#mild suicidal ideation

[shellshires]

everything is fine

[mewguca]

suffocating

whiteboard is free therapy, wow!

[afreakingmilkshake]

agh have some doodles idfk

[fluffydice]

Saiki: Wow sleeping is so cool, I should do this forever

[green-fifteen]

Day 4: Harry Du Bois Gets a Clue

Prompt: Learn Fandom: Disco Elysium Pairing: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi Word count: 796 Summary: YOU - Wait, you have a boyfriend? read on AO3 instead

for @fluffyfebruary

DESK OF HARRIER DU BOIS - Spilled coffee streams down the side of your desk, drips from paperwork that is due to be processed in only a few hours. The papers are fully soaked now, however. Along with your badge and the end of your tie.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] - There is someone standing behind you, watching the coffee spread over the floor.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Oh, nice. I was thinking your workstation was getting too neat. Only right that a fucking mess gets to wallow in his own disaster."

YOU - "You know what? This is the end for me."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Don't be an idiot. If you were going to die, you would have done it already."

YOU - "No, I really think this time is the one. Each day only brings new torment."

VOLITION - It does feel bad, but you might be exaggerating. You're already thinking about where you're going to find a mop and a cloth to clean this mess.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "No, absolutely. You're right. Just end it, Dick Mullen! It's not like your boyfriend would have anything to say about it-- then again I wouldn't put it past you to forget that when you take the shot."

LOGIC [Easy: Failure] - Boyfriend?

YOU - "Boyfriend?"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I am not doing this with you, you prick. Fuck off." He strides away.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Since you've been back from Martinaise in one piece (minus some core memories), you might have laid it on kind of thick one or two times. Things like 'Jean, help me file these reports, I don't know where anything is because I have amnesia.' and 'Jules, can you call Requisitions for me, I don't know the number because I have amnesia." You suspect, no-- you know your amnesia is getting on everyone's nerves.

EMPATHY - He's a little worried about you, anyway. That's probably why he mentioned your boyfriend.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Challenging: Failure]- Wait a damn minute. Back to the boyfriend thing. Did you forget about him? Was he swept away in the flood of booze and amphetamines, along with everything else? You're getting a sick feeling in your stomach.

PERCEPTION - At that very moment, you see your partner. He just walked in from the snow, his hat peppered with snowflakes. He makes eye contact.

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Your stupid heart beats a little off tempo.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success]- Kim always knows what to do. Ask Kim about this.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant comes closer, unwinding his long scarf and removing his hat. He gives you a small smile as he sits down across from you.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good morning, detective."

YOU - "Good morning."

INLAND EMPIRE - You shouldn't rush into questioning him. Just be friendly, first.

YOU - "So, Jean said I have a boyfriend."

KIM KITSURAGI - "He did?" One eyebrow is lifted high on his face.

YOU - "I spilled my coffee all over my desk, that's why he brought it up."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay," he says, sounding unsure but still smiling at you. "I don't mind. I know we haven't talked about it precisely and 'boyfriend' is perhaps a tad puéril… but it's good enough for most people in relationships."

YOU - You have no idea what he's talking about.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Don't you? Don't you feel that, champ?

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Challenging: Success] - Kim is looking at you with humor, seeming to expect you to take your time. Suddenly, it's very clear: Kim Kitsuragi is your boyfriend.

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Medium: Success]- YEAH! YES! Holy shit, do you know what this means? Boyfriends make out, big dog! They do more than that. They touch each other, Harry. Tell Kim you want to touch him, right now. Maybe you can convince him to do it on your desk.

VOLITION - Do not do that. You're at work, don't embarrass yourself.

LOGIC - Your desk is covered in coffee.

DRAMA - But what if he said yes, my lord? Think of the spectacle-- the other officers would know then, wouldn't they? They would all know that Kim Kitsuragi belongs to you.

YOU - "Gah."

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks on the verge of laughter. His eyes are folded up in mirth behind his glasses.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Come over again tonight. I'm cooking."

ELECTRO-CHEMISTRY [Godly: Success]- Ask if you should bring your pajamas.

YOU - "Should I bring my pajamas?"

KIM KITSURAGI - He can't resist chuckling softly at the look on your face.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - You're certain you know the face you're making. It's a terribly fond one, with a heavy flavor of awe. You look like someone just handed you a warm puppy.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I would like that."

[allgremlinart]

ah... mild suicidal ideation haver Bruce my beloved... a classic

[anulithots]

tw: mild suicidal ideation (I'm okay, just following the thought train)

you know when you put a lot of effort into being invisible and not a nuisance? Like you know you have to exist because killing yourself would cause others to be upset about it + wasted resources so in order to justify your existence you can't take up too much space and you can't bother anyone else and you have to make sure not too much effort or time is wasted on you.

