#tw: sui thoughts

[joyfulpeanutfest]

[bloggingboutburgers]

Sorry for the radio silence for quite a while! On top of the holidays, my visa interview at the embassy was a little while ago, so as you can imagine, I've been fairly busy preparing for it... But hey, it paid off!!

The past few years have had their fair share of trials and there's a few people who'll recognize themselves, who I wanna thank for all their patience and support. I also gotta apologize for everyone whose patience I've tested, and for all the buddies I'll get to see less often now because distance.

Overall though, I've had overwhelming support through this, more than I ever thought I'd get and more than I probably deserve, and it honestly helped a lot through what is overall a pretty damn difficult thing to get through. I'm so relieved right now and it's pretty great that that feeling is coming around for the festive season!

Now I'm off to enjoy that with my family while I'm close enough for it to be easy, and if anyone who knows me closely is reading this and wants to meet up before I leave France (which oughta be in April), hit me up ;)

[atinymekanie]

A Soul’s Burden

|| A Hunter mission goes horribly awry in a remote location, leaving Sylus to track down his love's whereabouts before it's too late... ||

|| TW & CW: Blood | Character Death | Hurt/No Comfort | Angst | Suicidal Thoughts | Suicide Attempt ||

AO3 Link

The leader of Onychinus stood at his desk, staring down at a sheet of paper with a bunch of figures, coordinates, and other information printed across it. His mind was not focused on the paper, however. A cell phone lay on the desk near the paper, silent and dark. The way it had been for hours. Sylus glanced over at the phone, the dim light from the fire in the large fireplace off to his right flickering over the dark screen. Normally it would be lighting up every so often with a message or a post or a picture, something, from her.

Sylus drew in a measured breath, turning away from the desk and pacing back over towards the fireplace, like a tiger in a cage. That was what it felt like, waiting for Mephisto to return with news of her whereabouts. All the power he had and nothing to do with it. Money could not buy an answer here, nor could physical force nor his Evol. She had said she was being sent on a mission and that she wouldn’t be able to answer the phone for a few hours. That it shouldn’t be a difficult mission, just in a remote area without much service. Even her Hunter’s watch might not work there, according to the Association’s intel.

Flames leapt and danced in the massive stone fireplace, their image reflected in his ruby eyes, turning them molten, his pupils swallowing some of the irises as they dilated in the ruddy light. Sylus clenched his fist, fingers curling and uncurling, nails pressing against his palm in a steady rhythm, the only visible betrayal of his internal turmoil. He knew that she would never tolerate him attempting to stop her from doing her job. And he didn’t want to stop her. Sylus loved how free-spirited she was, how daring and carefree she always seemed, despite the danger swirling around her. But damn, was she reckless sometimes.

Leaning forward, Sylus rested his left forearm on the mantel, then let his forehead press against the back of his arm as he closed his eyes. The warmth from the fire flared against the fabric of his silver dress shirt, the sensation almost like dragon’s breath, hot and suffocating. It did nothing to warm the cold feeling of dread in his stomach, nor did it untie the knot that was growing in his chest. She should have called by now.

Sylus was alone in the base; the twins having been sent out to gather intel on any Metaflux fluctuations in remote areas. Once the four-hour mark had passed, he had decided he couldn’t wait any longer. She had said the mission should take about two hours, three tops. Perhaps he was overreacting. Perhaps she was fine. But his instincts told him otherwise. They were connected, their souls bound in a way that only Sylus knew about, at least for now. Maybe one day, she would remember.

Emotions, too many to name, slid across the tall man’s visage, tightening the muscles in his sharp jaw and creating small lines between his dark grey eyebrows. Emotions he didn’t want to name, didn’t want to even think about, flickered in the depths of his heart. Sylus was not normally an expressive man, his words and tone always efficient. It was his eyes that betrayed his emotions, and even then, only to her. Always to her. But now those emotions were bubbling just beneath the surface – frustration, concern, helplessness, rage… fear. Not normal emotions for someone in his position as leader of Onychinus. But there they were, all the same.

A soft sound broke through the crackling of flames and the fog of emotions swirling inside the silver-haired man. Wings. Sylus turned immediately, his head lifting like a predator who sensed prey, his crimson eyes fixing on their target, his mechanical crow. The bird had flown in through the open window and settled on the desk, preening its feathers unnecessarily. An odd habit the creature had picked up from witnessing other crows do it, despite his feathers being inorganic. Seemingly in an instant, Sylus was by the desk, the crow hopping up onto his finger as the man spoke, his voice clipped and short, harsher than he normally spoke to his pet.

“Show me.” Immediately, a screen was projected from Mephisto’s eyes, a crackling image hanging in the air in front of Sylus’ face. Static flickered across the image, rendering it hard to make out. Sanguine eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what was being shown. A winding road, with dense trees on either side and the bay further off to the right. A motorcycle, the type issued by the Hunter’s Association, was parked in a small gravel area. There were no road signs, no identifying markers of any kind in the image. Dammit. A low sound of frustration, almost a growl, reverberated from his chest.

Wait. Sylus sucked in a breath; the inhalation sharp in the silence. There. In the upper left corner of the image was a tower of some kind, something mechanical, something important. Something recognizable. Anger coursed through him as he realized where she was, where she had been sent. It was a remote area of Starfall Forest, out along the coast, where just the one highway ambled along the curve of the bay. Almost no one lived out there, hence why there was almost no service. Even Mephisto hadn’t been able to transmit anything to him due to the interference from that blasted tower.

“They sent you there? Alone?” Sylus’ voice practically seethed with barely controlled ire and incredulity. He knew she was an impressive Hunter, one of the top Hunters in the city, but to send any Hunter to such a remote location alone seemed like an idiotic thing to do. Perhaps they had their reasons, but that didn’t make it an intelligent decision. Sylus was beginning to tire of how the Hunter’s Association seemed to treat the Hunters as if they were expendable. Especially when that Hunter was her.

Turning on his heel, the tall man left the room, Mephisto fluttering after him as he descended through the lower floors of the base. His stride was purposeful, just short of a jog, taking him as quickly as possible to the garage. After grabbing a set of keys, Sylus slid behind the wheel of a dark, sleek vehicle, bringing the engine roaring to life a moment later. Questions he didn’t have the answers to swirled in his mind, turning his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he maneuvered the car out of the garage.

Sylus drove with effortless precision, weaving through the streets of the N109 Zone and narrowly avoiding other vehicles. Calculating quickly, he decided on a route towards the location Mephisto had shown him and set his course. Once he had left the city behind, Sylus drove like a bat out of Hell. The phone on the seat next to him buzzed, but he ignored it, his only focus on narrowing the distance between himself and the woman he was trying to reach.

