#it's just so awful to think that suicide is an option. like maybe it was okay that that person took their life. because IT ISN'T!!!

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5851

Notes; thank you to everyone who has shown their support so far and taken the time to read my work, you are the ones who truly keep me motivated to write. much much love <33

(Not Beta Read)

You woke the next morning in the same t-shirt you had worn the day before, clinging to your skin from cold sweat. Your pants had been kicked off at some unknown point during the restless night of sleep you had. It was hard to recall the exact time you had eventually passed out on top of your bed.

Your phone was ringing somewhere underneath your pillow, causing your entire head to buzz. You groaned, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Irina’s name flashed on the screen as the caller on the other line. You answered the call, pressing the speaker button before dropping your phone on your chest.

“Hi honey, just wanted to let you know my flight made it into Sacramento.” Irina spoke. The passersby’s in the busy airport nearly muffled her voice. 

You picked up your phone again, looking at the time. How late had you slept in? The digital clock read 11:03 am. 

“Okay, I’m glad you made it safely.” You were certain your aunt could hear the rasp of your morning voice.

Irina hummed on the other line. “Just give me a call if you need anything while I’m away.” 

“Will do, love you.” You replied, clearing your throat before responding. 

“I love you too.” Irina replied before ending the call. 

You stared up at your ceiling for a moment, thinking over the events of last night. 

You couldn’t help but feel horrible for Charlie. Were he and his father close? Was his mother around? Did he have any siblings, relatives he was close with? So many questions seemed to fill your thoughts. Though, you knew they were questions that would more than likely go unanswered. It would be an awful choice, you decided, to bring up this suspected trauma unprompted. 

Maybe you could try to divulge more information from your aunt. Based upon her reaction, she must have been relatively close to his father at some point in time. Remembering back to the somber expression your aunt wore last night, you decided against that idea as well. 

You thought back on the relationship you had with your own father. He was an objectively miserable man. How would you have reacted, though, if you had lost him under the same circumstances? It would have surely still been devastating to some degree. 

You’d keep your newfound information to yourself for the time being. It was the only reasonable option you could think of. You were certain Charlie wouldn’t want you to treat him any differently after finding out about what had happened.

The familiar buzz of your phone’s ringer pulled you momentarily from your running thoughts. You grabbed your phone, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your bed, your legs crossed closely in front of you. 

A message from an unsaved number appeared on the screen. You recognized it almost immediately as being Charlie’s from the group chat the night before. Only he hadn’t messaged both you and Robbie. It was only sent to you. 

You sucked in a sharp breath as you unlocked your phone. The message read, “Hey, Robbie wanted me to let you know he woke up feeling sick and won’t be able to make it tonight.” 

Your face fell into a frown as you read over the message again, your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought up a response. 

Another message from Charlie arrived moments later. “He said he’d take over any revisions if you and I would still be willing to finish the presentation tonight.”

The corner of your lips twitched up into a half smile. Now that you and Charlie were on seemingly good terms again, there shouldn’t be any issue with just the two of you working on this together. 

Your fingers unknowingly found themselves twisted through your hair as you typed your response. “Works for me. Same time and place?” 

Charlie sent his response almost instantly. “Yeah, sounds good.” 

You had quite a bit of time to spare until 7pm rolled around. You went through your weekend routine as usual, cleaning up as you went throughout the home. By 6pm you had showered and pulled yourself mostly together. As you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, running your fingers through your drying hair, a new thought crept into your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through Charlie’s mess of hair. 

Your skin burned hot as you dropped your hands at your sides. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back up at your own reflection. 

You couldn’t shake the thought as you made your way into the kitchen downstairs. You stared blankly into the pantry, your thoughts elsewhere. 

Of course, you had always believed there was something charming about Charlie’s character. He was objectively good looking, at least you had thought so. But, thinking back on those few moments you shared alone with him on the porch the night before, there was just something- something about him was strikingly beautiful. 

You bit at your lip, squinting your eyes as you pulled your thoughts together. You reminded yourself that the last thing you wanted to do at the moment was become wrapped up in unrequited crushes and feelings similar to the sort. It was just easier on your own. You had come to this conclusion years ago. It was understandably difficult to trust others, impossible to let anybody in. 

Just as you were about to shut the pantry door, your eyes caught a glint in the back of the pantry, just behind a bag of sugar. You reached forward, grabbing the bottle in your hands. 

You turned over a bottle of red wine, scanning the label quickly. 

You hummed to yourself, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter. You stared it down for a moment, tapping your foot against the hardwood flooring. 

You had no clue how long it had been stuffed away back there. Surely your aunt wouldn’t miss it too terribly. You glanced up at the clock above the stove which read 6:44pm. A small glass wouldn’t hurt anything, just something to dispel your faltering nerve. 

You dug through the kitchen drawers, searching for a bottle opener. Just as you popped the cork, a knock at the front door rang through the home. ‘Shit.’ You steadied yourself, nearly knocking the bottle off the counter. 

You thought you would have had at least a few more minutes to yourself. You quickly made your way to the front door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle. 

Charlie stood in front of you. One hand buried in his front pocket, the other holding the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. You held the frame of the door, following his line of sight to your bare legs. You felt your face grow hot. You hadn’t realized just how much of your oversized t-shirt covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

You quickly pulled your t-shirt up, holding it against your stomach. “Shorts, promise.” God, why were you acting like this? 

Charlie swallowed, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, right.” There was a moment of quiet passed between the two of you. Charlie’s eyes drifted just past you into the entryway.

“Oh, right. Come in.” You pushed the door open further for him. He followed you inside, stepping beside you as you locked the door behind him. 

He turned to head towards the living room. Without giving it much thought, you interjected. “We can go up to my room.” You motioned up the stairs, watching as Charlie stopped in his tracks.

“Your room? Your aunt won’t mind?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he kicked his shoes off.

“Oh no, she wouldn’t mind. She’s out of town this weekend, anyway.” You replied.

Charlie froze for a moment, looking up the stairs past you. He met your eyes again before responding. “Cool, yeah. Your room sounds great.”  

You smile down at him, leading him up the staircase. 

“Well, this is it,” you shrugged. “Just put your stuff anywhere you’d like.” You finished, motioning around the room. 

You picked your bag off the ground and climbed into your bed, moving close to the wall. Charlie placed his stuff on the desk beside your bed before dropping himself into the adjoining chair. You began pulling out your things, watching as he intently did the same. He seemed so incredibly focused on the things in front of him. Neither of you spoke. 

As you opened your laptop to access the shared group presentation, Charlie spoke up.

“Okay, I actually went ahead and got everything finished up earlier today.” Your breath got stuck in your chest as you met his eyes. “I figured we could just work on any revisions together.” You could tell from just below your line of sight that he was nervously messing with the corner of a piece of his notebook paper. 

“Oh,” you weren’t sure what to say. “Well, thank you. You totally didn’t have to-”

“No, I know. I wanted to.” Charlie interrupted. 

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip. You scanned through the presentation. It really had been finished. It must have taken him hours. 

There was an uncomfortable silence, making the air thick and heavy around you. You wished you could think of something else to say. An image of the opened bottle of red wine in the kitchen flashed in your mind. 

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked so softly, you couldn’t have been certain you had actually asked it aloud. 

Charlie’s eyes snapped up to meet you. Relief almost played itself across his expression. “Yes, please. If it’s not any trouble.” He rubbed his palms flat against the denim against his thighs. 

You shot up, crawling out of bed. “Not at all.” You gave him your most reassuring smile. 

You rushed downstairs, throwing open the cabinet where you knew Irina kept her best glasses. You grabbed two by the stem and held the bottle in the other hand. 

You made your way carefully up the stairs, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. 

Charlie peered behind himself, eyes falling to the bottle in your hand. 

“Oh,” he began, “I didn’t realize…” 

You suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Did he even drink? 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified. I can go and grab some water or something-” You began turning on your heel. 

Charlie was quick to rise to his feet. “No, no, this is great.” He carefully took the glasses and bottle from your hands. You inhaled sharply and nodded as his fingers brushed against your own. 

You climbed back into bed, watching him fill each glass, respectively. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hand slightly shook as he passed you your glass. 

You took a long drink, watching him do the same. It felt so warm in your throat. You sighed, sinking further into the bed. Charlie seemed to relax a bit in his spot as well. 

A few minutes passed by in a much more comfortable quietness. 

You couldn’t help but become distracted by the man sitting beside you. He just felt so far away. You wished he’d have sat on the bed next to you instead. Every once in a while, you’d feel him glance over at you as you reread the same passage over and over again, still for some reason, unable to comprehend what it said. 

