#quite literally took my blood sweat and TEARS

[wexhappyxfew]

well…it’s happened. Landslide has OFFICIALLY been entirely written and i’ve never been more emotional by an ending than this. more to come in the coming weeks and a big thank you hopefully soon after :)

[multifandomwhore-003]

You're a bitch²

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female! reader

Summary: JJ Maybank can go fuck you. himself.

Genre(s): smut, a sprinkle of fluff at the end

Warnings: Explicit sex, rough sex, mentions of pain bein pleasurable, mentions of bruises, marks, hickeys, etc.

Taglist: @pankowfruitsnacks @youdontlikethatdoyoucupcake @fdl305 @rafecameronswhore @prettiestgirlontheblock @barbiekatz @gabiatthedisco @l-o-v-r-s @kaitieskidmore1 @llpovi @leahdhopkins4321 @cherriesforhim @jjmaybankslittleslut join here :)

A/N: I know this is suuuuper late but what can I say? I got randomly inspired

𓆉︎𝙹𝙹 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚁𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𓆉︎

Part one on the masterlist!

REQUESTS CLOSED

THIS IS NOT FREE USE, YOU CANNOT USE MY WORK

Reblog if you like

Something along the lines of a groan came out of his mouth and it hit you too quick and too hard what you were doing, betraying your brain, satisfying your heart, and feeding your skin, all at the same time. You grabbed onto his hair, you needed him, so much so that the contact was now desperate; you tugged on it with more strength that you planned, you despised him, so much so that it all became too rough.

You had to pull him away from you, "You're a fucking piece shit, Maybank," you let out with a faint voice crack, "You took me for a goddamn fool, I liked you, asshole, I really liked you,"

He grinned proudly, sore lips, flushed cheeks, "Make your mind, gorgeous, where do you want me buried? Six feet deep down the marsh, or inside you?" he trailed his fingers down to your belly.

"Fuck you," there was so much anger in your throat that you were close to spitting on him.

"Just because you asked so nicely," he responded with sarcasm before leaning in for another kiss.

Your arms reached his back, almost crawling at his fair skin, he moaned as he sat you so easily on top of the table, he lifted one of your legs pushing your upper body to be perfectly laid out just for him. He tried to recover his breath now being separated from your mouth only to latch himself onto your neck, he hooked the leg behind him leaving a red print only to quite literally rip apart the shirt that barely reached your hips; he began to move lower moving the fabric out of his way, you read it in his eyes, the pure cockiness coated with bliss when seeing your naked breasts, you then deciphered all the wheels turning in his mind, and yet, you still gasped with surprise when he bit your very sensitive nipples, —Payback— you thought, recalling the nail marks you had left behind.

"Fucking hell!" you yelped in pain nearly being capable of feeling the blood rise up.

He didn't cease, he wasn't willing to until he made sure the entire cut could see from miles away who you belonged to, even if it was for just one night. By the time he stopped, there was sweat spreading all over your forehead, and your eyes were on the edge of tearing up, but you never asked him to stop, you would never ask him to stop.

"'M sorry gorgeous, was that too much?" he taunted, licking his thumb to very poorly massage his doings, only leaving your tits wet at swollen.

He went back up, sweetly joining his lips to yours, but you were bitter about the bruises, about his being on top of you, about still being the very object of your arousal, about everything, so by the time he planned to part, you bit his bottom lip, and this time he actually let out a groan, feeling himself on the edge of bleeding.

"You're still pretty pissed aren't you?" he rubbed the hurt area, "Looks like I'm gonna have to fuck you dumb until you forget," and before you could come up with yet another gut-digging insult, your panties were somewhere on the floor along with his towel.

You gulped, bracing yourself for impact, but ended up frowning when it was his turn to grasp you by the hair, you were too horny and too lost to come up with another way to explain it, but you could feel his willingness to suck the soul out of your mouth, you felt used in a way, what purpose were you serving at that moment if not a pathetic, dripping, warm mouth for his use; it was painful, the way everything clashed and wrecked, ruining each other. He make his words come to fruition, burring himself in an instant, and such a move only brought out of you a moan so loud you could picture it bouncing in the water.

It was so excruciating, so delicious, so agonizing, and so fucking exquisite, what else would you expect out of him? With how much you tortured him by denying this very moment, he desired you so much he considered begging, but this was the better outcome of things.

There was no better way to process it, he was slamming you against the wood with such strength your whines were being covered by the creaking. You could tell your body rushed itself for release, binding the burning pain with the boiled pleasure, and remembering the adrenaline that dragged the possibility of being discovered. You tried, you really tried to put up a fight, holding back when he held himself by your hips, when he began to make unholy noises, and even when his chest could barely keep up with his breathing; he squeezed your collarbone to go impossibly deeper, and by time his tip was kissing your cervix, you very audibly came undone; he very messily continued just to last a few seconds later.

You still dared to prove him wrong, gathering all that was left of yourself to try and shape some semblance of a sentence, but you would only be lying to yourself if you say you could.

He noticed, shaking his head whilst chuckling, "There's nothing to be said gorgeous, you got me to fuck the brains out of ya', you won," he then kissed your temple.

[a-constant-gay-panic]

Hii! I love your work sm ong. I was wondering if you could do a richie tozier angst using prompts 7,9,12,15 from the angst/emotional section where they get into a fight or wtv and then the reader has like a near death experience from pennywise after? I feel like that would be nice bc I'm craving angst 😻

Last Fights

masterlist

pairing: richie tozier x gn!reader

summary: things between you and richie seem to be getting worse and you finally manage to confront him but it’s all in vain. none of it matters and it’s true what it said, you’ll float too. 

warnings: self-doubt, very angsty. that’s it. 

word count: 1.7k 

a/n: i am so sorry this took me so long but i was locked out of my account for a good while before i managed to get back in- this is rlly emotional and i'm kinda sorry… thats a lie. i'm in an angsty mood. hope you enjoy this anon :) 

not proofread in the slightest, beware grammatical mistakes

promts: angst 7. “wake up please!” 9. “no! don't you dare close your eyes!” 12. “is everything just a joke to you!?” 15. “you always do this!”

— — — — — X — — — — — 

your mind is filled with regret and fear as silent tears stream down your face, hair caking against your forehead which is damp with blood and sweat. you regret the way things between you and richie, your supposed boyfriend, were left. but the fear you felt? that had nothing to do with your fight with the glasses-wearing idiot. this wasn’t like any other fear you’ve felt before. this was a primal fear, as if every cell in your worn out body was begging you to run, get out of there no matter the cost. 

you couldn't. not only were you quite literally stuck where you were, a mountain of items separating you from the exit, but the sight of beverly’s floating body halts your flight reaction. you couldn't reach her, it was in your way. its orange eyes which stare through you as it approaches you slowly, mockingly. its mouth is upturned in a sick grin, rows of sharp teeth on display as it spews razor sharp words at you, each syllable coming from its mouth causing your body to grow weaker as you start to give up. 

“there’s no point. they’re not coming to find you.” it starts off, a bubbly laugh being pulled from its chest. “they’re only interested in bevvy which means we get to have so much fun together!” you shudder at the thought of its version of fun. “they’re better off without you, y/n. richie too.” 

your heart aches at the mention of him, a wave of self doubt crashing over you as you consider the possibility of your friends not needing you. “you’ll float too.” its words pull you from your inner debate and you flinch when you see its face right in front of yours, close enough to smell the rotten breath which escapes its mouth. you desperately try to move further away but your back hits a wall almost immediately. you have nowhere to run. 

you close your eyes and feel a gloved hand wrap around your throat, breath hitching as you await the pain, the darkness, anything. 

a loud scream echoes throughout the sewer and you could've sworn it sounded like bowers. whoever it was though, spared your life. its hand loosens as it turns to look into the one tunnel, obviously knowing more than you do in that moment. 

it whips its head around to grin at you, “guess our playtime will have to wait.” 

all of a sudden a wave of nausea oversomes you and you start to feel lightheaded, the fear you were feeling doubling as you lose control of your body. “sleep tight!” it laughs maniacally as your eyes droop shut and body drops to the floor, sewer water soaking the rest of you. 

the last thing you see is the huge figure of the clown looming over you, as you go over the argument you and richie had 2 days earlier. it was the last time you spoke to him and even now, on the verge of death, the only thought which floats in your mind is about him. 

‘i wonder how rich is doing…’ 

— — — 

you slam your front door shut and throw your bag onto the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the top as you grip the roots of your hair in frustration. a knock at the door makes you sigh out loud, already knowing who it is: richie tozier. you had left him at the arcade but he doesn't seem to understand the fact that you want nothing to do with him. 

with a major eye roll, you make your way to the front door, silently thanking whoever could hear you that your parents weren't home. 

“what is it, richie?” you ask as you're greeted with the annoyed and confused expression of derry’s very own trashmouth. “what the fuck was that?” he asks, pulling another eye roll from you. “you mean when you flirted with that chick right in front of me?” he frowns at your words, clearly not agreeing with your conclusion. “i wasn’t flirting. i was being polite.” he says matter of factly. 

“oh please,” you scoff, “richie tozier isn't polite.” he looks at you in silence for a good 5 seconds before responding drily, “i can be sometimes.” 

“so you only choose to be polite when a pretty girl comes up to you, is that it?” your blood starts to boil. “maybe. i’m polite to you, am i not, toots?” he smiles and you swear that you could punch him into next year. “is everything just a joke to you!?” you shout, finally having enough with this nonchalant attitude of his. 

he blinks, not expecting your outburst in the slightest. “why would this be a joke?” he asks dumbly. “you’re fucking kidding me, right?” you deadpan. “no.” is all he says and you laugh. “y’know, i always ignore the fact that you flirt with others, the idea that you’re looking for something in someone else but i can't anymore rich! i can't!” you pace slightly, richie still in the doorway as he watches you, tears slowly fogging your vision as you become angrier and angrier. 

“i’m done! done with your bullshit and with undermining myself and this relationship!” his eyes widen at those words, not expecting you to go this far. “hey, calm down alright? i’m sorry, it’s fine. i-” you cut him off and pull your arm away before he manages to get a grip on you. 

“no, it’s not ‘fine’, richie! you always do this, don't you see? i try to get over it, ignore the self-doubt, but i can't anymore! it hurts… you keep hurting me.” your voice gets softer towards the end and you blink away the tears which threaten to spill over. “i can’t do this anymore.” 

your gaze is downcast but if only you looked at him and saw the broken expression on his face, the tears which shine in his own eyes, size enhanced by his glasses. “so, what? this is it?” his voice cracks ever slightly at the end and your heart aches at the sound but you refuse to meet his eyes as you whisper, “yeah, maybe.” 

he stands in silence, not knowing what to say or how to reassure you that you’re the only one on his mind. the only one he’d ever consider being with, the one he wants to spend his whole life with. the only one in this world that he truly loves. he can’t form the word to tell you this, the only words which manage to leave his mouth are lousy and unimpactful, “i got to go. we can talk about this tomorrow.” 

and with that, he’s off. picking up his bike, he doesn't look back and quickly cycles off, heading straight for his house and he fails to see the heartbreak on your face, the way you crumble in a heap on the ground, hand covering your mouth as you cry. you cry harder than you ever have before. 

if only he knew that you wouldn't be able to talk about it the next day. maybe then he would've said what was on his mind, what he desperately wanted to tell you, things he may never get to tell you. 

