#tw: referenced self harm

[aquatic-blade-of-justice]

Ow, ow, my hooves hurt so much.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

-

The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[writing-forever]

Ragatha took a deep breath as she picked up the headset. All her friends had already disappeared to, wherever it went…

She hoped they were ok. She hoped there were people waiting for them in the real world. Especially Gangle, goodness knows she needed it.

Caine was watching her nervously, fiddling with his cane. “Last chance Ragatha! You could always stay right here!”

Ragatha smiled at him. “Sorry Caine. But I have to look after my friends.” And with one last wave, she fitted the headset over her head.

Another addition to The Sum Of Our parts! Aka, the series where I throw rocks at Jax. This time from Ragatha’s pov! With a little bunnydoll thrown in! Oh and also the threat of Imminent Abstraction

[serickswrites]

C-can I ask you one more about whumpee fell into a coma and his soul follows caretaker as he see the other suffering, hear them talking to him even when they knew maybe he couldn't hear them, but he probably did, and taking care of him every night on the hospital bed like wiped his face, hands, etc... Then he even saw them try to hurt themself in many different ways to be in pain exactly like him because they were too hopeless and he doesn't know anything to do to stop them from suicide.

Ask as many as you like friend! I hope this is what you were looking for!

Warnings: coma, referenced accident, referenced self harm, hospital, suicidal ideation

Caretaker hadn't left Whumpee's bedside at all today. Hadn't stopped holding Whumpee's hand. Hadn't stopped crying. "I need you, Whumpee. Please. You can't leave me. You promised."

I'm right here, Caretaker. I haven't left you.

Whumpee had woken days ago. Had woken and stared down at themself. Stared down at their unconscious, comatose body as Caretaker sat by their side. They were there. But they weren't.

Whumpee had followed Caretaker throughout the time. Had learned about the horrible accident that left them in this limbo state. Had learned that it was unclear if they would ever wake up again. Had learned of Caretaker's pain.

Caretaker hadn't stopped sobbing from the moment Whumpee had woken up. I'm here. I'm right here. I'm here. Don't cry. Whumpee had begged Caretaker. Had tried to get their attention.

But Caretaker couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. Caretaker could only cry. Cry and hold Whumpee's hand. Cry and wipe Whumpee's face with a cool cloth. Whumpee had felt the ghost of a sensation of the cloth. They could almost feel Caretaker's hand brush their cheek.

And they could hear Caretaker.

"I can't live without you," Caretaker sobbed. "I need you," they whispered in Whumpee's ear.

I'm here. I haven't left. I'm here. Caretaker, please!

Whumpee had followed Caretaker home. Had followed and watched as Caretaker did unspeakable things to themself.

Please. Caretaker, don't. I'm here! HERE! Whumpee had shouted and shouted. Had tried to stop Caretaker from harming themself.

But they hadn't been able to. Caretaker couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. Couldn't feel them.

And so Whumpee was forced to just watch. And hope that they would wake up.

"They.....they say this is it," Caretaker's voice broke. "That this is all you're going to be. You're alive because of machines. I need you to be alive. I need you. Please. I can't live without you, Whumpee. I don't want to live without you."

I'm here. Please, Caretaker. HERE. You have to live. You can't leave me. Please. Caretaker.

[minusgangtime]

(TW: Self harm and scars)

(*Doomsdays your Beta*)

(Transparent alt below-)

[lasplaga]

011 … barbed wire.

𓆙      —    𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄 & 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒--- Accepting! 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐖: 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 / 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐘 & 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍 [ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 ]

There was irony to be found in the son deemed 'incorruptible', falling to the same illness which plagued this decaying village. Though pure of mind by the Superior strain ( relatively ) --- that did not stop The Prophet from proselytizing the word of God ; Lord Saddler did not falter in showing Leon 'the true path'.

That the human form COULD BE elevated beyond most designs of injury, & that releasing oneself from fear was the way to exuberance. Treading the world with reckless abandon, as if you were an angel of death beyond harm, was an element to their twisted philosophy. Being unafraid of dying in battle, & finding torment in war glorious ABOVE ALL THINGS, was paramount.

A smile, most kind & genuine, flashed as Osmund presented the rusted wire. Fingers, cold & lifeless, bled as it was grasped in his hands --- but there was no acknowledgment of discomfort as the spikes began to cut.