You peered up from your notes, watching Charlie slide a scribbled over sticky note that sat stuck to the base of your lamp. 

You recognized it immediately, feeling yourself shift awkwardly. It was one of the lists you kept from film club, filled almost entirely with movies that Charlie had mentioned in passing. 

“Are these…?” Charlie asked, eyes widening as he made his way down the list. 

You rolled over onto your stomach, reaching over to pull the list from Charlie’s hands. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’ve almost gotten myself caught up.” You tried your best to conceal the shyness you felt at being found out. 

Your heart picked up quickly as he looked you over. There was something about his expression that felt so heavy, it was an unfamiliar sight. 

“What’s next on your list?” He asked, picking up the glass you had set down and refilling it alongside his own. 

You read over the scratched out mess of your handwriting. “Dawn of the Dead, but the 1978 version. Not the remake, of course.” 

A smirk spread across Charlie’s lip, as if he’d taught you well. He held up your glass to take from him. You took it from him slowly, feigning to be worried about spilling a single drop. By this point, your head was already beginning to feel fuzzy. It was a comfortable warmth. 

You slipped the note into your backpack, trying to focus once again on the presentation in front of you. It was useless. 

Before giving it much thought, you spoke up, “You know, I’ve already rented it.” 

Robbie could manage the revisions on his own, right?

“Oh yeah?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to face you. 

“Yeah,” you began, trying to convince yourself that this next question would actually be a good idea. “Would you want to watch it with me?” 

“Tonight?” Charlie’s hands were back against the top of his thighs. His eyes flashed between you and the T.V. that was mounted above your dresser on the opposite side of your bedroom. 

“If that would be okay with you, I’m honestly not getting much work done over here.” You replied, getting up from the bed. 

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds cool.”

You smiled over your shoulder at him as you made your way over the DVD player that sat on top of your dresser. 

You messed with the CD case, popping it open and inserting the disk. You picked up the remote, waiting until the title screen flashed on the T.V. above you. You noticed the top drawer of the dresser was pulled halfway open; you slid it closed, scolding yourself. It contained the clothing you’d dread any guest seeing. You swore you were always so careful about keeping these things in order.

You flipped your bedroom lights off, dimming the lamp that sat on the desk beside Charlie before finding your place back in bed. 

You pressed play, finishing the last of the wine in your glass, before setting the remote and glass on the desk beside you. 

A few moments passed by uninterrupted. You looked over at Charlie. He was sitting so unbelievably stiff in the chair, it just seemed so uncomfortable. 

“Charlie,” you called out to him. He snapped his eyes to meet your own. “You don’t have to watch the entire movie from my desk.” You half laughed.

He stood quickly, nearly knocking things about your desk. You tried your best to hide your smile as he laid down on top of the mattress; the bed dipped under his weight. 

You both kept a fair amount of distance between each other. The movie was well underway. However, you found yourself becoming increasingly more interested in the uneven way Charlie’s chest rose and fell with each breath than what was happening on the screen.

You wished you could just reach over and touch him, move the hair out of his eyes, trace your finger over the arch of his nose. 

You could barely take notice of the way your vision had fixated on him as your head grew blurred and warm. 

You wished he’d turn and face you, say something. He seemed to be frozen in place, legs and arms held in a way that’d rival a statue. His face was fixated on the T.V., as if he were too nervous to move even an inch. It was so warm. The room felt so warm.

You could barely catch the small glimpses he’d spare towards you from his peripherals. You wish he’d just reach over- your eyes trailed down to his hands resting on his stomach, watching the veins in them roll as his finger flexed and twitched. 

You reached up, placing a hand against your face. Your skin was cold to the touch. Why did everything feel so warm?

Your clothing suddenly felt increasingly more suffocating. You were growing desperate for some form of relief. You pulled at the collar of your shirt. Your shorts felt so tight, nearly restricting. You couldn’t explain why you felt so hot. The t-shirt you had on could almost be a dress, anyway, right? 

You climbed over Charlie, one hand on either side of his chest. You steadied yourself on the ground, your head thoroughly swimming. You tried your very best to focus forward on the movie. You unbuttoned the waist of your shorts, carefully stepping out of them.

You heard a heavy sigh from behind you; the sound made the hair on your skin raise. 

“I’m sorry, moving out of the way. Promise.” You laughed, turning back to face Charlie. 

You slid into the bed, finding your spot in the small space between Charlie and the edge of the mattress. Opting not to try to climb over him again in your current state.

Charlie froze in place beside you as you shifted on to your side, trying to find the most comfortable spot between him and the screen. He was warm, so warm. You had just felt as though you were burning up moments ago, but the thought of him moving any further away made your body ache. His warmth was soothing. 

You could feel Charlie’s uncertainty as he began to shift away from you in the bed, providing you with more space presumably. 

You couldn’t explain why you did what you did next. You reacted without giving it much thought at all. You reached behind you, pulling Charlie’s furthest hand towards you until it rested on top of your hair. 

The new position forced him to shift in bed beside you until he was lying on his side as well. His hand flexed under your touch. You wished you could pull him closer. 

His fingers stretched throughout your hair and you sighed, feeling your back sink closer to his chest. You could nearly feel his heart pounding against you. Your hand fell to rest on your side. 

His other hand shifted, moving into a more comfortable position below your neck. “Is this okay?” He whispered right behind your ear. The feeling of his cool breath sent chills up your spine. You nodded, the words lost from you.

You reached up, tracing the veins wove through his forearm. His fist closed and flexed at your touch. The film, just as the presentation, was now lost on you. 

It was just him beside you. The way he smelt, his fingers carefully sliding through your hair and across your cheek, the unsteady beat of his heart against your back. You found yourself sinking further and further into his arms. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as he pulled through the mess of your hair. 

At the sound of your voice, Charlie shifted his weight, wrapping his arm under your neck further to pull you around to face him. 

You both seemed surprised at his sudden movement. You were now face to face, just inches apart. The movie murmured faintly off somewhere in the distance. 

Even in the dark, his blue eyes were so incredibly clear. You reached up, brushing the hair that had fallen in front of his face away. His eyes flitted between your own eyes and lips. You had never noticed before just how full his own lips were. His lips were tinted a deep red from the cherry wine you had shared. You couldn’t help but imagine how sweet he’d taste. 

If you’d just move a bit closer- 

Both of his large hands wrapped throughout your hair again in near desperation. 

You returned the gesture, pushing your thigh through the middle of his own. Lips crashed against one another. 

It was unlike anything you had experienced before. This brash kiss fell into a soft rhythm, gentle exploration as you rocked into one another. 

It didn’t take long until the slow movements devolved into a harsh quick pace as you both grew more comfortable in each other’s arms. There was an air of near violence as your tongues wrapped around each other.

You needed more of him, needed to be impossibly closer in any way you could. Sensing this, Charlie wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top to straddle his waist. 

You sat back, smiling down at him as he unintentionally bucked his hips up closer to you. It was wonderful seeing the state he was in. You knew you were in just about the same shape. 

You were quick to meet his lips again. He held you steadily against himself, continuing to rock himself against you.

Your hands hazily fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. You needed to feel more of his skin against you. The barrier of clothing that separated you from him made you miserable. 

Once the last button was popped, he sat up in bed. Pulling you up with him, his arm clung around your waist. He shrugged the shirt off of himself, throwing it on the ground. You were quick to bring your lips to his again, running your hands up his now bare stomach. He was impossibly toned, felt hard to the touch. 

“Fuck.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled against him. You could feel him getting hard below you. A blush crept up your skin. The sound of his voice like this built up an indiscernible feeling inside of you. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. 

His hands were quick to find themselves under your t-shirt, his thumb brushed against the outer lace of your bra. He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp. You leaned your head against his, smiling softly as he gazed at you in wonder. 

You reached behind yourself, helping him with his work uncertain work. You slid the bra off yourself, throwing it next to Charlie’s discarded shirt. You grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it swiftly over your head. 

You could hear Charlie’s breath audibly stuck in his throat as his eyes darted wildly across your body. The full weight of this situation nearly hit you at once. You brought your arms shyly across your chest. You had never been in front of a man this way. 

You could barely meet his eyes. He was quick to pull you back in to kiss him. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered against you as he kissed your forehead. Your arms melted down to your side as his hands traced the curve of your waist. 

You could feel his hands shake as he cupped your breasts, his fingers softly grazed against your nipples. You sighed, pulling him closer to you. That frenzied feeling returned in full force. 

