#tw implied past suicide

[s0fter-sin]

punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!

ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him

no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)

"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"

he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple

he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet

soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost

ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch

he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing

he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."

he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."

he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-

ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-

“johnny!”

he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive

the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"

soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice

“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"

soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it

it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel

ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap

his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive

soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around

soap is the priority

he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe

then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk

[edwardallenpoe]

Um. Prepare yourself for the s&co episode. The representation (if you can even call it that) of DID is BAD. Once I realized that the person had DID I was pretty pissed to say the least. I emailed them like 4 paragraphs on how shitty that was. I feel like a Karen but it was honestly deserved. But if you’re upset by portrayals of people with DID I’d skip this one.

i opened my inbox this right after listening to it. Thank you for the heads up tho, but it is far too late.

I honestly feel a little sick. Not gonna lie.

"we now understand more about the human condition" I lost braincells, John. I think we actually DEVOLVED. We LOST knowledge of human existence with this one, chat. And then. Also. John defending Tory's. Ya this was a really fucking bad episode. Wow. It was so avoidable. That entire thing was so avoidable.

You are definitely not a Karen for emailing them, I'm low-key tempted to email them myself but I won't. I need to process that dumpster fire for a little longer. Wow.

It's like. I specifically remember Sherlock listing off DID on his disorder list in the first fucking episode. He has DID. Did Joel and co literally look up the index for the DMS-5 then put them in their notes app or something?????? Like were they just like "yeah anything and everything but PTSD for the plot mate" just for Sheelock to have smt to say?????? It's seems so impossible to me that they have such amazing rep for both PTSD and autism and such but DID was butchered that badly. Woooow. I can't even.

I love this show but that was. So bad. I rlly hope Joel says smt soon about this because woooow . That's all I can rlly say. Just wow.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

★This is a prompt fill for @nuttynutcycle's amazing Prompt 404, full credit to her for this idea.

Original Prompt

"They sent you? After everything I did? That's hilarious." The villain laughed through bloodied lips."And I'm the sadistic one."

The hero didn't respond to the shell of their tormenter. They remembered the villain as vibrant, invincible: a showman of suffering. Not coated in dirt and bruises in a cell.

"After everything I did, I'm surprised you can even come near me." The villain said softly. Their gaze didn't waver. "Unless this is your way of asking for more."

A shudder ran through the hero and they tasted bile at the thought.

-continuation starts here-

TW: Implied past abuse, scars, choking, suicidal ideation

"Stop," Hero breathed out, looking everywhere but at their nemesis.

They let out a cold, shrill cackle, or at least, an attempt at one, throat so dry, it sounded more like a strangled cough. "Stop? Come on, you know me better than that, Hero," they purred, the voice grating against the crime-fighter's eardrums.

It had taken them so long to be able to stop hearing their once-torturer's voice ringing in their ears, its hold so mercilessly powerful on them, it had managed to escape their nightmares. For some time, the words 'auditory hallucinations' had seemed so fake, part of a poorly fabricated illusion.

They didn't even know how they were standing here, why they'd accepted. It's not like Superhero had forced them. But it was easier said than done. Nowhere near as terrifying as being face-to face with them. So much so that the bars between them seemed pointless, half-invisible to the hero.

"Come here to have a go at me too? I'm quite popular amongst some of the members of your agency, it's about time you of all people showed up here." The villain may have been smiling as they said it, tone laced with cold, indifferent amusement, but their eyes told a different tale, the look in them practically screaming broken and exhausted.

Hero wanted to retch at how disturbed they were by the criminal's state. "Fragile," they'd called them, back when they spent their days waking up to a boot pressed into their chest, continuously mocking their empathy as an attribute only possessed by the weak and foolish.

Right now, their old enemy was trying to hold on to whatever shreds of their pride they had left, by way of tormenting the crime-fighter, who by all other means had the upper hand here.

"No," the crime-stopper answered, appalled. In spite of the clear disgust in their tone, they weren't really sure if they'd meant it with all their being, as their gaze flitted over to an old, jagged scar, in an unappealing, dusty shade of pink on their left forearm, revealed as the sleeve of their somewhat baggy sweatshirt fell lower against their arm. They pulled it back again, a force of habit, worrying their bottom lip between their teeth.

The second they'd managed to escape, they hadn't wanted anything more than to rip them to shreds, to make them suffer what they'd done to them tenfold. The hero had scratched at the skin of their wrists and screamed their throat raw, even in the safety of their own bed, wishing to tear the villain's world apart, brick by brick as though it was a building.

Seeing them like this, it should've felt cathartic. It should've brought the hero some sort of twisted satisfaction that their tormentor was getting a taste of their own medicine, maybe even worse.

But all they felt was a cold, mind-numbing emptiness, a disturbance that settled at the pit of their stomach and twisted it into knots. If they searched hard enough, they'd swear that they even felt a pang of sympathy for the shadow of their once all-powerful tormentor.

"Of course not," Villain drawled lazily, staring at the crime-stopper with a chilling mix of amusement and contempt, horribly reminiscent of their past self. The criminal got up, stretching their limbs casually, moving as far as the chains would let them. They stared down at chipped, broken nails with an impossible amount of blood and dirt accumulated underneath them. Before, the villain had always looked immaculate, but instead of kohl underneath the cruel, icy blue eyes, there was an ugly trail of bruises and crusty blood mixed with dead skin.

But even looking like the personification of death, the villain still managed to be spiteful. "Nothing could make you lose that foolish weakness of yours, Hero. You'll always be a goddamn bleeding heart, too bloody nice and pathetic to deal any real damage. Don't you have any dignity?" they spat, and they sounded genuinely frustrated, their eyes narrowing, the most emotion they'd displayed since the crime-stopper had entered their cell.

Hero didn't know exactly when their hands had twisted the key into the lock, when they'd raced into the cell, slamming the villain into the wall with an audible thud, the force drawing a sharp gasp from their adversary's throat. They weren't sure when their fingers had clawed at the criminal's throat, keeping a vice-like grip on their neck, their nails digging deep into the already damaged skin. It was almost as though their rage had possessed them, coursing through their veins like poison, speeading heat through their body like wildfire.

"Oh, you think that it's hard for me to hurt you? You think that I haven't dreamed of the day where I put you through hell? Show you how it feels like? There were times when all I could think of was how much I wanted your blood on my hands, how much I wanted you dead!" they snarled.

For the first time, true, unabashed fear had flashed across Villain's features, eyes wide, their lip quivering as they choked in the hero's grip. But the bastard smiled at them, trying so desperately hard to be sharp and taunting. Instead, it was weak, full of pain, as every muscle of their face twitched and struggled to keep it up. Tears streamed down their face instead, and the hero slightly loosened their hold on their throat.

"Do it. Kill me how you've always wanted to, Hero." The villain's voice had only ever been smug, full of power and entirely lacking emotion. All it was now was soft and broken.

Whatever had taken over the hero faded as they removed their fingers from their neck, their mismatched eyes softening. They involuntarily winced at the bruises and bloodied scratches left on their neck.

Even through all their cruelty, the villain had been more merciful to the hero than the criminal's current tormentors were to them. They'd let the hero eat, not that they really had the apetite, gave them the basic rights of showering and clothes. Sometimes, they didn't even hurt the hero, usually when they felt they'd had enough. It was agitating to think of their once-captor's virtues, but the hero wasn't one to deny the truth.

Except here, the villain was clearly starved, their face gaunt, cheeks sunken, and the tatters they had for clothes hung loosely off their emaciated frame. Their body was covered in numerous scratches, deep and barely healing, some even clearly infected.

"I came here for closure. But now, I'm going to get you out of here." Maybe the villain deserved some sort of reckoning for what they did, but not like this. Not remorseless torture that left them wishing they were dead.

Villain's eyes widened as they held their breath as the hero began unlocking their chains. "This isn't legal," they murmured.

"Like I give a damn," the hero replied tersely. The villain had become so frail that they had to lean on the hero all the way.

Hero's eyes flitted over to Villain's cell one last time, contemplating again whether they should just let them rot and get their revenge, but their compassion overrid any of their darker thoughts. Empathy, they realised, was not a weakness. It is what separates man from monster. It stops us from falling into stupors fuelled by rage and bloodlust. It is the tool by which we hold power over our own emotions. It is a strength of priceless value, if only people would stop being so blissfully ignorant, hiding in the silky duvets of their own selfishness.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[toastskinstuff]

All my me/Janus moodboards

[littleoddwriter]

Reasons to stay alive

Hey there! As I'm currently struggling immensely with staying alive, due to an ongoing BPD episode, I wanted to write down my personal reasons for staying. I'm sharing my list because I thought it might help others to perhaps be reminded of things they don't usually consider in those dark spots. Feel free to add onto the list, create your own, etc. Share it. Keep it private. Whatever feels best to you. <3 And please remember that there are no silly reasons. If it means you're going to stay another day, it is a perfect reason!