__________________________________________

The engine noise purred to a halt, the sound of gravel crunching beneath skidding tires replacing it. Still night air stirred with a faint breeze, blowing in off the bay to his right as Sylus stepped out of the car. There in front of him sat her motorcycle, resting on its kickstand, pallid moonlight dappling the seat from behind scudding clouds. He closed the car door, the soft thud’s echo lost in the dense trees to his left as he moved over to the motorcycle. Gently he dropped his palm to the seat, almost as if looking for some sense of the woman who had ridden it last.

Gazing out at the forest, Sylus tried to discern which way she might have gone, his eyes tracing over the foliage, looking for disturbances. His nostrils flared, similar to the way a wolf’s would when tracking a wounded mate, trying to suss out the familiar scent of their blood. But it wasn’t blood he was looking (or hoping) for, instead, it was the scent of cherry wine, the way she always smelled to him. Aha. Faint but unmistakable, it drifted on the wind, coming from the northwest, in the direction of that damnable tower.

Sylus set off, striding through the trees, thankful that the underbrush was scarce in this part of the forest. Less to impede the path. Following the scent, he moved as quickly as he dared in the darkness beneath the pine branches, trying to make sure he didn’t lose the trail. Eyesight wasn’t the problem, Sylus could see well in the dark - the issue was the faintness of her scent. Like it wasn’t connected to her anymore. Dread flowed through him at the thought, like a viscous liquid that stole the breath from his lungs and constricted his heart. It battled against his fervent desire to find her, the war raging inside him completely invisible on the outside, except for the tension in his shoulders and the length of his stride.

Desire was a constant in his life, not just Sylus’ own, but the desires of everyone around him. He could sense them, could see them in others’ eyes, in their movements, in the way they carried themselves. Desire lurked in every heart; skulked in every place he stepped foot. But not here. There was nothing here. No people, no desires… no nothing. The emptiness of it caused a shiver to run through his broad, muscular frame.

The scent trail wound on and on, and Sylus began to move faster the longer it continued, his stride lengthening into a jog, then to a run, his tall shape flickering through the forest like a shadow. At some point, he had realized he was also following a faint trail of disturbed forest floor detritus, presumably created by her path through the trees. Without warning, the trail became much more disturbed, earth torn and roots exposed. The trees ahead opened up onto a clearing and Sylus slowed to a halt, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight before him.

This was not a natural clearing. Trees were torn out of the ground, the tall pines tossed about like matchsticks, their trunks snapped. The sharp scent of pine resin filled the air, overpowering the faint scent Sylus had been tracking. An emotion that he wasn’t often familiar with pierced through him as his eyes roamed over the destruction before him. The only sound in the darkness was his breathing, no longer even or measured; it had become sharper, quicker, and more ragged after his run through the forest. The sight in front of him did nothing to calm his breathing, either.

Moonlight filtered down through the trees, faintly illuminating the broken branches and strewn pine needles. Crimson eyes glittered in the light as Sylus stepped forward into the clearing, his heart pounding, the thrum of it filling his ears and drowning out the sound of his own breathing. If he had thought the forest was still before, now it seemed positively frozen. No movement caught his eye, no scent but that of overpowering pine filled his nose, no sounds other than his heartbeat met his straining ears.

“Fuck.” He spit the curse word out like it tasted vile, the sound harsh and grating as it cut through the night. There was nothing. Nothing to follow. All of it was torn apart like the trees, the trail gone, the scent lost, all of it. It must have been a monster of a Wanderer, to cause such destruction. But if that was the case… Where was it? The clouds shifted again, another moonbeam dropping through the tree branches and causing something to glint in the light.

Sylus was on the item within seconds, kneeling to pick it up, examining it and turning it over in his lithe fingers. A Protocore. Fierce pride swelled inside him, almost blocking out all the other emotions for an instant. Almost. She had killed it. All alone, she had defeated a Wanderer that tore trees apart like firewood. She was his equal in every way. Curling his fingers around the Protocore, Sylus was about to stand when a sensation almost knocked him off his feet.

Desire. It was faint, but it was there. Desire for… him. Sylus’ breath caught in his throat, his whole body going still as he cast about for the source of it. It had to be her. The desire was weak and gentle in nature – not sexual, just the desire for a presence, for his presence. The sense of it permeated through him, a gentle knowing that made his heart swell and his stomach sink. She was here. She was here… And she was…

Sylus rose to his feet, turning in a circle, his eyes darting around the tortured glade, looking for any signs of her. That emotion from before flashed through him again – terror. It got the best of him, causing him to scream her name into the darkness, praying she could hear him, praying to any being in the universe that would listen, be it god, angel, demon, it didn’t matter to him at that point. For half a second the desire he felt surged, then faded. To the right.

Turning to the right, Sylus took a step forward, calling her name again, his voice strained by the panic rising inside him. He began operating on instinct alone, his mind zeroing in on the desire he felt. Slightly to the left now. The large, well-dressed man adjusted his course, stepping over branches, climbing over tree trunks, calling her name frantically each time the sense of desire began to fade. Fear and anxiety swirled through him, churning in his stomach as he picked his way through the smashed trees. He made his way through the destruction caused by the battle until he came across a huge tree trunk that had fallen askew on the far side of the clearing, held up by a small rock formation.

There, beneath it, lay the form of a woman, barely discernible in the shadows underneath the torn foliage. Sylus was beside her in an instant, his Evol flickering around him, his body dissolving into a dark red mist and reappearing next to her, the mist dissipating. She lay face down on the ground, her Hunter’s uniform torn and covered in blood and dirt. What little of it he could see, anyway.

Most of her was obscured by the tree trunk – it lay atop her body, crushing her against the ground. The only reason it hadn’t fully crushed her was due to the outcropping of rocks just a little way away, propping up the top of the tree and leaving the trunk at a slant. Her hair had fallen across her face and her left arm was outstretched, the Hunter’s watch on her wrist blinking dimly with the words “No Signal”.

Red mist swirled around the tree trunk, lifting it off the woman and hurling it away, the resulting crash barely registering in the man’s ears as he dropped to his knees in the dirt, an incoherent sound forcing its way out of his throat. Every emotion Sylus had kept at bay during his drive there, during his journey through the forest, all of them came crashing down on him, drowning his mind and heart. The sight of her broken body tore something inside him, something that couldn’t be repaired.

Trembling hands reached for her, hesitating for only a moment. Was it safe to move her? It had to be. No one else was there to help. Sylus slid his hands underneath her, lifting her as gently as he could and turning her over. The way her body moved in his arms wasn’t… right. Things shifted that shouldn’t shift, and he could feel warm blood on his hands, could feel it staining the pale silver of his shirt. The fear inside him swelled, engulfing him completely. He had known something was amiss when he felt how weak her desire was, but he had prayed he was wrong. Clearly, his prayers had not been answered. They never were. Sylus pulled the woman up into his arms, cradling her against his broad chest, his left arm supporting her head and her legs draped over his knees.