You needed impossibly more of him. He was quick to act, laying you back down on the bed. He hovered over you, eyes burning into your nearly naked body in front of him. 

His right hand reached down, fumbling with his buckle. You watched intently as his hand slipped underneath the waistband of his boxers to adjust himself. Your eyes fluttered back as you traced your fingers mindlessly over the defined v-line that led further down his hips. He shook at your touch. 

His lips found themselves trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He was so gentle with you. Painfully gentle. Your hands wove through his hair, arching up into him as his pace quickened. He slid further down the bed, wrapping his arms around both of your legs, holding them open to kiss down your thighs. 

You were practically already coming undone below him. He’d come so close to the spot you wanted him to be. Every time he’d pull back away, you’d whine in frustration. He’d hum back against you in response. 

You couldn’t handle the pressure building up inside you anymore. Your right hand traced slowly underneath the lace of your panties. You stopped just before slipping through your folds, looking up to meet Charlie’s eyes. His expression seemed nearly pained, completely desperate. 

“I don’t know- I’ve never…” Charlie could barely get the words out from between his lips. Even in the dim lighting, you could tell he was flustered, embarrassed at his own lack of experience. It was reassuring to you though, you had practically no experience with all of this either. It was sweet, how shy he seemed at that moment. 

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.” You gave him a reassuring smile before carefully intertwining your fingers with his own. He followed suit, hooking his free hand around your panties before sliding them off you. Your desperation for him drowned out any insecurity you could have possibly felt with him above you in that state you were in. 

You brought his fingers against you, sighing into him as he carefully let you guide him in slow circles against your clit. The knot deep inside you only grew as he became increasingly comfortable. Your hands dropped to his shoulders as he became familiar with the pace and direction you wanted. 

His free arm wrapped around your back, gripping your sides with bruising force as you started to writhe below him. His head dipped beside your ear, “Please, please let me taste you.” He practically begged. 

You could only nod, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers moved faster, losing their rhythm. 

He was quick to shift his weight as he sat up for a moment, pulling off his constricting jeans and socks, leaving him nearly entirely exposed. You groaned at the sight of him in front of you. He was so damningly beautiful. Your vision flitted down to the large impression in his boxers, your eyes widened at the size of him. 

Before you could process this discovery, he was kneeling on the bed in front of you again. One arm snaked around your thigh as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him make his way through his. 

He kissed just above your clit, eyes looking up at you for approval. 

“Please Charlie,” you urged him on. 

His lips were against your most sensitive spot immediately. You cried out, screwing your eyes shut. Nothing had ever been so perfect as this. He kissed against you a few more times before deciding to explore you with his tongue, “Fuck, it’s so good.” He groaned against you, speaking more to himself than you. 

The vibration of his deepening voice sent shockwaves throughout your body. Your eyes and legs involuntarily worked to screw shut. Charlie acted quick, pushing your thighs back apart with a painful grip. You were sure you’d have his finger prints bruised into your skin the next morning. ‘Good’ you thought to yourself. 

You could tell he was trying his best to emulate the motion you had shown him with your fingers with his tongue. It was maddening, completely perfect. 

“Fuck baby, you’re doing so well.” The words spilled mindlessly out of you. He groaned as you rolled your hips against him. Your eyes trailed down his chest. His right hand found its way inside his boxers. He was palming at himself as if he were in pain. You wanted to be the one to relieve him. 

The sight of him pleasing himself as he worked you over was enough to nearly send you crashing blindly over the edge. You could barely get the next words out of you, “Don’t, don’t touch yourself.” You were trying to keep it all together as he whined against you, following your demands. 

“Fuck Charlie, I’m going to…” you said between broken moans. 

He pulled away for a moment, his entire expression darkened. It could’ve easily been terrifying in any other context, you noted to yourself. The fingers that had just been wrapped around your thigh found themselves quickly against your entrance. Your eyes widened as you connected with his gaze, realizing his intentions. You’d do anything to have him inside of you. 

He kissed your lips. You sucked the taste of yourself off of him, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. His middle and ring dove forward inside of you. His other hand came up quickly to muffle your screams. 

“Shit, you’re so tight.” His chest shuddered at his own words. A tear rolled down your face as he talked you through it. “So wet for me.” 

His free hand pressed down against your lower stomach. The additional pressure was the last push you needed. Your whole nervous system seemed to snap as his fingers fucked you through your high. You could barely hear his praise as your ears rang out with incredulous force. You were sobbing out his name, vision white and spotted at the blinding pleasure. 

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly letting you come back to yourself for a moment before diving his tongue back against you. 

You writhed up against the footboard. It was too much, too overstimulating. Your hands pulled at his hair to push him away. He grabbed both your wrists with one hand, holding you in place below him. You were babbling, stuck between ‘It’s too much’ and ‘please don’t stop.’ 

Within a matter of moments, you were coming undone again against his face. Your mind was shattered, your body a wreck under his touch. 

He fell back against the headboard, catching his breath as he watched you ride out your high. 

As soon as you could partially catch your breath again, you sat up, watching him shift uncomfortably from his pressing erection. 

It was his turn to be taken care of. You crawled your way up to rest between his thighs. His eyes darted across your face, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

You couldn’t hide your smile as you leaned into him. You kissed him slowly, licking across his lips. Your lips slowly made their way down his chest as your fingers grazed across the fabric against his cock. He whimpered above you at the pressure. The sound made your stomach clench. You’d give anything to hear it again. 

He slid further down the bed as your lips trailed kisses and shallow bites marks further down his stomach. 

Once you could tell he was in a more comfortable position, you hooked your fingers into the waistline of boxers. He lifted his hips, helping you pull them down his thighs before discarding them on the ground below. 

You sat back on your heels, mouth agape at the sight in front of you. You could do little to hide your shock at the uncovered size of him. 

You glanced up at him, willing yourself to put on a face that feigned at least a hint of experience. He smirked down at you, as if he could tell exactly what thoughts were passing through your mind. 

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, eyes still full of adoration for you. 

Before giving him the opportunity to finish his sentence, you wrapped your fingers against the base of his cock. You could feel him pulse under your touch. His next words were stuck and gone in his chest. 

You held his gaze as your hand carefully twisted its way up to the tip of his cock. You gathered his precum on your fingers and circled it around the length of him. His mouth fell open as his stomach flexed under you. 

“Does that feel good?” You asked softly. 

He bit his lip, nodding his head yes. You were quick to pick up your pace at his approval.  

His hands were desperate, switching between grabbing at the bedsheets and headboard and any of your skin he could get ahold of. Stunning whimpers and pleas spilled out of him as you found the motion and speed he needed. 

You pulled away for a moment, moving yourself further down the bed. You held him still in one hand again as you kissed a trail down from his navel. Your eyes met with his as your lips hovered above the tip of his cock. You gathered spit on the tip of your tongue and let it fall slowly onto him. He cursed a string of expletives, his eyes rolling back into his head as you took him into your mouth. 

You thought carefully over each motion, keeping your teeth back, hollowing out your cheeks. The sensation was entirely new, but the way he began to convulse below you let you know you were doing something right. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel the same way he had made you. 

His hands wrapped almost painfully through your hair as he bucked further and further down your throat. You tried your best to relax, allowing him to take the space he wanted. 

Your throat burned, tears and spit covered your face and chest. You wouldn’t have possibly wanted it any other way. 

You were both becoming increasingly sloppy and starved in your movements. His right hand grabbed at your throat, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. You stilled, letting him fuck your throat as he pleased. It didn’t take long before his movements stilled and stuttered. 

You felt him pulse in your mouth; you were flooded with his release, warmth coated your throat and tongue. The taste and sight above you made your entire body shudder. It was heavenly. You felt truly blessed to be the cause of it all. You could vaguely make out your name being spilled from between his lips.

His chest heaved as you carefully pulled away from him, his cock falling against his stomach. 

You caught his eyes again, making a show to swallow what he had given to you. He pulled you into himself, kissing all over your face until you were laughing in his arms. 

You dropped into the bed beside him, watching him shift his weight and stand. He scanned the room before spotting the bath towel that hung beside your bedroom door. He made quick work of cleaning the two of you up, tracing kisses across you as he did so. 

Your nerves were all shot. Your entire being was exhausted and heavy. 

He dropped the towel next to the discarded pile of clothing that had accumulated on your bedroom floor. Charlie slid back in bed beside you, lifting the disheveled duvet over you both. He pulled you up onto his chest. You sighed as he swept the hair out of your face. 

You were in a complete haze, halfway into a deep sleep. 

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered above you. 

You hummed, reaching up to kiss under his jaw. “Thank you.” You replied, pulling a sore a leg over his thighs, resting your head back down against him.

