#TW: Death

[batwynn]

Hey can you comment or message me something? Anything at all, really. Just feeling really invisible and trapped in the cycle of isolating grief again. (Yesterday was a death anniversary and brain is being a dick.) *Please note in the message if you do not want a public response or any response.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕱𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Proceeds to do anything, but work on the WIPs*

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Маленький целитель - Little Healer(Russian)

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon and Dubcon, Anal, Overstimulation, Mating Press, Massaging? Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror.

“Svi” is what she called him, nicknamed him. His original name being far too difficult for her to pronounce. Always managing to mispronounce “slav” at the end of his name “Sviatoslav.” He couldn’t tell if he should be angry at her or not for it, and at first he was.

He was grumpy that he had a human helping him on his recovery. Helping him wrap his flesh wounds. Helping him reconstruct and rewire the bionic parts of himself. Not that she had good enough technology to repair it, but he wasn’t one to whine if it improved his helpless position at the moment. He can always upgrade the work done on him when he was back steadily on his feet.

Though, he would grumble and hiss lowly every time she would try and help him. Turning his body away from her as much as he could from her approaching organic hands. The metal pistons replacing his stomach groaning in protest.

He was already injured enough, he was in no shape or form to move after he got jumped by a warband of feral marines. Their goal to leave him spewing his own lifeline on the forest floor as they were successful of smashing their gauntlets in between his armor and ripping them off like some scavengers. It pained him, it felt like his own limbs were being torn apart and they might as well have been if he hadn’t learned about their group and his heavy warfare tactics. He was barely alive when he found himself in the humans… shed, taking a rest there or his death bed if it wasn’t for the human to find him in their shed.

He questions nightly why the human would save him, an Iron hand. He knows they were not the most pleasing to be around considering their passive-aggressive behavior. Throne, even he was being aggressive towards her, he knows he is, but he doesn’t do anything to correct it. Not when she growls back at him to stay put.

It silence him the first time she got fed up with him moving away from her. Hissing and puffing up at her when she suddenly snarled at him, telling him to stop moving or else she would switch a wire in him. Not that would do much to him and mildly irritate him, but it was the bravery of her saying such demands, such threats to him. He actually stayed still the first time since she started his recovery process. His eyes carefully watching her work delicately across his organic skin and between his bionic parts. How come he didn’t notice her grace before?

He watches her intently everyday then. Ever so silent with a few growls and hisses here and there when she touches a sensitive nerve between flesh and metal, but he doesn’t move away from her. He awaits for her to return to him three times a day, giving him meals to savor on his organic tongue. Sometimes, it’s a little untimely for her arrival that he gets agitated, but she always manages to show up when he was just about to make a move himself to find her.

Within these times of his recovery by her hand. He learns to like, even love her appearance. His hearts in his chest beating just a bit more when he sees her, then deeply ache when she leaves him. It confused him at first until he remembered that “bonds” were a thing in this world.

Was this his bonded? Or was this some sort of psyker trickery playing on him? No, he had way too much self-discipline to have tricks played on him. This was a calling, for him. This bond was his, wholly his. He knows it.

He made her stay with him a night after she delivered his last meal of the day. His half-worked metal arm shooting out and wrapping around her waist and pulling her in his lap. Bringing her back flush against his torso as his metal fingers lightly left tiny circles on her clothed skin above her stomach. Feeling how she slowly relaxed in his embrace. A bit unsure at first, but she leaned back to rest on him rather than leaning away from him.

He sits there, dozing there for a while. His nose nuzzling the top of her head, thinking, enjoying her scent that brought him sudden comfort to his senses. His fingers still circling on top of her clothing until they stop, simply resting on top of his bonded.

His eyes suddenly snap open in a glare and he snarls when he feels her trying to escape his grasp, his willing embrace. Her smaller figure freezing up in her movements to leave him as he shifts in his spot. His form curling over hers while his arms wrap around her torso and pull her back to him, feeling her plush breasts under her layers of clothing. His head leaning down and nuzzle into the side of her neck, his want to just nip at her skin rising as she side eyes him.