Then you parents, when angry, say that they 'do everything for you and I do nothing in return, that their days, lives are spent for thier children and yet I only get upset and it's a burden on everyone else's life'

What can I do?

It hasn't worked.

I've tried to make myself so small and it hasn't work.

If I didn't have as many coping mechanisms as I do, the guilt would've crushed me for dayyyssss

like wow. is that what you think of me? Is that what I am to you? I've tried and tried not to mention anything and to be supportive but...

It doesn't work and it doens't come across and that is just the fault of my behavior.

... hmmm okay. Negativity out of the system now. The moon looks so beautiful against the clouds, and when the light shines just right then those clouds look so full of depth against a plain sky. A canvas full of fluffs, and entire world up there. It's wonderous.

[alex-unjust-vibing]

this could have been so easy, but no… you’re only digging your own grave here.. do you think there’s any saving you from this?? ive never left you alone in hell either, unjust :3

[HE CANNOT-] [Oh, those are tears. That's... He looks pathetic even in his attempts not to look pathetic. Gross.]

[...........He... drops to his knees and accepts his fate. he puts in the effort and willpower towards the idea of begging but he doesnt form any words even in his head. he doesnt want to hear what he would sound like begging. even in his head. he would rather die]

[captainmera]

DON'T FREAK OUT!!

IN BLOOD WE RISE HAS UPDATED!

[gorpkechi]

who's up for another round of "is it splitting, derealisation, an anxiety attack, meltdown, or will i throw up" ! not me lol, shoot me square in the head

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

listening to linkin park while putting on my black eyeshadow and mascara this morning im living a fucking 2012 tumblr life ig

[inspectorseb]

Guess who’s miraculously the only person in my house that don’t have Covid 💪🏻

Both my parents are miserable right now and we knows they got it from my grandfather who we saw Sunday but didn’t find out he had it until Monday. I don’t have it now but if I get it I’m gonna be fucking pissed cause I have never had Covid in the over 4 years it’s been around. And I’m the only person I know who still always wears a mask whenever I’m out in public

So I have now quarantined myself to the living room where I’m sleeping on an air mattress. I mean it ain’t that bad tho cause I’m right next to the kitchen and it means I have the big ass tv and my ps5 lol. You might be thinking why not just stay in your own room? Because of the shitty timing we’re supposed to be completely redoing my room rn which means all my shit is everywhere, I have no floor, I can’t sleep in my own bed 💀

Also there is a long ass rant about stuff in the rags that you don’t have to read. Really you didn’t even have to read anything anyways lol.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

some seer au worldbuilding!

TW: Kidnapping, imprisonment, child abuse, infantilisation, referenced torture, manipulation, what’s essentially slavery in a fantasy context (both referenced serfdom and mages being treated as property of the crown), dehumanisation, mild xenophobia, victim blaming, mutilation, referenced murder, suicidal ideation, codependency, trauma dumping, self harm, threats, referenced starvation, Stockholm syndrome, and Lima syndrome.

——

One of the few things Tommy looked forward to in life was the two hours each Thursday he got to spend in lesson.

He'd never been able to learn much other than how to avoid getting caught pickpocketing and how to survive on scraps of bread before he'd been taken to the castle, and unlike most of his life in his gilded prison, he relished that change.

He'd always wanted to be smart, like Mama was, able to figure out numbers in her head like that and read books to him. When she got sick, Tommy wasn’t ever able to read them himself, and he'd had to sell the now-useless things for more drink so Father wouldn’t hit him.

Tubbo was smart, too. He'd come from the other side of the border, and he'd had to run away after his noble family was disgraced. The exact reasons changed every time he told the story, and Tommy was willing to bet it wasn't real, but either way Tubbo knew his stuff. Besides, he never told Tubbo about Father, so it all evened out.

Getting the chance to learn after so long was exhilarating, even if it meant he had to spend two hours with Dream talking at him and pretending they were friends or something. At least he wasn’t a half bad teacher, or at least Tommy thought. He didn’t have any point of comparison, so he supposed he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Tracing one of the squiggles one the parchment, Dream smiled at him like he was a fucking infant, leading to Tommy rolling his eyes and flipping him off, making him snort.

“C'mon, Tommy, take this seriously.”

“I am,” Tommy insisted, crossing his arms. “And that’s a… Y.”

“Close! It’s a T, actually! T for To-“

“I'm not six, I know what a T is,” Tommy said, frustrated. Just because he didn’t know how to read letters didn’t mean he didn’t know what they were. Mama taught him better than that. “Try T for… Tfuck off and die.”