Raising his right hand, he brushed the hair away from her face with shaking fingers, revealing a cut across her temple that leaked blood into her hairline. As he did so, her eyelids fluttered, ever so slightly. The desire Sylus felt before flickered again, like a dying heart held in his palm, its beats faint and fading. The sensation of it sent him to the edge of his sanity, the feeling of her life force guttering out branded onto his soul. He choked out her name, his voice barely a whisper in the dark, his throat constricted by the horror that surged through him, thundering in his veins. A small smile turned up the corner of her mouth, recognition glimmering in her eyes at the sound of his voice.

“I’m here,” Sylus murmured, “I came.” The words were swallowed up by the forest around them, the same way his heart was being swallowed by anguish. He cupped her cheek in his large palm, turning her face towards his as he dropped his forehead down to meet hers, breathing in the scent of her. Or trying to. All he could smell was blood and pine. The metallic scent of her blood was so strong he could taste it, and for the first time in his life, it made him want to retch.

“Sy…lus…” Just two syllables, separated by a gasping breath. The two syllables that were gifted to him eons ago, in another time, another galaxy, another world. All because that version of her couldn’t pronounce his actual name. Sylus hadn’t minded. Because the name was a gift from her. Her voice, normally soft and gentle, or loud and firm, or commanding, or teasing… was barely audible now, the syllables of his name barely discernible around the blood that welled up in her throat and trickled from the corner of her lips. The torn part inside him tore even further, the sound of his name born from her failing breath ripping him open in a way Sylus couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“I’m h-ere.” His voice broke on the last word, the sound of it like whiplash as he gazed down at her limp form in his arms, the light in her eyes slowly dying. Like her.

Tears stung the backs of his eyes as a shudder ran through him, his arms tightening around her, clutching her closer to him as if by doing so he could stop her from slipping away. The sensation in his stinging, blurring eyes was unfamiliar, but it was barely background noise, unnoticed in the deathly quiet of the glade and the raging cacophony that had become Sylus’ mind.

A million things and nothing at all ran through his head. Sylus had messaged Luke and Kieran and told them where he was going, had told them to send Hunters, ambulances, anything, everything if he didn’t report back in a timely manner. He had fully expected to find her injured, but this? To find her by sensing the last desire in her mind as she lay dying on the forest floor? For that desire to have been to see him, one last time? Nothing could have prepared him for that.

Sylus watched in mute horror as the moonlight faded from her face, as the desire in her heart blinked out, like a candle snuffed by the same gentle breeze that tugged at the bloody strands of her hair. He felt that desire for him fade into nothingness as her life slipped away, the sensation etched into his heart. His grip on her tightened even further as his eyes widened, his face contorting as a sob ripped its way out of his chest. Sylus pressed his lips to hers, whispering her name as he did so, uncaring of the blood that stained his own lips in the process, trying to call her back to him. There was no answer. His large frame shook as another sob wracked him, both his arms curling around her as he bent forward over her fragile form, his lips parting in a silent scream.

Despair took him then. It stole in through his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his ears, tunneling into him, piercing through his heart in much the same way a great sword once had. This was far more excruciating, though. Half of his soul was torn asunder, ripped from him in an instant, the agony of it crushing the half of his soul that remained. It stole his breath and his sanity, devouring them. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the world to give back his breath. A void seemed to open inside him, yawning wide as it swallowed him whole.

There in the dark forest, amidst the aftermath of battle, a lone figure clutched the empty form of the woman he loved, cradling her against his chest as he rocked back and forth. The figure’s head was thrown back, silver hair shining in the wan moonlight, tears glistening on his cheeks and throat.

Shuddering sobs tore through him, each one breaking him apart as it carved its way out of his chest. The fingers of his right hand were tangled in the woman’s hair, pressing her face into the curve of his neck, her skin to his skin, as if he could somehow give her his own life force through touch and willpower alone. Sylus would have done it, too. All the power he had, all the money in the world, all the strength of his Evol, and yet he was helpless in the face of Death.

So, this was what she felt. The words echoed in his ravaged mind, battering against the destroyed remnants of his sanity. This was what he had consigned her to all those eons ago and lightyears away when he had taken his own life to spare hers. This was what she felt. No wonder she had hated him when they first met here, on this planet. This despair, this agony, this unyielding torment was unbearable. To think that he had left her like this… The way she was leaving him now… What little remained of his reason left him, pouring out of him along with blood-red mist that filled the glade, obscuring the destruction of both trees and man alike.

A tortured sound rose up through the forest, a keening wail that spoke of an anguish beyond mortal comprehension, beyond any human ability to understand. It drifted through the darkness, rising and falling with the wind, telling of a soul’s burden and a curse unbroken.

__________________________________________

A cold wind blew across the rooftop of the tallest building in the N109 Zone, lifting strands of sweat-damp silver hair from the brow of the most powerful man to exist in that criminal world. Sylus stood atop the 110th floor, staring out into the night. Emptiness consumed him, the world beneath him a dull, forgotten thing. A dark stain marred the pale fabric of his shirt and the pallid skin of his hands and face. It matched the color of his eyes, eyes red as blood. His face was ashen, the sharp lines of his jaw, his nose, his cheekbones seeming even harsher under the deep red of the moonlight.

The leather of his shoe scuffed against the cement of the wide balcony balustrade he was standing on, knocking a small pebble of concrete free. It made no further sound as it fell hundreds of feet to the ground below. Sylus dipped his head, watching it fall, his hair drifting into his face as he did so. Oh, to be like that pebble. To fall and disintegrate into nothingness, disappearing like ash on the wind.

Lifting a hand, Sylus watched as dark red tendrils swirled around his fingers. Maybe the curse would allow him to disintegrate, now that she was gone. Maybe he could be free of the terrible ache that had settled inside of him the minute he felt her soul leave this world. How far was it to the street below? Over 1,000 feet. How fast did a human fall? Thirty-two feet per second, squared, without air resistance. What was terminal velocity? One hundred and seventy-six feet per second. Sylus stared down at the ground far below, his numbed mind struggling with the math, something that would normally come easily to him.

Maybe it was better if he didn’t know. Normally when he used his Evol to descend from high places, he was able to stop himself right before he hit the ground, the red mist coalescing around himself and rematerializing his body. But what if he didn’t want to stop?

Maybe if he faced the other way. Sylus turned, placing his back towards the drop, staring out across the rooftop. She had been here once before, with him. Agony sliced through him at the thought of her, the feeling of her lifeless form weighing heavily in his arms flashing through his thoughts and searing his skin. He let it, not bothering to shove the thought away, allowing it to envelope him and drown him for a moment. Eventually, the agony diminished, leaving him empty and aching once more, a husk of what he had been.

Maybe if he counted to ten before using his Evol. That should be enough time. Sylus lifted his head, tilting it back until his face was exposed to the red moonlight above him. Tear tracks marred the skin of his cheeks, leaving them raw to the frigid wind. Without a sound, he let gravity take him, falling backward into the emptiness behind him. Better that, than the emptiness within.