The movie’s title screen music played on repeat in the background; you couldn’t be the least bit bothered to turn it off. 

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for telling someone they're a horrible person and making them relapse?

trigger warning: self-harm, suicide(?)

so im, like many teenagers online, an avid participant of fandom spaces and my current favorite is genshin impact. if you've ever interacted with the genshin fandom you may guess where this is going but i happened to find myself liking a ship that is the big nono ship in this fandom (aka the incest ship, kaeluc) but since i mostly stick to my space and don't really interact with anyone that doesn't already have content of this ship on their account id never gotten into any hot water over it.. until recently.

this person, ill call them rick, suddenly liked a bunch of my (non-ship related) posts. normal interaction, i didn't think anything of if and moved on. (i didn't even notice at the time, but they unliked all of the posts before what happened next, i assume as they realized i was a proshipper and didn't want to associate with me.) next thing i know, the same user is in my askbox, sending me the most vile, hate filled messages i have ever seen.

ok... no biggie. i delete the asks, block them and move on with my life. but it doesn't stop. i had never in my whole life received hate online, but now for the first time ever, i had a dedicated hater, sending me anonymous asks at all times of the day. death threats, dox threats, telling me to kill myself, calling me a degenerate and all that, all with the same consistent writing style. now, one could say that maybe this wasn't rick, and maybe not even all the same person but i really feel like this is the only reasonable explanation considering i have like 6 followers and my most famous post has 3 notes. i don't think im important enough to have that many haters.

so, i did the only thing i could think to do: turned off anon asks. then the asks started coming from random throwaway accounts. ok...turned off asks. then it was dms. turned those off too. THE FUCKING COMMENT SECTIONS OF MY POSTS.

dedication isn't enough to describe this. at this point it's actually becoming distressing to me and im considering closing my whole account cause i just wanna get away from all this. im 16, i don't have the mental capacity to spend all day policing my social media because someone wants me to die for liking fictional incest.

so i very reluctantly unblock rick and send them a dm. i very gently ask if they are the person who has been sending me asks/dms/etc and if they are, if they could please stop because it's become genuinely distressing to me and i just want to be silly on a website. they block me.

alright, im now out of options. everything on my profile is blocked at this point and i don't even want to post anything else so i just kind of leave the account behind for a while. when i come back, i discover that someone HACKED into the account and defaced the whole thing (changed pfp, deleted posts etc etc) so now im genuinely bummed. i go to rick's profile and guess who has been unblocked? i ask them if they can please answer my question. they don't answer but instead tell me i deserve everything ive gotten and i should choke for all they care.

i tell them they're a terrible person and go absolutely off the rails like the dumb, upset teenager i am. i didn't say anything particularly horrible (mostly i just tell them about how awful they've made me feel over fictional shit that really doesn't matter and how i just wanted peace) but i definetely wouldn't like to receive a message like that. and rick didn't either, because they blocked me.

well, since im sure you're wondering where this comes in, here's where i kind of feel like an asshole:

i continued to stalk rick's account on a different blog (because i was bitter. ok?) and they've been posting about how they relapsed into self harm because of a message they received from a stranger and how they've been crying non-stop and this is the worst relapse they've had in years and etc etc and i just got this pit in my stomach. this person's bio says they're 15! i don't want to ever be the reason a fifteen year old is hurting themselves! i've been feeling like a piece of shit ever since (esp since i also deal with sh) and i just feel like the worse person ever. i honestly don't know if i was just acting like anyone else and this was an unfortunate consequence or if i need to go pray for god to forgive my sins or something.

aita?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw #self harm cw #ship discourse

[sorikufeels]

im having more thoughts about sora. how this 14 year old kid did not hesitate to stab himself in the chest, effectively killing himself to free his friend. didn’t even stop to consider any other option. maybe he didn’t think he’d die but he still stabbed himself in the chest and grinned just before doing so.

i know we saw sora drop to his knees when riku ripped the keyblade away from him and then donald and goofy subsequently abandoned (wonder if that has anything to do with his later actions huh) him but otherwise he didn’t react that much iirc. i feel like that speaks to him being used to burying his emotions from a young, young age. and then him grinning right before stabbing himself is just so disturbing to me now. like as a kid i was like aw he’s trying to reassure his friends and like yeah that’s part of it i think but like that was his only reaction to literally killing himself. he is so not okay.

what the hell happened to this kid before the games even started to make him like this?

and the fact that it’s not addressed again (i think) is so wild to me. donald and goofy watched him stab himself with a smile and then said nothing about it after he’s brought back?? like that’s so concerning, like 1000000000/10 on the concerning scale. but like they abandoned him in the first place so why am i surprised.

idk if this is a dumb question, but does riku know that’s how he freed kairi’s heart? like im assuming he knows sora was a heartless at one point since he has a nobody but did he ever find out how that happened? i forget stuff a lot, so sorry if there is somewhere where it’s shown he knows about it and i can’t remember.

i’ve said before i want sora’s darkness to be explored more and i hope this is part of it. like i want his suicidal tendencies to be addressed and for sora to realize that he is actually worth a damn

#sorry this is just a lot of me rambling #i want sora to be ok!! #well first i want him to address of this #it gets worse before it gets better #but i want him to learn that he’s so important #kingdom hearts #sora #not soriku #i yap #suicide tw #just in case #if you saw me get sora’s kh1 age wrong no you didn’t ✨

[amaya-writes]

this is kinda specific but bear with me! for ringtober—what about reader who is like Mori's niece or sm but she helps handle the business-y side of the mafia, then one day Mori is kinda like ykw you're a young girl you should be married at some point and sets up an arranged marriage. With Dazai, Chuuya and Akutagawa.

Ringtober Masterlist

Notes: I didn't add Akutagawa because I really couldn't come up with a reason for why Mori would pick him.

Warnings: regular port mafia esque warnings I mean it's a mafia fic so expect slight mentions of mafia themes, slight angst themes?

Characters involved: Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Nakahara

Fem reader, you/yours

Dazai Osamu

Dazai always knew his relationship with you was merely professional, and he was happy to keep it that way.

Mori had only decided to get the two of you married so that you couldn't come in harm's way. There had been several...complications at work lately, several 'what ifs' that Mori didn't like the sound of.

It was awful to think it, but Dazai knew Mori wouldn't care for you as much as he did if you weren't an asset.

You were valuable, and Dazai was on a job to protect the mafia's assests.

This was just work for Dazai, just another assignment, albeit an extremely long one.

He wasn't emotionally attached to you whatsoever, heck Dazai didn't even know if he could feel such things for someone.

You, however, were.

He could tell that this arranged marriage meant a little more to you.

Mori would have convinced you to agree either way, but you caved at the idea of marrying the suicidal mafia executive a lot faster than anyone expected.

It could have been anyone else. In fact, Dazai was certain it would have been Chuuya. He was the perfect fit—someone with enough power and hear to be able to look out for you and be a good husband.

But Dazai? Dazai was just doing his job.

Marriages held some sentimental value for everyone. And he couldn't lie, seeing you at the mafia headquaters in a white Kimono did slightly intrigue him. But that didn't change anything.

You spent your wedding night in separate beds and Dazai left the house far too early to encounter you.

The same continued for months, until that looming sad aura hanging over you began to disappear.

In its place came something more heartless, but Dazai couldn't find it in himself to care. In fact, he quite liked this side.

If only you had developed this personality sooner maybe he wouldn't have had to marry you.

He knew you liked him, knew that this marriage was more than just work for you. But Dazai Osamu was a suicidal maniac working for the most notorious mafia in Japan.

He lived to die, and a ring on his finger wasn't going to change that.

Chuuya Nakahara

At first, it doesn't mean anything to him.

He knows the only reason Mori picked him is because he can't trust Dazai enough to not manipulate and use you to hurt Mori.

Chuuya was too loyal to the cause, and powerful enough to ensure you would never be in harm's way so long as you had him by your side.

He wasn't the first choice, but the logical option.

The fact alone wounded Chuuya's ego quite a bit, and Dazai was always around to rub some salt into those wounds.

The day the two of you signed your marriage papers Chuuya didn't even bother looking at you properly, and got drunk and passed out on his bed soon after.

By the time he woke up you had already left for work.

Things continued like that for a few days, but they started to change with time.

It started slowly—you buying extra dinner and leaving it out for him, him offering you a glass of wine after a long day.

Casual nods each other's way turned into greetings and then small conversations.

By the time you got around to your one month anniversary, things had progressed to small conversations and occasionally having dinner together at the table.