My favourite band

Renfield (2023)

Going to the cinema to see horror movies I've been looking forward to

Also, the Barbie movie

Getting to spend more time with my plushies and dolls

Seeing what my The Simpsons calendar brings each day

Attending the Horror Convention next year

Season 3 of Chucky

Buying more Chucky dolls, plus Glen(da) and Tiffany

Getting to wear my new jacket

Medically and socially transitioning

Watching TV shows with my dad that are on our list

Writing the fanfics I've been wanting to write for months and years

Writing my original story and publishing it as a book

To be a teacher

(...)

[meowzet]

not sure who needs to hear this, but yes, if you can, you should buy new toothpaste. you should buy new clothes. you should buy new necessities.

you should also buy things that you don’t need to live, but want. you should buy those new plushies, that new video game, those concert tickets that take place in four months.

even if you think that you’ll kill yourself next week. even if you think you won’t be able to utilize those things because you’ll be dead. you’ve been conditioned to see everything as short-term, under the guise of killing yourself ‘soon’.

even if you think you’re going to kill yourself tomorrow, buy that long-term thing! ♡

[giveemcoffeekid]

just a thought

what if percy just desperately wished for nico to not be alone in the underworld. nico who has already lost so much, and is so lonely he eats McDonald's with the dead.

percy, who has always been borderline-suicidal.

what if one night he finally loses the one fight that he had fought for so long but just couldn't win. he beat gods and titans but he would never beat his own mind.

and he is smart about it, of course he is. it is a tough fight but in the end he wins loses.

what if annabeth wakes up to a severely distraught nico standing next to her bed, crying, and at loss for words, because he has to tell her that her boyfriend k!lled himself.

[purple-heart-x]

Free Fall

Hi yes. Felt like making some characters go hurty. This is more of an angst piece than whump.

Big trigger warning for suicide mention, thoughts, and attempt. 

Other TWs: depression, stalking and kidnapping mentioned, blackmail, innocent hurt, implied childhood trauma, hospital mention, blood mention, near drowning, stabbing/possible murder... One last specific warning- Character put in the situation of convincing someone not to commit suicide. I know that’s a huge trigger for some. 

Stay safe. Enjoy. It does have a soft ending, I swear.

---

Villain can never leave the Hero alone. Villain tells her colleagues that the Hero wronged her, that she must follow and get revenge...

She saw the Hero’s confusion every time she popped up again to fight him. Because the Hero did not wrong her. The Hero righted her when she was at her worst, showing kindness and gentleness as he fought off the other villains, giving Villain time to safely recover from her broken bones, the consequence of falling off a tall bridge in an effort to escape the villains pursuing her.

That was why Villain was at the bridge again. So was Hero. "Taking in the sights, I see," she panted. Hero did not answer. Villain was almost offended at the thought of him ignoring her, until she saw the lost look in his eyes as he stared downwards. "It's a nasty fall, Hero. Let's just go back. I can make you some tea..." "Please look away and don't look back," his voice cracked on the last part. She reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Like hell am I leaving you. Hero, please..." He shook her hand off. "Don't touch me.” In all her years of villainy she'd never felt her heart pound like this. One wrong move and Hero-- her hero-- would be gone. Forever. The huge ship that had broken her fall wasn't there anymore, and the trip down would be at least a hundred, probably two hundred, feet further and harder. "Please. Talk to me." She'd seen him at what she'd thought was his worst several times. Pacing, muttering... But not like this. Hero swallowed hard. "You weren't supposed to be here." "Neither were you." She batted back an answer like a ping pong ball. Hoping that maybe if she kept doing it, he'd stop. Or stall. Or anything but jump.  "Come back with me, darling. Let's just go back to bed. It's okay now." It had been months since Villain had reluctantly left his hideout to return home. They had agreed it was time to go back to normal life. But then again, maybe if Hero was in this state, he would believe it? Hero looked at her wearily, as he had done the previous night and the night before in the same position. But instead of accepting, he began to weep. "Why won't you let me go? I just want to go. I just want it to stop." She knelt next to him. "I know, darling. I-- I don't know, though, not really. What do you want to stop?" "Everything," he shuddered, curling up against the railing. "Do you want me to go away? Is that part of everything?" "No!" He blurted it out before he could think. "N-No. Not you. Please don't leave me here." Villain inched closer. "I won't leave you, Hero. I'm here for you. I'm here," she whispered, sitting down next to him, back to the water. After a long silence interrupted only by hero's sobs, he spoke again. "I don't want to fight anymore. I- I don't want to dodge muggers every time I leave the heroes' apartment or know that a third of the cars around me are villains hoping to swipe me. A-And I- I don't want them to hurt you to get to me! And I- I- I was so scared! I killed a guy and his b-blood is still in my carpet and-- And he was scared! He'd been forced into it by some villain, and," he paused and sobbed.

"And he just wanted to go home to see his family! He was crying, Villain, crying for mercy, and the- the-- and th-the doctors said he m-might not make it!"

He leaned forward into Villain's arms as she stared in shock. She snapped out of it after a moment, rubbing circles over his back. "Shhh, shhh, Hero. I know. I understand. It's okay now. You're alright. You called the ambulance?" Hero sniffled, nodding while still pressing into her. "Then you did everything you could. You've been stalked and kidnapped and threatened with no end for months, my love. Of course you would immediately protect yourself when someone broke into the apartment. It's okay now. You didn't kill anyone. He's still alive, and that's only because you called for help." Hero wailed into her shirt, clenching his fists against the fabric as he let out the tension and grief he’d held in all night. He suddenly felt himself shaking violently, whines forming in the back of his throat as Villain cupped his face. "Just let it out, Hero. It's okay to not be a hero right now. Let me take care of you just this once." Tears filled his eyes as he melted into her, tiny gasping breaths interrupting his sobs. "Am- Am I doing the right thing? Am I... Am I hurting people by being a hero? I d-don't want to. I wanted to help people." Villain smiled sadly, tears welling in her own eyes as she remembered rolling off the roof of the boat, helpless and drowning until a shadowy figure managed to dive in after her, dragging her to safety. "No, my hero, you aren't hurting anyone by being a hero. You are helping people. And... You're one of the good heroes. You help us villains out when we need it. I think that's worth more than anything." Hero nodded tearfully, craving more reassurance but unable to ask. "I love you, Hero. We all love you. It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay." "You don't hate me?" "Hate y--?" "After... tonight? After forever? When I r-ran away?" "No, Hero. I'm not angry. No one is mad at you. You're safe with me, remember?" He took a long, shaky breath before nodding. "Safe..." he breathed, trying to forget the feeling of his heart pounding every time something went wrong, trying to remain invisible, trying to...

“I trust you, Villain. I love...”

Villain sighed. "Did you really just-- How am I going to bring you home?" Hero's already-asleep form did not answer, only nuzzled into her. "Fine." She straightened, leaning down to plant a kiss on Hero's forehead. "I'll protect you from them. And I'll protect you from you." She tore the note in his pocket to shreds and sprinkled them over the open water before standing and bringing them both home.

[a-dangerous-game]

Eventually, after a long sigh, Siegel move to stand and take him leave without as much as offering a word of departure to Agnes. The woman raises an eyebrow as he does so, calmly grabbing his coat before he can put it on.

Unknowing of her hold on it, he picks the coat up and starts to pull it on before Agnes pulls harder, tugging it back. He looks back and frowns slightly.

"I asked you to bring something... You mentioned it briefly already."

Siegel hesitates, his frown deepening slightly before he sighs and gestures to one of the pockets.

Agnes calmly tugs the jacket full away from him, fishing through the pocket before locating a single folded up and mildly crumpled letter, a small bulge lingering at the bottom of it. She takes a moment to pinch at the bulge before addressing him.

"If this is another of your tedious attempts at-"

"It is not. It is sincere and it is what I remember verbatim. ... Closure is warranted by this point. It is far past this all, I would like to put it behind us."

Agnes hums briefly, eyeing him before nodding, letting go of his jacket. "Then we will let it go."

Siegel eyes her for a few long moments, staring solemnly before nodding once. "We will let it go." He repeats with a sigh, sounding almost resigned before picking up his jacket and placing it around his shoulders. "Have my estate divided between Ashley, Charles, and whichever departments you see fit. I will not be leaving a note when it inevitably happens."

