIE

Necesito encontrar un nuevo nombre para esta historia también, he estado pensando que tal vez pueda conseguir uno bueno una vez que termine de escribir la primera parte.

Otro problema en el que me encuentro es que estoy dividido entre tener un nombre para toda la serie y eso es todo.

O

Tengo el nombre de la serie y también un nombre separado para cada parte (habrá 4 partes si no recuerdo mal), así que no lo sé.

No soy muy bueno eligiendo nombres, así que realmente estoy luchando.

Para ser honesto, el nombre original no es mi favorito, ya que la idea surgió deun one-shot… y como ya no es un one-shot, entonces el nombre ya no funciona para nada.

Si alguien tiene recomendaciones o consejos sobre cómo nombrar una historia, soy todo oídos, me muero aquí TTwTT

Y creo que eso es todo con respecto a la actualización.

[sayonara-sailor]

What could he do? Should have been a rock star

But he didn't have the money for a guitar

What could he do? Should have been a politician

But he never had a proper education

What could he do? Should have been a father

But he never even made it to his twenties

rock star - Simon Riley

In the comics Simon’s dad is into the music scene. If the Riley household was a loving, functional home Simon would’ve definitely been into music. Who knows…

politician - Kyle Garrick

It just makes so much sense with his sensibility and passion. He would’ve definitely stood up for what’s right.

father - Johnny.

My beloved little soldier. Would’ve made the best dad in the world. That’s all.

OR

rock star - John McTavish. Self explanatory.

politician - John Price. Self explanatory.

father - Simon. Simon… Simon…

and Gaz lives on, bearing the weight of being the lone survivor…

[ganseysmagiciansz]

imagine this: YEARS in the future gansey finds himself gravitating towards the name noah in an unexplainable way. he sees the name noah written on an underpass wall and can’t help staring at it for so long he’s fixated in place, his mother mentions her friends grandchild noah and he can’t figure out why he can’t get it out of his mind. he reads the name noah in a book and can’t seem to turn the page. and he never figures it out. he never figures out WHO noah is, but he names his child noah anyway.

sorry