— — — 

“-n!” your eyes flutter under your lids, slowly being dragged from the memory of that night. 

“y/n-” you manage to make out your name,  “-please!”, the voice is oddly familiar and it pushes you to try open your eyes. they’re heavy and strained but you need to see if it’s who you think, if it’s who you hope. 

“wake up, please!” your eyelids peek open slightly, taking a second to adjust to the newly found light. 

as you get accustomed to seeing things again, you feel your torso being squeezed, warmth and a familiar smell filling your senses. your eyes prickle with tears as you see the mop of messy curls, weak arms trying to wrap themselves around the boy in comfort. 

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles and you shake your head, causing him to lift his own from your neck. you look into richie’s eyes and you’re filled with regret, wanting to take back everything you said to him. “no,” your voice is hoarse and scratchy, “i’m sorry… i didn’t mean anything i said.” you admitted. 

he smiles sadly and you finally notice the wet lines running down his face. guess you weren’t the only emotional one right now. 

“you have nothing to apologise for. i was a dumbass.” he sniffs and you laugh lightly before coughing loudly, causing his eyes to widen as panic rises in his chest. “no you weren’t,” you manage to get out as your coughing calms down a little bit, “i was… i-” you cough again, face scrunching up in pain, your throat feeling as if you’ve swallowed glass shards and then some. 

you feel your eyes slowly start to close, exhaustion taking over. “no! don't you dare close your eyes! you hear me? don't leave me again, please!” he cries out, the rest of the losers quick;y making their way over to you, the sight of pennywise disappearing down the sewer fresh in their minds. 

 “keep them open!” he urges, more tears streaming down his flushed and dirty face. “i’m tired…” you slur, voice sleepy and mind foggy, finally feeling safe. “i’m fine, jus’ lemme… sleep…” you plead. 

richie shakes his head. “just wait, alright? hang in there!” 

you smile at him softly, hand slowly making its way to cup his cheek. “dumbass…” you start, eyes glazing over, “i love you…” you whisper, hand soon falling off his face as you finally give in to the exhaustion and darkness overcomes all your senses. 

you faintly hear richie cry in the background, the other losers calling your name in vain. you try fight, you wanted to fight for richie but 4 words put an end to your struggle. 4 words which you’ve always wanted to hear from him: 

“i love you too.” 

the words echo throughout your mind as you drift off into the dark abyss, a smile on your face as you take your last breath in the arms of the boy you fell in love with, the only one who’ll ever have your heart.

‘i may only see you in another life, rich, but i’ll love you in every one of them.’ 

you should be scared or anxious but you’re not. you feel content, safe, comforted… loved. 

— — — — — X — — — — — 

[anawrites3]

King Bruce having nightmares every single night after "giving up" his son - about horrible things his mind keeps telling him happen to him under Wilson's "care", about Dick calling him, begging and crying when he's being raped and abused by his new husband, about his head coming back to him in pretty box one day...

(How's he dealing with whole situation btw? Knowing Bruce he's grieving already...)

Before we'll get to the story I'd like to apologize for how long it took me to answer your ask, anon. I'm very very sorry and I feel so awful about it but life's been crazy lately and i barely had any time to write at all. I want you to know that the moment I got your ask I literally gasped and went to writing it right away, that's how much I loved your idea. But after I started it and outlined the story a bit, I went back to finish other stuff I was working on earlier, thinking "hey, I'll finish those quickly and then I'll get back to this to write it properly." Annddd of course that didn't happen as life went "lol, good joke" and then kicked me in the shin, throwing stuff on me, because it's a little shit like that.

Again, I'm very very sorry. Thank you for being patient with me while I sorted out my stuff - it's better now so you won't have to wait this long for answer again, I promise. And anon, I want you to know that I love and appreciate you and that I'm very thankful for your ask because your idea is great and writing it was a pleasure. Thank you. Feel free to send me another ask to yell at me for taking so long haha

And now - finally!! - the story;

/ / / / / / /

"N-no... no, please- please!"

Dick desperately tried to crawl away, as much as he could with all the injuries he already received. The blood continued to seep from his wounds, leaving a red trail behind him while he did what he could to get as far away as it was possible.

He didn't manage to get far.

A broken scream, as loud as his already damaged throat allowed, forced itself out from between Dick's lips as his hand was crushed under a heavy boot. The sound of crunching bones, breaking under the weight of it was sickeningly loud in his own ears.

"Where do you think you're going?" Slade Wilson asked calmly, almost as if they were talking about the weather over the dinner table. He put even more pressure down on Dick's shattered hand and Dick trashed, desperate to pull away. Slade didn't even budge. "We're not quite done yet, my prince."

"No please- please, no more!" Dick sobbed. He was no longer fully aware of the words that were spilling out of his mouth, he didn't care, he just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to get away, he wanted to go back home, to his brothers, to Bruce. "Please, stop it!"

"Hm, no, I don't think I will." Slade smiled like a wolf hungry for blood, but he finally took his foot of Dick's hand.

Dick immediately cradled it against his naked chest, instinctively trying to protect it from getting hurt any further but he knew it didn't matter much anyway. If Slade wanted to hurt that hand more, he would, regardless of what Dick did.

"But you can keep begging. Who knows, maybe I'll change my mind?"

Slade pressed his boot against Dick's shoulder to forcefully turn him onto his back and Dick just sobbed again.

"P-please! Anyone! H-help me, please, anyone!" he screamed.

Like every other time he tried this, no one answered. No one rushed to save him. But he had to keep trying, he couldn't give up his only chance. There was no way he would be able to win against Slade alone (he knows, he tried that already) but maybe some of Slade's knights - even one, just one of them would be enough - would take pity on him and help him get away.

"Shh. There's no need to yell, sweetheart, no one will come anyway." Slade hummed, crunching down by his side.

He caressed Dick's bruised cheek almost gently and wiped off his tears with a thumb before trailing his fingers higher, to burrow them into Dick's hair. They were wet and sticky with sweat and blood but Slade didn't seem to mind.

"Why would they?" he continued instead, arching Dick's neck to expose his throat more. "After all, you're spending a nice night with your husband right now. You wouldn't want anyone to interrupt us, hmm?"

"No no no-" Dick babbled. He tried to shake his head but Slade's fingers just tightened in his hair and he could just yelp at the painful tug.

Slade ignored him for the sake of pressing his lips against Dick’s neck. The kiss was gentle, with Slade's lips barely brushing against the skin and the deep bruises in the shape of fingers that bloomed there. Dick's breath heaved and he forced himself to keep breathing, to not choke on another sob that tried to escape him.

Even with the touch so gentle, it felt as if Slade's lips were burning him, painting his skin with their touch. Even when he pulled away a moment later, Dick still could feel them there, marking, branding him. New silent tears fell down his temples.

"Just look at you." Slade murmured. His hot breath caressed the sensitive skin of Dick’s throat, as he struggled to swallow. "Pretty little thing."

Slade’s teeth closed over the side of his neck and Dick screamed.

"Please, please! L-let me go!"

He managed to grab at Slade's nape and his nails dug into the skin there but it was as if the man didn't even feel it.

"Let you go?" Slade repeated with a mocking laugh. He pulled away to admire the mark he just left and fondly traced it with his thumb. "Now, that wouldn't be fun at all. Apart from that, where would you even go? Defiance is your home now, little prince. No no, I'd rather have you here with me."

When Slade jerked him higher, manhandling him any way he liked, Dick couldn't do anything but let it happen. He was forced into a not-quite-sitting but not-quite-lying position and his hand slipped on the wet floor a few times when he tried to support his weight and not strain his muscles any further. Slade hummed softly, satisfied.

Their lips crashed together in a bruising kiss Dick had no way of escaping. It was hungry, savage almost, with Slade taking everything he wanted from him and showing in yet another way how little power Dick held now. The meat he got to eat earlier that night, the wine Slade could still taste on his tongue, Dick got them only because Slade agreed to it. As the king's consort he was stripped of any privileges he had as Gotham's crown prince. Now he wasn't anything more than just a pretty thing perched on Slade's arm.

Slade's teeth tore into Dick's lower lip and he didn't even have the time to whine before blood flooded his mouth. Slade tilted his head to be more comfortable and licked between his lips to taste him better, not caring for the way Dick choked a little.

Dick wondered if spitting the blood on him would be worth it.

"I hate you, I hate you-"

"I don't care, boy." Slade laughed, pulling away. His teeth were red from Dick's blood. "Hate me all you want, wish me death, try to take my life. I'll win either way. You'll just make it more interesting for me."

He pushed Dick back almost carelessly and the young consort fell down, his back hitting the floor painfully with a thud. For a moment, Slade just looked at him - taking in the bare skin, every bruise and cut he made that night, admiring the work of his hands, teeth and knives. Hm. Perhaps he will use a whip next time.

In that time, Dick managed to get a few meters away but it really didn't matter much. Slade crossed the distance in a few lazy steps before he drapped himself over Dick, settling on his hips to hold him down again.

"And now," Slade purred out, leaning over him. He placed his hands on either side of Dick's head and Dick no longer could see anything else, not even the ceiling of the room. Only Slade, always only Slade. "we're getting to the fun part."

"N-no, please..." Dick sobbed again. He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn't have to look at how pleased Slade looked. At Slade's lips, stretched in a smirk still red with his blood, at that cold eye full of sick cruelty. "B-Bruce! Bruce, please please, help me!"

"Calling your daddy now?" Slade laughed. "He won't save you either, boy."

"N-no, he will!" Dick argued, almost hysterically. "He'll help me, he won't let you-!"

"Oh, but you're forgetting about one little thing." Slade drawled, as his fingers closed over Dick's chin hard enough to bruise, to force him to look in that cold eye. Slade waited for him to open his eyes before continuing, "I own you now, little prince. Your father was the one to sell you out. And now you belong to me..."

"Dick!"

Bruce woke up with a gasp, sitting up so abruptly that he almost fell off the bed. It took him a moment to realize that he was the one screaming and then a few more to fight off nausea. Oh Gods. Oh Gods, it was a dream, just a dream... was it really only a dream?

"Your Majesty?"

Bruce looked up. The doors to his chambers were wide open, knights guarding them were inside and looking over the whole room and its balcony, while the kerosene lamp illuminated them all.

"Your Majesty, are you alright? We heard you scream."