Chuuya knew neither of you had any romantic inclination to one another, but over time you started to feel comfortable around each other.

You were more like roommates than husband and wife, a fact that Dazai and Kouyou never fail to tease him about.

Needless to say there have been a lot of jokes regarding Chuuya's inability to perform sexually and the impact that has on your relationship. All lies of course but that doesn't stop Dazai (Kouyou laughs with him).

Chuuya doesn't want to pressure you to think you have any obligation towards him as his wife. Aka he won't force you to do anything you don't want.

But with time the two of you become friends and then even more than that.

You start to help each other. Casual things like reminding each other to eat or cleaning each other's wounds. Sometimes Chuuya would find you asleep slumped over a pile of paperwork and would carry you to bed.

Othertimes you would help him get the stains out of his uniform since he was terrible at it, and constantly spilt both blood and wine over himself.

This one time Chuuya was drunk and made you wear his hat and has never stopped thhinking about how you looked. At that moment he felt very grateful to have a woman like you as his wife.

Maybe in a year or two your relationship evolves into a romantic one.

Or maybe not. But either way, Chuuya tries to be the best husnad he can.

#amaya's ringtober 2023 #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd chuuya #dazai headcanons #dazai hcs #dazai oneshot #dazai scenarios #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu bsd #dazai osamu x you #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya headcanons #chuuya hcs #bsd x y/n #bsd dazai osamu #bsd headcanons #bsd dazai #bsd x you #dazai bsd #bsd imagines

[afro-hispwriter]

The French Mistake was a mistake

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles x reader

Soulless Sam x reader(brief mention)

Summary- Dean is starting to believe you and him aren't meant to be in any universe

Warnings- 6x15(doesn’t follow it completely), mentions of suicide, mentions of being admitted to a facility, break ups, so much angst, mentions of anna, lisa, and ben, dean is a asshole lowkey(in the situation at least)

Not edited

-

Sam and Dean burst through the window and landed on a blue mat but before they could stand up someones yelled,

"CUT!" Bells rang, clapping, and whole bunch of talking started. The brothers looked around, Balthazar was gone and that's when the confusion started.

 "Great solid fall." Someone slapped Deans ass making him jump.

"Jared, Jensen outstanding. That was just great!" Said a old man in a chair and from behind a kid started speaking nonsense.

"Supernatural, scene one, "Echo." Take one, tail slate. Marker." And closed one of those movie boxes.

"So no angels?" Sam says.

"No angels, I think."

"Should we be killing anybody?"

"I don't think so."

"Running?"

"Where?"

Sam and Dean looked at the group of guys sitting around tv screens all talking. Then one yells "Moving on" and lights start turning on.

"Thats a wrap on Jared and Jensen." 

"Who the hell are-?"

It went by quick after that. Dean got dragged up to makeup stations and got the makeup he didn't think he had on him. Sam got dragged into an interview he had no idea how to answer.

They met up again, settling on being sent to another universe where they are actors who play Sam and Dean. They walked out of the building and the sight of Baby gave Dean a huge smile. But he watched a guy throw stuff over it and saw a whole bunch of Baby's. 

"Im gonna be sick." Dean says and starts to back away.

"We need Cas." Sam says and Dean tries to do some sort of "prayer"  but that was short lived when they spotted the man. 

That ended up being fake too. Cas' name in this universe was Misha. Misha? They kept walking around the lot until they saw the trailer that said "J. Ackles." 

"Thats fake me." Dean says and pointed at himself.

"Yeah." 

"This mist be fake mine." They walked in and Dean was instantly in awe. The fish tank and the freaking helicopter. Dean looked around the trailer and noticed a framed picture on a table. It was of fake him and a woman with brownish red hair. Maybe his sister? But the picture looked a little too intimate to be that.

It made him think of you. You left the team after the showdown with Lucifer. But he couldn't blame you. He hurt you, deeply. From Lisa, all the way too Anna. He really did like you but his connection too Anna was too great. And Lisa, Lisa and him are good. He loves her and he loves Ben. But every once in a while his mind would drift off to you, wondering what you were up too.

It was a dick move. Sam called him out on it, as did Bobby and Ellen. 

All this thought of you made him want to see if you were in the universe. Sam was typing away on fake his computer.

"Hey Sammy, I want to check something." Dean says and takes the laptop and plops on the couch. He starts typing in your name.

Y/n L/n Supernatural 

Pictures of you popped up, along with a description of your character. And again the bottom in the little box there were drop down choices with answers.

Why did Y/n Carter leave Supernatural?

Why did Dean and Y/n break up?

Do Y/n and Sam get together? 

That made Deans eyebrows furrow. Why would you and Sam ever get together? But he immediately groaned. When Sam was still soulless he apparently went to go see you, wherever you were. Because apparently Sam and Bobby were the only one to know where you went. He then proceeded to heavily dropped hints that he slept with you. It had taken everything for Dean not to beat up his soulless baby brother. 

Y/n Carter must be your name in this universe. Ironic how fake you and real you share the same first name. He clicked on the option that said why you left the show.

It was released that she left the show due to personal reasons but fans speculate it has something to do with her ex of 7 years Jensen Ackles(who plays Dean Winchester aka her love interest), leaving her and marrying a now former mutual friend, Daneel Harris now Daneel Harris-Ackles. 

"Holy shit" Dean mumbled, "Im a dick here too." 

"Whats wrong?"

"I looked up Y/n, wanted too know what she was up to. Apparently im an asshole here too." He passed the computer to Sam and he started reading. 

“At least you’re aware.” Sam mumbled and Dean shot him a look. “Huh seems like you guys broke up in this universe just after dad died in ours and she left the show around the time our Y/n left us." 

"You know where she is and wont tell me." Dean says with a slight glare.

"She doesn't want you too know, and for good reasons." Sam says.

"We need to find a way to get back to our universe." Dean says and looks over at the framed picture of fake him and the woman. It gave him a great unease. 

-

After trying to drive fake Baby. Sam and Dean just settled on getting driven to 'Jared's place as they should say. Fake Sam had a huge house, a freaking mansion. Dean noticed a tanning bed and opened it. 

"What am I Dracula?" Sam asks and shakes his head. Dean walked over to the large curtains as he heard animals making noises.

"Dude you have a freaking camal in your backyard."

"It's an alpaca, dumbass." A familiar woman's voice made them whip around. A woman at the top of the stairs, wearing a short black dress. 

"Ruby?" Dean looks at the woman is shock and she scoffs. 

"Gen, who is it?" The next voice that popped up was so sweet but sounded tired. Another woman appeared behind fake Ruby, dean let his eyes trail over her figure before his breath hitched.

"Y/n." He breathed out and took a step forward. He watched you swallow harshly all the way from where he was. You looked so beautiful, beautiful in every universe it seems. 

"G-Gen." you shakily said and grabbed her hand. "You said he wasn't going to be here."

"I know honey, I told a certain someone not to let another certain someone into the house even though I thought I didn't have to worry about it." Fake Ruby said all of that while glaring at Sam which made him shrink back. 

"I can't be here." You let her go and start to rush down the stairs. 

"Y/n wait let me talk to Jared and I'll take you back to your hotel room."

"Y/n." Dean walked towards you as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. "Hey." It had been more than a year since he last saw you, at least the real you. 

"Hey? Thats all you had to say after you admitted me to a fucking psych ward!? Dean took a step back and you took a step forward. "Got me written off the rest of 5?" You shoved your finger into his chest "You didn't even bother to visit me!" You shoved him fully this time.

This must have been what the internet was talking about.

“I-I-.” Dean tried to think of something to say but he was blank.

“Oh now you don’t have anything to say. Nothing about this being good for me, that everything is going to go back to normal after I get it. News flash Jensen, nothing worked. Fuck! WHY DIDNT YOU JUST LET ME DIE?” You screamed and shoved him hard making him almost fall back. 

“Okay Y/n honey go wait in the car.” Gen grabbed you by your arms and guided you to the door. 

“Fuck you Jensen, I wish I never fucking met you.” Gen opened the door for you and the boys watched fake Ruby watch you go to the car. She took in a deep breath before whipping around to the two boys. 

“Seriously Jensen, nothing you couldn’t say anything too her? Do you know what this could do to her?” Dean bit his lip and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. “Crying, you’re crying? Jesus I don’t want to see you talking to her outside of work, you’ve ruined my friend for the rest of her life.” 

Dean looked down at his shoes in shame and it felt weird too. This wasn’t his life, so why was it affecting him this much?