" ℑ𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔰 𝔡𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔬́𝔫. 𝔄𝔤𝔢𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔱, 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶𝔯𝔰' 𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔢-𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰. 𝔑𝔬𝔴, 𝔴𝔢 𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔭𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔯, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. "

One might expect for the unholy priest to wrap these wires upon The Agent as a blasphemous crown of thorns, but no! Lessons of divine suffering must first be taught by DEMONSTRATION.

" 𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 ℑ 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣, 𝔱𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔫. ℑ 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫. " Without hesitation, as if binding his forearms in bandage, the wire began to encircle & dig into his own flesh. It was pulled as to constrict, offering the illusion they pierced his very bones, IF HE HAD ANY. The image as the spikes crawled close to his elbows --- did these savage militants harm themselves in the same way, expressing permanent scars whereas their Master did not? Purely to find delight in discomfort, or a voicing of their reverence to Las Plagas? " 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬𝔬, 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔦́', 𝔰𝔦́? 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔰, 𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔡 ℑ. 𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔰, 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰. "

As a Dominant organism, vastly augmented by prior rituals, his body tirelessly worked to heal against the metal which perforated in a cluster of holes. Though his forearms dripped, dripped, dripped, blood soon came to a halt as the instrument became imbedded, enshrouded by his regeneration. The only course of action was to FORCIBLY strip away the weapon, layers of skin flaying & peeling, coming with it. Despite the gruesome & horrific scene, The Priest remained cheerful as balls of flailing worms knotted the host back together, until he was miraculously mended whole. The wire, with hooked shreds of meat bubbling & corroding on the cellular level, was then offered freely :

" ℑ 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰, 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔧𝔬𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔰. "

[l3o-lion]

TW: self harm

Alt version of this :]

This slight change from the other version is fanart for a fic by @hamletisabitch that I've reread a couple times now.

You can read the fic here! Major trigger warning for self harm.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Primetober Day 4: With Friends Like This…, with all bonus prompts (Fighting, verbal abuse, and destruction of property.)

Dragon AU. In an act of defiance, Tommy tries to damage other parts of the “hoard” Dream keeps him trapped in. Dream, coldly furious, makes Tommy regret it without even lifting a finger. Warnings for self harm, suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, abuse, torture, referenced mutilation, referenced child death, dehumanisation, infantilisation, possessive behaviour, and threats of violence.

ao3 link

—— Tommy’s knuckles bled.

Wood and bone and stranger material aside lay rend to nothing in the hoard of treasure, the magic inside them diffusing into the air. Shards of glass and crystal dug deep into his skin, leaving wounds Tommy could only hope would scar, marring his skin, breaking him too.

If he could not leave this gilded prison, he’d tear off the gold and refuse to play nice. He’d bite and scratch and scream and make himself no longer worthy of hoarding.

Prime knows how long he’d been in this cave. He couldn’t see the days change, and Dream’s sleeping schedule was erratic enough that he couldn’t rely on that either. He’d grown a little taller, and his hair was a lot longer, so it had to have been a while, yet the images of blood and fire and pain still felt like it was yesterday, waking him up with screaming fits the rare times he caught sleep.

He was sixteen when his home was destroyed. When the monster from the storybooks burnt everything to the ground, gutted soldiers effortlessly through their armour, tore kids hiding in the corner to shreds. Tommy was the only survivor, though trophy seemed the more appropriate word. 

If you were to ask Dream, he’d say it was because Tommy was the only person he’d met with the guys to stand against him without trying to hide behind iron shells and sharp sticks, with only his fists and a scared yet determined look in his eyes. Tommy got the impression it was more because being the great and terrible monster who destroyed villages for fun was a lonely life, and he was just the unlucky son of a bitch chosen to try and play therapist to a fucking dragon, but he knew better than to say it. He wanted at least one working arm, if nothing else.

He liked to imagine he was grown now. No longer a child under any stretch of the imagination, no matter how little Dream treated him like a “hatchling”, as he called it in his weird way of speaking. He was grown, and no one could call him a kid again without them being the childish one. He was mature now, like Tubbo was.

That thought felt like a flaw through the chest. Prime, he missed Tubbo. At least he never saw him die. He could delude himself into believing he escaped, somehow. It was a blatant lie to himself, and he knew that, but it served to cushion the blow, just a bit.

So did breaking things.

Priceless artefacts lay shattered, rare collectables and historic art pieces and ancient magic. Gone, destroyed, bloodied. They were a part of the same hoard Tommy had been trapped in, Dream seeming to view chasing him down, hurting him until he couldn’t move, and dragging him back to the literal gilded cage he spent most his time in as a game, and Tommy reckoned they’d been there longer than he’d been alive times, like, a billion. They weren’t doing anyone any good.