Bruce could just nod in answer. His hands were shaking so much that even clenching them into fists didn't stop the trembling.

He stood up from the bed quickly and stumbled across the chambers to get to the doors. His knights - who already made sure that their king wasn't in any danger and that no one broke into his chambers - observed him with concern. Bruce didn't pay them the slightest of his attention. He needed... he needed to-

"No, please- please!"

He felt as if he was drunk, stumbling and bumping into everything on his way but he didn't care. The bruise on his hip from hitting into a wall will heal. The knights he pushed out of his way will be okay. He didn't give a shit about any of it.

"Something's wrong. Quickly, go get sir Alfred!"

"And what about lord Kent?"

"There's no time, go already!"

Bruce stopped before Jason's chambers, swaying on his feet. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to yell, cry, slam his fists into the stone wall until his hands were broken but he needed to know that Jason was safe first. It was his fault, all his fault that Dick had to leave and marry that monster. He already lost one child, sold him out, he couldn't bear to lose another one.

"Get out of my way." He ordered the knights guarding his son's room. They eyed him, concerned for his almost delirious state and didn't step aside to let him pass. "I said, move!"

He pushed them away, reaching for the handle. His elbow throbbed from the force with which he hit the knight to move him away but he didn't care, he didn't give a shit right now, the knight had an armor on, Bruce is paying him anyway-

Empty.

Jason's bed was empty.

Bruce rushed deeper inside the chamber. The bed, the bed was empty, as well as the armchair Jason liked to read in, the sofas, the balcony, the ensuite bathroom, it was empty, it was all empty, he wasn't here-

"Where's my son?!" Bruce yelled. The walls seemed to shake from the volume of his voice, or maybe it was because of his rage, of his despair?

Knights didn't answer him fast enough and so he ran out of the chambers and down the hall. His legs didn't want to work properly, he was shaking so much that he wasn't entirely sure which way was forward. He didn't even notice when tears began to blur everything around and oh, maybe that's why he was choking.

"Jason!" he screamed, completely hysterical. He moved around the knights that tried to stop him. "Jason!!"

Someone grabbed him from behind and Bruce didn't think before whirling around and punching them straight in the face. He won't let anyone stop him, he has to find Jason, make sure he is safe.

"Master Bruce, stop right now!" Bruce recognized Alfred's voice but he didn't listen.

He just kept running, opening random doors and yelling for his son. Because Jason had to be there, somewhere, he didn't just disappear. There were so many people in the castle, the knights, servants and maids that were still finishing their duties or simply making sure that the fire in their chambers was still burning. Someone would see if Jason left, or if-

If someone took him away.

Bruce's legs buckled under him and he distantly felt the dull pain in his knees where they hit the floor. Everything, everyone around him seemed to stop as well, now that he wasn't running around anymore and they didn't have to chase him.

"Master Bruce." Alfred breathed out softly, kneeling down beside him. His arms wrapped around Bruce and he let himself be held for a moment, just crying quietly.

"Alfred..." he sobbed. There were people around them but he didn't care if they saw him break down. He was paying them to keep quiet of the things that happened in his home. He can always throw them in a cell too. "Alfred, Jason's gone, I can't find him anywhere. I failed Dick, I sold him out to that monster and now... now Jason too is-"

"Bruce! Bruce, what happened?!"

Bruce looked up just in time to see Jason push through the knights surrounding them. His hair was tousled as if he just woke up but he was still wearing his daily clothing and not sleepwear.

Jason basically ran to him, face twisted with worry. He let Bruce embrace him, despite being a maturing teenager and those never wanted to hug their fathers (except for Dick, Dick loved hugs, he loved all the contact he could get-) and buried his face in Bruce's collarbone.

"Jason, oh Gods, Jason-" Bruce babbled, hiding his face in his son's curly hair.

He couldn't get rid of the image from the nightmare from his head, he could still vividly see Wilson's smirking face, dirty with Dick's blood and so full of sadistic pleasure.

Bruce, please please, help me!

"I'm here, dad." Jason said, his voice quiet but firm and Bruce could breathe again, however shaky his breath was. "'m here and I'm alright. Everything's alright."

No, it's not, Bruce wanted to scream but couldn't push the words past his lips, Dick is still with that awful man, helpless and so far away from home.

Alfred rubbed his warm hand between Bruce's shoulder blades and Bruce trembled, holding Jason even tighter. It had to be at least a little bit uncomfortable but Jason didn't say a word about it.

"Let's get you both to bed now." Alfred suggested in a warm voice. "It's the middle of the night and a lot has happened in this short time. I bet you are quite tired, my king."

Bruce let them help him to his feet and led back to his chambers but he still didn't let go of Jason. For once, Jason wasn't opposed to it at all, keeping close and making sure that they were pressed together so Bruce could feel him and know he was there. And Bruce wanted to start crying again because the action was so Dick that it physically hurt his chest. The way Dick always cared for them all and how he always made sure that they got enough of hugs and human contact, how he teached their siblings about how important it was to get at least one hug a day.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice when they entered his chambers and the doors closed behind them, separating him, Jason and Alfred from the rest of the castle. Jason sat down on the bed's edge with him and he rested his head on his son's shoulder. Suddenly, he felt so damn drained.

"Jason?"

"I'm still here." Jason immediately answered, squeezing his hand.

Bruce breathed out slowly, "I'm... I'm sorry for- for this. I didn't want to worry you."

Alfred didn't argue that it wasn't his fault, no matter how much he wanted to. They all knew that Bruce wouldn't agree with him and they'd just start arguing about silly things, while there were more important matters at hand, such as making sure that Bruce was well.

"It's alright." he said instead, handing the man a glass of water.

Bruce took it gratefully, finally feeling how sore his throat was from all the screaming and crying. He felt much better just after a few sips.

"What happened?" Jason prompted after a few minutes of silence. When Alfred didn't scold him for it, he continued. "I heard you screaming and came as fast as I could but..."

"I behaved like a child." Bruce sighed. The glass shook slightly in his grip. "I... I had a nightmare and- wanted to, no, I needed to know that you're safe and uninjured, Jaylad. When I went into your chambers and saw that you weren't there... I'm sorry. You shouldn't see me in a state like that. I shouldn't let all of the stuff see me like that."

"Oh come on, Bruce, it's not your fault!" Jason scoffed, pressing even closer to him. "Even if you're a king you're still only a human, just like we all are. That had to be one hell of a nightmare to scare you like this."

Alfred frowned at the words and he parted his lips to scold Jason for cursing but before he could, Bruce nodded, "Yeah... it was."

"...What was it about?"

"Master Jason!"

"What?! I'm just curious!"

Bruce shook his head but a small smile finally tugged at his lips.

"Not important right now." he breathed. It really wasn't. It was... it was just a dream. None of this was real. "I'd rather know what you were up to that late in the night, Jay."

A blush climbed onto Jason's cheeks and he turned away, as if that would make Bruce unable to see the way the tips of his ears turned red as well.

"I went to read in the library." came the shy, mumbled answer. "And then fell asleep there, in the window nook."

Alfred murmured something about reading in the lamp's light and bad eyesight. Bruce didn't really understand much of it because he was too busy laughing. He actually felt a little bit sick from it again but he couldn't help himself. The library. Of course.

"How did I not think of that?" he chuckled. "Of course you were in the library, Jaylad. Did you find anything interesting?"

Jason shrugged but he was nodding at the same time. "I did, actually. Why else would I stay up?"

"We both know that it's not a real issue for you, Master Jason." Alfred sighed. "You could always be reading one of your favorite titles again."

"Maybe but not this time, Alfie! Bruce got us new books from Defiance writers and I was looking through them all evening."

Bruce's smile faded a bit at the mention of Wilson's country but he quickly pushed the thoughts about him away. There was nothing he could do about it now anyway.

"Anything interesting?" he asked and Jason perked up, as he always did when he got to talk about his books.

"Yeah, the one I'm reading right now is actually pretty cool! The story takes place several centuries ago so I get to know about Defiance's history and its customs and- um. Maybe it's a little late to tell you all about it." he cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his head in a nervous habit both Bruce and Alfred tried to teach him out of. It only made his bed hair even more messy.

"That's alright." Bruce hummed, placing a kiss on his son's forehead. "How about you tell me all about it in the morning instead?"

Jason didn't beam at his words - not like Dick would - but it was a close thing. He pulled Bruce into one last hug before standing up. "Alright. That sounds good. I'm... I'll be in my room this time, if you need me."

Bruce smiled fondly.

"Thank you, Jaylad. But hopefully I won't and we'll get to sleep through the rest of the night without any further troubles."

Jason bid both him and Alfred goodnights with a smile before walking out of the chamber. Bruce waited a few more moments, to make sure he was far enough, before he turned to face Alfred properly. Alfred was already standing by his side, waiting.

"We are leaving for Defiance first thing after the breakfast." he ordered, not even a trace of his smile left. "Please make sure that everything will be ready by then."

"Very well, Your Majesty. Shall I inform lord Kent about the journey?"

Bruce shook his head, eyes hardening. "No. I don't need Clark's help to kill that bastard if I see even a scratch on my son."

Masterlist of the au

[equarretedddd]

my headcanons and ideas regarding the backstory and the families of Abigail, Charles and Dick’s work trio (ive been thinking about this idea since 2021 andd now i want to complete it to the end lmao)

-

ABIGAIL

i see her childhood as rather unremarkable and ordinary.

she could live in some farm or country surrounded by warm wind and fields of wheat ears. she had a full family of father, mother and several siblings (presumably brothers). i assume that Abi noticeably lacked female maternal care and warmth, because her mother, although she could be quite caring and loving, was chained by some complex chronic disease that took a lot of time and effort. Abigail could often be surrounded by a male family side in the form of a father and brothers who could make fun of her sometimes, but nevertheless be an important part of her life (they would stand up for her and she would stand up for them too). her father could be quite a serious and strict person (maybe hes a cop i havent decided yet!), but Abi had a support and a role model, whom she could rely on and from whom she could feel moral support and understanding.

i see Abi’s rise up the career ladder as quite gradual and smooth. from an amateur family interest in music, she began to be interested in this on a more conscious level, that is, studying at the conservatory, time-consuming work and possibly establishing partnerships with other people.

-

2. DICK

i see his childhood as quite poor and not particularly enviable, maybe he was from an immigrant family where there was barely enough to pay the bills.

however, he was a pretty capable kid who was open to develop! he was quite willing to reach for knowledge and skills, tried to be interested in many things and dreamed of becoming successful, i actively see him as a geek and a technician! but perhaps, he was not particularly supported and helped in this, he had to resort to various kinds of offenses, he could just get used to it and consider it the only working way out (this does not justify him ikr hahaha).

nevertheless, he was insanely oppressed by his social status, he felt like an unaccepted and rejected outcast who would be shunned all his life. i guess thats how he got close to a successful career, getting involved with crime and mistreatment of people, because it WORKED. he looks like a man who seems to be boasted of his success, like "look at me im rich and i have achieved everything i wear in vulgar glamour clothes and hang out with hot girls and rich guys", but in fact he just went head over heels from the inability to cope with everything piled on him and the the cult of success and achievement gradually deprived him of humanity.