One. Her face flickered before his eyes; anger written across her features as she tried to slice his face open. The wind rushed past him as he fell.

Two. She stood before him at a gala, dressed in a gorgeous evening gown, a brooch pinned to her neckline. The night sky wheeled above him as he fell.

Three. He felt her hands moving over his arm, wrapping a bandage around it, despite her overall insistence that she didn’t care for him at all. The stars twinkled in and out as he fell.

Four. Her voice drifted through his mind, calling his name from across the street, surprised to see him after a near miss. The cold air fluttered the fabric of his clothing as he fell.

Five. She smiled up at him as she handed him a small pouch embroidered with a crow, a strange shyness in her eyes. The moon stared down indifferently as he fell.

Six. He felt her lips on his as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down toward her before a fireplace. The sound of traffic grew louder as he fell.

Seven. His name echoed in his mind, the sound dripping from her lips like the blood that stained his skin. The ache in his chest ripped through him as he fell.

Eigh-- Dark red mist appeared around Sylus involuntarily, dematerializing his body just feet from the asphalt. He rematerialized a second later, his momentum arrested, his body falling the remaining distance with a heavy thud, displacing the water in a mud puddle as he landed.

Pain flashed through him at the impact, but it wasn't enough to take note of, the torment inside him rendering it negligible. Sylus opened his eyes, staring up at the night sky above him, framed by the buildings towering over him. He didn’t register the dampness from the puddle beneath him, nor the dirt that now marred his normally pristine clothes. All of it was meaningless in a world without her. Even in a world without her, his curse remained unbroken, his soul’s burden now his to bear alone. Just as it had been hers, all those eons ago.

———————————————————————

I wanted to explore how Sylus would cope with feeling what MC felt when he died. This is my first attempt at writing for Sylus, so please let me know your feedback!

*sets box of tissues out* Just in case ya'll need it.

(Please do keep in mind that MC does canonically revive after some time, but Sylus doesn't know that. Hence the despondency seen here. Hopefully, that eases some of the angst! lol)

Requested Tag: @seris-the-amious

[junimojo]

More Bob headcanons because you guys really seemed to like the first one

(+ some SentryAgent if you squint)

TW: suicidal thoughts/attempt, & mentions of past addiction

I’m genuinely floored that my first Thunderbolts headcanon post got so much positive feedback and I didn’t think anyone would see it or care, so I really appreciate all of the kind comments! Doing this is helping me get back into the groove of writing again and it’s turning into a nice coping mechanism as someone with GAD and PTSD. It’s nice to finally have a character like Bob to relate to. I’m glad other people like these as much as I do!

Headcanons start under the cut. Please refer to the trigger warnings at the top of the post and in the tags. Movie spoilers are also ahead!

─── ⋆���☆⋅⋆ ───

Growing up, Bob was always told that he looked just like his dad. A spitting image of him, even. From the time he was old enough, he kept his hair longer and always shaved his face clean. He would rather not have the face that hated him stare back at him in the mirror.

The first time the team heard Bob laugh out loud was during a trust exercise in training when Alexei suggested a trust fall. Ava didn’t catch Walker. The thud of Walker’s body hitting the floor and the much too long silence that followed made Bob double over and laugh so hard he lost his balance and fell. Not a giggle or a chuckle– a genuine, loud, belly laugh and a smile so wide that his cheeks hurt. (Bonus: Bob snorts when he laughs really hard. He hates it, but it’s how everyone knows he’s enjoying himself. Walker denies his heart skipped a beat when he watched Bob fall down laughing. Bisexual awakening has officially begun.)

Solo or group grocery shopping trips usually end with Bob coming back to the tower with snacks, sugary drinks and/or candy. Walker teases him for having the diet of a teenager whenever they go together, but he learns Bob rarely got to try these things as a teenager due to his addiction, so he lets him throw whatever he wants into the cart. He likes sour and gummy candy the best.

Bob’s the type of person to complain about his stomach hurting after drinking milkshakes, but he still does it anyways because they’re good. He missed out on a lot of things during his addiction and he isn’t going to let a stomachache ruin it, no matter how much he’ll hate himself for it later. “That’s a problem for me 2 hours from now.” He says. And then he whines about how his stomach hurts and he thinks he’s gonna throw up. He never learns.

Quality time, acts of service and physical touch are Bob’s love languages. He doesn’t need to be doing the same activity the team is doing. Just as long as they’re nearby or he’s in the same room as them, he’s fine with being a fly on the wall or in the corner doing his own thing. He keeps his mind busy by doing chores or other small deeds around the tower, like cleaning, laundry, the dishes, or (attempting to) cook dinner. The way Bob physically relaxes when he’s hugged or has his face cupped in someone’s hands is both adorable and sad seeing how touch starved he is. The smallest touch can bring him comfort, even if it’s linking pinky fingers, letting a hand rest on his lower back, or the gentle scratch of a beard brushing against his cheek.

There are some nights where Bob will have an occasional nightmare or two. He doesn’t know he talks and cries in his sleep, or sometimes he cries out to his mom. Yelena once went to check on Bob in the middle of the night when she heard him crying, but she found somebody had beat her to him, listening to quiet shushing and hushed comforts. Bob woke up confused that morning wondering why Walker was in his room, snoring away next to him.

Bob is afraid of heights, but he found himself at the top of the tower one day. He’s afraid to die, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about how the team would be better off without him. He’s basically a walking nuke that needs constant monitoring or else Manhattan will disappear again, or worse. He wasn’t able to control himself yet. He didn’t want to put the team through that responsibility and to him, simply leaving wasn’t the best option. Bob did almost fall, if it wasn’t for his shaky legs, tripping over himself and falling flat on his back onto the roof. He laid there, staring at the sky and cried his heart out. He’s grateful to be afraid of heights.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Loss

Sequel to The Hunter, which I managed to cook up somehow despite being down with a fever.

Warning - angst without comfort. There is no comfort to be found here, maybe the upcoming cuddle fic will fill that gaping void. ok but on a serious note: Mention of suicidal thoughts.

For those of you falling in the void, I want to reach out my hand as someone who has fallen before and got pulled somewhat out by an interesting entourage of people whom I now call friends.

Summary: You and Bucky part ways after the gala, never to turn back.

It's weird, waking up alone in bed. You've gotten so used to the presence of another body lying next to you, one muscled flesh arm and one metal arm wrapped around you, holding you tightly. You've learned to sleep only on one side of the bed lest you get kicked off, and the habit continues even after he's gone. The silence of the morning and the coldness of the sheets on the other side of the bed remind you of what happened last night.

A chill pricks your skin as memories flash despite the pounding in your head. If Bucky was here, you'd see a glass of water next to some aspirin — never ibuprofen, you didn't like having to pronounce it so Bucky figured you wouldn't want to consume some, even if it was for a silly reason —, feel a warm hand cupping your cheek followed by a forehead kiss. This morning you wake up cold, and all alone.