But even if they would, he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care. He just wanted to hurt Dream. He wanted to show him he wasn’t a cute little pet human to coo over and torment, a jewel to keep locked up in a display case. No, he was Tommy, angry, violent, human. If Dream wanted to hold him captive, he had to know that Tommy would make it as difficult as possible.

And maybe, just maybe, Dream would kill him, and he could join Tubbo.

He breathed heavily, exhaustion overtaking him, and he dragged himself up the endless pile of useless stuff to the soft blankets and endless pillows at the top. Even if it meant locking himself back into a display, he didn’t mind. Maybe then Dream would see what he did. Maybe then Dream would fucking listen to him.

Halfway up, though, he felt a heavy tug on the back of his tunic, the only warning before claws dug into his back and he was dragged back to the ground. He landed with a thud, before something shifted and in a flash, he went from a paw holding him down to the weight of a person pinning him.

Opening his eyes, Tommy looked up at his own face.

That was one of the torturous things about Dream- his insistence on parading a parody of Tommy’s form around. Warped, a sickly pale green and with his monstrous features slapped atop, but still recognisably Tommy as of his capture, the same scratch wounds on his arms, the bruises on his face, and almost unscarred, unlike the mess of burns and cuts and injuries coating Tommy now. It was uncanny, and still, it made Tommy long for a time he’d never get back, when he felt whole in body, mind and soul, and not an empty shell.

“Tommy.”

Dreams’ voice was calm, eerily empty of any emotion. His face was blank, too, and that was scarier than anger. Dream loved being able to emote in his human form- grinning and giggling like an idiot whenever he was mildly happy, crying his eyes out when he was a little disappointed. Not even bothering with that told Tommy that whatever he felt, it was so far past bothering to even show. He wasn’t even sure if that thought made sense, but it was hard to make sense out of anything through the blind panic.

“I- I-“Tommy’s voice died in his throat.

“Quiet.”

Tommy shrunk, instinctively expecting a broken bone, another missing finger maybe, but Dream just stared down, expressionless. “I know what you’re trying to do, hatchling.” His tail wagged aggressively behind him, thumping loudly on the ground in contrast to how eerily calm he looked. “You’re trying to piss me off, so I decide you’re not worth keeping, and I’ll let you go or kill you, right?”

Tommy nodded his head, unable to speak.

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, little one.” Dream let out a barking laugh, one that lacked any humour. “I don’t care about how valuable something is for you humans. Gold, silver, gems, your sticks you use to access magic and scribble papers, they only matter because they interest me. And Tommy… you’re far more valuable than any other thing here. Unlike all my other trophies, you’re fun to play with.”

Dream smiled slowly, baring sharp teeth awkwardly stuck into a human mouth. The memories of such razor-sharp blades digging into his flesh sent phantom pain through the scars left by them, agonising enough that he couldn’t help but whimper. There was no ambiguity as to what he meant by that, and it sent a chill up Tommy’s spine. He wouldn’t even be allowed to die, not while the monster from his nightmares had fun torturing him like a cat would a mouse.

“But of course, I can’t let you just get away with that, can I? I have a reputation to upkeep.” There was a faint hint of what might have been sadness in that, barely peeking through his unreadable tone, but it disappeared as soon as it broke through. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve shown me that doesn’t work, haven’t you?”

He grinned again, and Tommy’s stomach dropped. “No, no. The second you step out of line again, Tommy, I’m going take you to show what happened to your little human lair, and I’m gonna destroy one more for each little mistake you make. And I’ll make sure you see every second of it. Maybe I’ll even bring some humans back to take my time playing with, before I get bored of them. Maybe I’ll make you hurt them too.”

Tommy felt sick. He couldn’t even bear to think about- about the outside, about his home. The image of it, picturesque and whole in his memories, still caused him to tear up, let alone the nightmares. The idea of seeing it now, ruined and shattered, seemed horrific, and even worse was the idea of anyone else going through the same thing, seeing their home burnt to the ground, dying horribly in the wreckage. Or being brought back to- to really, just be tortured, and then probably eaten once Dream got bored or hungry or whatever, without even the scattered, confused kindness Dream tried to show to him.

And the idea of doing what was done to him to others? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. No. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live with himself, knowing that agony.