“You know, I could have someone executed for treason for saying that.” Dream's tone remained light and playful, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach muddy green eyes. “Very few have the privilege to speak to the King so openly.”

“Oh yeah, because I’m so privileged to be born with a power I didn’t want. I’m so privileged to be kidnapped off the fucking streets and forced to work for a fucking maniac.” Tommy rolled his eyes again. “You're on another plane of reality, I swear to fucking Prime.”

“Tommy, stop trying to derail the lesson.” Dream's voice turned harsh suddenly, a warning that if he continued on this path he'd have to go to one of the rooms with all the hurty things again, and Tommy swallowed a lump in his throat, eyes downcast. “Very good. Now, this circle is an O. It’s not to be confused with a zero, which is more like a squished circle…”

——

“Can you define what a mage is for me, Tommy?”

“Course I can.” Tommy scoffed. “I am one, did you think I was a fuckin' idiot?”

“You're also incredibly obnoxious, but you can’t seem to define that.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Dream sighed, his voice dipping into that terrifying warning tone again. “Tommy. Behave.”

Gripping his shoulders tightly, Tommy tried his best to fight the overwhelming urge to vomit at even the threat of punishment. It would be inaccurate to describe Dream as having made suffering an art- no, he'd made it a game, one he took a childish glee in and one he'd learnt to grow very, very good at.

It’s not like Tommy wasn’t used to being hit around. He'd taken up being Father's punching bag after Mama died, up until he ran away. He'd been caught stealing shit and sleeping in abandoned buildings before, and normally that got you a good beating if you couldn’t cry your way out of it, but Dream was different.

Unlike the unfocused, angry pain of fists and kicks, breaking bones and bruising skin carelessly, Dream was careful in how he applied agony. He could make Tommy wish desperately for a simple beating without even leaving a mark, and any time he went further there was a chilling methodical way to it, like each injury was made to purposely mould Tommy both physically and mentally. Yet, every time afterwards, Tommy couldn’t help but fall for sudden kindness and soft touch and bandages, couldn’t help but desperately cling to the approval and blame himself.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he forced out.

“Don’t call me that, Tommy. I'm your friend, remember?”

“… yes, Dream. I'm sorry, Dream.”

“There you go. Now, again, what do you know about mages, Tommy?”

“Well, I know we have powers and shit, obviously. I've got my Sight, Punz has… I'm not really sure, but he has the golden glowy thing. I haven’t really met any other mages, though.” Tommy stuck out his tongue absently as he tried to recall as much as he could. “Uhh, I know that mages can always recognise other mages when they see them. It’s like… a weird, tingly feeling that’s all fuzzy. And we're, like, one in a million. So I'm special and cool and shit.”

Dream chuckled at that, ruffling Tommy's hair suddenly and plainly ignoring how it made him flinch. “You're definitely special, yes. I've never even heard of a mage with powers like yours, and the documents go back centuries.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Documents?”

“Well, yeah, since mages are technically the property of the royal family, you have to be documented carefully.” Dream's almost perpetual smile dropped at that. “I'm not happy about that too, you know. I've seen the ways that can go horribly wrong.”

“You're the King, aren’t you?” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Fucking change it, then.”

“I can’t just go around changing things like that, Tommy. I might not like it, but the Goddess…” Dream sighed. “Prime states clearly that mages are a gift to her chosen, made to aid them. Divine servants to Her will. I might not like it, but I can’t go against the Goddess. I want to change things. I am going to change things. But I can’t- I can’t just throw it all out. I'm no heretic.”

Tommy frowned. “But Prime also says that all humans are equal before Her light-“

“Good luck convincing people you are human.” There was an inexplicable bitterness in Dream's voice, though thankfully it didn’t seem to be directed at Tommy. “Most don’t see you that way, you know. They take your divinity to mean you’re just a tool, to be used and discarded. I- you should have seen how things were when I was your age. It was…”

As Dream trailed off, Tommy was hit with the realisation that this was the first time he'd ever seen him truly vulnerable. Dream was always a man of various masks, one of childish playfulness, another of cold indifference, one of pure anger, and many more he switched between on a whim, but there was a level of raw emotion in Dream's voice that made it painfully clear that this was a slip in his charade, a look behind the curtain. The feeling was incomprehensibly strange. Dream was easy to hate as this emotionless manipulator, but this rawness, this concern… Tommy couldn’t help but feel for him.

“I'm sorry,” Tommy said, not really being sure what else to do. “I'm sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Tommy. I promise.”

——

“Oh, I know this!”

Tommy flapped his hands in excitement, looking at the map. He'd learnt this before! He wasn’t stupid! Maybe something that he'd learnt during his blessed years on the streets had something worth transferring to this gold-plated hell.