-

3. CHARLES

btw i really like the theory that he is somehow related to Salacia, i hope that something will be told about it! but i will try to push off from something else.

Charles himself looks like a person who… had been ready ALL his life for his purpose and responsibilities to be responsible for other people's lives (it concerns not only Dethklok because he literally holds the global economy and is responsible for almost half of the things that are related to the world situation). i see him as the son of a wealthy family with a very large family tree (cmon he fenced in college). he probably did a lot of things in his childhood that related to weapon control, self-defense and protection (this is even if we dont talk abt legal, economic, managerial, social and other shit that he had to deal with).

i literally see him as an indigo child who obviously always knew what he needed to do and he aspired to it through blood, tears and sweat. probably, he did not see any other way out and did not imagine what could be an alternative to this, although perhaps he was faced with a strong identity crisis when he did not understand why he was doing all this and whether this was really the essence of his existence, bcs, probably, others actively pushed participated in Charles' achievements and prospects. in general it was as if his entire subsequent life was built for him from the very beginning.

[scavengerssuccotash]

Hi! I love your clintasha stuff so much.

Do you have any headcanons for clintasha angst?! I’ve always imagined that with their age gap, nat’s closeness to Steve (in the MCU anyway), Clint’s insecurities and hidden anger streak (as seen in Endgame with Ronin), and the fact that they both have quite dominant personalities, conditions can sometimes be ripe for an argument.

And when they do fight, they fight! Like all the avengers/SHIELD are on edge for days because of the tension. And eventually one of them just gets so upset not having the other there that they will work up the courage to apologize.

Aww! Why thank you so much I’m glad you’re enjoying them!

I picture the fights between Clint and Nat to be a micro equivalent of the Cold War. Well, unlike the Cold War it does get hot! (Pun intended!) Picture the Cuban Missile crisis but make it between two very dominate and very opinionated and highly skilled individuals whose combined capabilities could level any building with a three block radius.

That my friend is what happens when Clint and Nat trade blows. Fortunately for New York and Avengers Tower they’ve managed to reserve their anger to sharp-tongued barbs and egg-shell tense silence. At least while in front of the team…until one or the other cracks and a dish gets thrown.

(Clint threw a coffee cup and missed Natasha obviously, Natasha predictably got offended that he missed on purpose. Steve had to cut in between them, which only redirected their anger onto him much to his supreme confusion.

“Oh wow look at Cap really putting your namesake to use huh? Do you have a list of thirteen points?!”

“Kindly fuck off old man, not every fight needs your fucking help!”

Clint and Nat promptly shared a look. Twenty minutes later everyone heard the ‘kiss and make-up’)

Clint definitely has an anger streak roughly six miles long but he hides it very very well. It took Phil a lot of blood (literally), sweat, and tears to help Clint get a handle on his shit when he first joined SHIELD. While his anger bursts are few and far in between, when they do explode out of him he has at least learned to redirect that anger onto his physical surroundings and be mindful that maybe punching a concrete wall wouldn’t do his shooting hand well. One of the first things Natasha ever gave him was a tennis ball. She picked it up on a whim during a mission because Clint was annoyingly restless, and figuratively bouncing off the walls with energy that he needed to expend but couldn’t because the mission was geared towards her skill set rather than his. He still has it to this day and whenever he feels the tell-tell hotness burning up his spine that comes with a burst of anger he’ll take out the tennis ball and start ricocheting it off the walls. (It drives Tony absolutely fucking nuts.)

Natasha’s anger is far more…precise. Like a surgeon’s scalpel compared to the mini nuke that is Clint’s. She specializes in using silence, passive aggression and careful word choice to express her anger, which inevitably triggers Clint’s mouth because he hates getting ignored. Especially by her. If by the fourth day neither of them crack Clint will start the truce with her favorite meal, a hot drawn bath and a list of apologies. Afterwards they’ll talk it out, between rounds of sex. (Clint’s of the mind that Natasha will just start some if the fights for the make up sex. Natasha only confirms this much later when physically backed into a corner. He really can’t blame her, he’s done it at least once or twice.)

Natasha’s apologies require a lot less forethought. Clint drops whatever argument they’re having at the sight of her bare breasts, along with his pants. This neat trick lasted for ohh about the second big blow out, when Clint afterwards rolled over and demanded that if she was gonna just fuck their problems away they might as well call it quits. “Don’t get me wrong you’ve got great tits and the sex is mind blowing but if great tits and mind blowing sex is all it takes we’ve got bigger problems, Tasha.” In the end they keep the sex, but Natasha makes an effort to truly truly talk it all out, which in returns Clint rewards. Quite enthusiastically.

For the more minor spats, they save those for the training mats, trading punches and ass pinches. By the time that’s all done they’re lying on their backs sweating through their clothes and laughing. They might be dating, but ultimately they’re competitive best friends through and through.

[kinfanfiction]

Bernard x Elf!Reader - Chapter 5 - Pulling Heartstrings

A/N: Tfw elves just being able to build absolutely anything amirite?

Literally came up with the title because of the guitar.

I am literally just biding my time until I can finally write the chapter I’m planning to post the day before Xmas Eve.

Have this chapter really early in the day instead of really late!

Happy Winter Solstice everyone!

     After a restful night, you woke up early and got up to check your calendar. It was December 21st, and there was 4 days until Christmas, and 3 days to every elf’s deadline for every toy and stocking stuffer. You were up to date so far on toy making, so you headed to work stress-free. Bernard was having a similar experience, though it didn’t make him feel relaxed, it made him feel uneasy. He felt like he should be doing more, but everything he’d usually be working on this time of year was already done. He attempted to shake his unease by crafting the chain for your necklace in his office. You, however, still had a steady amount of your usual work to take care of. Candy and toys still needed to be made, and you were up for it. 

     Curtis didn’t see the usually ever-present head elf around the workshop, so once again he went around making sure all the elves were following the rules. You found this to be incredibly annoying, so you took the guitar you were building and looked for a place to hide with it so you didn’t have to deal with him. Unfortunately, finding a place to hide was more difficult than you’d imagined. The workshop was so painfully open that there were no rooms you could conceal yourself in. There was only Mr. and Mrs. Claus room and.. Bernard’s office. The second you thought of his office, you wondered if it was possible that he’d let you stay there until you were done with the guitar, because it was an incredibly precarious thing to make. Not only did you have to perfect the instrument’s structure, you also had to ensure it sounded nothing short of magical. With Curtis constantly over your shoulder, you couldn’t possibly finish it as efficiently as you’d like to.

      You walked up to Bernard’s workplace with your materials and the the neck of the guitar and knocked quietly on his office door. He recognized the rhythm of your knock immediately, and quickly tucked the unfinished chain in his hands away in the top drawer of his desk. He got up and opened the door to see you nervously standing before him, hoping Curtis hadn’t noticed you go up there. “Everything alright?” He asked, curious as to why you had come to find him in his office so early in the day.

     “Oh yeah, of course! It’s just Curtis again, he won’t stop bugging everyone, so I hoped I could disappear up here to finish building this guitar.” You showcased your guitar pieces as you spoke. He rolled his eyes upon hearing Curtis’ name. He walked past you, and to the railing from which he could see the entire lower floor of the workshop. You hadn't even gotten the chance to hide yourself in his office before Bernard began shouting across the building. 

     “Curtis! Quit harassing the other elves and get to work!” He bellowed in the direction of the elf, spotting him amongst the crowd. Curtis slammed the rulebook in his hands shut and glared at you before storming off. You knew he was just going to use his fancy toy copying machine instead of hand crafting anything like the other elves. Being as old as Bernard, you preferred projects that took blood, sweat, and tears as opposed to the push of a button. The finished product was always more satisfying that way. After Curtis left, Bernard turned around to look at you with a satisfied grin. He loved that he could get Curtis to go away so easily. “You’re always welcome to work in my office, but at least now you have options.” 

     You would’ve covered your face to hide your embarrassed expression if your hands weren’t already full of guitar parts. “If Curtis didn’t despise me before, he definitely does now.” You said in a defeated tone, shaking your head.

     “Hey, at least we face his hatred together.” Bernard and Curtis had always been at odds with each other, and he didn’t understand why you cared if he disliked you.

     “He’ll probably target me even more now.” You explained. You didn’t care about being liked, you just wanted to be left alone.

     “If he does, I’m putting him on reindeer dropping duty.” Bernard assured you. “Don’t stress over him, alright?”

     “Alright.. thank you.” You spoke softly, letting out a light chuckle that rested into a smile of relief. “Well, now I think I should let you return to your work, and now that I can I’ll return to work downstairs.” You decided. Bernard’s heart dropped a little, but you both understood that his office wasn’t the ideal guitar building space, and would only make sense if you didn’t have anywhere else to go.

     “Good luck, I’d love to hear how it sounds when you’re finished.” He said with a smile, and then you both separated ways. He sat back down at his desk and continued welding your necklace chain. You went back downstairs and continued building the guitar with some help from other elves. Within a few hours, you had crafted a perfect Martin guitar. You proudly brought it up to Bernard’s office and knocked on his door once more. “Come in!” He shouted out to you just as he had earlier. Having finished your necklace chain, now all he had left to think about was what he would write in his confession card that he’d give to you along with your gift. He wanted every word to perfectly convey his feelings, and unfortunately there were no words for the exact way he felt about you. He hoped that you liked whatever he ended up writing, but he couldn’t think too hard about that this instant. He quickly put his project away as you opened the door.

     You came in carrying the guitar, and you sat down in front of him with a wide smile spread across your face. “It’s done, you wanna hear it?” You said biting your bottom lip, unable to contain your excitement. 

      “Of course! Play away!” He encouraged, glad to see such a bright smile on your face. You played a simple tune, but you felt it was indeed magical, and telling by the look on his face, you could tell Bernard was impressed. 

     “I love making instruments every Christmas, it’s so rewarding.” You spoke, still beaming. 

     “You never fail to amaze me.”

     “Thank you, thank you.” You spoke bashfully before changing the subject. “Well, now that you’ve heard it, I’m going to wrap it so it can go with all the other presents. Then, maybe we can bake some cookies at my house?” You suggested, and of course Bernard nodded.

     “As is tradition.” He grinned.

     You went downstairs, Bernard behind you. You put the guitar in its case, and then you carefully wrapped the gift before placing it carefully with the others. Bernard liked how focused you looked whenever you worked, you always zoned into your project like nothing else besides it existed. For a second he thought he remembered you looking at him that way the other day when you’d complimented his eyes. However, he didn’t consider the idea for too long, and cast it away, figuring he was just being delusional. 