“And you.” Fake Ruby looks at Sam. “We’ll talk later.” She walks up to him and wraps a hand around his neck and pulls him down to her lips. He didn’t kiss her back, the shock of the whole thing has Sam stumped. She pulled away and let out a disappointed sigh before walking about of the house. 

It was quite for a mom between them. 

“Sammy we need to go home now.” Dean says, it was so quite Sam almost didn’t catch it. He didn’t sound like Dean.

“Dean, you okay?” He watched his brother bring bath hands up and wipe his eyes before turning around.

“Im going too stop asking you about her from now on.” He says and Sam cocks his head.

“About Y/n? Dean what’s happening in this universe, is nothing compared to what was happening back home.” 

“No you don’t understand! This just proved that me and Y/n don’t work, in any universe.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. Fake me left her first another woman after 7 years Sammy. And I left her for a woman who ended up wanting to ruin us. And them I didn’t even try to go after her after you disappeared, like you told me too. Im fucked up Sam, its better this way for her.” 

“Dean don’t say that-.”

“Sammy please, let’s just find a way back.”

-

A/n- if people want it, planning on making more about dean x reader, but the Jensen situation in this one… there is no coming back from that kinf of situation.  so no. But I have a big plan for Deans, I really hope people want more and want too know about it😁Feedback appreciated, I will love you forever

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles

[kaija-rayne-author]

Would you recognize an autistic or ADHD person if you saw one?

What about an autistic or ADHD fictional character?

Many of y'all will say, of course.

And you'll be wrong.

I'm not talking to hatched autistics and ADHDers. We can usually spot others like us and autistic/ADHD coded characters in fiction.

Definition: A 'hatched' autistic or ADHDer is someone who knows they're one or the other or both, AND they understand and accept that pretending to be neurotypical is bad for us.

It actually kills us, so, yeah, bad. The leading causes of death for autistics is unaliving or heart attack from the stress of living in a world that was most certainly not created for us. In some ways, this world is antithetical to us.

We also experience the stress of what's known as 'masking'.

Our average age of death is 36 years old. Think about that for a second. 36. And the rates of unaliving in autistic and ADHD kids is utterly obscene. The suicide watch for parents of autistic kids starts at 8 years old. 8.

(I don't say this for everything, but self-diagnosis is absolutely valid for autism and ADHD. In a world where people can still be institutionalized or lose their kids because of an autism diagnosis--this is fact for Britain and several US states. France is awful for autistics-- self diagnosis must be valid so we can figure ourselves out without endangerment.)

Masking is where a traumatized autistic (and I've also never met or even heard about an untraumatized autistic/ADHDer) will create a, persona, almost, that lets us function in the world.

It's rarely intentional, my youngest son started masking at 4 in pre-kindergarten because he wanted other kids to like him and want to play with him. Even though our home is very supportive of diversity, especially about autism and ADHD, y'all... he was *4*.

Being autistic and/or ADHD is so damned lonely. Especially if you don't know why you're different. So we do our best to adapt. That can cause issues.

Masking isn't meant as a lie. It's survival instinct. Because even though the world absolutely doesn't treat us like we're human beings, we still are. We want to survive and thrive as much as the next hominid. We have all the same needs and desires as any other human.

But what about the rest of all y'all? Can you recognize us?

Last week, a music teacher banned a 6 year old autistic kid from the school concert because 'they would ruin the experience for the other children' this is after making the autistic kid learn and practice the songs for weeks. 6 years old and that kid already has scars from discrimination about a genetic condition he can't help. It's cruel and so damned inhumane. At worst, the kid probably sang off key and maybe fidgetted a bit. But that would 'ruin' the concert. It's not the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, lady, it's an elementary school concert. It's absolutely not worth scarring that poor kid over. It also happened back in 2022, and again in 2017.

People will have seen 'Atypical' or 'The Good Doctor' or, gods forbid, Rainman and think they know what autistic people look like. (You should probably know that the majority of autistics loathe those shows because the rep is so bad.)

But here's the thing.

You can't see autism or ADHD. Not just by looking at us. It's purely a brain wiring difference. People don't even believe me when I tell them I am if they've seen me in person. And I'm professionally diagnosed as both autistic & ADHD.

Sometimes, there are co occurring issues, like intellectual disability, that are confused with autism, but they aren't actually the autism or ADHD part of things.

I'm an autistic and ADHD advocate. I have a consultant option on my Patreon for people who want advice either for themselves or so they do the right thing by their kids. I'm autistic/ADHD, my kids are too. I've been researching and learning about the topic for close to a decade at this point. I truly know what I'm talking about. I understand the different flavours and experiences of these two types of neurodivergency extremely well.

As an aside, while I have you here, ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) is never the right thing. You know how gay conversion therapy is bad? The same person (Ivar Lovass) came up with ABA, and it's meant to do the same thing. To torture people, most often children, into pretending to be what someone else wants them to be. It doesn't support or help the autistic person.

Almost unilaterally, ABA causes a PTSD breakdown of self coming into our 30s. I say almost, but I've never even heard of an autistic person who has been tortured by ABA who hasn't developed severe PTSD.

If you tried to use the methods used in ABA on a dog, you'd be guilty of extreme animal cruelty.

Yet, because it's practiced on human children, it's fiiiiine. Big money lobbying has even made it so that ABA 'therapy' is the only one covered by a lot of insurances.

We can thank Autism $peaks for that. They are a hate group. They fit every bit of the definition of one and then some. (So please don't donate to them at the till. They love to pollute stores like Toys 'R' Us.)

Adult autistics have been speaking out against them forever. But since most autistics (80%) are under or unemployed, we don't have the kind of financial sway we'd need to get rid of them. Yes, this even counts for 'the new ABA'.

You can't save ABA. Putting a 2 year old human child through 40 hours weekly of 'training' so that they can look and act neurotypical is just flat out torture. Making a child 'extremely hungry or thirsty' so that they will do what you want is torture. There's just no other way to slice that apple. It's rotten to the core.

But back to my point.

Recently, someone disagreed with my opinion on a fictional character. I feel the character is autistic/ADHD coded, the other person disagreed.

That's cool. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. And it's fiction, whatever. I'm not mad or upset. (I'm slightly insulted, because if you're not autistic/ADHD, [and a comparison they suggested made me think they definitely weren't] it's definitely not your place to disagree with one of us who says a character is autistic/ADHD coded. It's disrespectful and more than a little ableist. Simply because so many people have the completely wrong idea about both conditions.)

Regardless, the important part for a fictional character is that a person was able to see themselves in the character, to empathize with them. So it's not a big deal.

But it got me thinking about this.

Would most people recognize the subtle signs? They're almost always extremely subtle.

Ever hear of 'resting bitch face'? It's an incredibly common autistic trait because we either emote less or we emote differently than neurotypicals. In our world, it's known as 'flat face effect'. I have it, and I've been harmed many times because it looks like I'm pissed off even when I'm having a good time or I'm just deep in thought. I've got a firey temper, trust me when I say you'll know it when I'm pissed off.

So. You see a character (or even a person) who doesn't emote a lot? Or emotes extremely subtly? Wellll... that's a good clue.

So, X fictional character (or person) has odd or esoteric knowledge or hobbies. That's a good clue.

Are they nerdy or geeky in some way?

Most autistics and many ADHDers experience what's known as hyperfixation on special interests. Ever see someone get so fascinated by a topic or skill or activity that they get lost in it?

Forget to eat or drink?

Learn to do an obscure craft just because they wanted to know how it's done? That person is likely autistic or ADHD or both. It applies to fictional characters too.

Are they stand-offish? Many of us are for various reasons. One is that we're trying to figure out the 'rules' of wherever and whoever we're with.

Why all y'all insist on staring creepily at each others eyeballs is beyond me. I find it either too intimate, painfully so, or just ridiculous.

That quiet character (or person) who warms up slowly? There's a hint.

Another reason we tend to be cool with strangers is that ever present trauma thing. So many autists and ADHDers get to the point in life where we just don't have it in us anymore to keep trying to make social connections. A very common trait of both autism and ADHD is a lack of understanding of neurotypical social rules. And trust me, y'all have them.

Does the character or person fidget? Either subtly or more obviously?

It's called stimming. I had to learn to do it unobtrusively, so I'll suck air through my teeth (my dentist isn't impressed by this), circle my pointer finger around my thumb, tap the pad of each finger on my thumb in a rhythm, count silently to myself... the list is probably endless. I intentionally leave the cuticles on my thumbs rough, because I often rub the forefinger or ring finger of that hand over the rough cuticle as a stim.

Maybe they rotate their ring around a finger?

Play with their hair?