With that, he quietly turns and begins to take his leave, Agnes calmly tilting her head and watching him for a few moments. "You just did," She calls back after him.

He does not turn to respond, merely continuing forward without another comment. Agnes hums and shakes her head slightly, waiting at the bench for a few long minutes before slowly opening the letter.

It takes some time for her to read it, even seeming to double back after the first read before quietly furrowing her brow and lowering the note. After a few long moments, she quietly creases the note, tearing a long top portion of it off. After that, she creases the bottom and does the same there.

Then, as quietly as ever, she holds both pieces up faintly as a small gust of wind passes. She keeps the two ends held close before letting go, allowing the pieces to drift away in the wind.

Watching them vanish into the distance, she sighs softly before tucking the small remaining piece back into the envelope, briefly pulling a small metal locket from the letter before dropping it back in.

With that, she quietly stands and brushes the cores off her handkerchief before taking her leave.

[Frost's last words / the full letter is below the cut. Bolded italics is what Agnes is bringing back and claiming as the full letter.]

No. No-no-no. Please. Siegel, help- I can’t move. I- I'm pinned. You need to wake up- Someone please help me. I can’t get out. Siegel- This isn’t- Oh, god…

This is going to kill me. Please help me. Please wake up. I need to get out. The locket-… If I can just-… Come on, please… I can do this, I just need to-… Move… No. No-no. I can’t do this. Please, somebody help me- Oh, god.

I’m not ready. Please help me- I’m not ready for this. I don’t want to die. I-… Things were getting good. Everything was starting to go well. I was starting to become happy. I was so close. I was so close. I could feel it. Everything was going so well and starting to get even better and just-… Please, I want to keep going. I want to be happy. I don’t want this, I just want a chance. I have to deserve a chance...

Please. Just this once. Please let me get out of this. Oh, god. It hurts. It doesn’t feel right. Please let me get out of this and I will never ask for anything ever again. I promise. I will never ask for anything again and I will do everything right and I won’t ever make any mistake and-… I-…

Please. I’m not ready. I don’t want to die. Nicia needs her father. She’s still just a child... I want to be there for her. I want to see her grow up and do great things. I want to see Nila do so very well — they’re so kind — and I want to see my mom again and I want to apologize to her and I want to see the project become what I know it’s so close to achieving and I just-…

Please. This can’t be it. Don’t let this be it. This can’t be it. It hurts so much. I don’t want-… I don’t want this to be the end. I don’t want this to be it.

I can’t think. Somebody. Anybody. I’ll never ask for anything again. Just-… Just please help me. Please. It hurts. … I need to be there for her… I need her to know I love her and that I want her to be okay. I don’t want to upset anyone. I really don’t want to…

I’m so scared. I’m sorry… I don’t want to die.

[albino-whumpee]

The reason

Whumptober Day 6 - Proof of Life “I've got a pulse”

Idk if it´s ok to post this when I haven´t even posted the other important stuff, but honestly, this year´s prompt was too good and the chapter was almost finished anyways, so here you go. Have a big dose of angst. 

CW// Big warning for explicit suicide attempt, suicidal whumpee, blood, overdose, self loathing, past pet whump, ghosts, grief, guilt, death, implied murder, victim self blaming, emotional whump, angst. 

Life seemed to pass in front of his eyes without him actually being part of it. Not ever since they went to his house and read that man´s letter. Not ever, since they went to the lake where the crushed tent still stood and he screamed his throat raw.

Ever since he came out of that box, life progressively had lost its meaning.

The albino boy was at Sarahi´s house now, sitting on the ground crossed leg staring at the ashes on the fireplace. No cat roaming the pristine living room to make him company existed any longer. Momo rested above the fireplace in a wooden urn. A silver plaque with the cat’s name adorning it on top. Annie hadn’t had such luxuries.

Aware of the silence, his hand went under his shirt. Thin fingers hovered under the black, long sleeved shirt that became like a second skin. He passed his hand right over his abdomen, where he was forced to carve his own name. Not the name of the role he thought he played for his owner, but his real name. The one he had quit, and later, fiercely wished to get back not knowing he already had.

Now that he remembered it, he didn't know what to do with it.

His fingertips wandered around the edges of the scarred skin, tracing each of the letters before he stuck out his hand with a sigh.

Whoever Albus Serra Muller was, he was no longer part of this world. 

A pet had come to take his place. 

And that pet was sick of it.

The box boy watched the ashes for a little longer. Molding a pinch of it between his fingers and watching it stain them, remembering the satisfaction of seeing the books with his drawings thrown into the fire, despite the shocked faces of everyone around him. 

A sting of shame attacked him when he remembered it had been Sann who gave him those with a last spark of hope on his face. Sann refused to give up on him and yet... and yet, he had thrown them into the fire in front of him. 

He was sorry, but at the same time, he didn't regret burning them. He wouldn't need them anymore anyways. His resolve to continue had been turned to ashes over and over again, he was just so tired of burning.

“You said you had enough,” Albus whispered, remembering the weight, the cold tip of the revolver against his forehead “one on you, the next on me... but you put it down before it was my turn again...” he said through gritted teeth while a venomous fury lit his stomach on fire. He shoved it down; tasting the impulse to scratch himself bloody right there and then, so strong his hands slammed against his arm.

But before he could dig his nails in, he remembered Sann’s smiling face. How tightly he hugged him at the lake until he had no voice to scream and his eyes dried. How, in his anger, he had tried to push Sann away by throwing despicable words at him…. only to watch him sit down with him.

Tears rolled down his cheeks when he remembered Sann had told him with that new, husky voice of his, he would not give up on him. Not because he owed him. Because he loved him. Because he deserved a life that wasn´t filled with pain and orders. Because he wanted to live that life Albus had given him, with Albus.

“Damn it” He sniffed, furiously wiping off the tears on his face, before dragging air.

His chest tightened suddenly, as a broken sob broke the silence. He pulled his knees to his chest and chattering his teeth from the strain of trying to keep himself quiet. 

Everything he had tried to keep buried resurfaced and stared back, like waiting for him to do something about things he just couldn't change anymore. Getting dragged by a whirlpool of endless darkness, he had long drowned in.

Overwhelmed, he gasped for air and immediately, having barely anything to grab, he pulled on his hair.

After a moment, he let out a giggle under his breath. What an irony it was, that the only thing he could control about himself was how much he cut off. Be it memories, hair or skin. At least, he had managed to stop anyone from pulling him by the hair again. With a victorious grin, he let his arms fall down.

For a long moment he stayed quiet, curled into himself, crying his eyes out until his head felt like bursting. His brain struggled to keep away the painful memories of Annie and the facility. Pushing the memories of her at the lake screaming his name in terror, in a plead that fell into deaf, useless ears; the memories of the handlers putting him under the drip to forget her, memories from when he had escaped the facility and brought the tragedy that lead Sann to be Sirius replacement and took all of Santiago’s dreams. That forced Sarahi to buy him.

Resurging with that blinding pain, the memory of the albino woman leaving at night, hurriedly walking off to the street with a simple black backpack before looking up and mouthing she would come back for them appeared on his head. As if to remind him that if he had stopped her then, she would still be alive. Maybe things would’ve been different then.

He tightened his grip on his hair, the skin under beginning to throb. 

He pushed all those memories and truths away. 

Did he have the right to be crying like that? He had done nothing for others but bringing them pain. It was almost as if he couldn´t stop people from getting hurt regardless of what choice he made. 

The boy then continued to cry inconsolably.

At some point, snot rolled over his lip and he wiped it away with his shirt, just like he had done with his bile in the disobedience cells after sucking a handler off for the who-knows-which time. He remembered wiping the grime off his face just like that time when the boy on the other cell gave him back the food he had handed him seconds before.

He gave it back, but he only left the scraps. Albus thought to himself, unable to put a smile on his face. Everyone else just ate it without a second thought...But, he didn´t...What was his number..? Albus racked his brain for a moment and as he realized, his eyes slowly widened.

In the middle of the darkness, after a moment of his realization, associating the story the other boy told him about what had happened an eternity ago, he laughed. His whole body shook with him as the tears began to roll down indiscriminately.

“Ah, so that’s how we met...” he said, voice cracking with each word “I remember now...That’s how...your voice sounded....”

The words caught on his throat couldn’t be forced out anymore. At that very moment, something switched off inside of him. In that last gasp for breath, as his face went blank and his eyes unfocused, he waited a second before he rose to his feet and walked to the kitchen. Static thrummed in his ears as he grabbed everything inside the drawer containing all of Claude’s medication.