“I have someone else to attend to you know.” She mentions and he honestly doesn’t care. He has smelt that other human on her. Not exactly a partner nor a friend, but he can smell the faint whiff of the… attraction this human had for his bonded. His Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He growls in her ear when she makes another attempt to move anyway for him. His hands lightly gripping the sides of her body, pressing into her clothing in a warning. Her scent changing there for a second before she huffs at him, wiggling and settling back into his lap.

“Fine.” She grumbles back at him, shifting in his lap again. Agitating him as he almost growls again, but it turns into a quiet purr as she nuzzles up against his exposed neck. Her arms wrapping up and around his shoulders as much as she could. Settling his their little disagreement.

His hearts ache once again as she leaves him in the cold morning. A reassuring coo falling from her lips. Promising him of her return while a whine of his own nearly left his throat as he swallows it down. His tongue ruffly pressing up against the back of his teeth.

He… he needed more.

He doesn’t know what got into him when he finds himself rising off the dusty ground. His head nearly having a wooden beam above him take him back down, but he proceeds, leaning through the old doorway of the shed. The pistons in his body feeling remarkably better and moveable than the first time he’s tried to move before.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) has gotten better in repairing his bionic attachments. His flesh wounds were no match for her, having healed up quickly with his healing factor. Throne, he should reward her for taking him under her delicate hands just as she was rewarding him with another life. He knows she could have killed him right there, on the spot, but she never held anything towards him. She was… patient with him.

His tongue twists when he picks up the fresh scent of the male through the air, his eyes narrowing at the sudden smell of him. He has never smelt the male so close before. Was he hunting? But it didn’t seem like this one was the type to hunt, he was more like a lazy human, incompetent. Was this male perhaps following his Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

Oh, that thought made him flex his iron hand. A soft shink coming off each finger.

His pistons work hard for him to move at a quick, but stalking pace. Still needing the appropriate parts to work efficiently that only he can get, but he’s silently grateful for the his Маленький целитель(little healer) work or else he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

That word, “protect” screams at him mentally. Urging him to overwork himself to find himself at the edge of his Маленький целитель(little healer) nest. He was sure he would be a thing of steaming metal if he didn’t stop to scope out her nest in front of him. Looking for all the possible exits and opportunities someone might “sneak” in.

He lowly growls into the cold, morning air. A cloud of his exhale and steaming joints surrounding him, his body too hot for the air to cool him off. His eyes searching over the nest for an obvious opening, and he finds an open back door.

He shoots forward when a surprised shout comes from inside of the house. His figure quickly crossing the yard and leaning through an open back door of the nest. Chuffs and clicks coming from him as he stands still for a moment inside of the nest to hear where the commotion is coming from. His head snapping into the pinpointed direction before his body makes a move himself.

“Y-you are not supposed to be here.” He hears his Маленький целитель(little healer) swallow as he comes around an archway, leaning down through it.

“I was worried for you! I keep seeing you go out back of your house, and you usually return before 12, but you didn’t last night!” The male in front of his Маленький целитель(little healer) speaks, twirling an object in his hands.

“You’ve been stalking me?” His Маленький целитель(little healer) questions, keeping her eyes on the male as she slowly backs away from the ever approaching male. The object in his hand becoming a type of knife.

“Now that makes me sound bad!” The male whines, stepping closer. “I was just making sure you and your house was protected!”

“I think, me and you are thinking two different things.” She states.

“No, we are thinking the same things.” The males tone suddenly changed. Sviatoslav fingers slowly moving in anticipation.

“No, we are not.” She rejects boldly.