You remember leaving the party early after the exchange and using your title, which is still viable after beating some people up, you rented a room for yourself and crashed on the bed. That's about all that happened. A heavy weight pressing down on your chest, you're not sure how to feel about last night. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. Him being right means you have to apologise, and the thought makes you sick. Your stomach churns and you rush to the toilet, vomiting all the contents of said stomach out.

Panting, you stay kneeling by the toilet bowl, head hung. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to stop the tears but they fall anyways. You'd already lost him once before, when Thanos snapped him away, and you'd fought tooth and nail after some convincing from Natasha as well as Steve to bring him back. The second time it's your fault, and that knowledge makes the pain even worse.

You weep, hating the sounds that fall from your lips and slump against the toilet bowl. It hurts, everything hurts. Your eyes water, your throat is burning, your heart is shattered and you want it all to end. It would be easy, and nobody would miss you.

Not anymore.

A knock sounds on your door and you quickly clean yourself up, flushing the toilet and wrapping a towel around your head to hide your ugly mess of a face as much as you can. Grabbing the pistol hidden under your pillow, you move to the door, hand resting on the handle.

3, 2, 1, now.

The door opens with a click and your powers activate, warning you of no danger. You exhale softly but keep a firm grip on your gun lest things go wrong. Letting down your guard in Madripoor is the same as asking to be killed, and you're not about to die to some random goon.

"Hunter! It really is you! We've been awaiting your return ever since rumour spread that you appeared at Selby's bar!"

You eye the man in front of you warily, then it clicks.

A piece of your past, back when you had first escaped Hydra and fled to Madripoor. You'd taken on whatever jobs were available, and that quickly caught the eye of many leaders who tried to recruit you but you'd turned them all down, wanting to remain alone. Then a job offer came in to eliminate a dangerous group, so you'd taken it without a second thought but the so-called 'dangerous' group was made up of scared children and elderly, unable to fend for themselves.

You couldn't do it. You couldn't pull the trigger for some reason. Maybe it was your conscience slowly returning after years of conditioning under Hydra, maybe it was the fact that if you disobeyed, you could kill the one who gave the orders this time around. No more brainwashing, no more conditioning, no more punishments for failure. You were on your own, and free.

But it was most probably the fear in their eyes that made you see a reflection of yourself in them.

So you made a choice, and it felt good to. You spared them, guided them secretly to where you stayed and told them they could stay there. You would also go after the one who put a bounty on their heads, and bring his head back as proof that they no longer needed to live in fear. They'd agreed, and offered to help scavenge for food, collect intel, but most importantly, expand your network in Madripoor — the key to survival in this rotten city. You'd been more than happy to accept the offer, and it had benefitted everyone. It wasn't long until you were the name whispered among the streets, a name feared in the shadows.

The Hunter.

It felt nice, to be needed, to be depended upon, to be able to depend upon. Sure, it took a while, with you double checking every piece of intel and food before consuming it, but after some months you'd let your guard down around them. The group came to be known as The Pack, and it grew to include more frightened citizens of Madripoor who had no where else to go.

Then the fateful mission came. You knew Shield had eyes on the prize as well, but it was too good a challenge for you to pass up. Besides, you wanted to see what the fabled Shield was capable of. So you'd taken the bounty, reassuring The Pack that you'd be back, that you'd stay safe, but it was a lie. You'd been captured, made into a Shield agent, unknowingly worked for Hydra who had infiltrated Shield, escaped when you found out, and the rest is history. You never thought you'd see The Pack again, until now.

"Casimir." The man before you was a scrawny teenager the last time you'd laid eyes on him, but his mannerisms and scent remain unchanged. He's still a cautious yet cheerful person, and it warms your heart to see that Madripoor hasn't broken him.

He beams, obviously delighted to see you haven't forgotten him, but how could you? He'd fought you the first time you'd met him, believing you to be a threat, and you admired his spirit. You'd never considered fighting back against Hydra until the day you saw Bucky lying on the cold hard metal floor, covered in blood, bruises and various liquids. Punished for absolutely no reason, tortured because they could.

The memory stings and you quickly push it away. "Is there something you need?"

"Will you return to The Pack? We've missed you, thought you were dead too. We thought Shield had executed you." His voice is laced with sorrow and you smell a hint of sadness, but there's also hope. Hope that you will return, hope that you will take your place as the leader of The Pack once more.

"I —" You're not sure. You want time to sort things out, get rid of the loose threads that are your feelings for Bucky. Casimir's eyes gleam with hope, reminding you of the time when Bucky had looked to you with such eyes, lips curved into the biggest smile he could possible muster. The delight in his ice blue eyes when you asked him out for the first time, the way he had gripped your hand tightly, as if you would disappear at any moment.

"Give me three days." You make up your mind. "If I don't show up by then, assume I will never return."

Casimir's face falls for a split second but quickly brightens again. "The Pack will be excited to see you again!"

With that, he leaves and you lock the door, slumping against it. The towel come apart, falling onto your lap and your vision blurs with tears once more. You want to take it all back, you really do, but something's stopping you from doing so. There's this coldness that has settled within your chest, and it's slowly freezing the rest of you. Your hands feel numb, and soon your feet do too.

No more. No more crying, no more weakness. You are a lone wolf, you've always been. The Hunter needs no one — no pack, no friends. The only thing you need is yourself, your instincts, and your weapons.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you drink the bottle of water on the table and begin to pack. The Pack knows where you live, and you have to move. You have to move to somewhere where they will never find you, somewhere in the deepest depths of Madripoor. Maybe a cage fighting area just like the previous time you lost Bucky. The Pack hates those kinds of places, it bring back traumatic memories.

Yeah, that sounds good. You're great at fighting, everyone's always told you so. You were born and bred to fight, to kill, to destroy, and that's the only thing you can do. So that's what you'll do. You'll fight for your life each and every day, just like back in Hydra, and what happens next? You don't know. You haven't thought that far ahead and don't care to do so.

Slinging a backpack over your shoulder, you slip out of the apartment through the window, thankful to your last night self that you'd gotten a room on the second floor. You're not sure who you are anymore, the Hunter is dead, killed by whoever you are now. You remember the name Aeron, the Welsh name of the god of battle and slaughter in Celtic mythology from the mythology book you've left at Bucky's place.

Aeron. Maybe. Nameless sounds good too. No One sounds weird.

Sighing, you push those thoughts away. You can decide on a moniker if you want to, or let the crowd decide for you. Maybe that's a better option, who knows how creative those minds can get. Leaping from the window, you vanish into the shadows, a skill honed for years and head to no where. You can survive Madripoor, you've done it once you can do it again. Besides, if Death chooses to claim you right this instance, you're not going to fight it. You've lost everything, there's no point clinging onto this wretched life. So you walk on, glancing at the lost and broken, observing the rich and drunk, and leave the Hunter behind.