Albus was going to grab the glass next to the sink, when he saw the knife.

He stared at it for a while, considering leaving it there, but in the end, he took it too, before stepping into the living room’s bathroom. Switching the light on and silently closing the door behind him. Head heavy, but looking completely unbothered, he opened the tap all the way and heard the water run for a moment before pulling his eyes up. As he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he downed the first bottle.

He didn’t scream when by his third, he pushed his shirt up and ruined the “A” marked on his abdomen with the knife, before moving to the next letter. Not caring about the blood spilling into the floor or the pain of scratching the letters scarring his skin. 

He was too tired to care anymore.

Completely swallowed by despair, he didn’t notice he hadn’t closed the door right. A ray of light illuminated the hallway towards the rooms, and the sound of the empty pill cases hitting the floor when he threw them, slowly forced Sann’s eyes open.

—

In the middle of the night, Sann’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of water flowing. It took him a moment in his drowsy state to realize it wasn’t raining. Instinctively, his hands searched for his partner’s warmth in their bed. Finding his spot going cold next to him forced his head up. Sann blinked confused at the empty spot and turned his head towards the bathroom door.

There was no light under the door frame, but the sound of water didn’t stop. 

Sann frowned and groaned as he pushed himself up into his elbows, rubbing his eyes before looking around the empty room again, noticing the light coming from the hallway.

He waited a second, hoping he had just woken up from a nightmare and he would be back soon, but the water wouldn’t stop. In his half asleep state, he took his phone, ignoring the messages from his mother and Robin and focused on the hour marked on the clock. Too early... Sann thought to himself, sighing on his pillow before he rolled to his side.

“Al?” Sann asked, swinging his feet over the bed and stepping into the hallway, the phone still in his hand as he yawned, following the source of the light and frowning when he noticed it was coming from the bathroom. Albus never used any other bathrooms but his own. He went to open it with a bad feeling pulling a knot on his stomach “Albus?”

The water from the sink was still running when Sann dropped his phone on the floor and stopped knowing how to breathe for a solid minute. Standing stunned on the room’s door frame, only to find the mess of pill cartridges and blood that was on the floor around a bloodied Albus. 

Too shocked to move, he saw the boy look up at him with teary eyes. 

“He told me to swallow” 

“W-What?” Sann croaked out, the rest of his body unable to move. 

“Back then at the disobedience cells. He told me to swallow,” he retold with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes “He would be proud now...” his arms pointed at the floor vaguely “I swallowed so much I won't have to do it ever again” Albus smiled as Sann gave him an horrified look. “I’m...free”

Sann’s chest tightened up in pressure that knocked the air out of his lungs when he dropped to his knees next to Albus. Watching the blood on his shirt, on his abdomen, dripping onto the floor, right next to the kitchen knife on his left hand. Shaking his head, he uncovered his abdomen only to see the web of welts made by the knife.

“No, no...” Sann whispered under his breath, seeing the wound and then fishing out one of the empty flasks. Recognizing them as Cloude’s strongest sleep medication “No, no, no, Albus, no!” He threw the case away to cup the boy’s face, unable to hold down a whine under Sann’s bruising hold. “T-tell me you didn’t s-swallow them all,” the albino tried to turn his head away but Sann forced him to look back at him “Albus! Tell me how many you swallowed!” He shouted in desperation, making the other flinch. “P-ple-ase answer me, how m-many?”

It took him a long excruciating moment to reply, voice barely above a whisper “...All of them”

Sann’s stomach flipped as his jaw dropped. Letting go, his face began to twist into pained misunderstanding, but it stopped halfway. Dropped to turn into agony as he tilted his head to his left, tears welling on his eyes before letting out a broken, ragged sob instead of the scream that wanted to push through his barely recovered throat.

“I’m sorry...” Sann sobbed, face going a bright red as he pulled Albus into a hug so tight Albus whimpered “I’m sorry, I´m so sorry, Al”

“Don´t...” Albus replied pulling Sann´s head up to face him, red staining Sann´s cheek and jaw, right over the scar from Robert´s knife. “Don´t. That´s not it” he smiled before planting a kiss on his forehead “It´s me who should apologize” Albus´ voice cracked, tears beginning to well up on his eyes “I know I can´t…I can´t apologize in a way that matters. This is the only way to make it up to you” Albus grabbed Sann´s hands into his own and gave it a kiss “You deserve a better life” he panted as the tears streamed down “I can´t let myself ruin it again” 

Sann kept staring at him in shock. But then his eyes, rimmed red from crying, suddenly narrowed, an emotion on them Albus had rarely seen in Sann.

“I´m not gonna let you die” Sann said, almost growling.

Albus froze before he followed Sann´s hands reaching for towels “Don´t...” he weakly begged before Sann pressed them tight against his stomach, reaping a yelp out of him “Sann! No, Please!” 

It was as if the boy couldn't hear him when he took the knife and threw it away, the sound of it falling into the floor piercing through the silence in what was supposed to be just another night before the boy passed his arms under Albus and lifted him up in one go. Readjusting his grip and making him wince before Sann dashed through the hallway screaming at Claude for help. 

“N-No..!” Albus cried in the boy's arms, weakly pushing against his chest in an attempt to break free. But the pills were beginning to work and the world began to darken around the edges. “Stop..!” He mumbled, feeling another set of hands on him forcing his feeble, thin arms away from his stomach, before hearing a woman scream. “Nononono, ssstop!” he slurred as he was hurriedly carried outside to Sann´s reworked van. 

He could barely understand what Sann screamed at Sarahi and Claude, both in their pajamas, but when Sarahi and him locked eyes, he tried to convey to her to please stop Sann in a look alone. He knew how horror looked on his ex-owner´s face, so he was shocked into silence when he saw her slam the door open and get inside the car to hold him. 

He couldn´t understand what she said, his vision swimming as the car began to move. He didn´t understand why she, who hated dirty things, who hated him the most, didn´t do anything when he vomited on her feet. Why she wiped the bile off and carded her fingers through his hair with such a pained expression. 

Albus tried to push her hand away, then. 

“Why don´t you hate me?!” he wanted to scream, and he did try, but she seemed to not understand a word. “Why won´t you let me die?” he cried, digging his palms into his eyes. “Stop the car!” he screamed as he hurled into the front seats, feeling strong hands pull him back intot he seat. He couldn´t really feel his fingers anymore but he fought against the person holding him down as hard as he could “Can´t you see? Don´t you know there´s no place for me in this god forsaken world?!” he shouted at the person pushing him down into the seat. Crying out when they pressed their knee against his stomach. 

Albus´ world became a mix of shadows and flickering lights. He felt light suddenly, as if he had been hauled up and then his head began to spin wildly. He couldn´t see, but he felt hands over hands holding him down. 

“S-Stop!! I´m a murderer!!! Why save me?!” he tried to swat the hands away, but quick enough, his wrists were held in an iron grip. So, he tried to kick everyone away. Satisfaction filling him for an instant when his feet landed on someone's face before his feet  were restrained, too. He laughed grimly, then. No, he was panting, struggling to drag air in. The world blurred as he shook his head from side to side. “I…-n´t wanna…save…no…” his consciousness was slipping. He could hear screams. Was it Sann? He couldn´t tell. “...lease…please…” he begged as he felt something being put over his face.

A warmth overcame him suddenly. The world was a void of white, blinding light when he looked up. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open anymore. So he begged. His voice became impossible to decipher even for him as the seconds ticked by. 

“If this is not suffering enough, I-,” he couldn't tell if he had his eyes open or not. “I don't know how else to atone” he said, curling into himself. 

He cried so harshly, he screamed until he had no voice, he didn´t open his eyes. He didn´t wanna see the world around him was slowly flooded with the sea. 

“Oh, Albus” an albino woman knelt next to him, pulling him into a hug. “You have suffered too much, for too long” she told him, carding her fingers through his hair as he hugged her back. “It was hard, wasn´t it?” she saw him nod against her chest “You did your best and still, it came down to this. I´m very sorry, son. I´m sorry you had to grow too fast because of me. I´m sorry I left you behind,” she apologized. The boy stayed quiet. “Lemme take a look at you, Albie” she said putting her fingers under his chin before lifting it. 

“Can I go with you now, mom?” he cried. 

It wasn´t the first time he saw that beach at sunset. That time too, all those years ago, he saw his mother before waking up to the start of his nightmare. He held tight to her. 

“I can´t go back anymore” he told her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. He pressed into the hug even tighter. “I hurt so many people…They wouldn´t want me back, anyway. So please, mom. Please…” the albino sobbed against her chest when she passed her hand through his hair. 