Tommy tried his best to stay calm, to be a Big Man, but like a goddamn pussy he couldn’t help himself but burst into tears.

Absently, Dream ran a claw gently across his face, curiously tracing the path of the tears, eyes widening slightly in fascination. “Don’t worry. Just be the perfect treasure, and that won’t have to happen, ’kay?”

“H-how?” Tommy’s voice was strangled, terrified. It took all he had left to even say them. “How do I- do I stop that?”

“Just don’t try stupid shit again, alright? And talk to me. It’s interesting, hatchling. I’ve never had anyone to talk to before.” It was said so casually, but even in this state, Tommy was struck by how fucking sad that was. Dream really was doing this out of loneliness, wasn’t he? Maybe… maybe it wasn’t so bad to stay here, and be friends with Dream.

“Okay.” Tommy nodded, hating how weak he sounded. “J-just, please. Don’t hurt anyone else.”

“I can’t promise that.” Dream sounded sad again. “I- I exist for a reason, y’know, Tommy. Some things are made to ruin. They don’t have a choice. Do you think I want this? This pile of useless goods? This lonely existence? There needs to be a villain for every hero.” Dream sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about this. It’s- I’m not meant to; humans and hatchlings aren’t to know.”

The idea seemed strange. That Dream was as much a prisoner as Tommy… it didn’t make sense, yet Tommy found an odd sense of kinship in it. Maybe that’s why Dream seemed so oddly fascinated that he chose to fight him. Maybe he’d fought his role already. Maybe… he could find a way to make Dream only hurt him.

Or maybe it was a lie. But Tommy would let himself believe a comforting one, if only to give him the strength to stop Dream from doing what he did to him to anyone else.

After all, no one but Tommy deserved it.

[peachy-doodles]

thinks abt. how many piercings i draw him with at any given time and how he’d prolly not get sent to hisui with them since he takes them out at work (safety first!) so theyd close up and scar and also. uhmmmm other mystery scars :’]

bonus funnie for you:

[lilac-gold]

Flatline

AI-less Whumptober: Day 7 Flatline | Restrained CPR @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: OMORI Rating: Teen Word Count: 3057 Summary: Basil hears his grandmother die. The sound of her flatlining sticks with him for hours afterwards. AO3 LINK

Basil had never liked hospitals. He was familiar with them, having been a rather sickly child earlier on in life, but dreaded visiting them all the same. They were too… Sterile. Too bare. Too closed-off. They smelled like antiseptic and illness, a unique, juxtaposing scent that made Basil’s nose scrunch up. Almost every plant within the buildings was fake, the only sunlight came through half-open windows, and Basil hated being inside of them.

Death lingered in the air, the memories of countless ill patients haunting those white halls. The thought of how many people passed away inside of buildings like these made Basil shudder as he waited in the intensive care unit. Each second that ticked by made him feel more and more anxious, and he waited with increasing agitation.

He stared intently at his grandma’s face. She looked so frail like this, tiny and swaddled up, a needle in her arm and an oxygen mask on her face. He hadn’t expected her to get this much worse, especially not in such a short space of time. Everything after Polly called 911 was a blur, really, then hours of waiting. The steady beeping beside the bed provided a bit of background noise, some reassurance that his grandma was still alive and kicking. Well. Alive and lying down.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Basil tapped his foot against the floor to the rhythm of it, a steady thud. After a while, he got bored of doing so, instead looking around at the room he’d been in for the past few hours. There were fake plants around, plastic and brightly coloured. Basil frowned a little looking at them.

Beep. Beep. Beep. His grandma was a gardener, much like himself. They often planted flowers together– that is, they used to before she became mostly confined to her bed. Polly tried to help out with Basil’s plants, but her hands were too soft, and her aversion to dirt too strong, and she hadn’t the faintest clue what to do. Not like his grandma, kind and wise, helpful and happy to teach Basil anything he wanted to learn.