     You walked back to your house and invited Bernard in. You grabbed two aprons and handed him one, and tied the other around your neck and waist. “Is this really necessary? We’re making cookies, not Christmas dinner.” Bernard joked, which made you smile a little as you rolled your eyes at his comment.

     “Just put the apron on.”

     With that, he gave no further argument and did as you asked. He never tried arguing with you for long, because he always went in knowing he’s lose. You put all the dry ingredients together, and he put together the wet ingredients, and then you combined them. He thought about how he wished to hold you as you whisked the ingredients together, but he shook the thought away as quickly as it entered his mind. You were making chocolate chip cookies, because the classics were always appreciated. You added extra chocolate chips as is absolutely mandatory in your mind. You got out a cookie sheet and the two of you got to rolling the cookie dough and setting them on the pan. Together, you made a batch of 8 cookies. You definitely wouldn’t finish them all tonight unless you planned on sinking into a sugar coma. 

     You made hot cocoa again, because you can't have cookies without cocoa, that was an unspoken rule in the North Pole. As you waited for the cookies to bake, the two of you sat by the fire with cocoa once again. “So, what’ve you been up to up in that office of yours all day?” You questioned, which made Bernard’s eyes widen. 

     “Oh.. you know, just whatever projects I could find. There’s not a lot for me to do now that all my paperwork is done. Thank you for that, by the way, your help really took a lot of stress off my shoulders. Unfortunately, now I’m having trouble knowing what I can busy myself with.” 

     “You forget your origins, Bernard. Now that you don’t have much to do as a head elf, you can circle back to basics and help make toys and candy in the workshop.” You suggested. “It’s be nice to have your help.” 

     “That sounds like a good idea. Santa suggested something like that, but he made it sound more like a job of overseeing the workshop rather than helping out. Do you think the other elves would find it weird if I did?” 

     “Why would they find it weird?”

     “I don’t know, I guess just cause they see me as their boss and not a co-worker.”

     “I think you overthink too much. It’ll be fun, the other elves will be fine, you’ll have something to get your hands on, and you won’t feel so restless anymore.”

     “You make a good case, I think I will join in on the fun.”

     “Good.” You said with a smile.

     Once the cookies were done, you both took two and sat down. 

     “This is nice.” You stated softly.

     “Being with you is always nice.”     

[hermitcraft-8]

im sorry for your sorrows: a brontel story

i wrote this literally months ago and only just found it. yippee.

Of course he had, the way he’d been living up until now, he had more than enough of his fair share of beautiful sights. It’s not like his life had been devoid of beauty.

Brontel had seen beauty before.

But this… this was different.

This was Beautiful in a way that truly nothing else had even come close to, in a way he could never dream of describing.

And in the middle of it, sat the most Beautiful face he’d ever seen.

Onim stood to greet him, that familiar scowl lifting into an almost smile. His flute hung at his belt, his wrists glittered in jewels, his hair was braided with beads and fine chains. He looked like a prince, like how he had always deserved to look.

“I did it,” Brontel realized, looking around the Beauty. “I found True Beauty.”

“You did,” Onim said, smiling. “You found it.”

“And… and you’re here too.”

“Of course I am,” Onim laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“How… so I was right? You admit I was right, Beauty is out there?”

“Of course you were right,” Onim smiled, holding out his arms. “My love, I never doubted you, not for a breath.”

“Gods,” Brontel exhaled, pressing his hand against his forehead. “This is really happening.”

“It is.”

“I- oh, gods, I have to tell the others-” Brontel took a step back. “Maya, and Tearn, and Sunny… where are they?”

“They’re not here,” Onim said, finally lowering his arms. “They’re not beautiful.”

Brontel balked at that. “What?”

“Oh, please, dear, you know as well as I that they don’t belong here. Some dirty tiefling, and a coward, and a homeless elf?” Onim laughed. “This place is for beauty. And they are not beautiful.”

Brontel blinked, before shaking his head. “No, but… no. I’ll bring them here, and then they’ll be beautiful too. They will be.”

“Don’t leave me,” Onim said, quietly. “Not again.”

“I have to-”

“If you leave me, you won’t be beautiful anymore.”

Brontel stared at him. “I don’t- what?”

“If you leave, that makes you a coward. That makes you a traitor, and a cheater.”

“I’m not cheating-”

“How do I know that?”

“Do you not trust me?”

“How can I,” Onim said. “When you’ve proven time and time again you can’t be trusted?”

Brontel blinked at him. His vision was going red, the Beauty around them disappearing. With a gasp, he suddenly realized that blood was getting in his eyes. Those awful scars across face were bleeding, and stinging like they were new. He shrieked, covering up the scratches with his sleeve.

Onim just stared at him.

Suddenly the scratches began to appear everywhere, running down his arms, ripping through his blouse, running down his legs. He yelled in pain, stumbling back, but he ran into something hard and heavy. He spun, still trying to cover his face, and Maya stared down at him.

She was covered in blood, her hands shaking, her hair plastered to her face. There was dirt caked on every inch of her skin. She stood over a grave, where a mass of faceless bodies lay huddled.

“Brontel?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”

He screamed again, backing away, and right as she moved to step forward, a burning tree came crashing down on her.

He ran away, as fast as he could.

The Beauty was gone now, replaced by twisting shapes and figures. His feet pounded the ground, his eyes blinded by tears, sweat and blood. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

He

Sunny was crouched over Flain’s unmoving body as roots took hold of the man’s body and began to drag it down into the ground. The tiefling didn’t look up, even as Brontel slowly moved closer.

And then it was all gone.

Tearn stood in front of Brontel, wearing his altered dress, his hair up, his jewelry on. He was smiling.

“Tearn?”

“Brontel,” She said. “What-?”

Blood spurted from her neck, as she collapsed. Finley stood behind her, claws out, hackles raised. His rich clothes were torn and stained, his ear tattered. He spat, stalking forward, and Brontel took a hasty step back, but his feet didn’t move quite right and he fell.

The tabaxi surged forward, grabbing Brontel by the collar.

“You piece of SHIT,” He roared. “What did you do?!”

“I don’t know-” Brontel pleaded. “Stop, I don’t- I don’t know-”

“You killed them,” Finley snarled. “You killed all of them-”

“No- no- you did,” Brontel said, a sudden burst of confidence welling inside of him. “You killed them- I saw you kill Tearn.”

“Did I?”

“Yes-”

“Her blood is on your hands, though.”

Brontel looked down, but it was impossible to tell what blood came from his own face, and what wasn’t his own.

“Brontel?”

He looked back up.

He was sitting beside a river.

A bit downstream, a small party- an orc, a satyr, a tiefling and a human- were arguing passionately.

But before him sat a familiar figure.

“Gortimer?” He asked, before sobbing in shock. “Gortie, hi, how are you?”

“I’m good,” His cousin smiled, showing her tusks. “You looked like you were having a pretty rough time there, want to talk about it?”

"No, I don’t-” Brontel looked around. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Uh huh, I get it,” She nodded. “I just wanted to let you know it wasn’t your fault.”

“It… what wasn’t?”

“What happened to us.”

"What do you mean?" He asked, his heart plunging. "What-"

Her eyes returned to the small party, and he followed her gaze. They all lay on the ground, motionless.

"You left us," Gortie said, and when he turned back to her, blood was running down her chin. "You ran away, like a coward, and left us."

And then her head came off.

And then he opened his eyes.

The sun shone through his room’s window, the gauzy white curtains fluttering in the breeze oh so gently. He blinked.

Ah.

Another dream he didn’t remember.

He grunted, rubbing his eyes, trying to clear the gunk out, sitting up. His head swum for a second, but he blinked until it faded, before slinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched his arms over his head, thinking back to the night before. He was almost certainly the only party member to not be hung over, he thought bitterly, except, maybe, for Maya. Ah well.

He stood up, slipping his blouse over his head, and turning to look in the mirror. The scratches across his face made him hesitate for a second, but he pushed his shoulders back and gave himself a smile, and just like that, whatever doubts or fears may have been creeping up on him vanished.

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Winter Solstice Writing Event!

Thank you @cuckoo-on-a-string for making this event and letting me take part this year!

Okay, so I've written a small, albeit slightly confusing, short from my original work! It's quite a personal piece, I'm basically using a self-insert here lol to somehow write away my stress as a med student- as well as toying with a new character concept.

For context, the short is set after a disaster involving Cain and a group of women who have been instructed by Satan to destroy Cain. However, one of these women ended up betraying the group, allowing Cain to massacre them, as she couldn't bring herself to kill her own son (I'm sure you can guess who this woman is now lol).

Excuse the grammar mishaps and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of struggling mental health and violence.

“So, how have you been settling in?”

Ah, she had spoken the sacred words and now Nasrin had to make the difficult decision of whether it was appropriate to answer honestly, precisely measure the exact extent of honesty or just simply lie.

They sat opposite each other, like opponents in a heated game of chess. Except, instead of ornate pieces on a very posh chequered board, between Nasrin and her tutor was a desk with two steaming cups of tea and a small plate of biscuits, delicately placed in an appealing pile, calling out for the girl to grab them by the fistful and shove them down her mouth. She was actually starving, having skipped breakfast to make it to this meeting. Nasrin had banked on her internal clock waking her up in time once she switched her alarm off, except that hadn’t happened and the poor girl had woken up with only ten minutes to get out the door and to her module review.

“Good!” She smiled, crossing one leg over the other. “Yeah, good. Been settling in well.”

“That’s great to hear. I know it can be difficult and a big change. I’m assuming you came straight from secondary school, right? No gap year?”

She nodded.

“How have you been handling the workload?”

“It’s a lot but I’m coping.”

“Yeah. It’s a big jump, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” she replied, her cheeks growing tired from keeping that polite smile on her face.

Nasrin could feel something rising in her. This year had been rough. Absolutely rough. What was supposed to be a fresh start, had began with tears, trauma and madness. Her blank slate had been tainted… with the literal Mark of Cain.

The girl couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was in danger. It had finished. The Incident. And yet, Nasrin felt she was still somehow there. She had moved to a different universe, to a different part of the country, to the university of her dreams, doing a degree she had wanted to do for years, and still, she was back there.

Dried blood had made her clothes stiff. Her muscles had burned, aching, screaming for her to just give up. She had been on the ground, helpless, cut down by his men. As she looked up, through the eyeholes of her mask, a layer of sweat building on her face, Nasrin watched as he took one of the others by her hair, dragging her across the floor. The amber glow of dying fires surrounded them, along with screams. The rolling flames were reflected in her glossy eyes, adrenaline soaring through her, but doing little, apart from making her pulse pound in her ears.

He was there mere metres from her, open, no guards around him, dragging Nasrin’s comrade like she was naught but a heavy sack. He had a limp thanks to that huge gash in his thigh, a gift from Nasrin herself, when she had managed to get close enough.