“This-“ he pointed at the smaller, forested area highlighted in green, “is where we live, and past the border, here-“ he pointed at the icy cold wastelands that seemed to stretch on forever, “that’s the other place where you can’t go because they’re evil or something. I think.”

“… You're not wrong?” Dream laughed a little as he said that, so Tommy held onto hope he hadn’t accidentally said something really offensive and he was going to be hurt again. “Honestly, that’s more knowledge than some of the nobles have at this point. Do you know their names?”

“The Antarctic Empire is the other one, but…” Tommy closed his eyes, thinking hard. “I know the names of some of the towns here, but I never really thought about what all of it was. I just always thought of it as home.”

“Where we live is the Kingdom of Essempi.” Dream raised an eyebrow. “Did you really not know? I'm sure people have referred to me by my title around you, when I've taken you to court.”

Tommy shuddered just thinking of those memories. He always had to “look presentable” when in court, which meant long robes and capes he always tripped on and his hair mangled with one of those terrible torture devices called a comb. Everyone always stared at him, and it felt suffocating, like he was some sort of circus animal, and he was made to use his Sight to predict petty things for the amusement of the nobility. Whenever Dream wasn’t looking, he was always bombarded with poking and prodding, questions asked in a sing-song voice with the same sort of wording one would use for a toddler. He clung to Dream's side as much as possible to avoid that humiliation.

It was almost a relief how rare it was. Instead, he spent most of his life curled up in his glorified, or sitting with Dream in his study. (Or in one of those blood-splattered chambers, but he didn’t like to think about those much.) Technically, he could go wherever he liked in the castle, but it was incredibly difficult to do so when he couldn’t even stand without assistance.

That was his fault, he was aware. He'd put together some hair-brained escape plan, like he wouldn’t just be hunted down and caught anyway even if it somehow succeeded. Maybe none of his visions showed that, but that was because there was zero potential scenarios where his stupid plot worked, and he'd been able to see a lot of stupid plots work through use of his Sight, so that was saying something.

“Honestly, when I go to court, I spend the whole time not trying to deck one of the arseholes who won’t stop bugging me in the face.” Immediately, Tommy froze, petrified he'd said the wrong thing, but Dream burst into laughter.

“Oh, that’s true for all of us, I think. The sacrifices one must make for power. I must admit, I'd prefer things the Antarctic way sometimes.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“If you can’t get someone to agree with you there, assassinating and brutalising those political opponents is just another form of diplomacy.”

“Uh, don’t we already assassinate and fuck up your enemies?” Tommy had grown numb to the constant orders to find out when someone Dream hated and Tommy didn’t know was alone and most vulnerable, to see what dirt could be used to blackmail them, their greatest fears, their weaknesses. He had to use his Sight there every day, and it was miserable, but he supposed it was less boring than when it was used to see a million different affects for each policy, and less terrifying than being asked to see his and Dream's death and seeing them both inch further and further away to the point decades became centuries became unSeeable.

“Well, yeah, but in secret. The Empire is honest about their brutality, at least. Maybe they’re better than us, in that way.” Dream said. “They might not know the light of Prime, but honestly I don’t think anyone here does either, except maybe me and you.”

You wouldn’t know the light of Prime if it blinded you, is what Tommy want to say, but he bit his tongue and took a deep breath. Instead, he said “They don't believe in Prime?”

“I mean, I’m sure some of them do, but they don’t operate by Her principles. Instead of life, they revere death. I suppose they’re honest there, too, revering the one thing that unites us all. Well,” he laughed, “almost all of us.”

Tommy swallowed and nodded. He didn’t like to think about that possibility too much. He barely even wanted to be alive a second longer, not living like a caged bird, and the idea of being trapped like this forever was something he deeply feared.

“Have you ever been, Tommy? I think you'd like it.”

Tommy blinked. “Uh, no. How would I? There’s always fighting on the borders, I'm not idiotic enough to go there.”

“I should take you next time, then. It's… I’ve never seen anywhere else where mages are allowed to go around freely. It’s really quite inspiring.”

“Sounds like I should have been, then.” Tommy couldn't fully hide his bitterness there. “I'm- I know you're trying to help me, of course. I’m not fucking ungrateful or anything about that. I just… it’s stupid, I know, but I wanna go outside again.” More than that, he wanted to be free, but he knew saying that would get him a world of hurt.

“I mean, if you like the snow, maybe?” Dream laughed, before his voice turned serious. “Tommy, I know how it might sound, but that place… it’s not any better than things are here, and I'm at least trying to fix things. Mages might be treated like humans, but those without magic… they’re barely seen as anything. I've seen how empathetic and kind you are, y’know. You'd hate it there, too.”