~

Bucky watches from the jet window as the plane takes off, leaving Madripoor behind. No, it's not just Madripoor that's being left behind, you're being left behind too. He's torn, distracted, wondering if he should have convinced you to stay somehow.

"Hey Buck?" Sam leans closer. "You alright?"

He laughs hollowly. "I just broke up. I'm perfectly fine."

Sam raises an eyebrow but doesn't press the issue further. Bucky will talk when he's ready, Sam is sure of it. In the mean time, he'll just have to keep a closer watch on his best friend.

Bucky watches as Madripoor grows smaller and smaller until it fades from view, wondering where you are right now, wondering if you're safe. He shakes those thoughts out of his head, reminding himself that the two of you have broken up and there's no going back. You didn't seem like you wanted to mend the relationship anyways.

It's fine, he's already lost so much, what is one more person?

[chaoticace2005]

The angst potential of if Winners don’t remember those who didn’t go to Hell…

Imagine Angel finding Molly. Finding his twin. Finding his other half. Finding the person he regrets hurting more than anyone else. One of the main reasons he’s even trying to get into Heaven.

Imagine him finding her and she just looks at him blankly.

“Oh, hi, what did ya say your name was?”

“Uh, Ang— Anthony. Molly, it’s me.”

“Who??? I’m real sorry have we met? I don’t rememba an ‘Anthony.’”

The idea that she completely forgot about him. The idea that for her to truly be “happy”, for her to truly be in Heaven, she needed to erase “Anthony” from her mind. The idea that everyone in his life was right, as he was just a mistake. The fuck up. The twin that weighed his better half down. That the one person who always told him that wasn’t true doesn’t fucking remember him so maybe that was a mistake too?

“Oh… yeah. Sorry, I.., thoughtcha was someone else.”

Imagine him pushing himself away from everyone again, because maybe they’re better off without him too. Imagine him relapsing because if nobody wants him to be here he certainly doesn’t either.

[h3llblazer]

SEVERE TW TO EVERYONE. NOT A DRILL GENUINELY THIS MIGHT REALLY TRIGGER SOME PEOPLE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Tw: attempted sewerslide, sewerslide, unhealthy thoughts, depression and a maybe bit too gruesome description at times, Be aware!!

.

.

.

.

.

Why...why every single time that he tries to get better, act like he always does, he ends up in worse situations than ever.

He didn't want it to come to this, really he didn't it just..became too much, maybe he drank too much that night, if he were sober maybe he wouldn't have done this, maybe he would've actually looked for help if he just held on a little longer?

But oh well, it's too late now.

It's pathetic really, he should be so much better than this, I mean he literal reason he got this far was trough a previous attempt on ending his own life..but well he did one before that too and he didn't even end up dying so, maybe this time will work right? I mean he wouldn't have much of a consequence on dying, he's banned from both hell and heaven so his soul would simply be obliterated, ultimate ending. No chance to even suffer more.

He would probably deserve hell more than anyone but guess once more he got the easy way out of this one.

Drunken steps leading him to the bathroom, was this the smartest way to do it? Maybe, maybe not, I mean not like he'll feel much anyway, his arm has gone through enough nerve damage already due to many many rituals, so..this shouldn't hurt as much as it did.

He let the water run, sitting in his bath tub, not even crying just in a blank state of reality and delusion.

A wish to die, really now?..well..really honestly if he had any ounce of rationality left he wouldn't have done this.

.

.

.

One deep cut, right on the artery..hell it started bleeding like crazy the second he cut it open, holding back a cry of pain. Holy shit this hurt-

The alcohol did it's best to just numb the pain, which it did a good job at.

.

.

Now just wait...wait for the world to fade. Wait for his doom...why didn't he even think twice?

[mermaidlighthouse]

Ok so I’m gonna recenter the “indestructible little fucker” moment around Ed…yes it’s obviously directed at Izzy and in a literal sense about Izzy but it’s also about what Izzy represents in Ed’s life, Blackbeard, it’s just further confirmation that the only escape for Ed from the persona of Blackbeard, the darkness, is his own death

Even when he thinks it’s gone, when he believes it’s dead, it’s comes back and hurts him…

From Ed’s perspective, he’s tried allowing himself to find the fun in pirating again when he’s teaching Stede and found that when he’s exposed to the darker elements (Calico Jack) he’ll fall right back into the old patterns, he tried doing what just makes Ed happy and it left him broken, he’s tried accepting that even if his dream of running away with Stede and leaving the past behind didn’t work he can still be Ed and while still dealing with his heartbreak is told Ed’s not good enough

He’s exhausted and depressed and he just wants to be Ed but past experience says that’s never gonna happen, even when he’s imagining his idealized versions of himself (the rich fancy man, the innkeeper) he uses the cover of Jeff because Ed’s not good enough for those things…

Ed’s also offered the outside iteration of Blackbeard (Izzy) the opportunity to kill him and even that escape from the pain, suffering, and darkness wasn’t given

So when Izzy appears and shoots him, it proves that Blackbeard is a looming spectre he can’t evade or outmaneuver, it’s indestructible. And it’s further justification for his decision to remove himself from the equation.

[voidal-respite]

I wanna die, wanna die, but don't really wanna die…

if I died, you would cry, and I don't know why…

I wanna die, wanna die, wanna die, but I still couldn't die with you by my side…

And the scars never fade, memories that replay…

[a-heart-of-kyber]

Ways they could've made the "Gale sacrifices himself" ending not gross:

*Don’t write the character as suffering from S* Ideation to begin with. He thinks that the world would be better off without him, and the game makes that literal. That's extraordinarily fucked up.

*Don’t have the option be presented by his abusive gr**mer...I mean 'his goddess'. Have Gale come up with the idea on his own in the 11th hour.

Again, it doesn't really come off as a sacrifice when, for the entire story, even through act 3, the character believes the world would be better off without him.

*I don't personally care enough about player choice to have this be something he can be Encouraged by Other People to Do?! If you're playing evil...idk still bugs me, but the idea that the game forces the thought into Tav/Durge's head even if you're romancing him is bonkers. It shouldn't be talking him into it. It should stay as you trying to talk him out of it. Or again, if it's suggested, it should never be suggested by the player. I'm sorry. If you really think player choice is that necessary, let him always be the one to suggest it, and the PC can choose to let him go through with it.

People can stand on pedestals and shout about how relatable certain characters' traumas can be and then they'll crack jokes about Gale like he doesn't suffer from traumas that are incredibly sensitive topics and also...shocker, relatable to some people.

"But people could die in the battle. He's saving people."

Great, I don't care.

The s**cidal character committing s**cide with glitter on top doesn't change the fact that they wrote a s**cidal character committing s**cide and called it his good ending.