Beep. Beep. Beep. She was strong, his grandma, even if she didn’t look it just then. Her hands bore calluses, and her face, weathered with age, had deep lines embedded into it from years of smiling. Her hair was wispy and white, but Basil remembered how she used to scrape it back into a bun behind her head to keep it out of her way.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Basil sighed, resting his chin on his hands. So much had happened in the past couple of days, all in such quick succession. He’d seen Sunny again. He lost the photo album, getting it back later on and wincing at his new bruises. He nearly drowned after Aubrey pushed him into the lake– it hurt, knowing how much she hated him now. She’d been his first friend. Now, his grandma was in hospital, Basil shifting uncomfortably in a hard chair by her side.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Everything was going to be okay. He repeated his mantra over and over again in his head, a quick pace that didn’t leave much room for any other thoughts, least of all of Sunny. Basil hadn’t seen him in years. He didn’t sleep much the night Sunny came out of his house, despite how exhausted he was from his dip in the lake. Dark figures haunted him, accusatory eyes glared from all around, and guilt made his stomach spin and twist unpleasantly. Basil hated guilt. It was an awful feeling. It was constant.

Beep. Beep. Usually, when his mind was bugging him, Basil tried to distract himself, but there was nothing in the hospital room to distract himself with. Usually, his brain told him he should have spent more time with his friends while he still could. It blamed him for being just a minute too late, for dangling Mari’s corpse from the tree in her backyard, just as it should. Now, it whispered that he’d given up on his grandma too soon, that she was going to die and he wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to her.

Beep… Mari’s death had been a bit of a wake-up call for Basil. It was a shock, something that pestered him relentlessly, his own actions making the memories of that day even worse. It had been what forced his eyes open, wrenching away his innocence and shoving it in his face that everyone died someday. His friends were all going to die. His grandma was going to die. He was going to die. It was inevitable, and scary, and for all he knew, everything afterwards just vanished. Either that, or they would be judged, and Basil would have to face an eternity of torment. Then again, he wasn’t sure what could be worse than his perpetual self-loathing and the feeling of rotting from the inside.

Beep… When different branches or leaves on a plant died, it was Basil’s job to clip them away. He could feel himself withering more and more by the day, and wondered when he’d be able to muster up the courage to pick up a rope once more. That would be a fitting punishment for all that he had done. Basil took a shaky breath. Nobody’d died yet, not after Mari. For years, he thought Sunny might have. For a quarter of that time, Hero might as well have been dead. The old Aubrey died years ago. Kel hadn’t. Kel was like him. They were both decaying slowly, the spread something they couldn’t stop if they tried. Basil stopped fighting it a long time ago.

Beep… He’d been alone for so long. His friends all left, his grandma got ill, and Polly was nice but Basil knew she only stuck around because she had to. She felt bad for them, and was getting paid. She wasn’t a friend, but rather a caretaker. Basil appreciated it, really, but knowing that she put so much effort into trying to keep him alive only made him feel worse about the unstoppable eventuality he knew was coming soon. Basil was rotten, after all. He missed being young. Being happy.

A terrifying, high-pitched screech sounded out behind him, and Basil flinched harshly. Wild eyes landed on the heart monitor, and Basil felt something inside of him shatter at the sight of the bright green, completely straight line running horizontally across the screen. Distantly, he heard himself scream for a doctor.

After that, he couldn’t breathe. Basil felt like his lungs were being crushed, like his trachea had collapsed in on itself, like a sword had been run through his heart. That piercing wail continued to tear through him, ringing incessantly in his ears, high-pitched and blaring and devestatingly final.

He should have noticed. Should have picked up on the fact that her heartbeat was slowing, that the blips were growing less frequent. Maybe then– 

Adults ushered him out of the room, away from his grandmother’s corpse. She looked like she was sleeping. The neverending beep beside her proved otherwise. Basil didn’t think he’d ever seen her so pale. They were a pale family, but she spent enough time outside that her skin had a healthy glow to it, even despite its creases. Since being confined to her room, she’d grown steadily more ghost-like. Basil felt himself tremble harder at the thought.

It was like he was drowning all over again, plummeting endlessly downwards into darkness. Something freezing cold enclosed his lungs, his skin prickled with sweat, and his throat burned as tears ran down his face, a stark warmth in comparison to the chill he was experiencing.

The line shouldn't have been green, he thought suddenly. Green was supposed to be safe. Green meant plants, health, growth, his grandma. It had been her favourite colour, Basil's too. It wasn't fair that one of the last good things he had left had to be ruined too. Basil cried even harder.

It should've been red. Red meant anger, rage, danger, fear, death. Red was Mari's bloodshot eye, the colour that seeped from his skin some nights alone in the bathroom, the colour of his parents' car before they sped off into the distance.

Red was bad, green was good. But now, that green line was all he could think about, and Basil had never felt more miserable.