Cain.

There had been a plan. A nice, simple plan. Everything had been accounted for: all possibilities apart from betrayal. The one who they had all looked up to couldn’t bring herself to do what needed to be done.

Nasrin remembered it all too well. The hole. The tear in space-time. Someone giving word to Cain and his men. The perfect window for revenge.

What should have been ‘detain and defeat’ became a fight for their lives.

Pick it up!

“What?” she had whispered.

Pick it up!

A disembodied voice growled in her head.

The sword! The sword is there! Pick it up!

Pick it up!

Pick it up!

Pick it up!

It demanded with heavy disdain for her. She was pathetic, writhing in her own blood, like a maggot in filth. Helpless. Weak. Beaten.

You’re supposed to be strong! You’re supposed to cope! Pick. It. Up.

She had pushed herself off the ground with all the strength she had. Then, she crawled forward, feeling around for whatever weapon that voice was hinting at. Once it was within arm’s reach, her fingers curled around the hilt and-

Now, lie.

Suddenly, Nasrin was back in the room, under flickering white ceiling light, with her tutor in front of her, staring at her with mild concern.

“Nasrin?” the woman asked, tilting her head to one side, “You alright, dear? You look a bit pallid.”

Lie.

“I’m fine. Just recovering from fresher’s flu, you know how it is,” Nasrin chuckled nervously.

“Oh of course! Always something going around. Just looking at your self-reflection, you mentioned you had anxiety, how have you been finding coping with that?”

This was probably a good opportunity to find out where the counselling services were for healthcare students, but the girl’s eyes fell on the clock on the wall behind her tutor. Was it even right to open this Pandora’s box right at the tail-end of their meeting? Drop a massive bomb on her tutor, admit she was actually not doing alright and then piss off back to her accommodation?

Lie.  

He thought she should lie. The stupid, overbearing eldritch fuckwit in the back of her mind. He was one to bloody talk, being so-called all-powerful and all-knowing and yet being completely blindsided by The Incident and Cain’s subsequent rampage.

At the same time, though, a part of Nasrin that wasn’t governed by the literal Devil, also thought it best to just lie and take her leave. It was embarrassing, coming into a degree and a job that you knew damn well was stressful as all hell and having a condition which makes you struggle with stress. She was a medical student for crying out loud! How would it look if a medical student, a future doctor, was riddled with anxiety?

Furthermore, why the fuck was she doing a damn medical degree when her part-time job was being a literal acolyte of Satan?!

What was she doing here?

And how had she not broken down already?

You’re supposed to be strong.

Ah, that was it.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

12, 25 and 75 ( the one that got away)

Thank you, beautiful @negans-lucille-tblr And sorry for being my usual wordy self, and the possible tmi 😅

12 - how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Getting feedback is indescribable. It makes me giddy and feels like a warm, comforting squishy hug. That feeling stays with me all day. An amazing comment from someone gave me the final push that I needed to finish a fic that was 2 years and 4 months in the making. Without it, The One That Got Away I’m fairly confident it would never have been finished. Because…

Receiving little to no feedback is soul-destroying. You put blood, sweat, and tears (literally) into your writing and you spend so much time on it and it’s your baby. Everything goes into that story, your most private thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams… your entire soul goes into it and then… tumbleweed… and you wonder why you even bothered in the first place.

25 - What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Cowboy Boots and Daisy Dukes was one of my favourite things to write. Ever. It’s a fluffy friends to lovers Jensen RPF fic that I absolutely adored and yet, despite having over 200 notes, only has 8 comments once you take out my replies.

75 - What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it?

Ah, there were two scenes that took the longest time to write and for very different reasons. Both haven’t posted yet, so I’ll put them under the cut and add:

🚨🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨🚨

The first scene that took forever (quite literally, as this was the next scene I was writing before the story took an impromptu 1 year and 7 months hiatus), was Dean and readers first date after reconnecting. In this story, they were high school sweethearts who split when reader went off to college. I wanted them to have the best date possible, but nothing was good enough. Nothing felt… satisfying… it didn’t do them, their relationship, or their history justice until I peeled everything back and thought about what I was trying to achieve with the scene. In the end, I think it turned out okay.

The second scene that took a long time was the death of the reader’s father. When I started writing this, I had a whole chapter planned around that event. By the time I picked this back up, my dad’s health was declining with what we think is dementia. We have been waiting on appointments, referrals, tests, and results for 7 months and we still have no diagnosis or way forward yet. We’re just in limbo*. And so when I got to that part in the story, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t write what I’d originally planned because the scenario of a dying father is not something I want to be getting into my head and thinking about too deeply right now. And so it became an almost insignificant part of the story. It became more about the reader finally getting peace. Finally being able to breathe freely and to move on.

*Incidentally, if anyone wonders what turned my usual fluffy little heart black with angst, this is it. So you can thank my personal life struggles and aging and ill parents for giving you The Widow, the rest of The One That Got Away, and a coming soon 3-part A/B/O mini called All She Wants.

Ask Away!

[srorgana1]

Into the Reverb (Kylo Ren/Reader)

Chapter Four

Kylo takes a big swig of coffee, as he turns off the highway. Still groggy from his fitful sleep, his mind swam with thoughts of you. He sighs. He knows this is crazy to be affected so soon. He barely knows you but something inside that's pulling him to you. Like a moth to a flame. He’s brought out of his thoughts by the car pinging and the smart screen lighting up. It's Vic confirming their catering plans for today and a reminder for their weekly Instagram and Tiktok update. Fuck.

He only has Instagram and Tiktok because of the band. Kuruk, Cardo and Vic manage the page and their following has continued to grow. It’s overwhelming at times. The fans are constantly asking for more, more access, more of them.

Apparently Trudgen’s sneaky recording of Kylo playing shirtless in the studio last week caused quite a buzz. According to Cardo, there are thirst accounts for him now. Personally, it makes him uncomfortable. He’s an artist not a piece of meat. He sighs and grips the steering wheel tighter.

As Kylo pulls into the lot, he notices your SUV is not there. He looks at the dash quickly, making sure he didn’t mess up the time today. No, it's 10:30. You should be here already. Dread stews in his gut but he steels his features as he walks into the studio.

The rest of the Knights are already there waiting on him as he lumbers in. “Damn Ky you look like shit” called Ushar from behind the kit. “Fuck you too” he growled reaching for his guitar. Instead of using one of the studio’ guitars, he has been bringing his vintage black Fender. Blood sweat and tears have poured over that guitar making it a literal extension of him. “Damn you're grumpier than usual” Kuruk said “you need to get some bro”. Kylo rolls his eyes at him and growls “can we get to work please?”

The session seems to be taking forever. While his mates are happy with their progress, Kylo is less so. He can’t focus. He will not be able to focus properly until he sees your pretty face, confirming you are okay.

He swears under his breath as he sees Rae and DeeDee walk into the room. He sits on a large speaker and pretends to fiddle with his guitar. He doesn’t want their attention. “Kylo!” Kuruk yells “when’s food gonna be here?” He looks over to see Rae on Kuruk’s lap, her fingers laced in his long hair.

“Around 11:30” he grunts. “Awesome, I’m starving, you wanna head over and set up?” Rey chirps loudly. Kylo rolls his eyes at how fake she sounds. She has come on to every single band member. He’s not surprised Kuruk complied.

He growls to himself as he places his guitar on the speaker and follows his bandmates out the door. He scans the hallway and studio rooms as they head to the cafeteria to meet the caterers. Still nothing. Anxiety and anger start to seep into his veins. Where are you? Are you okay? He silently prays to any deity who will listen that you are safe and healthy wherever you are.

The caterers arrived shortly after and began setup. Rae took a look around the room and flounced over to him. “Oh my God Kylo, this looks amazing! Kuruk told me this was your idea. Thank you!" as she hugs him. He tenses as his hands form fists at his sides.

He debates between pushing her off and calling Kuruk over to get his slut off of him. He doesn’t have to do either as she releases him, a small pout on her lips and those tell tale moon eyes. “You’re welcome” he grumbles and walks towards the caterers to tip them.

This wasn’t for Rae or for the execs, even though it does help their relationship with the studio. This was for you. So he knew you would be well fed for today. He lumbered away and sat in a chair away from the party, sending you a text and then distracting himself with lyrics for the rest of lunch.

—

Chewie had given you Monday off after Friday’s episode. You were so embarrassed. Why did Kylo have to see you like that? He probably thinks you are broken or something now. As you clean your condo you look out the window.

Something has been brewing between you and him over the last few weeks. The attraction is definitely there. What if he would make a move? How would you respond? You shake your head and smirk to yourself. You know how. What sane hot blooded woman wouldn't with that man.

It’s a long shot anyway. With girls like Rae and DeeDee around, who are far more forward, you know your chances are slim to none. Your hands start to fidget. You go through your mental checklist for the day.

Windows clean, kitchen and bathroom spotless, dinner marinating in the fridge, floors cleaned. What to do with the rest of the day? You pull out your phone and see two texts from Kylo; Hey are you here? followed shortly by Hey you okay? Haven’t seen you today yet. We ordered food. Your heart flutters in your chest. Was he worried about you? Why didn’t the team tell him you were off today?

You pull up Instagram and go to the studio’s page. Tallie runs the page and is great at making the content fun and inviting, often including their bands. The most recent post shows KOR behind two large tables of food along with Rae and Chewie. Everyone is smiling except for Kylo of course. You sigh, he is so grumpily perfect. You close the app and send him a quick text before distracting yourself again. I'm okay, thanks for asking. See you tomorrow. You have a small hope in your heart that the message makes his day better.

Big thanks to my girls @asnackdriver @punk-in-docs @the-wayward-rose @thepilotanon @ladyzimmerman for their amazing support and lots of laughs! ily ❤️

[angelasscribbles]

Sunday Six 8.7.22

Here are snippets from the upcoming chapters of Savage Love, Star Crossed, What If and Hinge as well as a Bad Romance one shot I'm working on.

As always, spoilers are under the cut.

Savage Love Chapter 20:

The door had barely closed behind us before Drake was all up in my Kool-Aid, “Who is Rico and why is this cartel after you?”

“That’s classified-“

“Goddamn it, Brooks! I’m not asking for state secrets, just the information I need to be able to protect you!”

“What makes you think I need protecting?”

He looked at me in astonishment, “Did you or did you not text me tonight that you needed backup?”

“I did. I sent the same text to Jared. It’s pretty standard to request backup when-“

“Were you or were you not almost kidnapped tonight?”

“Not.” I replied. I mean, I knew what he meant, but let’s be honest, there was no universe where some dandified member of the aristocracy who probably had his butler help him put his socks on was going to be able to kidnap me. Please.

Star Crossed Chapter 9:

He’d known it was a mistake before he even made it back to his duty station. But it was too late, he was on his way back to Rivala. He tossed his rucksack in the pile with everyone else’s and took his seat in the C-130.