Stimming is something that calms us down and helps us regulate our emotions. (It's also one of the first things ABA robs us of. It's called 'quiet hands'.) It's really bad to deprive an autistic or ADHDer of stimming.

I used to click the button on a pen so much that I banned myself from having clicky pens because of how annoying it can be to others.

There are healthy stims and unhealthy ones. (Head banging is an example of an unhealthy stim.)

So a character or person who is just, always moving somehow? There's a hint. Or they're rhythmically moving a body part? Tapping fingers? Wiggling a foot or leg? Fussing with their clothing? Rocking?

Is the character or person 'a walking encyclopedia'? In other words, do they know a lot of information about either one or two topics or about many topics?

That character (or person) is often stereotyped as being a computer genius who can make any computer work just by looking at it for a few minutes. But it can honestly be any topic or combination of topics. That's another clue.

Many autists are almost hard wired to be painfully honest. Unless we've been traumatized into it, we tend to be shitty liars. I'm, unfortunately, a very good liar. It's not something I choose to do, because I don't want my trauma to change something so innate to me as my honesty. I had to learn to lie to survive. I don't recommend it.

Does the person or character truly believe in things like honour? Justice? Mercy? Peace? (Many neurotypical people will call these things social lies that keep the world working.) I'm talking a bone deep belief in honour etc. Are they a shitty liar?

I think I've blathered enough for now. I want to make it clear that I don't speak for all autistic and ADHD folks. I'm just one person attempting to share some of the more common traits with whoever wants to read about it.

A final thought.

Nothing can make someone autistic or ADHD. It's a genetic condition. Which is why so many parents find out they're autistic or ADHD when their kids are diagnosed. It's not more prevalent now, it's just that more people are learning about the actual parameters of it. Diagnosis is easier now than 50 years ago. It's been around since ancient Egypt and probably evolved as a way to keep the clan safe in prehistoric times.

We often have heightened senses. Sometimes we have what I call 'predator vision' which sounds awful but just means that my gaze is automatically drawn to movement. Our sleep cycles are also commonly very different than a neurotypical's. We probably ended up being people who would take night watch, stare at the stars for hours, or warn people when food has gone off so no one eats it.

I think we evolved right alongside neurotypicals because we're both needed for a successful society.

Many, many of the world's famed thinkers/creators are considered to have likely been autistic/ADHD based on records about them.

These people include:

Leonardo DaVinci

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Nikolai Tesla

Albert Einstein

Thomas Jefferson

Charles Darwin

Emily Dickinson

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

William Butler Yeats

Vincent Van Gogh

Benjamin Franklin

People who are autistic or ADHD these days that you may not expect?

Dan Ackroyd

Darryl Hannah

Anthony Hopkins

Jerry Seinfeld

Eminem

Courtney Love

David Byrne

Wentworth Miller

Satoshi Tajiri (creator of Pokemon)

There are also many, many people who have shown autistic or ADHD traits and haven't confirmed or it's impossible to confirm because they're deceased and we don't have the right records.

It's considered a massive faux pas to assign a diagnosis of anything to a living human being. So everyone living I've listed has in some way confirmed it. There are many, many other people (especially in creative industries or hobbies) I believe are likely one or the other, but I wouldn't label. That's for them to do.

If you enjoyed this or learned something and you can, please consider a tip or becoming a Patron. My work of words is my only income.

Every historical person is just a 'likely' because we'll never actually know. All we can do is point at the exhibited traits via records and say, probably.

#being autistic #autistic things #actually autistic #autism #ADHD #actually adhd #autistic problems #autistic adult #autistic #late diagnosed autistic #late diagnosed adhd #fiction #fictional characters #fiction critique

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xlv // Speaking Your Language

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

Freezing your balls off, Renee has to admit, is a weirdly sobering endeavor.

A second cigarette is held loosely between his index finger and thumb, ember flaring at every turn of the wind. He squats in the darkest corner of the patio with his arms poised on his knees, shivering whenever the subzero weather manages to slip through his clothes to cool the sweat that lingers on his skin. Hands still shaking slightly, but that might just be from cold; his face is starting to go numb, too, and whatever sparse movement he makes, like bringing the cigarette to his lips, or refreshing the screen, feels stiff. Requires effort.

Can we talk?

Received at 6:07 – but Renee didn’t read it until 7:51.

It started snowing sometime during the whole ordeal. Not enough to stick the landing, but every few breaths or so, Renee feels the prick in his throat of a snowflake he inhales. He can’t see the moon, can’t even see past the light emanating from the house; anything beyond the halfway point of the back yard is a void.

The screen dims slightly. He brushes his thumb against it, and it comes back to life. Another lungful of smoke, thick in his throat, makes the saliva in his mouth foam up. He swallows the bitterness. The phone is close enough to his face that he can focus on the individual pixels that make up the text. The cracks draw an almost imperceptible shadow across the screen, and he wonders if it’s a trick of the broken glass, or if the LEDs underneath have been damaged in some way. The tiny clock in the corner reads 8:54.

Fancy that, he’s already gotten older.

He shivers. The screen dims. He refreshes it. He takes another drag.

It feels like he’s been stuck in this cycle for hours, but whenever he tries to respond, something gets the better of him. What’s there to talk about? What part of it hasn’t already been said? The quiet reluctance in Lazarus’ demeanor, the air of guilt in that motel room. The moment of hesitation when Renee blurted it out – he's not blind. The sex is good, but it’s just not going to be them. Laz is too busy; Renee is too…

He takes another drag – but it burns in his mouth, awful out of nowhere - he’s smoking the fucking filter. Hacking loudly, he throws the butt away, and spends a good minute desperately spitting out the foul taste. When he has finally gathered his bearings and looks up again, the screen hasn’t just dimmed into standby, it has turned off completely.

Renee is a hair’s breadth from pressing the home button to unlock it again, but he stops himself. He’ll have to face it eventually, but maybe tonight is not the night. He feels depleted. Adding the aftermath of a more explicit rejection to the tally won’t do him any favors, and he’s not sure he has enough remaining control tonight to curb what he says.

Laz deserves better.

Grimacing, Renee rubs his forehead hard with a knuckle, settling further back against the wall. It just feels fucking awful. The cracks forming in the wall of shit he has managed to build up. What does he look like in the eyes of another? In the eyes of Lazarus? The unstable wreck of a man, barely grasping the tethers that keep him grounded, losing them over and over and over again. A man who somehow manages to fuck up every relationship he gets into, every job he works, every opportunity he is given.

And in the eyes of Conrad – the same, now enraged. Violent and cruel for no other reason than to gain… not control, but just the feeling of being in control. And failing miserably at even that.

He thinks about suicide again, and it’s different this time. Not some intrusive thought hammering through his skull, forcing his focus. Not something wreathed in spite or self-hatred, or glamorized through mental images of gore, the mess he’d leave behind, the trails of reactions to a violent death. This is calm. Clear. Sober.

He thinks about it as an option.

Quietly, along with the other routes he could go from here. Turning himself in and dealing with the repercussions of what he’s done. Leaving the house in the dead of night, fleeing this shithole state, fleeing the whole country. Or, well… he could just check out.

It wouldn’t have to be theatric. He could get drunk, down a bag and a half of pills, fall asleep. No drama, no shouting, no big parade. Scribbled on a post-it note on a desk nearby, perhaps, one last sentiment for the world: Yeah, nah, I’m good.

Strangely comforting, that whole idea. Grounding.

The breeze is picking up, the snow falls heavier. It melts on his skin, but the crystals on his sleeves glimmer in the low light. Somewhere far away, coming from the direction of the woods, the high-pitched wail of an animal, uncertain, seeking. A fox, maybe. The silence is otherwise his only companion.

Eventually, he lets out a halfhearted sigh. Presses the home button. With his eyes adjusted to the dark, the screen’s light stings his eyes, and he squints to read the time.

9:25.

His thighs ache from the uncomfortable position. Although he has cooled down enough to no longer shake, the iciness in his fingers has long since started to hurt. With a grunt – several, actually – he hauls his stiff body to its feet, pacing for a while to get the blood running. Rolls his shoulders and then his neck through several deep breaths, before he stretches his arms wide, and finally settles with a drawn-out sigh.

Maybe he has already made that decision, he thinks, if he’s being honest. Maybe that’s why he keeps drifting back to it, time after time. He’s always known he wouldn’t make it to thirty.

Metal clacks as he pulls the door handle, pushing the sliding glass door to the side, kicking off his shoes. The living room is dark, but beyond the nonexistent threshold to the kitchen area, the lamp above the dining table casts out its warm yellow glow. Renee swears he can taste bile in his throat at the sight of Davin sitting there, but he bites it down. Decides aggressively ignoring the fucker will do for tonight.