“You didn´t know what would happen, Al” another voice said next to him. His eyes shook as they landed on the young girl kneeling next to his mother. 

“Annie…” 

The girl smiled. “Stupid brother, you thought you were my personal bodyguard” she huffed, making him mute. How much he missed her. “You are four feet tall, who´re you gonna scare? The ants?” she sighed loud and long “How much did you miss because of me?”

“Annie…!” the boy jumped to hug her. He held her so tight, tears streamed down explosively. “I- I want- I-I-I promised you, and yet I! Annie, I´m- I´m so, so sorry. I´m sorry…I´m so sorry!” he cried as snot ran down his face. He kept mumbling apologies until he was pushed away. 

“I get it, ok? It´s ok. It was really, really hard. I´m sorry I wasn´t there to protect you” she said, hugging him back. His eyes widened before closing shut again, pulling his arms around her small figure. “I´m sorry too, Albus.” the boy emerged from her chest with a confused look “Mom and I can´t let you come yet”

“What-?”

She pressed a finger over his lips. “Let me finish, stupid brother” 

Albus smacked his lips closed before wiping the snot and tears off. Annie stared at him for a long moment before getting a serious look. She was merely a kid…

“Al,” she called suddenly, catching his attention. “That day, you saved a life. I won´t ever feel anything more than pride for you for that” he wanted to tell her to explain what the hell was she talking about. The two people he should have done everything to save were right there, cold, dead. And he should join them, so what was she..? “That Christmas, you saved someone else. Me? You saved me more than once. If you hadn´t taken most of dad´s beatings, if you didn´t blame yourself for me, if you hadn´t eaten that poisoned food…”

“That was..!”

“Al,” she cut him off before breaking into a smile “I would´ve died much, much earlier if it wasn´t for you. You saved us. Even if you were hurting, you pushed through. For us” she said setting a cold hand on his shoulder. 

“But you…”

She shook her head. “I won´t ever blame you for what happened. You don´t have to bear that pain anymore, ok? You´re not alone anymore, either” Albus frowned at her, before she sighed through her nose. She clicked her tongue behind him, making him turn around. 

“ALBUS!! WAKE UP! PLEASE!” he heard Sann scream from above the stretcher his body was on. “You can´t do this to me, you can´t. Please..!” he begged as he continued doing CPR even when doctors tried to pull him down. 

Albus´ head turned towards the monitor next to him and a shudder went down his back as he saw the flatline. 

“DON´T YOU DARE DIE ON ME, ALBUS!!” Sann continued to scream, “SOMEBODY! ANYBODY, HELP! HELP HIM, PLEASE!!” Sann howled as he punched his torax, making his body jerk back. He gave him some more compressions before he bent down to blow air into him. Albus watched his own scarred chest bloat before Sann continued giving him CPR. “Wake up, wake up, wake up. Please, Al” Sann whispered, his voice worn to a hoarse croak. Tears spilled over his cheeks into the corpse below him. Stopping his compressions for a second, he cupped his face and kissed him harshly. “I can´t lose you again…” he cried in a shaky voice. 

Albus´ hand tried to wipe the tears streaming down his face, but he could only watch him wipe them off before restarting his efforts, nurses looking at him with pity as he screamed for help and nobody came. 

“See?” Annie said, holding his hand. 

“You do have someone who wants you back” his mother said, taking his other hand. 

Albus stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes refusing to leave Sann as he was forced down the stretcher and he kicked and pushed to climb on it again. Not even a bloody cough stopped him. 

“...After everything I did…I caused him so much pain, I can´t just-” he stepped back, but the two women held him strong. 

“He told you already, didn´t he?” His mother told him as he watched his corpse curl into himself in a gasp. 

“W-WE HAVE A PULSE!” one of the doctors screamed in clear astonishment. 

The monitor began beeping again as doctors and nurses, stunned for a moment, began to swarm his body. Pushing Sann to the side before he made way to stand by his head, ripping the segufix around one of his wrists and frantically kissing his hand before squeezing it tight, refusing to leave his side. 

“He won´t give up on you” Annie finished her mother´s phrase before both pushed Albus towards the stretcher. He could only take a quick look back at them having big smiles on their faces. His vision swam as he tried to stretch his hand towards them. “He searched for you, not to see you kill yourself for him. He searched because he wanted to live that life you gave him, with you. So don´t give up on this life so easily, ok?” were the last words he heard before the world became pitch black.

----

Taglist: 

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy  @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn-blog @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker @wingedwhump @unicornscotty @melancholy-in-the-morning

[storytellersumayyah]

and grief said goodbye

tw: implied disordered eating, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, negative self image

Tristan could count on his hands the number of real conversations he’d had with his parents since the fire. Most of them had taken place after he walked away from Camilla- and even just thinking of her name made his heart hurt- because they had wanted to know everything. They had accused him of being involved, and that had stung more than anything else. Once they went back to the manor, the conversations centred on his new school.

And after he started, they stopped. Almost completely.

He left before his parents showed their faces. When he returned, he went straight to his room to do his work, and he never saw them in the living room working together. They would eat dinner together, but words were never exchanged. And their seats had changed. Victoria sat at the head. James on her right. Tristan two seats away. He knew why they still sat together. No matter how much his parents hated him for what he served as a reminder of, they would not let him get physically worse.

It made him angrier than if they had just left.

When they did speak, it was short sentences. Brief questions. One word answers. Victoria never called him by his name. James never called him Laurie. He never reminded them of what they were supposed to be for him. His father, who had once been grateful that Tristan was there, if only so his wife remembered they were married, seemed like he couldn’t wait for Tristan to leave. His mother didn’t even acknowledge his presence enough to despise it.

He didn’t ask them for anything. When he got an email saying his bank statement was ready to view, he took a deep breath and opened it. The balance had increased. The money was from James. Not Victoria.

He didn’t ask for anything because he would not be given it, and everything he needed, he worked out himself.

But there was something he couldn’t do alone. No matter how many hours he spent trawling the internet, no matter how much research he did, he couldn’t find the information. Anywhere. It was like the details had been wiped. For all he knew, they probably had.

He needed to ask.

So he waited. Until his mother switched on him again. Until his father called him Laurie. Until they asked what the letter had said. Until they told him they had filled in the documents for his college loans. Until they did something. But they didn’t.

He had stared death in the eye once and he had lived.

Maybe he could do it again.

“I need to talk to Mr Carter,” he announced at dinner.

Both his parents stopped eating.

“No,” James said, completely flat.

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care how important it is, we are not communicating with that man ever again,” Victoria snapped. She hadn’t recovered. She blamed Mr Carter for what happened more than she blamed Camilla. In her eyes, Camilla was just a girl. Mr Carter had encouraged and aided her project and nothing would undo that. Not even the testimony he had delivered in front of everyone who mattered, vouching for them.

“I need him.”

“You don’t,” James said. It was sharper. Almost like he knew what Mr Carter had been to his son.

But Tristan did. Mr Carter told him that he’d taken certain information from everyone’s files before they physical ones were destroyed in the fire and the digital ones as a result of the closure. He said if there was ever anything they needed, he would tell them.

He had sent the photographs taken at the dance a few months after Christmas. Tristan had hidden them from his parents. He’d told himself he would destroy them, but someone had captured the moment Camilla lit up as she told him how things had changed. And in that photo, he was smiling.

That was the version of them he wanted to remember. So he kept them all.

“I need him to tell Camilla-“

“You will not mention that girl if you want to stay here,” Victoria cut in.

“Mom. Please. Just this once. I just- I need him to tell her, I need him to try and tell her that I was wrong. That it was never her fault. And I shouldn’t have said it was. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t because she is good and she is loving and I forgive her for what happened because my actions were not her fault and she needs to let go of the fear because it doesn’t deserve and-“ he took a deep breath.

“Tristan?” James kept his voice level.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I need her to know. Please.”

“Tristan,” Victoria said.

“Mom. Please. I will never bring either of them up again. Please.”

She didn’t reply.

“Dad,” he whispered, trying to remind his father of who they used to be.

“Tristan.” Victoria said his name again. Tristan hated it. His name felt like a death sentence. A prophecy he was doomed to fulfil. Sadness. That was his name.

“Please,” he tried, one last time.

“Just this once, I will allow it.”

He couldn’t believe her. “What? Why?”

“Because you need it. Because Camilla does as well. Because that is a heavy thing to carry. Because you have forgiven yourself, and you have forgiven her, and she deserves to know. Because nobody deserves to feel guilty or ashamed when they did the best they could,” Victoria said, and she looked at James as she gave her final reason. James looked down. Tristan knew they were both thinking of the summer, and sentences they couldn’t take back.