It was accompanied by that awful, wailing screech. The sound never stopped, piercing through him like nails on a chalkboard, echoing through every chasm of his mind. It was an unearthly cry, one that refused to leave him be.

Basil would even take the solemn silence of Mari's funeral over this. Then, even the sobs had been soundless, the only noise being the droning voice of a man in the suit as her casket lay before them.

It had been open, Mari looking like she was just asleep. But Basil knew about the bone jutting through her neck, the thread through her lips, the blood red glare under her closed eyelids. He knew about the poison of the lily of the valleys, seeping into and rotting him from within.

He'd been surrounded by mourners, by his friends, and said nothing as the thought that this was his fault ran incessantly through his mind. It was like a looping mixtape, showing the biggest mistake hed ever made. The day of Mari's funeral had been one of the worst of his life.

His grandma looked like she was sleeping, too. That day was another.

Basil couldn't do it again, couldn't attend another burial service. He'd already seen the bodies of two of the people he loved, he couldn't bear to stick around any longer. Everyone died someday. Basil was next. He refused to bear the burden of another corpse.

He was selfish. He always had been. Basil was selfish, and a coward, and it hit him that nobody was ever going to find out the truth. Sunny was moving away, and Basil would be dead soon. 

He locked himself in his room, tormented by visions of the past and the future, of too-pale skin and scarlet stains.

He saw Aubrey, pink hair just as limp as Mari's had been. Her face was twisted into a terrified scowl, the inky blackness of her unseeing eyes obscured by that vivid teal. Her face, far too white and far too gaunt, seemed thinner than ever, Aubrey looking far more fragile than threatening. Basil should have been there for her. He wasn't.

He saw Hero, dark bags lining his closed eyes. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks, the composed pillar of support and durability he'd become over the years crumbling once and for all. His hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess, Hero was a mess. This was Basil's fault. A pill bottle lay beside him, empty.

He saw Kel, smile finally gone. Kel would probably live the longest, try to move on, but he'd never be the same again after he found out about Basil's death. Basil imagined him disappearing, moving away from his family through a basketball scholarship. He imagined a lonely life and an almost empty funeral. He imagined Kel's beaming light finally being extinguished in its entirety.

He saw Sunny, a knife buried into his stomach. Blood dropped steadily onto the floor. Drip, drip, drip. Sunny was smiling, finally able to find some peace. Sunny was crying, in agony as he sought to join the sister he'd lost. Sunny was dying, because of Basil, because of what they did. Why Basil did. It was his idea to hang Mari, after all, and he was about to kill himself like the coward he was.

Basil hated himself. He was a failure. He didn't speak to his friends when they chose to stay over. He knew that if he so much as looked at them, everything would start pouring out. He waited until he was under the covers of darkness and everyone was asleep. He grabbed his shears. He opened his door, and stared into a million furious eyes.

He stumbled backwards, tripping over himself in his haste to escape. The high beeping that had receded to just background noise rose again, its screech forcing Basil's hand to clutch his skull as he trembled uncontrollably. The darkness followed him, quickly sweeping over his feet, glueing him in place.

No, no, no, nonononono. This couldn't be happening. This–

"Everything is going to be okay, everything is going to be okay," Basil chanted to himself hysterically over the screaming wail in his mind. His fault his fault his fault. "Everything is–"

The darkness edged further over him, Basil flinching helplessly as it began to overcome him, spreading over his legs too. It was just a shadow, it couldn't hurt him. Basil squeezed his eyes shut desperately, wishing that opening them would reveal no more eyes, no more darkness. Nothing happened. The shadows continued to spread.

The eye that had haunted him for years was reflected back at him a hundred times, tears streaming uncontrollably down Basil's face. He couldn't do this anymore. Not since Mari was dead, since his grandma was dead, Since Sunny was lea–

Sunny. Sunny was leaving, forever, and hadn't said a thing. Basil had sacrificed everything for him, and hadn't seen him in years. Sunny was Basil's everything, but Basil was nothing to Sunny. Basil was nothing. He deserved this.

In truth, Sunny had died years ago. Sunny was pure, innocent and sweet and shy, and would never hurt anyone, least of all Mari. This silent, sociable, knife-wielding murderer was not Sunny. To this Sunny, Basil was a stranger. Basil was nothing. He deserved this.

"Everything is going to be okay," Basil lied, the breathy whisper of his voice rivalling even the pitch of his grandmother's heart monitor. His throat squeezed with panic, constricting his air supply almost entirely.