“Yes, we are.” The male argues, flipping the knife once more in his hand. Stalking forward, oh so stupidly towards his Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He shoots out of the dark then. His iron hand dragging the smaller male up to his much higher level. His silver eyes glaring dangerously down into the males fear stricken eyes. A hiss rumbling through Sviatoslav teeth as the male struggles in his firm hold, his knife stabbing at his iron arm, creating sparks.

Sviatoslav wants to throw the corrupt male across the room. Smash his head through a wall, but he also wants to make sure this… boy stays dead and what’s better than to do that with his own bear hands?

Forcefully putting the male back down on his feet. His hands wrapped around his jaw before pushing through the males mouth, breaking some of the males teeth out to do so as he cry’s out in pain. The males tears running down his cheeks as his fingers positioning on the roof of his mouth and the bottom of his mouth and then he pulls.

The sickening snap of his jaw being ripped from his head cracks out. His once white teeth intact to the jaw, now bloody and flying throughout the room, little tinks sounding across the wooden floorboards. His head, now with no jaw bleeds down the front of the body, pooling below where the body still stands before the knees give up, kneeling below him before flopping to the side. A pool of blood surrounding the twitching body.

Sviatoslav simply rumbles at the sight, throwing the bottom jaw in his hand back to the dying body. The jaw bone cracking underneath the force of his throw.

When he turns back around to see his Маленький целитель(little healer) he purrs quietly at her shocked form, attempting to soothe her as her eyes looked between him and the body that occasionally twitches in its own pool of blood, on her floor, just behind her countertop. He coos at her again, curling his towering form around her and nuzzles into her neck. His breath fanning against her skin as flakes of cold blood touch her skin, sending a shiver through her body. His hands settling on her hips, tracing tiny circles on them.

“S-Svi.” She whispers to him, finally choosing to look at him instead. Her heart pounding in her chest as he gently pushes her towards the island in the room and she hesitantly obeys. Whether it was by shock or not, he still gives her a pleased grumble before he turns her around and softly pushes against her back with his iron hand. His hands pressing down into the curve of her spine as she leans down onto the countertop.

He can smell her uncertainty at his actions, previous and now. How she tenses up when he drags his hands down the more softer parts of her body. How her breath is more quieter than usual.

He leans his body down on top of her. His chest pressing against her back as he softly nuzzles and chuffs quietly at the back of her neck. Attempting to soothe his Маленький целитель(little healer) again.

He knows he has killed someone right in front of her and it’s reasonable for her to be… concerned with him, but he wants her to know he won’t do such a thing to his savior that gave him another chance of his life. He wants to protect and heal her just as she did to him. He wants to show her that she can trust him just as he trusted her to not kill him when she could have.

His hands tug at the loop holes on her pants. His chest rumbling against her back as he starts to kiss at her neck and shoulders. His hips pressing up against her *ss as he eyes how her hands tighten and loosen, still unsure with him.

He stops and coos questionably when she slowly sighs underneath him. His form leaning up to watch as she shimmy’s out of her pants and underwear, letting them lay at her ankles. Her cheeks highlighting from the light above them.

“Just… not through my folds, alright?” She tells him, her face turning red at his staring, unable to make eye contact with him.

He purrs loudly this time, unlike his usual quiet purrs. He body leaning forward again to capture her lips in his, a surprised gasp coming from her as his hands presses and grips her butt cheeks together.

His tongue slips pass her teeth and overwhelms her mouth with his, claiming anything hers as his. His hand fiddling with his cod piece as he works on making his Маленький целитель(little healer) breathless, dizzy on him by just his mouth. Her hand resting on his lower jaw encouraging him.

Leaning back from his Маленький целитель(little healer) to let her breathe. A string of their saliva connected their mouths together until Sviatoslav pressed his chest back into her back, his teeth lightly nipping at her neck and shoulder as she leans back down on the countertop.