“Why can’t anywhere just be nice? Why do they all have to be weird and fucked up and shit?”

Dream sighed. “You know, I’ve wondered the same thing before. But, hey!” Dream smiled wide, in a way that was innocent and spine chilling all at once. “We can find that out together.”

——

“Tommy, have I ever told you about my father?”

Dream looked dishevelled today, too-long hair sticking out in a million directions, deep bags under his eyes, his usual paleness a pallid sick tone. His tunic was stained deep red- Tommy didn’t want to think from where- and he pulled on the edge of his sleeve obsessively.

“I know he was the king before you, and he got sick, but that’s about it.” Tommy tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for the lesson to begin, but it seemed like that wasn’t in the cards. No, today would be another day where Dream dumped everything bad that ever happened to him on Tommy's shoulders and expected him to shoulder that burden along with his own.

“He was never sick. I poisoned him, myself.” The words flew out of Dream's mouth like he'd wanted to tell someone for so long. “He- it was the only way. He deserved it.”

“I understand that.” Tommy grasped his hands together hard enough he could feel blood pooling under his fingernails. “My father was a right dickhead, too. I hope he's drank himself to death, and good fucking riddance.”

“It’s only the good that die young, you know. Without interference.” Dream gave a grin, but it was strained. “I have eyes everywhere, Tommy. I can make him wish he was dead, if you want.”

“No, Prime no, fuck.” Tommy buried his head in his hands. “I want him dead, I don’t want him to suffer.” No, Tommy didn’t want anyone to suffer under Dream's hands like he did. Not even Father.

“Your loss.” Dream sighed and leaned forward on the table, any last pretences of professionalism erased. “If you tell anyone any of this, I'll bring in that little friend of yours, by the way.”

“You promised nothing would hurt Tubbo. That was the deal.”

“I promised nothing would kill Tubbo. There’s a lot you can do to a person without killing them, y’know.” Dream laughed bitterly. “Plus, we both know that deal is bullshit anyway. Just a stupid way of making the both of us feel better about the role we were born into.”

“… I won’t tell anyone. Couldn't even if I wanted to, man. It’s not like you let anyone else around me.”

“See, no need to worry, huh?” What might have been the slightest hint of relief hung heavy in his voice. “Tubbo's safe, and has somewhere to stay. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t trust a single word out your fucking mouth. You're a liar.”

“I need to be. The court eats honest people like you alive. Father taught me that. But you… I can be honest around you, Tommy. Thanks for that.” Tommy's not sure he’s ever seen one of Dream's many smiles meet his eyes before, but this one was soft, genuine. “I've never had a friend before.”

Something about that managed to tug at Tommy's heart, no matter how much of a monster he knew the man was. Dream was like that- simultaneously terrifying and tragic, cold and cruel yet desperately possessive. Charismatic and well spoken, yet horribly awkward in any attempts at genuineness. Tommy despised him to the core and adored him more than Prime at once.

“It’s pretty poggers, huh?” He said, not really being sure what else to say.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “What in Primes name does poggers mean?”

“Dunno. I just made it up. I’m an innovator.” Tommy stuck his tongue out, and it made Dream start laughing.

“I wish I could have been as carefree as you are, when I was your age.” There was a wistful sigh there. “My father never laid a hand on me physically, but he knew far worse ways to get me to be his little puppet. I'm the only legitimate child he ever had, so he wanted to make sure I was the perfect heir. He just ruined my whole life in the process.”

Tommy couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy of Dream complaining about such a thing while being in the middle of actively ruining Tommy's life, but he let it slide. “Y'know, I get it.” He said, instead. “My father- well, he did hit me, but only after Mama died. But the worst thing he did was make me feel stupid and useless. At least I have a use here.”

“I always knew my use. I never got a chance to hide from it, not like you did. Maybe that’s better, though. All I’ve ever known is this cage, yet you’ve seen the world beyond it. What's it like?”

“… You know, I don’t even think I can remember.” The way the breeze felt on his face, the light of the sun, it all seemed like a story now. Something mythical. “Can't you just run? Who would stop you?”

“My responsibilities. My people. I know it might be hard to believe, but I care about doing what’s best for my rightful land. I'm not like my father, wasting his life away with alcohol and pretty women.” Dream snorted. “You know, I can’t even stand the smell of wine anymore, and the idea of getting married and starting a family like I know is my duty one day fills me with terror. If I could, I'd just declare you my heir, since it’s not like I’m dying anyway, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“Huh. Guess things aren’t so different between the rags and the riches.” Tommy hummed. “Father would spend all his money at taverns on the cheapest beers and cheapest… y’know, and leave me and Mama with nothing. I learnt how to steal to survive.”