He had to leave, to run, to do something he could still control. The house was full of danger, full of enemies. Full of pain, full of memories. Basil wrenched his feet from the floor and ran, wrenching the door open as he raced through the dark corridors of his dead grandma's house. Even if he did stick around, there was nowhere for him to go. No-one who would take him in. Basil was nothing.

He slammed the bathroom door shut, no longer caring if anyone heard him. The sound was muffled as that flatline continued to ring in his ears. It would never end, not unless Basil took matters into his own hands. As the darkness began to creep under the bathroom door, his heart pounded, and Basil clutched the shears to his chest with shaking fingers.

It wouldn't be an easy death. His shears were meant for plants, twigs, not people. Basil may have been rotten, but he was also difficult to kill. It would take a lot of effort. He would probably have to stab himself more than once. A shudder ran through him.

Amongst the darkness, a light flickered through, and Basil heard a light knock at the door. He froze, shears threatening to fall from his sweaty hands, his skin freezing. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything.

"Basil?" Hero's sleepy voice met his ears. "Are you okay in there?"

Basil didn't– couldn't respond. Hero couldn't see him like this. The darkness seeped towards him again, eye after eye focusing completely on him. Basil had never liked being the centre of attention.

"Basil?" Hero repeated, worry edging into his voice as he knocked again.

Basil couldn't stop a sob from escaping his throat as he looked down, pressing his chin against his collarbone as he shut his eyes. He knew how his shears worked, he knew the amount of force it took for them to pierce skin. Going through organs would be different, harder, but Basil had to do this. He couldn't keep living, not after all that had happened.

"I'm sorry," he forced out, his voice choked and despairing. He didn't want Hero to be the one to find him, but fate had never been pleasant to him. His voice was quiet, strangled, and even he struggled to listen to it over the incessant beeping.

He didn't expect Hero to hear him, but he did, and soon enough, the older boy was pounding on the door, rattling its handle frantically. "Basil, let me in. Please, please come out. You- everything's going to be okay."

Hero was as much of a liar as Basil was. They were going to end up the same, one way or another. He was glad he wouldn't have to go to Hero's funeral.

Despite Hero's pleads, Basil steadied himself, and shoved the shears straight into his stomach.

He gasped as his skin tore, innards screaming at the unwanted intrusion. Blood poured out, seeping through Basil's clothes. He focused on that, tuning out Hero's voice and instead listening to that awful, awful flatline. His grandma was dead. Basil hoped he'd get to see her again before he was subjected to eternal torment.

The stab wasn't deep enough. Basil pierced his flesh again, and again, until there was a satisfactors puddle of crimson beneath him. Then, be bent over further, instinctively shielding his wounded stomach as more mained tears mixed in with his blood. Hero kept rattling the door, and Basil distantly heard him shout for someone, but it didn’t matter anymore.

The shadows joined him, the eyes curious and approving. He’d done good. This was supposed to happen.

They settled around him, seeping into the wound. A physical manifestation of his guilt, they lingered with him even in death. His stomach was still in turmoil, but every sensation around him felt… Far away. Distant, somehow. He wanted to smile as calm washed over him, but couldn’t muster up the strength to even twitch his lips.

His neck was aching from the strain of keeping it lolling down for so long. His stomach burned, glistening shears still embedded inside. But none of that mattered now, not when Basil might actually be free. The ghost of panic still etched on his face, his hand fell limply beside him, and the world drifted away entirely.

As Basil breathed his final breath, the wailing in his head finally came to a stop.

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[j-c-nth]

Hi! I mentioned (or maybe thought I mentioned 😳) that I had some snippets written for ltlyc that I'd be posting here! Here's one of them. It's pretty rough but I didn't want it to waste away in the twenty page cutting floor Google doc so here you go. Hope you enjoy!

This is set just minutes after the end of ltlyc so if you haven't finished yet watch out for spoilers!

The screams of humans and curses alike cut off abruptly as Hollow Purple rips through the station, sound waves shredded in the air in the wake of the utter annihilation Gojo unleashes upon the Patchface curse. Mt. Fuji-Head meets the same fate before he can fully realize what’s happened, before he can even begin to comprehend the weight of Gojo’s unleashed wrath.

Gojo senses movement behind him. He whips around with raised fingers to finally face what he hadn’t allowed himself to think about, hadn’t let himself see while Yuuji was being taken from him, crying for him, confessing his love to him.