[mythrilpencil]

This is/will be technically a scene late in the longer novel that I am currently working on. So it’s technically spoilers, but the prompt fit way too well.

Word count: 1053

CW: allusions to genocidal war; brief suicide consideration

Rage Against the Void

———

Edge ran. Ran as far as he could, letting his feet take him down streets and pathways, through  markets and gardens. Anywhere, as long as it was away from that plaza.

Anywhere away from the memory of teleporting there.

He kept running, desperate to not think. Anytime he let his mind slip the sight of the void came back to his memory. A planet turned to rubble.

No. Don’t think. Can’t think.

Eventually Edge’s feet took him past any streets he’d been down before; his subconscious systems switched to constructing a new section of his mental map overlaying the diagrams he’d seen. But he didn’t care where they led him.

Soon he burst through an arch into yet another garden, finally letting himself slow down. This garden was fairly small, compared to the sprawling oases near the Precessional. But it was closer to the outskirts of the city; the closest buildings were smaller affairs, slightly more spread out than in the city core.

And it was empty. Edge was alone.

Except for the blasted voice in his head. <You seem to be processing several emotions at once. You’re radiating a lot of static. Would you care to—>

Something in Edge snapped. “SHUT UP!” he yelled. 

Edge perceived a blink. Sparkles, the constellation in the back of his mind, paused, then observed, <Now you are angry with me. Why?>

“Because you don’t get it! You can’t!”

<Your planet exploding?>

“No! You don’t—you don’t get it! Any of it!” Edge cut his arm through the air, lashing at nothing as grief exploded into fire in his core. “You knew my planet had exploded, and you didn’t tell me. You knew everyone is gone, and you didn’t tell me. You know why? Because you don’t. Care!” 

He stormed down a pathway in the middle of the garden, one that wove idly around trees and a small stream. He glared at the ground, then at the sky as he continued, “You said yourself that you don’t. You don’t feel anything! You can’t care! You can’t possibly get how it feels to have everything you knew, everyone that you cared about, taken from you! Because you can’t feel! You don’t even care that I hate you, do you?!”

<I admit it is perplexing. I will also admit it is disappointing to have lost that many data points. Your kind in particular seems to process emotions differently than other beings. Perhaps it is because of the structure of your souls.>

“You’re just proving my point! I’m just an experiment to you! A novelty!” Edge flung a fist at the sky. Not that it mattered which direction he flung it, as the void surrounded everything beyond the depths of the world around him. He was just an android raging against a god. Raging against the void. “You don’t care about me. So why do you haunt me?”

<You are my Study,> Sparkles said simply, its voice as lightly curious as ever. 

Edge scoffed, a bitter note choked out. “Study,” he echoed. “I am not a person to you, because you are not a person. You’re just a heartless, apathetic, NOTHING!” 

He shot a fist out again. This time through a metal sign sprouting from a fence post. The bang and the screech of bent metal joined the echo of Edge’s raging voice, bouncing off the trees and mocking the silence. Just like the world around him mocked his loss. Just like the warped metal mocked his existence.

Edge growled as he studied the broken sign, “You’re more of a robot than Kaiju was.”

<That entity that caused you enough bodily harm for you to teleport? I believe you once referred to it as a siege ‘droid?>

Edge let silence be his answer. The fire of rage had nearly burned through its reserves; now the dull throb from his overcharged core sent pulses of aches through every micro-fracture in his frame that he fought so hard to ignore. For the moment he made himself focus on the metal sign instead.

Destruction. That was all he was ever good at, wasn’t it? That was all his kind was ever good at. And now they’ve destroyed themselves for good. 

He started pulling at the warped edges, slowly bending them back into place. Or at least as close as he could get them. He’d never be able to fix it completely. Not in the way that Vidya or any of her friends could. 

Edge signed to himself, clutching the edge of the sign. Maybe he should hide himself. Or destroy himself. He’d probably end up doing it on accident some day anyways; might as well do it sooner, before any of those fragile humans could get hurt, before anyone on this planet got clever enough to try and reverse-engineer his systems and restart the cycle of destruction all over again.

<Don't do that. It would be very unfortunate to lose a Study. It’s very rare to find a mortal such as yourself that can affect my domain as strongly.>

“There you go again,” Edge muttered. He let go of the sign, leaving more of it warped in the shape of his grip. Lethargically he continued walking down the garden path, saying, “You don’t care about me as a person. You just want to study me and figure out how I tick. There’s no empathy behind that at all.”

<Empathy. That is something you have mentioned before. I do not understand. But I do wish to understand better. That is why I study mortals like yourself.>

As Edge walked up to a bench, Sparkles continued, <You are still radiating contradicting emotions in a pattern that I have seen resemblances of elsewhere, but do not understand. If you are willing, you could elaborate on it.>

Edge shook his head. The boiling in his frame was gone, taking all his energy to care with it. Rain started to fall, dotting the stones, flicking his armor and bouncing off his head. But he couldn’t care. He flung himself down on the too-short bench, then rested his head in his hands. “Leave me alone,” he moaned.

Sparkles went silent. The faint presence in the back of his mind, the distance awareness of its void, never left. But its voice went silent.

Leaving him to sit.

And stay.

Alone.

———

For this week’s prompt courtesy of @flashfictionfridayofficial!

Tagging: @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

[obsessedwithgale]

Why Gale's tale resonates so deeply

I've been pondering this for quite some time, even before I set up this blog, and I've finally mustered the words to share my thoughts. Although this blog primarily serves as a haven for fangirling over Gale, I've decided to open up about something more personal.

So, what's the crux of the matter? This is my take on why the Wizard resonates so deeply with me. Many players connect with characters, whether it's Astarion or others, and for me, Gale is especially relatable. The irony lies in the fact that the criticism surrounding this character actually enhances my experience.

Gale endured a romantic relationship with a significant power imbalance. He loved a woman idolized by many, feeling special to be her chosen partner. Although the dynamics of their relationship may have been non-monogamous, that's beside the point. What's crucial is the portrayal of a man with an immense heart yearning for love, tethered to a partner who prioritized obedience over genuine affection. The overwhelming feeling of inadequacy led him to make a risky decision for someone he believed loved him back. The result was heartbreak, and instead of love and support, his partner treated him callously, leaving him alone and devastated, with her followers aware of the betrayal.

Gale's heart shattered, and his health prevented him from healing. Consequently, he frequently mentions her at the start of our journey. She burned and destroyed him, leaving scars on his heart and psyche. When he reveals he dated a goddess, companions are amazed but fail to see the broken man beneath the surface. Only Mystra's intervention, sending Elminster as a messenger, makes them realize he was the victim.

Not everyone receives the grace of being recognized as the true victim; some remain perceived as the villain in many memories.

Following Gale's personal story, delving into his suicidal thoughts and discovering the untainted pieces of himself, was cathartic for me. Witnessing a man who couldn't recognize his worth find someone who loved him, scars and all, was beautiful.