“I had my first assassination attempt when I was six. If I died, my throne would go to one of my fathers bastards, and I guess one of them figured it out.” Dream laughed, wiping at his eyes for some reason. “You want to know the funny thing? I have sixteen half-siblings, and a little sister, but you’re the only person I’ve ever felt like kin to.”

“Wait. Are you crying?” The idea seemed ludicrous, the idea that the man who could do such horrible things with a serene smile on his face, one who relished in the suffering of his enemies, could ever be so vulnerable, so low, seemed like a sick joke.

“Just rub it in, don’t you?” Dream buried his face in the table. “Prime, Father wouldn’t feed me for a week if I cried in front of him. I haven’t done it in years.”

“You can cry in front of me, mate. I'm not… I mean, I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to, but I wouldn’t be looking to stab you in the back even if I could.” Dream might have been a snake, but if all he saw in the bushes was more snakes, fangs ready to strike, Tommy couldn’t help but pity him for that.

“You're the only person I know who won't. I just…” Dream sighed, and slowly lifted himself from being flopped awkwardly on the table. “I never felt like a person until I met you.”

Tommy had only felt like a person until he met Dream. He banished that thought as soon as it appeared, though. He'd learnt better. He just nodded and smiled. Couldn’t go wrong with that.

“I don’t…” Dream sighed. “I've never had anyone I could tell any of this to, before. It’s… I don’t know. It’s weird.” Getting up and crouching beside Tommy's chair, he returned the same smile Tommy gave him, and Tommy could see that he had been crying. “You're my one weakness, you know? I'm never letting you go.”

Dream pulled Tommy suddenly into a hug, pulling him around like a ragdoll. That’s all he really was anymore, wasn’t he, though? A toy to a lonely child, a tool to the most desperate in need, a punching bag for people to take their anger out on. He wasn’t a person. He hadn’t been a person ever since he was dragged into this hell carved out of marble.

He didn’t even care, anymore. At least he was useful.

[thisbrilliantsky]

[notes down my third instance of "i should just die" thoughts since my medication change last week] i dont think this is how antidepressants are supposed to work

[kuebiko-kei]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Joker (DCU) Additional Tags: Torture, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Mild Suicidal Ideation Summary:

"G-go, thr's a bomb," Tim mumbled through his crimson-sticky mouth and closed his eyes as Jason held his face. He didn't want to die alone, but he equally didn't want someone to die with him. "I saw it on the way in." Jason snorted, then empathetic pity took over, "I'm sorry." It wasn't fair. "Go. You'll die." Tim cringed, trying to pull away and emphasise the urgency to his older brother. "It's not my first time." "What..." Twenty seconds left. "Don't look so sad, Replacement. Now, shut up."

whumptober 2022

day 3 - hair's breadth from death

gun to temple I "say goodbye" I impaled

[umbralsound-xiv]

Adversary.

Defeated, Eir had not moved an ilm from the floor he once again found himself upon. Back to the threatening dark, to the four walls and the door which had swiftly locked behind him almost half a bell ago.

He fills his lungs to dejectedly sigh. At the very least, the pain was no longer so apparent, reduced to a dull aching akin to that of his leg, reminiscent of recent healing. The Roegadyn had brought him back here after the confrontation; that much had been expected. But for a healer to follow and fix his ribs for the second time in a sun had been something of a surprise. That it was a Miqo’te brought some unexpected comfort that he dare not admit to himself... At least, until he opened his mouth. The same voice that called out during the attack.

Eir said nothing. Nothing during the carrying, or the healing, or even in the few quiet moments where a muted arguement took place just a fulm from the front of his supposed ‘new home’. He hadn’t even paid attention to it. What was the point, now?

He’d never felt so bitter before.

The hitched sound of a sob is soon to slip from the back of his throat, hot tears following as they spilled lengthways across the side of his face, still pushed into the cold of the floor. The cold. The blessed cold.

Caring not for the dirt, he rolls to embrace it that much more fully. What he would do, to be back home now. He’d be asleep, surely. Asleep, with Sayuri in his arms. Maybe they’d have even started packing for Thavnair. The whole thought of it brings him to weep again; he’d planned to propose to her, there. And now, he was content to die here, if only to keep the hands of her captors from away from her.

How long would it be, then? Until she came here? Eir’s brow furrows at the thought, lips curled into a prominent frown. There was no lying to himself in his vulnerability, now. She would come here, all for the sake of him. Unlike him, she was brave; willing to face that which frightened her most. Strong; she would have made short work of whatever captors had saught her. Wallowing further into the bitter pool he’d found himself in, Eir curls further into a ball and sobs against the floor.

It’s another bell before he can think of anything else, and what thoughts come to mind are no brighter than the last.