He was running toward danger, back into the line of fire, but he'd never felt more like a coward. He’d let his feelings of rejection and his damaged pride get in his way.

Untitled: A Bad Romance one-shot

Riley sat behind her mahogany executive desk in her private office at the palace as she scanned the contents of the file folder she’d just been handed.

“They all look quite taken with Liam, but that’s not really surprising. I’m well aware of how charming my husband can be.” Riley pushed the photos back across the desk.

The flawlessly coiffed blond woman across from her pushed them back, “Keep looking.”

Riley picked the stack of photos up with an annoyed sigh. She flipped quicky through the stack then returned her gaze to the source of her annoyance.

What If: Untitled

He stared at his phone in disbelief.

Fuck this. He was done. This was too much, too far. Did she not realize that he had other options? He could be with literally any woman he wanted.

He only wanted her.

He could divorce her ass and replace her, in a heartbeat. Women would be lining up to take her place.

No one else belonged by his side.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that pooled in the corners. Tears borne of anger and frustration, not sadness.

Hinge: Homecoming Part 2

Riley slipped on a robe she found in the bathroom, stepped over her blood soaked clothes and shuffled back into the bedroom. She checked on Drake first to make sure he was breathing then she rummaged around in the dresser drawers. She found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both too big for her but they’d work. She changed into them quickly and hurried back to the bed.

She stared down at the sleeping man, he was still pale, but not as pale as before. His breathing had evened out. She watched as he twitched restlessly in his sleep.

His shirt had been cut off of him. She gently removed his shoes and socks, then tugged at his pants until she was finally able to wrench them off of him. Once he was stripped down to his boxer briefs, she pulled the sheet up over his body, then she crawled into bed next him, touching his cheek, touching his forehead, running her fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[phantomsthought]

Small Shepard writing

Shepard was tired. God they were exhausted. They have entire worlds putting their weight on their shoulders. Shepards just one person and yet everyone wants to push all of their problems onto them. They get it, they suppose, but they wish they could have a break. Just once. Even if it was a short one.

Today was, rough. Shepard was going back and forth between geth ships, fighting husks and such on other planets, saving science labs, doing small tasks for citizens on the citadel. Shepard loved the citizens, they did, but sometimes they wished that the people would lean on someone else for a change. Just once. And to put the cherry on top, the council had called Shepard in for a meeting.

That’s where the commander was headed, marching down the halls of the citadel. They were tired, they wanted to slouch and find a nice corner to curl up in, but despite that they held themselves high. Shoulders back, back straight, head up. She was the commander Shepard, she was supposed to be headstrong and- perfect. Nothing was supposed to knock her down.

Shepard silently entered the council meeting, and there she saw the Asari, Turian, and Salarian councilor. “Shepard. what took you so long?” The Salarian pressured. She sighed softly, and crossed her arms “I have alot of stuff to do councilor. I can’t do things the moment you send a transmission out.” She explained calmly, even if she wanted so badly to lash out. The turian councilor sneered, “Reapers, right? Why don’t you get your head out of the gutter. This is the real world, and we aren’t going to go off of a few ‘visions’ you had. I really wish you would do more.”

That’s when she lost it.

When the thread, already so worn, had snapped.

She laughed airily and replied “do more? Do more?” She repeated, her tone rising into anguish, getting louder. “I’m sorry counselor but I have literally put my life on the line on multiple accounts. I’m pretty sure I’ve done more than anyone in this goddamn galaxy to make sure everyone doesn’t die.” Shepard waved her hands as she spoke, “I quite literally, died protecting every single one of you. I have made alliances that you could’ve never done without me. I helped cure the genophage. I went out looking for lost alliance ships because you didn’t give a rats ass about any of the crew on those ships.”

“I lost one of my crew mates on vermire, Ashley Williams. She died protecting you. I have put my blood, my sweat, my tears- I put everything into this cause. Everything into making sure everything is at least semi normal for the children and citizens who just want to live their lives without fear. I am the one who defeated Saren. I am the one who helped destroy Sovereign. Me and my crew have done more than you have ever fucking done.” She was yelling now. The councilors stood there as Shepard chewed them out, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have done that and more. What more do you want from me?” Her voice wavered as a tear spilled down her cheek.

“What else do I have to do to suffice to your expectations? Do you want me to die again? If you want me to do more, tell me what you want me to do because I am no mind reader.” Shepard dropped her arms to her sides, balling her hands into fists. “I have to do everything around here because you will do nothing. You will love in ignorance and watch your empire burn and say that everything is okay. You will lie to yourselves. Welcome to the real world, where you actually have to do shit, to get something done. You can’t always rely on someone else to do it. I am tired of being yelled at, ridiculed, demanded, and pushed aside constantly. If you know what to do why don’t you stop the reaper invasion yourself. And no. I’m not crazy. Sovereign was a reaper. And I’ve seen more. There are thousands. And millions of those things out there just waiting for the right time to make every single one of us go extinct and that includes you.” At this point, she was crying as she spit venom through gritted teeth, but she didn’t care.

Shepard stormed out, going back to the Normandy and finding her way to the observation deck. The crew watched their commander stomp through the ship, jaw clenched and tears pouring from her eyes. They’d never seen her like this. Grunt cautiously peeked into the room with Garrus, Thane and Samara. They found their commander curled up in the middle of the floor, silently sobbing as she looked out of the window. Grunt carefully took his place next to her, wrapping an arm around her. “I can punch them for you.” He said, trying to comfort her. He got a small, airy chuckle out of her. The rest of them followed suit, eventually her entire inner circle sitting in the room with her, sitting around her and offering comfort.

Shepard leaned into thane as he opened his arms for a hug, sobbing into his shoulder as he gently rubbed her back. They all comforted Shepard, giving assuring words and small jokes until eventually, she had calmed down. “I’m sorry.” She said softly, her voice cracking. Tali shook her head, placing a hand on her shoulder, “don’t apologize. That cry was well needed.” Samara nodded in agreement, “you’re allowed to feel emotions commander. You’re only human, after all.” She said gently, patting her head. Shepard was now crying happy tears, “I have the best goddamn crew in the entire universe.” Zaeed smiled a bit, “and you’re the best damn captain.”

Legion nodded, “we love you Shepard-commander.” Mordin offered a comforting smile as she lifted her head from thanes shoulder, “you’ve got us. Always.” Jack gently punched Shepard shoulder and said “Fuck the council. You’ve got us.” Shepard nodded, and grunt brought everyone into a group hug around the commander. Even Miranda. Edi and joker were there too, and they hugged Shepard tight. Thane pet shepards hair to offer comfort as she clung onto everyone.

She loved each and every one of her crew. They all had her back, and she had theirs.

[ron-do-i-get-to-sing-my-way]

1, 3, 5, 7!

Thanks Daley!

1. How long have you been collecting vinyl?

I want to say 7ish years of actively collecting them. I grew up with records in the house and I’m quite old fashioned so it was inevitable!

3. What are the coolest disks you own?

I’m boring. I usually get the black versions, because sometimes the coloured pressings don’t sound as good/are more prone to defects. BUT, I do have a few fun ones!

IDKHOW picture disk my beloved (took blood sweat and tears to get this)

Etched Styx Record

Brightside Oceana pressing

Bone coloured Razzmatazz (it’s a very cool marbly colour)

5. Which artist’s records do you own the most of?

The Beatles (17), but it’s also the artist I’ve been collecting the longest! (Sparks is getting up there too). (The loose record didn’t come with the sleeve because I literally saved it from being thrown out)

7. Best Find?

Oof that’s hard. I did manage to snag Woofer recently for a decent price (all things considered). The local record store guy put it aside for me and he always underprices stuff so I got it for 20$. Probably the luckiest I’ve ever been. (Woofer my beloved)

BUT I did also find the original London cast Les Miserables soundtrack at a record show. The guy there didn’t have knowledge of soundtrack records because that sucker sells for ~100 and I got it for 15$.

Since I live in a small town, people around here don’t always have the best knowledge of certain artists/genres so I have a chance at some decent finds. But, that also means I have to sift through a lot of polka and Singalong records (my town is where these types of records go to die!)

[thatonetransguyincanada]

Character Writing Snippet:

Accident Prone

Wrote a lil snippet of a dnd character of mine that I’ve been hyper fixated on for the last few months!

Some important info:

Blaine is the main PC and hes currently working for a deadly group that runs the majority of the city’ underworld as an informant for Silas.

Silas is an up and coming powerhouse city guard who wants to take down the underworld. Hes also the son of merchant nobles.

*Trigger Warning* Blood, death, murder, panic attack, mental breakdown

I wasn't thinking just, acting on auto pilot. My body moving between buildings with practiced grace, following the all to familial path that's engraved in my bones.

I know I should be checking to see if someone is following, or being careful where I touch so I doesnt leave a bloody hand print behind. But at the moment the only thing on my mind was how otherwise calm and unaware the night was.

So many people sleeping in their beds, tucked under their warm sheets, not a clue to what had just transpired. Yet here I was, the literal walking proof of a crime committed not even 10 minutes ago.

The blood that drenches my front clings to my body. Each twist or lean has the clothing peel and drag against my skin in some horrifying painting only I know is there.

Finally, a particular moonlight coveted gaudy mansion with the towering maple tree along the left side comes into eye line. My heart beat picking up.

The crunch of foot fall becomes muffled once I reach the every so pristine lawn, for a moment wondering if anyone will notice the drops of blood in the morning.

I throw all remnants of caution to the wind and sprints at the tree, leaping off the trunk to grab a higher branch. My arms shake more with the strain of pulling myself up. I take a breath and almost choke on the lungful of cold iron. A small body slumping to the ground flashes through my mind.

“Stop…” I shake my head in a futile attempt to throw the image and following thoughts from my mind.

I just need to get inside.

Climbing a little higher, I perch on a branch almost level with the one window closest to the tree on the second floor. It's closed and there's nothing currently on the sill. Taking another deep, choking breath, I jump.

I land on the window sill with only a dull thud against the window pain. Each hand presses against either side of the wooden frame and pushes up. A creek dances in the air, but the window opens just enough for me to slip through.

The familiar scent of burnt wood, sweat, and peaches has every muscle relax, warmth from the embers of the fireplaces freezing my skin.

I take a tentative step further into the room, eyes set on the lump resting on the bed. Even from where I stand, I can see the mess of blond sprawled over the mountain of pillows.

I open my mouth to call out, but his name gets stuck in my throat. Once at his bedside I lean over and reach out, but I blink and he’s not laying there. In his place is a little elf girl with a dagger embedded in her throat, eyes that hold no life staring into my soul.

A gasping cry smashes against my lips as my hand recoils.

Something grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me forward, flipping me so I'm laying back on the bed.

A waterfall of tangled blond hair encompasses my peripheral vision while two steely blue eyes glare half lid down at me, the cool metal of some blade pressed to my neck.