“Because you are our son. And this is the only thing you have asked us for since you came back,” James added.

Even though the manor was not home, and even though it wasn’t enough to make up for any of their mistakes, Tristan smiled.

And in that moment, grief wandered out of his room.

Two weeks later, and an ocean away, Camilla unlocked the front door to her first and real home with a deep sigh. Things at school were still tense and she was growing tired of it. She hadn’t been able to warn anyone she was returning, which had led to a mix of reactions, but Ari was trying her best, even as she kept him at arms length.

She’d broken him once. She wouldn’t do it again. Not after Tristan.

But there was no time to think of Tristan. Her A-Levels were just around the corner (well, they were a few months away, but same difference) and she needed Cambridge more than they needed her. Which meant meeting her grade requirements as a bare minimum.

She was going to go straight to her room, but then her mother called her from the living room. She had been so caught up in wondering what had happened to Tristan- she sometimes wished she had his number, but it would’ve killed her if he’d blocked it so perhaps it was for the best- that she hadn’t even noticed the pair of shoes next to hers.

She went into the living room. Her mum was sitting on the sofa, phone in her hands.

“Hey mama.”

“How was school?” She asked, almost nervously.

Camilla shrugged, awkwardly standing in the doorway. Her parents had forgiven her for her role to play in Tristan’s downfall. They had forgiven her for her role to play in the destruction that was caused. She would forever be grateful that they didn’t hate her, and forever scared that she would never be good enough to make them forget.

“I received a message today. From Mr Carter.”

Everything around her froze. Mr Carter had helped her. He had wiped away the tears that spilt on her eighteenth birthday. He had read her personal statement and had faith in her and told Tristan to run and let her slip away. But he had also broken her. She had cried the first time Mr Kennedy told her it was okay she got something so easy wrong because she was convinced he would call her stupid. He had knelt down before her and the image still terrified her.

She never wanted to hear from him again. The photo of her and Tristan, both realising they could be soft and accept who they were, was tucked away in her room, but that was the only thing from him she would keep. All the lessons he taught, all the lies he told, she would forget.

“What did he say?”

“Tristan-“ and that name still hurt but she couldn’t let her mother know how much they had meant to each other so she just kept her face as neutral as she could, which wasn’t very but it had to be enough.

Her mother wasn’t continuing.

“Tristan?”

“I don’t understand what it means. But Mr Carter said that Tristan needs you to know that it wasn’t your fault, and it was never your fault. He said he crossed a line when he told you it was and he’s sorry.”

Camilla did something she hadn’t done in what felt like a lifetime.

She cried in front of her mother.

She couldn’t help it. But she had been carrying the secret since she returned. Her parents hadn’t heard the conversation. Jonathan and Adelaide had assumed he was acting on pure emotion, but Camilla had heard the things he wasn’t saying. She had heard the way it was more than just a way to hurt her. She had heard the belief.

To know it was false, that he hadn’t meant it, that it was never real, convinced her that she could be good again. She could be soft. She could move on.

And so could he.

But then her mother did something that she hadn’t done in a lifetime either.

She stood up, and she walked over to her daughter.

And she hugged her.

And she didn’t let go, even as Camilla’s knees gave out because of the pure relief she was filled with.

“Come on babu. Just let it go. It’s okay.”

She didn’t bother wiping the tears away. Camilla needed them.

When she calmed down enough to talk, she sighed and pulled away slightly. “Can you tell him I said thank you?”

Her mother’s initial review of Mr Carter had been glowing, but when Camilla accidentally let slip that he had called her a stupid girl, she became his biggest hater. So it was a long shot, but she nodded and Camilla smiled.

It was the first real one since they’d come back, and for her mother, it was like watching her baby’s milestone all over again.

“Do you see what this means? Tristan has forgiven himself. He has forgiven you. Your father and I have forgiven you too. All that is left is for you to forgive yourself. You are allowed to do that Camilla. I promise.”

Camilla nodded. “I know I can.”

And for once, she wasn’t lying. She forgave herself, on the floor of her living room. In the original uniform she was meant to wear. With her mother, in her shalwar kameez because she didn’t let anyone take anything from her, hugging her.

And in that moment, grief walked out her front door.

-

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[viciouslyfilthy]

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓

🦨{Basics}🦨

Name: Doctor Freitmai Fleischer Kraus.

Alias: Freddy, Dr. Kraus, Wrath.

Gender: cis male.

Age: 203 years old.

Species: shapeshifter skunk monster.

Zodiac: aquarius / aries / cancer / capricorn / gemini / leo / libra / pisces / sagittarius / scorpio / taurus / virgo / unknown

Talents/abilities: (PROFESSIONAL) virtuoso violinist; chemist; experimenter; astronomer; mathematician; biologist; monster hunter ; (SUPERNATURAL) can control fire (& hair can turn into flames, especially when enraged); can turn into a giant skunk monster (this ability is triggered by emotional reactions, he has no control over it and becomes unruly and unable to be reasoned with); can shoot fiery spikes from his back (only when in skunk monster form); appears to be somewhat immune to 'going mad' if he gazes into eldritch horrors or taps into unspeakable knowledge.

🧪{Personal}🧪

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

Religion: agnostic/freethinker.

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: greek, (british) english, french, japanese, italian, irish, hebrew, latin, infernal, draconic, elfish.

Family: Elijah Kraus (father) & Bernadette Fleischer (mother) (sadly both deceased); has (unidentified) family members residing in France (status unknown).

Friends: just Eden, he's often reclusive.

Sexual Orientation: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual  / asexual / unsure / questioning / other

Relationship status: single / dating / married / widowed / open relationship / other

Libido: sex god / very high / high  / average / low / very low / non-existent

Supplemental: this is Freddy's theme song. Context behind it being: it is mainly dedicated to his violin, named after his late mother. He has a deep love for his musical instrument which is shown in the lyrics, whilst he rants about his misery in the world.

🦨{Physical}🦨

Build: twig / bony / slender / average / athletic / curvy / chubby / obese

Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / greying white

Eyes: brown / blue / emerald green / black / other

Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / very brown & tone unusually grey-ish dark (this is caused by the skunk-half assigned by Sün, it might be more noticeable when I make digital art of him) / other

Height: under 3 foot / 3-4 foot / 4-5 foot / 5-6 foot / 6'4 foot / above 7 foot

Weight: under 100 pounds / 100-150 pounds / 150-200 pounds / 200-250 pounds / above 250 pounds

Scars: small scarrings on his fingers/knuckles (from ruler rapping in school during childhood, mostly faded), lash marks on his back (also mostly faded since they too are from way back in his school years), a large, gaping wound (uninfected, non-bloody but also never healing, which leads to it remaining open) in his stomach caused by drinking acid in his attempt. The wound is often stitched shut by him to prevent his stomach and intestines from just hanging out (that feeling is painless for him, only bringing him mild discomfort, but it is an inconvenience)- the tissue around the wound has adapted the consistency of a scar, although it never heals.

Facial Features: his piercing green eyes, his gaze is deep as the sea; he has a little white line in between his eyes that goes up to the top part of his hairline, much like you'd see on a striped skunk!

Tattoos: none!

🧪{Choose}🧪

Dogs or Cats?

"Must I entertain this lowly questionnaire?" He raised a brow inquisitively, before rolling his eyes and angrily sputtering.

"...oh, alright. Cats."

Birds or Hamsters?

"..."

Red or Blue?

"..."

Yellow or Green?

'Father's favourite... reminded him of her eyes.' he thought to himself.

Black or White?

"I find that, in clothing, it is a rather modest color... white? Ohh, it feels like you want to draw much too many eyes on you by wearing it."

Coffee or Tea?

Truth be told, he enjoyed both drinks. Coffee especially helped him remain awake to work in his laboratory, tea, however... he'd grown fond of it to an emotional extent. Made him think of Eden, he'd always make mint and ginger tea.

Ice Cream or Cake?

"I dislike frozen treats."

Fruits or Vegetables?

"..."

Sandwich or Soup?

"A quick feast."

Magic or Melee?

"What do you take me for? Some kind of barbarian?"

Bold of you to assume this Victorian gentleman would dare put himself in something so gauche as a brawl. Dr. Kraus, of all people.

Sword or Bow?

Again, a choice where he did use or enjoy both things, but he personally preferred keeping a distance from threats. Besides, his aim was rather good.

Summer or Winter?

"Not for the weather like most would say, mind you.