She wouldn’t come for a body. Provoking them to kill him wasn’t enough. Eyes flick upward to the light fitting, but he was unlikely to hold him for long enough. A lump crawls to the front of his throat for even thinking of it, and at the threat of vomiting does it beckon him to sit upright. He couldn’t afford that, no. He’d last eaten bells ago, and he quietly wishes he’d have drank more than a single cup of water before leaving the venue. They were unlikely to feed him; Sayuri’s eating habits were enough to show for that.

That bastard had starved her, Eir thought. A pang of anger runs hot through his veins at the regret that he’d not at least swung for the man some time during their conflict. Maybe then, the retalliation would have been enough. Enough for making her suffer for those long cycles in this hell; Eir had already tired of it after a handful of bells, Gods only knew how long cycles felt here. Somehow, a single strike to Grym’s face seems appealing, and in lieu of his presence, Eir drags himself to his feet and slams his fist into the door.

The wood, predictibly, barely moves an ilm. He’d never been much of a fistfighter, even with his limited combat ability, but he’d at least got the lock to rattle. What would it even have achieved, had he somehow miraculously knocked the door from it’s hinges? Then what? Run into the compound and try to find some way out? It was possible, surely, though unlikely. Though the probability someone would catch him on the way out and beat him to death seemed more plausible. But the thought is enough to give him pause.

Eir sets his hands flat on the door, tracing over the wood. Wood could buckle, and splinter. Only the hinges and fittings were metal, as well as the lock; he’d seen the key used to open it. Nothing too complicated. His heart begins to pound, as another way out metaphorically begins to open.

He kicks the door down, and tries to escape. He manages, and he makes it back to Sayuri, and she never need come to this dreadful place to save him. Or... They find him, he puts up enough of a fight for them to kill him, and she doesn’t need to come here to collect what’s left of him. Or he ends up right back where he began; half broken in a cell, lamenting the days to come.

A sharp breath in, as Eir steels himself. It was worth a shot.

A few paces back into the stone floor, he gains as much ground as he could before lunging forward, aiming to ram the heel of his bare foot against the lock of the door.

BANG!

Staggering backwards with gritted teeth, the pain bit through his foot, but it was managable. The door rattles, but the sound is louder, far louder than when he’d simply hit it with his fist. Either it would give, or it wouldn’t; and finding out was better than simply sitting still.

He could still make it out, he thought. It’s enough of an encouragement to try again.

He moves all the way to the opposite wall, pushing off and away from it to give him more leverage before his foot connects with the wood again.

BANG!

The same sound, but it almost seemed to move imperceptibly further. He couldn’t tell. His foot sang with pain, but the feeling of progress spurred him on. He quietly imagines that the door is Grym, and with a determined knit of his brow, launches himself forth again.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Green and gold eyes lid in some minor annoyance at the sound, only ilms from the side of his head. Vairg had taken his post as offered, rather than instructed. Doubtless there’d be complaints at the sound in the morning, and questions as to why the one responsible for the captive’s co-operation had done nothing to quiet it, but curiosity had won out for the waiting Viera. The first few forceful blows to the lock of the door had barely moved it, and he was all but ready to beat him into submission until it had begun to splinter.

Slowly but surely, Eir was beginning to break down the door.

It was a ceaseless, almost unending sound, now. Eir had been funneling his effort for almost half a bell, and showed no sign of slowing, even developing some kind of rhythm. Progress was not only visible, but assured; The door buckled outwards even when at rest, splinters of wood now hanging from the frame. It wouldn’t take much more. Even when his foot seethed with pain, now bloody from his assault, there was no cause for him to relent. Eir fills his lungs once again, and sprints towards the door, aiming a sharp kick at the fracturing wood.

BANG!

CRACK!

The door is barrelled open, and Eir almost falls into the floor when it finally gives free. A knee saves him from making full impact with the stone, immediately glancing ahead to take in the corridor, now visibly devoid of people. His first instinct is to run, and despite his wounded foot, it’s the first one he shoots backwards with intent to break into a sprint.

But it never meets the floor.

Instead, Eir finds himself short of breath and several fulms taller than he recalled being, as he is roughly grabbed by his throat and rammed into the nearest wall.

Green and gold eyes meet with his silver, and through the looming darkness, Vairg’s already grinning expression splits into a toothy smile.

The first breath Eir manages to take leaves with a whimper, pushed from him as Vairg’s elbow met sharply with his chest to keep him captive. Eir had not expected to get so far, but to not even make it a step from his cell would have been insulting had shock and fear not won out.

In the silent, tense moment between the two Viera, punctuated only by their breathing, Vairg is the first to speak.