Finally freeing his c*ck, he uses her and his arousal to coat his c*ck as lube. Teasing her wet folds with his length as his hands grip and massage her cheeks, opening up her pulsing *ss for him. His c*ck slowly dragging back and forth between her folds before pressing onto her unyielding hole. He had to push a little harder before he popped into her hole with a ‘plop.’

He groans as she whines breathlessly underneath him, her hands immediately gripping the other side of the countertop. Her breaths coming in short the more he slowly edges himself into her tight hole. Her walls pulsing around him, trying to push him back out.

“Svi…” She whines quietly at him. His hands massaging her skin and muscles in order to relax her smaller body, his hands nearly wrapped around her waist fully.

Such a small little thing, he rumbles to himself. Waiting on her to relax before he can start to thrust into her. He doesn’t what to ruin her just yet despite her body tightening around him as he groans again.

She huffs against the counter top when he starts to move, her body rocking with him. Still a bit tight, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He loves how she tightens around him, how she claws at the countertop to support herself. Not like he was gripping at her hips himself, like she was going to leave him, move away from him. His nose nuzzling into the back of her neck as well.

“S-Svi…” She moans when he goes a little deeper, a little faster that he has her on her tippy toes. Groaning up at him, begging him to rail her again and again and he can’t help but oblige. Growling into her ear as he leans over her some more, putting her into a type of mating press against the cold countertop.

His hands drag along her thigh with his lips suckling on her neck before he picks up her leg and puts it on the countertop for more access into her hole. His hands coming back up on her hips to keep her in place.

She gasps and chokes on thin air as he “slips” out of her and through her wet folds. A squelch-like sound coming out as he buries himself to the hilt before dragging back out. Her body jerking forward in surprise as he pulls her back down on his c*ck with a growl. Her body shaking around him as her toes curl.

“Svi! Svi!” She cries at him. Her hands patting back at him, wanting him off of her and he snarls next to her ear at her. His iron hand coming up to thread through her hair and pin her head to the countertop as tears run down her cheeks. Slobs wreaking through her body.

See what happens when one will try and court you? Try and take you away from me Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

He continues to snarl and growl at his Маленький целитель(little healer) when she try’s to push him off of her. His iron grip never letting her move away from him as he listens to how she cry’s and mewls at him at the same time. Indecisive of she wants to do.

“Svi, p-please!” She begs at him, almost unable to form words to him. Yet he just snaps at her neck in return.

Let him reward you just as you rewarded him, Маленький целитель.(little healer). Let him take care of you and heal you now.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) cry’s out as he burys himself to the hilt. One hand coming up to stop her hand from gripping onto a near by butter knife as he purrs almost darkly in her ear. His other hand keeping her still as she tries to wiggle away from him. His c*ck pumping his seed into her womb as she tenses up beneath him. Her head throwing back as she bites her lip to quiet her moans.

He lowly moans himself as he could feel his seed leak from her hole and around his c*ck, only to puddle down the inside of her thighs and down into her clothing at her ankles. His lips continuing to lap at her sweating neck, tasting her salty sweat on his tongue.

“…Siv.” She heaves breathlessly at him. Her head trying to nuzzle him back as he chirrs lowly, but happily. Then he chuckles as she gasps out again when he snap his hips forward, back into her throbbing core.

Throne, he’s going to have her anywhere he pleased. The kitchen counter top, the wall, the flooring, the dinner table, the top of the couch, the bathroom wall, outside, the nest, in front of the dead man. He was not stopping until he is done. Until his Маленький целитель(little healer) passes out in his arms. He had to reward his Маленький целитель(little healer) after all. For taking such good care of him when he was at his lowest.

Let him take care of you now, Маленький целитель.(little healer).

[sillytoasts]

JJK "2008 Myspace glitter girly shitpost" edits! Really just giggling like an idiot making these, super fun! So Far we got:

Gojo ☆ Choso ☆ Geto ☆ Sukuna ☆ Nanami

[mango-pup]

.