He’s looking now, the full force of his Six Eyes turned upon cursed energy Gojo knows better than his own, a body Gojo knows every piece and part of.

It’s Suguru’s energy. Suguru’s body. Gojo’s Six Eyes are never wrong and they cannot lie to him.

His soul screams otherwise.

This is not Geto Suguru.

That is not Suguru’s smile, these are not Suguru’s actions. Those are not Suguru’s hands, plucking what Gojo now recognizes as the Prison Realm out of its pool of ichor and carelessly wiping it with a hanging sleeve.

The being wearing Suguru’s face tsks at him, mocks him, in Suguru’s voice, Prison Realm held up in front of itself like a shield as it backs into the service tunnel behind it. Gojo cannot attack it, cannot unleash his own power without risking destroying the cube and Yuuji, more precious than all of the world, contained within.

Gojo drops to his knees, blood splashing up around him, once the body of his best friend is gone, such agony in his chest that he claws at it, wants to break past the shell of his ribs to dig his fingers into the soft, red tissue beneath and tear the hurt out with his bare hands. He’s desperate; he wants to offer his heart up, raw and weeping, to any deity that will bring Yuuji back to him.

His phone dings, a soft chime, jarringly gentle in the screaming silence of Yuuji’s absence. The veil closing off the station must have fallen, restoring its service. Hours late, his screen lights up with a message:

‘scary movie 2nite? got u a surprise! c u soon’

Yuuji’s face beams out at him beneath the words, eyes shining in the way meant only for Gojo.

The sight of that smile tears through him, violent, and in its wake leaves clarity, sharp and cruel as a blade thrust.

There is no higher power in heaven or earth than Gojo Satoru himself.

He will be the one to pass down judgment, on every single curse and every single human that has conspired to take Yuuji from him.

Any kindness or mercy that may have existed in him is now locked away, caged alongside his heart in the Prison Realm.

This time, Gojo will be the one to reach out, hands and teeth bared, and take Yuuji back. No matter the cost. There is no god strong enough to save any who stand in his way.

[v4l3nt1n3-ventz]

When your family picks on you and questions you for wearing a hoodie while it's hot outside and you can only respond with "it's too cold" cause if they saw what was underneath they'd have even more questions.

[doomednarrative]

It’s ugly but it’s all I want <3

I posted this wip before but I'll do so again ~

Tbh this is a fic that's mostly some catharsis writing for me, but also for a bit of emotional vulnerability between Leon and Chris in the days where their relationship is really undefined but definitely past the point of just being friends. They have a talk about Leon's scars, namely ones that are over a decade old as a result of some post RC struggling on Leon's end, but also some other ones that he's accrued over the years and has always been hesitant to let other people see because he hates them and views them as something ugly. It's a moment for he and Chris to be a little open with each other even if Leon isn't really in the mood to discuss it.

[sorryiwasasleep]

In this world, Mirabel Madrigal never sees the cracks.

Things don't change, and she gets left behind, because what else is new?

Mirabel is sick of it.

She doesn't feel like stepping aside. She doesn't feel like doing anything

She takes matters into her own hands.

[blackveine]

Language: English

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2429

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Rating: Mature

Warning(s): Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Relationships: Percival “Percy” Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vax’ildan

Character(s): Percival “Percy” Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Vax’ildan

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Past Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Worth Issues, Stream of Consciousness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, mentions of dissociation

Series: twin skeletons

Summary: It's been months since Vax last saw Percy. It's both too long and not long enough.

(Right now, he's pretty sure it's almost too late.)

[todayiwishtobe]

A Big, Comforted Cat

This one's a bit heavy, in a kinda emotional place, also not very horny

Contains female furry (lioness), nonspecific he/him partner, self-harm reference, cuddling in bed, darkness, comfort

The room is dark about me, not that I could see it from where I am, curled up under a duvet. I'm shaking, my gut hollow, barely avoiding tears. You wouldn't expect someone that looks like me to be so vulnerable, lean muscle on a predator's frame, a long mane spreading across the sheets. Sharp claws I'm keeping carefully tucked, so I don't hurt myself on them. I'm large, but my partner is larger, wrapping tight around his lioness and holding me tight. Soft, wordless reassurance, a grip strong enough to keep my soul in my body as his fingers gently knead the thick fur of my body. My tail coils around his leg, he won't let me go, but I'm not letting him go either.

I'm safe

It's not my fault

I'm okay

Eventually, I begin to believe it.