Assuming you know my position, the season is simply less... unruly. Though Sün's power grows and expands, which is also a predicament; his cults reunite in a single place and it is easier to keep track of their whereabouts. And there are less winterbeings roaming about in the waking world."

Spring or Autumn?

"Spring is the most detestable time of year. Allergies flare up, faefolk begin to surface, and most unpleasant of all, is that καταραμένος ( kataraménos ; ' cursed ' ) Spring Spirit.

One of the many things that stain this planet, a vile, treacherous fiend. " he gritted his teeth.

The Past or The Future?

While he wished he could go back in the past oftem, he knew that mourning not having made better choices would be all for naught. Besides... despite being cursed to live eternally and beind bonded to a filthy, furry beast, there were few things he cherished through all the suffering: being reunited with his best friend, his beloved violin, his home, the wonders of nature... they were little things, but they were worth it. Worth living for right now.

"Neither. The future does not exist, the past is but a thought."

[mystery-wings]

Random OC Fact of the Day — OC: Alexan (Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia)

Because of his background, Alexan has complex thoughts about the topic of parents and family; it can be difficult to imagine having parents or a family when scientists are the reason you even exist. Sometimes, he does want parents or a family, though he knows the adjustment wouldn’t be easy for him—as he has always been nothing more than an experiment, prior to his conception, and since the day, from one artificial womb to another, and continuous tests and experimentation and training—especially with his severe struggles of developing attachments (including secure attachments) and bonding with people, being selectively mute, and a list of other issues, though he does understand his issues to a certain extent, but he doesn’t know the severity of them and all of what he has, and wonders if he will ever know more than the fact they are weaknesses, deficits, and imperfections to his creators.

[spncompostheap]

"Castiel!"

Cas Novak jolted awake, unable to shake off the vivid dream of his mother's voice still echoing in his ears. Slicing through the air like lightning, electrifying his senses, Cas’s mind reeled as he spiraled back through time to that fateful night, just after his ninth birthday.

Tightening his grip on the blankets pooling at his waist, a chill ran through Cas as he surveyed the dimly lit bedroom. His eyes strained against the darkness, as an unmistakable sense of disorientation overtook him. As his most intrusive memories surged forward, Cas suddenly felt too helpless to fight against them as they relentlessly pushed their way into the forefront of his reality.

Cautiously, Cas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Within moments, he’d been overwhelmed by a tidal wave of pain, fear, and loss—everything came crashing back, threatening to consume him until he fled the confines of his bedroom completely hoping to escape into the kitchen instead.

Raised voices filled his mind coupled with the sound of shattering glass, and his mother's desperate, unanswered pleas for help.

Pressing a trembling hand against the cool countertop, Cas’s mind etched every detail into his consciousness amidst his futile attempts at grounding himself. Pinching the meat of his outer thigh and intentionally digging in his fingernails, Cas was unprepared for the sensation of utter numbness which followed. As his heart raced, and breathing became ragged, Cas began to abandon all hope of remaining tethered within reality.

His mother's eyes were wide with fear as she had pleaded with him directly. “Just go back to bed, Castiel! Please, just go back to bed-”

Cas’s gaze shifted towards the refrigerator, as he longed for the familiar heaviness from having consumed a large but satisfying meal. Tension filled the air, pressing down on him. Despite the cool rush of air and the bright light that flooded the small kitchenette as the refrigerator door clicked open, time seemed to fold back upon itself. In that moment, Cas felt overwhelmed, knowing that he couldn't stop any of it now.

His father materialized before his eyes, face contorted with rage, as he had pinned his terrified wife against the wall with sheer brute force and the imminent threat of more violence to come.

Cas’s hands were already instinctively moving without his consent as he located last night's leftover pizza, a package of mini powdered donuts and the brand new box of Cookie-O’s cereal Anna had just brought home from the store. A quick scan of the freezer had revealed a gallon of vanilla ice cream his Aunt had tried to place just out of reach. Shoving aside frozen broccoli and healthy choice TV dinners, Cas had easily freed the ice cream from its hiding place before finding a spoon and spreading his entire cache of food items out across the counter.

He felt so very small as his father turned to face him, momentarily loosening his grip on his wife’s slender wrists.

The lid discarded without a second thought, Cas had attacked the gallon of ice cream with a large spoon, shoveling vanilla into his mouth as fast as humanly possible. Spoonful after spoonful, the cool sweetness of the ice cream mingled with the bitterness of his memories. Each bite was another desperate attempt to drown out the echoes of that night and chase away the pain before it became too unbearable.

His mother took advantage of her husband’s distraction and tried to make a break for it. Cas’s heart jumped into his throat as his father spun around, grabbing his mother by her hair, with his unyielding strength.

Before too long, Cas’s spoon hit the bottom of the ice cream carton. Dazed by the perceived loss, he raised the empty container to his lips, gulping down any residual melted goodness until nothing remained.

His parents scuffled until his father finally succeeded in overpowering his mother once more, pushing her down face first in one complete gesture. Cas’s mother lost her balance and fell to the ground.

With a heavy sigh, Cas forced himself to keep eating, his eyes now fixated on the leftover pizza before him. Driven by ravenous phantom hunger pains, Cas devoured slice after slice, the flavors of greasy cheese and savory toppings providing a momentary distraction from the torrent of haunting images flooding his mind.

Cas glanced down in horror at his mother’s now motionless form. A steadily growing puddle of blood had begun to engulf her body, seeping through her cotton nightgown.

Cas's fingers moved with a frenetic urgency, searching for something, anything, that might keep the demons away. His hunger persisted, clawing at his insides, refusing to be silenced as he grabbed the mini powdered donuts off the counter, tearing the packaging away.

Cas fled his father's rage, desperately seeking safety. He rushed into the bathroom, fumbling to lock the door behind him. Collapsing inside the bathtub, Cas curled into a ball, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees while trying to shield himself from the terrors of the outside world.

White powdery residue clung to Cas's fingers as he had shoveled all twenty-four miniature donuts into his mouth in rapid succession. Sugar coursed through his veins, eliciting a brief thrill of endorphins. Chewing mechanically, Cas was distantly aware of his increasing physical discomfort. One hand dropped to his waist absent-mindedly as he pushed the elastic waistband of his pajamas pants farther below the curve of his overstuffed belly. 

His father’s panicked cries permeated the air in the aftermath of what he’d done. His voice sounded alarmingly unhinged until he remembered his son and shifted focus towards trying to bang down the bathroom door.

Ripping into the massive box of Cookie-O's cereal next, Cas extracted the interior plastic lining before casually discarding the empty cardboard box onto the floor. Proceeding to cram fistfulls of miniature cookie-shaped pieces into his mouth, Cas desperately tried to stave off the intensity of unshed tears, fearing they would consume him.

When he finally ran out of food, a flicker of realization crossed his face as the room around him started to lose its form, and the once-familiar surroundings began to merge into a disturbing kaleidoscope of unreality. When the floor beneath him shifted before melting away, he felt the distinct sensation of treading water as if some powerful current were trying to drag him below.

“I know you know where she hid my gun, Castiel! You need to tell me where your mother put it right now or so help me I’ll be forced to-!”

Frantically searching through the shelves for more food amidst the chaotic emotional replay of his most traumatic memories, Cas was overtaken by fear until his hands had landed on the bottle of cooking oil his aunt kept near the stove for frying things.

Cas was acutely aware of his father’s ability to rip their house apart down to the floorboards until he found what he was looking for.

Although Anna’s economy sized Canola oil was an unusual choice, it was technically considered a food item. Still caught in the past and too far outside of his own body to function, Cas sought out whatever means necessary to physically weigh himself down. So he unscrewed the cap, as his fingers closed around the thick plastic bottle and took a big sip. As the viscous, oily liquid coated his tongue and slipped down his throat, the act of drinking something so thick and filling began to serve its purpose. 

When the gun went off, it was louder than anything Cas could have ever possibly imagined, yet still did little to drown out the subtle thud of his father's body hitting the floor.

Cas continued to drink until the thought of consuming more left him dangerously close to vomiting. Cradling his overfull stomach, Cas stumbled into the adjacent living room, slumping hard against the couch. Then slowly, returning to his body once Cas’s eyes tilted downwards as he palmed the sturdy firmness of his distended belly. As his anxiety and emotional distress faded into exhaustion, Cas allowed himself to accept the rush of comfort flooding his senses. Although Cas knew he should probably feel guilty, or at the very least disgusted with himself, for surrendering to his unhealthiest of coping mechanisms. Having been on antipsychotics for over a year now, it had become that much harder to hate himself, even amid times of crisis.