Preface to this, I think that any decision on when is right to put an animal down is personal, and that too soon is better than to late. I don't think any of this about other people. But logic is not currently driving so.

How do you look at a dog, and decide it's time? How do I walk into the vets office and say hi, I think we should kill my dog, this being that has been an extension of me for the past 11 years? The one that's wiggling her butt at you and snuffling for treats. The one that relies on me to make all the best decisions for her, that trusts me and loves me unconditionally. This constant that's been with me through cross-atlantic moves, 2 cities, 5 houses, a PhD, and a pandemic. That got me from a 24 year old who allowed herself to be pushed down, to a 35 year old who pulls everyone up with her. Who showed me the beauty of adventure, who got me out hiking and camping and showed me how to give myself grace by giving her grace. How do I make this final decision? (And practically, how do I even start the conversation with my vet when I can't even think it and still speak?).

Mango's legs are going. She's been stumbling for a while. But now it's in the house too, and she's going down onto the ground, not catching herself. Her back legs are wobbly, and I don't want her to get to the point that she goes down and she can't get back up. She's also the most stoic dog. I'm pretty sure you could chop a leg off and she'd go "Eh, I wasn't using that one anyway", but there are times I look at her and she looks tense, she's panting and she just looks, off. I am a firm believer that too soon is better than too late, and that "more good days than bad" is still too many bad days. But how? How when they are still wiggling and snuggling at you?

Dogs should live forever.

[coreylemons]

Sorry not sorry i like making my blorbos suffer :3

[dragiani2]

Sketch Dump!

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Whump Concept

TW: DEATH

Whumpee, a character with powerful magic but a human soul, dies. It's bloody and painful and far too early in life, and they die wishing they could tell their friends, their family, their lover: Caretaker who holds them in their arms as they bleed out, that they love them.

After a certain amount of time in the afterlife, they come back, having used their magic to make a deal to come back. Their fatal wound is now a shimmering mark, and they are very much alive. The consequences are entirely up to you.

[shiftythrifting]

Enjoy this $10,000 statue of a body that the first time I saw it I thought it was real. It's been in this antique store for 4+ years, as if people don't want a seemly dead body in their house

[midnightlockhearth]

Link to video: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFYSM16j/

Source:@/middleeasteye on tiktok

Description from the OG video:

Isnotreal returned the bodies of 80 unidentified palestinians taken by its forces.

Some of the bodies were taken by isnotreal forces after they were killed, while others were exhumed from several cemeteries around Gaza, including Al-Shifa cemetery and Al-Nimsawi cemetery in Khan Youins

Pictures were taken of the bodies before burial to facilitate later identification by their families.

[soul-siren]

"You're a Failure, and your family died knowing it."

I finally finished it!

I got majorly distracted with only 2 sections of this left, and it gathered dust for a bit. But here it is! All the angst!

My Emmit Hawke, purple and unromanced. He's just very tired and never given a break, so might as well strand him in the Fade, right? (I love my Hawke, promise)

There was originally a part 2 that has a bit more of a hopeful tune to leaving him behind, but I dunno if I'll get to that. We'll see.

[mi-xin]

Lamb God

[thepromptswhisperer]

"Stay." Prompts

“Move in with me.”

“Please. Please don’t leave (me).”

A grabs ahold of B’s hand/arm just as the latter starts to turn away/etc.

“No! Stay— Stay far away from me. Please.”

A invites B to stay at their place for the night.

When their relationship with A gets serious, B finds themselves wanting to run for the hills. (They’ve done so many times in the past, but something about it feels different this time.)

“I can’t stay. Not—Not when you can’t even tell me…”

A got an amazing job offer from someplace across the country. They ask their crush/friend/partner/etc. B for advice on what to do.

“Why did you stay?”

A intends to come home/visit them when they hear B isn’t doing well, but the latter (tries to) convince(s) them not to.

“Marry me?”

A’s apartment/etc. houses more and more stuff that belongs to B/they bought because they know B loves/needs it.