“...So maybe you do have some fight in you! I was doubtful, when you were brought back from Grym. It’s always a lot more fun when you struggle...”

Eir’s hand tries to find some purchase on the wall to little success; his feet had only succeded in drawing a bloody smear along the cobbles. It’s only when Vairg speaks that a cry of terror leaves him, when more than just the man’s eyes became something of notice. Decidedly leporine features are well noted, along with the thick accent that still held Vairg’s words, long departed from his own. Eir would have retreated further into the wall if it had been possible.

“Come on! Struggle! You have more of this, yes? You just kicked down a door! That’s impressive, considering! I’ve seen a handful of Viera in these halls, but you truly might be the smallest of them...!”

Every fibre of Eir’s being wanted to run. Every frantic breath held the promise that the following exhale would be a scream, but it never came. Too afraid for even that, Eir shrinks in on himself despite the hold, leg brought upwards to testingly set it in Vairg’s stomach, in an effort to slowly pry him away. There was no struggling, nothing quite so frenzied, only the measured attempt to remove himself from the situation.

And the attempt, though it had some considerable force behind it, is enough to make Vairg laugh. To further drive home the futility of the effort, Vairg even steps in to push Eir into the wall with the rest of his body, the limb that fought to divide the two now pinned in between them.

“You want to run. You’re good at running, aren’t you?” Vairg’s face was now ilms from Eir’s, and his voice would have almost been soft if it wasn’t so full of malice. “Struggle!” Vairg’s word was a demand, letting his weight punctuate his word as he pushed himself against the smaller Viera, further. “Come on! Fight me for the freedom you so want to have! Where’s the fight in you, hm? COME ON!”

Varig’s impatience had begun to get the better of him, and it’s all Eir can do to close his eyes, swallow the lump in his throat, and pray for that which he’d desperately wished for. Fear held him from fighting back as he quivered in Vairg’s grasp, giving himself over to what little mercy the larger Viera likely had.

None, he’d quietly hoped, as he steels himself.

The sound that follows is not one Eir had expected. The sound of unsheathing metal, and for half a moment he’s finally able to breathe when the hand at his throat retreats, only to be met with the most unwelcome pain as something sharp pressed against the underside of his knee.

And it’s that which finally makes him scream.

“NO, NO! LET ME GO, PLEASE, PLEASE!” Eir begged, as whatever strength had left him soon returned in a desperate struggle. Vairg’s blade met his leg, and though it had barely broken skin, it was enough to make Eir squirm in his grasp in sheer terror at the prospect of what he’d suggested.

His legs. The only part of his body that had truly served him throughout these long cycles. Be it for dancing, be it for running for medicine and messages, it was his speed that allowed him any kind of freedom or purpose, any kind of escape from conflict.

The sound that leaves Vairg’s lips is more a pleased murmur than it is a protest. 

“Yes! Scream! Beg!” The blade is testingly pushed further, but not enough for any severe harm; enough to spill blood and little else. But it’s enough. It’s enough for Eir, who after enduring only half a night in captivity, finally crumbles.

“STOP, PLEASE STOP!” He sobs, as though it would do anything to make him retreat. “P-please... Let go...” Whatever brief fervour had overtaken Eir moments ago had quickly fled, replaced by defeat and grief. He gives Vairg the satisfaction of a lung-deep wail, as his comparitively tiny frame shook with terror, pinned against the wall.

But any satisfaction or entertainment Vairg finds is blessedly short lived. Clearly expecting more and failing to find it, an annoyed grunt is his response at the lack of retaliation, ramming his elbow deep into Eir’s ribs before simply letting him drop to the floor with a thud.

Eir either can’t or doesn’t catch himself, and seems content enough to stay there. Tears poured anew down his cheeks, sobbing limply into the stone, as the harsh metal of Vairg’s heel presses firmly into his wounded leg to keep him there.

“What a disappointment...” He growls, the irritance of it seeing him lean his full weight into the offending limb, leaning then to take the bloodied foot in hand, dragging him uncontested back into his cell. “Pathetic! Try harder next time!”

With that, Eir is unceremoniously dropped, any semblance of a fight gone out of him. He can only manage to weep, overcome by all he had endured in the last few bells. Vairg’s silhouette is all that can be seen in the light of the door as he retreats, and the larger man ensures Eir is watching him before he flashes the same smirk he greeted him with moments ago.

“I’ll be waiting.”

The door Eir had desperately kicked free is slowly closed upon Vairg’s departure, as he takes up the chair he’d previously sat on to bar the handle; a temporary measure to keep him captive as he disappeared down the corridor.

Vairg would return soon enough, but the chair wouldn’t have made a difference.

The door does not budge an ilm for the rest of the night.

Or the next.