***

As light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a gentle morning glow, Anna Milton appeared already dressed in her nursing uniform. Surveying the small kitchenette and adjacent living room, Anna’s gaze settled upon her loudly snoring nephew and the remnants of yet another midnight feast, the third one this week by her count. With subtle concern etched into her features, Anna approached Cas where he slept, balled up on the living room couch.

Anna paused to observe Cas as he rested, noting how one of his arms pressed tightly against the worn polyester upholstery, while the other clutched his rounded midsection as though he were experiencing discomfort. Ignoring the beads of sweat dotting across Cas's forehead, Anna bent down slowly before reaching out and carefully freeing one of her nephew’s arms. Gently pressing two fingers against Cas's radial artery at the pulse point, she made a conscious effort to avoid touchinging the angriest of his vertical scars. After counting to sixty twice just to make sure, Anna released a deep sigh, exhaling a torrent of breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding in.

Taken aback by her nephew's striking resemblance to her late sister, Anna felt further compelled to alleviate all the hardships life had thrown Cas’s way. While the continued nighttime binge eating was far from ideal, it stood out in sharp contrast to Cas’s ongoing struggles with anxiety, depression, and PTSD. Having nearly lost him several times throughout his short life, Anna treasured every day she had parenting her eccentric young nephew. She was also profoundly grateful for her continued collaboration with Dr. Mia Vallens, a psychiatrist whose expertise had been consistently demonstrated over the years through her innate ability to help Cas navigate his traumatic past.

Sticking to a strict routine of weekly therapy sessions alongside a carefully prescribed regimen of psychiatric medications seemed to be, at last, proving effective in keeping Cas's intrusive suicidal thoughts under control. So, even though moments of grief still crept in from time to time, when she missed the boy he could have been, Anna had learned to value Cas’s enduring resilience above all else.

"Time to wake up and take your meds, Cas," Anna whispered, keeping her voice intentionally low to avoid startling him.

Cas woke up slowly, his blue eyes blinking in the morning sun. He stretched, sat up, and then managed a small, tired smile that Anna suspected was meant purely for her benefit.

"Hey there, sleepyhead. It seems like you had quite the culinary adventure again last night," Anna said, pausing when she noticed Cas looking somewhat bewildered.

“Maybe you had bad dreams last?" Anna suggested placing a comforting hand on Cas's shoulder.

"I, uh, I don't entirely remember, but it seems like I might have gotten carried away again. I'm so sorry, Anna," Cas confessed, fidgeting with the fraying hem of his shirt.

"Oh Cas, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Just remember that you can always wake me overnight if you need to, alright? I'm here to support you, Cas," Anna said, trying to reassure him.

"Thank you Anna, I truly appreciate that," Cas said quietly, still looking away.

With a gentle squeeze of her nephew’s shoulder, Anna made her way back to the kitchen, determined to help him start the day on a positive note. She retrieved Cas's weekly pillbox, checking over each compartment’s meticulous organization. It was a testament to the structured routine they had both had a part in while trying to manage Cas’s ongoing mental health. Filling a tall glass with cool, filtered water, Anna placed it neatly beside the box of medications on the countertop. As she arranged these items, a soft smile crept across Anna’s face, a quiet reflection of much progress Cas had made in just the last year alone. Soon he would be turning fifteen at the end of the summer, and while the passage of time was evident in his growing maturity, her unwavering support for him remained constant in their shared journey towards happiness and well-being.

Removing a clean bowl and spoon from the dishwasher, Anna searched high and low for the recently purchased box of cereal. While she was well aware that Cookie O's probably wasn’t the healthiest choice for her nephew, his meds still needed to be taken with food. Additionally, the familiar childhood favorite always seemed to help, even during Cas's most challenging days. As her gaze swept across the kitchen, Anna frowned momentarily, giving in to disappointment over the now-empty cereal box laying discarded on the floor. Taking a deep breath, Anna tried to center herself, before refocusing her attention back onto Cas. Forcing herself to remember that Cas’s progress always came in small steps, could not be rushed, and that setbacks were a natural part of the journey.

***

Cas had woken up slowly, still grasping at details of what exactly had transpired overnight. Although he’d already figured out that he must've overdone it again with the eating thing, given Anna’s persistent hovering rather than her getting ready for work. While Cas genuinely tried to avoid all the negative shit that might push him into a bout of overthinking, he couldn't ignore the signs of having had another episode. Summoning the will to stand, Cas couldn't ignore how much heavier his body was getting. Touching his lips, he found them and his fingers to be smeared thickly with grease. The hint of acid reflux burned down the back of his throat, and there was considerably more tension gathering in his lower back from carrying so much new and extra weight. All these strangely familiar discomforts combined could only mean one thing, and judging from Anna’s increased weirdness around him, Cas hardly needed to guess what.

"Well, I guess we're out of cereal again," Anna said, her voice thick with annoyance as she paced around the kitchen.

Cas glanced up from taking his third pill out of five. His aunt was standing in front of him, her eyes closed, as she hugged an empty cereal box closely against her chest. Cas watched her for a moment, then went back to taking his piss. Studying his last one intently before swallowing it down with the remainder of water from his glass. There was no question how majorly his current medications were impacting his health both in positive and negative ways. This is especially true now that Dr. Vallens had increased all his dosages to accommodate his increased weight.

While Cas wasn’t terribly concerned about side effects like increased appetite or nighttime eating, he understood why Anna was so concerned. Not so long ago, he’d gotten very depressed, to the point where he couldn't even get out of bed or even go outside. Everything had felt impossible and he’d regrettably shut Anna out completely. Instead withdrawing further into himself, Cas made peace with despair, and had almost given in to his darkest, most impulsive desire.

Having survived long enough now to have begun processing his trauma and accepting his continued existence, Cas knew he couldn’t afford to slip back into his previous headspace. Food had always been there for him though, no matter what challenges he faced. So, while consistently overeating probably wasn't the healthiest way to deal with his stress, Cas figured it was a pretty good trade-off considering the alternative.

Flitting around the kitchen, Anna offered to make Cas scrambled eggs only moments after he’d resigned himself to frozen waffles instead. Even though the waffles were the extra healthy whole grain kind that tasted like cardboard, Cas knew better than to enable Anna when she was already cutting it close to being late for work. Busying himself with finding a clean plate and grabbing the peanut butter, Cas ignored the way Anna’s eyes followed him as she pretended to refill her already full coffee to-go mug.

Cas was well aware of his aunt's increased worries about his health, even if she never specifically said anything out loud. Mostly because It was usually a lost cause to convince her otherwise, and since he’d started steadily packing on more weight over the last couple of months, the whole issue had become a pretty awkward topic for both of them. Sometimes, Cas wished he could press a magical button that would make him normal again. Maybe then Anna would calm down long enough to try and relax.

"I want you to promise that you’ll do something for me today." Anna said, stopping abruptly while locating her car keys.

"Okay, and what would that be?" Cas snapped, failing to mask his sudden defensiveness.

"Relax, Cas, it's nothing too serious," Anna said, pausing briefly to select her words with care.

"I'd really like it if you could spend some time outside today while I'm at work,"

"Fine." Cas said, rolling his eyes with dramatic intent.

"Oh, come on, Cas," Anna teased, her eyes sparkling playfully.

"Fresh air and vitamin D can do wonders for the soul!"

Although he remained skeptical, Cas always found it hard to resist Anna's infectious enthusiasm. They had been addressing his avoidance of going outside in family therapy for a while now, and Cas was fully aware of his tendencies toward agoraphobia. Now that summer was nearly in full swing, he had exhausted all of his weather-related reasons for staying inside.

"Here's an idea," Anna continued, her voice carrying a mischievous tone.

"If you’ll agree to set foot in the backyard for just ten minutes today, I'll treat you to cheeseburgers and fries for dinner."

Cas's resistance wavered as his lips had twitched into a faint smile. Even though he knew Anna was only trying to sweeten the deal, he needed her to know that he could manage this one small task on his own, without added incentive.

"It's alright, Anna," Cas said eventually .

"You don't have to bribe me. I'll go outside if that's what you want."

Anna's eyes softened with gratitude as she pulled Cas into a quick hug.

"Thank you, Cas," she said, her voice filled with warmth.

"I appreciate this more than you know."

As Cas watched Anna heading to her car, he made a mental note to try to embrace the outside world at some point during his day. Little did he know how this decision would profoundly change everything about life as he knew it, forever.

[badluck990]

To the girl who just a few months ago was considering the worst:

Don't worry. We survive.

And we're going to make it through another year.

Promise.

[rappy-mcrapperson]

i wwanna kill me so bad howwevver... devva