“I could stay like this forever.”

“Stay where you are. I got it.”

For the first time in their life/a long while, A just wants to stay where they are. Stay in this town/etc., with B,… Leaving their old life behind, however, is no easy feat.   

“Don’t move.”

“Do you even want me to stay?”

A often imagines what it would have been like if they would have stayed in their hometown/together with B.

“I know it wasn’t supposed to be/end like this, but… I need you.”

It’s been years since A and B broke up, but sometimes it feels like they are still right there with them.

“Could we just… stay here for a while?”

A asks B to stay by their side during a social gathering, hoping to avoid certain other people/questions like this – or to at least have a buffer.

A repeatedly asks B to stay with them as the latter seems to be dying/dies in their arms.

“I couldn’t stay. Not even for you./Not even if I wanted to.”

“I can’t imagine going back to a life without you.” “Then stay.”

[stuhde]

i had shared what is happening in sudan on a long facebook post last night, but it virtually received almost little to no engagement or shares from the nearly 600 “friends” i have on the site.

this morning, my great-aunt was shot by the soldiers fighting for power, and God forbid, i lose more of my family members before eid this friday.

please read below to understand what is happening and how you can help my country. i hope the tumblr community can show more kindness than the lack of support and advocacy i’ve seen elsewhere.

يا رب اجعل هذا البلد آمناً 🇸🇩

the lack of awareness and advocacy from the African, Arab, and Muslim diaspora and the human rights community has been painful.

while Western media has done little to no coverage of the ongoing conflict in the capital city of my motherland, Sudan, it appears that the rest of the world also partakes in normalizing crimes and violence against SWANA people.

violence and war hurting the SWANA region are NOT ordinary occurrences — no one, regardless of race, creed, ethnicity, religion, and gender, should experience the unprecedented amount of violence that harms my two living grandmothers, aunts and uncles, and baby cousins who live in Khartoum.

your decision to ignore reading or educating and discussing with others about what is likely to be a civil war is complicity in viewing SWANA people as individuals who regularly experience conflict and are undeserving of help.

the silence is damaging, and it is up to us as privileged members of the diaspora (or individuals living in the Western world committed to human rights) to support the people of my country and their dream for a stable, democratically elected government.

what is happening in Sudan is a fight that started on April 15 between two competing forces for power — the Sudanese Army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — neither groups are representative of the needs of our people. The Sudan Army is loyal to the dictator, Omar Al-Bashir, and the RSF is responsible for the genocide in Darfur.

with both power struggles backed by different Arab and Gulf nations, the two parties have been fighting for power for the last few years. While they worked together to try and end the people’s revolution, they lost. however, they are now in a constant power play of who will get to rule the nation.

this all means that war is NOT a reflection of my country — violence does not represent the SWANA people. Sudan is a nation of beautiful culture, strong women, intellectual and influential Islamic scholars, poets, and youth at the front lines of the revolution. we are a people committed to a region of peace for ourselves and the rest of the Ummah.

my family and the rest of Sudan’s innocent civilians are at the most risk, with many currently without drinking water, food to eat, electricity, and complete blockage to any mosques during the final nights of Ramadan, our holiest month of the year.

i ask that you please keep Sudan and our people in your prayers — donate to the Sudan Red Crescent or a mutual aid GoFund Me, email your representatives if you live in a country that can put pressure on either competing force of power, discuss this with your family and friends, and please do not forget to think about SWANA people — our brothers and sisters in Syria, Yemen, Lebanon, and many others need our love and support.

الردة_مستحيلة ✊🏾

#KeepEyesOnSudan

[hehearse]

Creon. Why did you try to bury your brother? Antigone. I owed it to him.

Antigone, adapted by Lewis Galantiere from the play by Jean Anouilh

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

���—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[sirlanval]

Swan Song: An illustrated poetry zine about Law and Doflamingo (by me!)