Now, the Baldur's Gate 3 fandom seems to miss this message. They only pay attention when he mentions Mystra and find him annoying when he passionately shares his thoughts. They overlook the chronic pain, depression, and the harrowing message from his omnipotent lover. Sometimes I wonder if we're playing the same game or if they choose what to see. The community reduce to the way he handles his depression (deflecting and humour), and not for the horror he clearly hasn't processed.

While other characters accept their pasts and trauma bomb you, Gale is still in denial. Facing the truth is challenging; it's easier to blame oneself, right?

TL;DR: Gale resonates with me due to his trauma denial, coping mechanisms for depression and suicidal thoughts, and how he, despite being the clear victim in a relationship, is portrayed as the villain due to the overwhelming power and influence of the other person.

I adore this man, and learning the Leadwriter didn't get the message about Gale is disheartening.

[sencity]

yandere!poet x gn!darling, pt. two . . .

˚₊ ꒰ nightmare fuel 𝄁︎ obsessive/possessive themes, self-harm/mentions of blood, f!masturbation, overstimulation (y/n receiving), death threats, assault, suicide notes, vengeful habits, + controlling/manipulating behavior.

˚₊ ꒰ word count 𝄁︎ 949.

˚₊ ꒰ key 𝄁︎ crossed out red words indicate amunet's thoughts. blue text indicate amunet's messages. purple text indicate y/n's messages.

˚₊ ꒰ sen’s statement(s) 𝄁︎ you’d find pt. one here, let alone amunet’s face claim and information here. this’ll be the last part of headcanons, btw.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who’s trembling harshly in regret after you confronted her about her ominous sonnet named “stained cosmos”. a poem that was supposedly written in red ink, but over time it began to fade into an old brown, which heightened your concern seeing as the sonnet was quite dark …

“amunet, you have to tell me why you did this. is this your…blood? i’d be very upset if it was… are you alright?”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who’s in their room puling fearfully to herself as the quill pen danced across her paper, even though the ink replacement was simply red dye and her tears acted as blood. how could you be upset with how devoted she is to you? were you rejecting her creativity or her…? how else could she show you how devoted she is!? but yet …

“you y/n care so y/n d…eeply…for y/n me…my beloved…y/n, what are you doing?…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who ends up fingering herself while announcing more slam poetry in her room, one with more lecherous intent behind it, her body writhing with an enraptured smile as she moaned carelessly as if her neighbors weren’t filing complaints about the ruckus …

“mmn, a-and your y/n scent, your y/n lips, e-even y/n your- sh-shit…y/n, your body…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who fell into her desires shamefully by calling you frequently since she “has nightmares” and needed you to “read her her favorite poems so she could go to bed” which was a solid excuse to use your voice to feed into her desires. she felt regretful, but each word caused a throb between her thighs, her hips rolling with need …

“and her love was too tangled up in—huh? amunet? you’re breathing very loudly—was that a moan?”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who steals your pencils and pens during class and yet you still believe that you’re just bad at organizing. meanwhile, after the club ended and she was alone in the classroom, she was using the writing utensil, inhaling the stimulating scent deeply before smiling maniacally, placing her head on the desk while dragging the pen/pencil down her clothed pussy frantically.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who makes you cum at least thrice every night, fingering/jerking you as her eyes fixated on your frantic reactions due to you being overstimulated since she cannot get enough of you. she praises you lovingly with sweet somethings; she manages to say new compliments every time she sees you, let alone think of you. you pleaded and pleaded for her to stop, but her flattering words only caused you to falter and give into her desires, even though you knew it would last until sunrise …

“such pretty noises from my your pretty mouth, not enough prose in the world could compare to what i own i love. maybe we should do this until death the morning again, how does that sound?”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who owned up to her promise and used the blood of the body of a person who had the audacity to assist you with your poetry assignment as an excuse to flirt (which amunet did her best to rectify and rephrase words just for you so you could finish the assignments in class). but don’t worry! the person isn’t dead or anything, but generous enough to lie there below her mutilated and blubbering, acting as an ink supply for her projects …

“there, now i don’t have to scar my arms anymore, my darling y/n doesn’t need their memory scarred as well, they hate it when i hurt myself…but i don’t recall them mentioning about hurting others…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! whose vindictive nature embraced more when you teased her about the new friends you’ve made, resulting in glowering disdainfully at you, grumbling short-worded complaints since she was better with her emotions on paper…or when she’s completely enamored by the thought of you. she finally cut you off, her fists clenching and trembling with indignation towards these people you’ve met, these people you’ll soon mourn over …

“i’ll kill maim everyone in our phones so they’ll never ring again… how dare you be such a cheater so ungrateful? do you not understand how far i’ve gone for your recognition? how many clothes have i stained for your acceptance? and yet you turn around and mingle with people who aren’t even above my level…”

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who nails death threats on your friends’ doors or anyone else who even lacked the decency to gaze upon you.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who slips suicide poems in your locker unpredictably, but you found her actions trite since you knew she wasn’t actually dead but needed you right this instant. perhaps attempting to correct your behavior once more. you took your time looking for her only to find out she’s not even at school, therefore you left early.

☪︎︎ 𝔂andere poet! who was waiting outside of your apartment while spinning a switch knife around her fingers with a dazed, lovelorn, and lifeless expression, which not only deepened your confusion, but worried you tremendously. it was for your own good, she convinced herself. as much as she didn’t want to go this route, you tend to not do as she says when she says it. it’s hard to give you the best when you’re acting the worst (even though your rebellious nature only lured her in even more) …

“i’ve spilled punch them more blood than ink for your attention, and yet you still have the audacity to not make me the highest priority still look the other way? that’s alright, hun—shh, shut the fuck up don’t explain yourself. therefore, i will show you how much my soul yearns for you by engraving affirmations on your precious body in…red ink. perhaps a few marks to help everyone kill them all else conclude that you’re only my muse to alter and maim, to control and cripple. my y/n, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…”

© all rights reserved 𝄁︎ sencity. plagiarism will not be tolerated on this blog but addressed and chastised accordingly.

[bbloveseevees]

god why am i like this i hate myself i'm an idiot so why do people call me smart i'm ugly so why do people call me pretty i'm worthless so why do people call me valuable

i highkey wanna kms at this point but i can't because too many people care i wish i could just vanish off the face of the earth why won't people let me leave

i feel stuck and i can't even talk to my parents about this because tHEY'RE PART OF THE PROBLEM

WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY

[abbey-needs-a-hug]

Need methods, preferably fast and little to no pain

[voidal-respite]

I'm the world's greatest poison

Hurting people slowly, but so sweet they don't care

Until one day, they must either stop drinking me in, or face the consequences…

I am a murderer

Every time I inflict pain, I kill a part of my soul, just as I feel I kill them slowly.

So tell me, why should I not be executed by my own hand, in accordance with the death penalty for a serial killer?