“Who are-“ the half-sleep daze fades from Silas’ eyes and he pulls the dagger away. “Fucking- Blaine what are- wait are you covered in blood?!”

Silas’ half dressed figure blurs as he gets off my chest, but I still can't quite take a full breath. I lay on the bed, eyes snapping shut to stop the tears from pooling but it's no use. All I can see is that little girl staring up at me with those wide, doe-like innocent eyes. A flash of horror and fear crossing her face in the split second it took for my dagger to reach its unintended target. I can still hear her choking on the blood as it actually bubbled out around the blade.

My checks run slick as apology after apology spills out of me. Hiccups mixed with sobs hold my lungs hostage while a dagger of my own making twists and cuts up my insides.

Silas tries to speak, but I can't quite hear him over the pleas in my own head for a do over, to go back in time, to have aimed a little more to the left.

Why couldn't I have noticed sooner? Why did my arms have to react so fast? Why couldn’t I have tripped on that stupid table again? Why’d her father have to fight? Why couldn't he have just given over the money? Why’d she have to come out? Why do I-

“Blaine!”

Warm hands grab either side of my face and forcefully, but not harshly, turn my head. Thumbs run over my cheeks, trying to wipe away the rivers that’ve traced their paths over my skin. Not too soon after, something presses against my forehead and a sultry breath washes over my lips.

“Blaine.” Silas says again in a softer tone, “breathe.”

Silas take in a deep, noisy breath through his nose before exhaling through his mouth.

The scent of something sweet tickles my nose.

I try to match his breathing, the sweet scent of the last thing he ate before bed almost over powering the metallic scent of blood. I'm not sure how long we remain like this, but my sobbing quiets to hiccups and I'm able to pry open my eyes.

The first thing I see is Silas. Just Silas. Forehead resting on mine and eyebrows pulling down in concerned concentration. He stares down at me, eyes intensely scanning every inch of my face right before they lighten.

“That’s it. You’re doing great, just keep breathing.” A small smile pulls at Silas’ lips.

His smile, his scent, physically feeling him, knowing he's here loosens the knot in my stomach a little. Still shaky, I place both my hands right over top of his.

“Blaine, are you physically hurt?” Silas asks, his thumbs rubbing under my eyes.

I tap a finger on his right hand.

“Do you need a physician or any healing magic?” He asks next.

I take a moment to note any pain or harsh sensations over my body and recall the fight I was in. Truthfully, everything hurts, but nothing that would be life threatening. I tap Silas’ left hand.

“Thank the celestials.” Silas’ lets out a quick exhale, muscles relaxing as he deflates. “Here I thought I’d have to drag your butt to a temple tonight.”

I know he's trying to lighten the mood, even going so far as to flash his signature grin, but it doesn't feel right to smile. Not when there's a layer of blood between us.

Silas catches on, dropping his smile. “Are… you okay Love?”

A small, tiny part of me wants to say, ‘I broke into your house covered in blood and just had a mental breakdown possibly mixed with a panic attack. What the hell do you think?’

“You don't have to tell me what happened but I won't lie that the amount if blo-“

“I killed someone.” My voice is so quiet and hoarse I almost can't understand what I just admitted to out loud.

“I-I had to collect some money that was owed a-and the guy h-he wouldn't give it up!” The tears begin to pool once more with each passing heartbeat, more damning words tumbling out my lips. “Th-things went sideways a-and he-he got his hands around my throat! I-I couldn't breathe!”

He was sitting on the couch while I stood in front of him, the fireplace at my back. He’d launched himself at me so fast, I wasn’t prepared. The elven man wasn't large by any means, but the grip he held around my neck made me think he was going to crush it like paper. I stumbled back, my hands latching onto his own to try and pry them off. My foot caught the end of some small table and we went down.

Except the pull had more momentum than either of us would have guessed as the corner of his head collided with a rougher rock embedded in the fireplace.

“W-we tripped- there was a f-fire place- he hit his head-“

He stopped moving and his grip lightened enough for me to pry his calloused fingers off of my neck. In my panic I shoved him off, blood already soaking into my clothes.

“And then he- he wasn't moving! I got his hands off but I-“

I scrambled to my feet, but that's when I heard the creaking floor board. I was told he lived alone and without a chance to think, my hand reached to my side and the dagger left my fingers seconds after.

“I didn't know! He was- h-he’s supposed to- b-but he wasn’t!”

The dagger sheathed itself within the throat of the little elven girl. She tried to scream, but the only noise that came out was some gargled choking. She started walking towards me, one hand reaching out all around to grab or hold or feel anything while the other-

“T-there was- blood! So much b-blood!”

The other hand flimsily tried to pull out the blade sticking out of her neck but she just cuts herself even more. I only panicked more, horrified at what I'd done. She began to fall and I sprang at her to catch her before she hit the ground. She gripped onto my clothes. Pulling, squeezing, letting go all the while her watering eyes frantically darting around the room. She tries to speak again but more blood just rushes out from her neck, a small dribble starting on the corner of her lip.

“I-i tried to stop it! I wanted too- but it was so deep! I- I-“ I can't breathe. I can't breathe! I-

“Love! Love you’re safe! You’re okay! You’re okay!” The hands under mine rip away and all of the sudden I'm pulled up and pressed against a warm body.

I wrap my arms around Silas, clinging to him as the little girl had tried to with me.

I wouldn’t stop crying, and Silas wouldn’t let me go. He rubs circles in my back, gently rocking us all the while telling me “It's okay.” and “You’re safe.”

We stay like this until I calm down for the second time tonight. When I'm down to sniffles and hiccups and Silas’ skin thoroughly soaked with my guilt, Silas speaks, “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it-“ I try to say, but Silas cuts me off while tightening his hold around me.

“No. It wasn't. He attacked you, Love. As far as I'm concerned, it was a freak accident that worked out in your favour. And for that, I'm grateful.” His voice is stern, leaving little room for argument.

But he doesn't have the full story. He doesn’t understand that the man isn't the one I killed in cold blood. “But you-“

“No.” Silas unwraps an arm and gently hooks my chin so we meet each other's gaze. “Love, if something ever happened to you, I don't know what I’d do with myself. I'm sorry things turned out the way they did, but I’d rather have some strange be six feet under than you.”

The way he looks at me with those eyes. With such softness and care and love and life, none of which ive ever felt I deserved. Yet here we are. Soaked in blood and tears with the crime of murder written on my soul forever and he still can look at me as if ive done no wrong.

Exhaustion weighs and pulls my body down, so I rest my head against Silas’s shoulder. “Can I… can I stay here with you? Just for tonight?”

Silas smiles a soft, tender smile. He lays us down, the blankets, bed sheets, and blood forgotten as our own mixed body warmth keeps us from freezing. Silas gives the top of my head a kiss before just resting his head in the exact spot. “I’ll make sure nothing touches you tonight.”

I snuggle in close, pressing as much of myself as I dare against Silas with my head close to where his heart is.

And Silas’ living and beating heart is the last thing I hear before falling into a dreamless sleep.

[itstaryncenter]

Hang with me for a minute okay? This is gonna get weird.

I am one in a million. Actually, more like 8 billion. But for some reason, every single morning when I wake up, I think about all of the reasons why all 8 billion of those people are better than I am. I quickly run through all of the reasons why they are more attractive, more successful, obviously more intelligent. Everything is perfect with everyone else but me. How in the hell did I live 30 years thinking that everyone else thinks about me as often as I think about them. Nah bro, we all spend too much time thinking about what others think of us, and try to convince people that we don’t care. We do. We always will. It’s what you do with those thoughts that really matter.

Every single morning, I have to give myself the same pep talk about how I am not worthless.

How could we as a generation NOT be offended all of the time, when all we were told was how we weren’t good enough, and people we love only tell us they are proud when we accomplish things. What about all of the work, blood, sweat, tears, self-destruction, self-awareness, and rebuilding that it took to accomplish said task?

It is actually quite sad that just because I don’t want to live in a world where I spend every day looking through a dirty, broken lens doesn’t mean that I am weak, or offended. It means that I want to enjoy my life, and how I live it. I care about myself, and how I treat others. You don’t treat other people well when you can’t even treat yourself well. I can’t be convinced otherwise.

When I started going to therapy, I thought that I was the only person who thought about suicide for fun. Mostly because I’m curious about death. There are only two things in life that are actually certain, and one of those is death. I want to know what happens when we die, so much so that I think about how many people have committed suicide simply because they wanted to know what came next. Does anything come next? Maybe they wanted to know if it was better than what they were experiencing in this current life.

My therapist assured me that there is a difference between being curious, and planning.

I have planned before. I’ve even tried to execute, but that wasn’t the end result that I wanted. Which is really scary. It is terrifying to be so comfortable with death that when you begin to walk the line of life and death because the idea of death seems more peaceful than living; that is a dark place to be.

How does one even get to that place?

In my case, I have a personality disorder that has a really high statistic of suicide. About 70% of individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder attempt suicide, and approximately 10% succeed. I personally don’t believe that it isn’t that most really WANT to die, or they don’t like their lives; it’s actually much darker than that. Let me try to explain; I fully believe that if I did not exist on this planet, that it would quite literally FEEL physically, emotionally, and spiritually lighter. I think that by leaving, I would allow those who love me to let go of the burden that I put on them when they have to worry about me, or check on me.

They didn’t ask for me. I didn’t ask for me.

Days living in my brain are exhausting, but once I get up, and sit down in front of the mirror. My morning begins.

When I was diagnosed, I learned that I have a chronic brain illness. I have an invisible illness that you can’t see, but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t here. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have days where my symptoms act up, and I just cannot control them. Many have been in the path of my uncontrollable outbursts of feeling.

Through my diagnosis, research, and quite frankly, my own damn hard work, I have learned a few things.

Mental Illness doesn’t make me worthless, useless, stupid, unintelligent, or even remotely less than anyone else.

What it does do:

Makes me self-aware.

Allows me really think about criticism in a helpful way.

Be more understanding of other people.

Make me be honest with my (fan-fucking-tactic) support system.

Take ownership of my mind.

Be creative.

Practice determination.

The people who allow me and want me to “burden” them, help.

I make myself cry, almost every single morning talking to myself about how beautiful, kind, generous, smart, compassionate, empathetic, understanding, honest, and self-aware I am.

Every morning I wake up hating myself, and every night I go to bed adoring myself.

It is exhausting.

Every

Single

Day

But I do it because I love myself, and I love those that love me. Just because you can’t see my illness, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

This sole aspect of my diagnosis has made me a better human.

I might have a personality disorder, but I will be fucking damned if that is going to stop me from being the most authentic human I can be.

Earth is hard. I decided I want to make it a little easier on myself and others, and that means controlling myself, because that’s all I can do.

I’m sure that was uncomfortable to read, but if you did, thank you.

My eyes are open, are yours?