As he shuts the door again, shrugging off his jacket, the warmth of the house finally starts to seep in, searing through frozen skin. He throws the jacket over the armrest of the couch, rubbing life into his hands as he makes his way through the kitchen, gaze locked on the hallway –

And Davin casually gets to his feet, stepping out to block his way.

Stopping in his tracks, Renee’s hands drop to his sides. He takes a step to the left.

Snorting, Davin does the same.

Renee sharply turns on his heel. Lets out a terse laugh toward the ceiling. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes. Sit down.”

“We’re not doing this.”

“We are, Renee.”

Renee turns back, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go to my room and get blasted, actually. High off my fucking—”

“Sit. Down.” Davin’s eyes are dark, and he doesn’t manage to keep the disdain out of his voice.

Renee snarls. “Or what, exactly?”

Davin’s jaw works, breaths coming slow and steady through his nose, eyes scanning his opponent. “I think we’ve left a lot between the lines,” he says low. “Things we might have to work out more explicitly.”

“Schedule a fucking appointment, then.”

“Conrad is right. I am using you.”

Renee pauses at that. His breathing is starting to pick up, the familiar heat in his chest. Hands flexing at his sides. Gnashing teeth.

“I’ve manipulated you,” Davin continues slowly. “Tried to get in your head. Steer you around. Pinned you to a sense of obligation.” He juts out his chin, raising a brow. “Do you want to know why?”

“In the name of good partnership, I assume,” Renee bites out dryly.

Davin smirks. Takes a deep breath, nodding his head slightly. “I put a price tag on entry,” he mutters. “Point zero two per view, eight and a half thousand viewers. Give and take, with the current exchange on ether, that’s four hundred thousand dollars.” With an earnest expression, he holds up a finger for emphasis. “In one night, Renee.”

The sneer fades from Renee’s face. He stares at Davin, shoulders sinking somewhat.

“We’re getting where we wanted to be,” Davin says, eyes intense. “I’m not gonna let you run this shit into the ground. Not now. Not after everything we’ve built here. I am trying to make this thing fucking worth it.”

Renee swallows thick, closing his mouth.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t see, perfectly clearly, the sheer scale of that number. Be lying if he said he could remember ever possessing even an eighth of that throughout his entire adult life. A decade in abject poverty. The memory of biting back shame, having to ask near-strangers if he could spend the night; and curling up behind dumpsters when he couldn’t.

400.000.

And yet…

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, eyes drifting to the knife clipped in Davin’s pocket – and the hand that has hovered next to it since this conversation started.

A knife, he realizes, that Davin doesn’t need to defend himself against Conrad.

The breath he ejects from his nose feels hollow. An involuntary chuckle bubbles up from his chest soon after, which in turn veers into free laughter. He turns, pacing a few steps through the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. Turns back around to face Davin, grinning wide. “If you wanted to call me stupid, you could’ve just led with that, you know?”

Davin frowns. “What?”

Renee throws out his hands. “I guess I gotta hand it to you. Owning up to being manipulative, as a manipulation tactic – that’s some fucking four dimensional chess shit.” He takes a step towards Davin. “What’s next, huh? If that doesn’t work, where do we go from here?”

Another step, and Davin shifts, almost imperceptibly. Shoulders set, eyes drifting to Renee’s chest – to keep his hips, hands and face all within the same periphery.

The gaze, Renee thinks, of someone who thinks they know what to look for. He chuckles, but it slides into a grimace of contempt. “I guess you could threaten to kill me.”

When he takes another step, Davin takes half a step backwards, blading his body – as if fights are neat enough to be swayed by the stance assumed before they even start. In Renee’s experience, the only thing that makes a real difference is size.

“C’mon, fucking reptoid,” he jeers. “Make it explicit. What are you gonna do?”

Another step. Two and a half, maybe three feet, is all that remains between them. Renee’s fists are clenched, core bubbling.

“What are you gonna do to me?”

Close enough.

Renee levels a hard shove to Davin’s chest, one that makes the man stumble backwards a few steps, off-center, with Renee following closely in his wake.

“Tell me. What the fuck are you g—”

It happens so fast, Renee barely has time to brace. Davin moves, but not to reel back for a punch, like Renee expected – instead he sharply whips his arm up, and his elbow hits Renee square in the face. His head snaps back, ears rumbling with the sound of cracking cartilage. He loses his balance instantly, sinking to his ass. Struggles to at least not keel all the way to his back, and blinking at a momentary blindness, he holds one arm in front of himself to block, but he can’t see if more blows are coming or not, or from where. The blood starts pouring quickly, a familiar touch down the front of his face, but the sensation is stronger than his usual nosebleeds. Really, pouring.

“Fucking idiot,” Davin sneers somewhere above him.

Renee instinctually follows the sound with his eyes, but his vision hasn’t returned yet. It’s like he’s passed out and conscious at the same time, black as night. He doesn’t know how to react to it. Just sits there, dazed.

Footsteps. The sound of something clicking.

A light that hits the wall, and in front of it, the vague silhouette of a chair. It’s still dark, but he can see the Davin now, a few feet to the right - or something green and generally leg-shaped, at least, circling just out of his reach.

Renee places both hands on the ground, and plants one foot, relatively firmly, beneath him. Gasps with the effort it takes just to focus on moving his body in the way he wants it to. He manages to push himself to his feet, straightening up uncertainly, staggering. The front of his shirt sticks to his chest in some places. He’s pretty sure the majority of what he swallows isn’t spit.

Blinking against dizziness, Renee struggles to keep Davin’s figure in focus long enough to read his intentions. The man moves around him steadily, taking his time. “You don’t keep fighting after a blow like that. You’re not gonna win.” A pause. “But you know that already.”

Renee grunts. “Fuck y—”

Davin lunges forward, and Renee seizes up, hands shielding his abdomen – only for Davin’s fist to hammer into his throat. Renee drops again, back scraping the corner of the dining table on the way down, and curls around himself, both hands clutching his neck. Dimly aware of the pain. Dimly aware that he can’t breathe, as if the internal mechanisms in his neck are paralyzed, and that his chest is convulsing as a result. He rolls on to his stomach, shakily pushes to his hands and knees, and it feels like an eternity passes before he is finally able to let out a cough. Ragged and coarse, and unbelievably agonizing. The simple act of drawing air into his lungs feels like he might as well have swallowed a mouthful of glass.

“Do you need me to say it in your language, Vaughan?”

Blood drips between his hands, a steady flow from his face, as his body spasms. Renee tries to croak out a response in between coughing, only to realize his vocal cords are paralyzed, too; he can’t even groan in pain. In his periphery, Davin steps closer. A grasp in the short remains of his hair pulls his head backwards, painfully straining his neck. Davin peers down, expression unreadable. The whole room spins around his looming figure, as if gravity itself keeps shifting.

Instinctually, Renee raises his right arm to shield his face – hesitates – continues its trajectory. He wraps a hand around Davin’s wrist. His whole body sways with the effort, and his grip feels clumsy, and Davin doesn’t budge. Movements camouflaged by the constant involuntary jerks of his body, blood from his broken nose sliding down towards his throat. Renee tries to speak again, but the air just croaks in his chest, formless.

Davin smirks. “Maybe you are stupid.”

Renee blinks hard, but manages to swallow – fuck, it hurts. Then a grin spreads across his face, flashing whatever blood stains his teeth. That smug little smile on Davin’s face melts into caution.

Davin’s knife clicks in Renee’s left hand.

They both move roughly simultaneously.

Renee’s grip on Davin’s wrist tightens to keep him from retreating, at the same moment he drives the blade up – but Davin doesn’t pull away. Instead he rams his leg forward, deflecting the knife against his shin, slamming Renee hard enough to knock him backwards onto the floor – Davin himself landing with his full weight knee-first on Renee’s chest.

The dizzying experience it is to have the air forcibly pressed out of his lungs. Renee hears the raspy half-cry that tears past his lips, too stunned to orient himself for a fraction of a second, which is all it takes for Davin to force his arm up, slamming the hand still clutching the knife hard into the floorboards. By some fucking miracle, despite a shooting pain in the bone of his wrist, Renee’s grip doesn’t waver. Breathless, he bucks his body against Davin’s weight, and finally gets the wherewithal to start throwing jabs with his other hand. And he’s in a bad position, but he thinks one of them makes a solid connection with Davin’s side –

Before Davin brings another elbow down on his face. 

A sharp jolt of pain. Blindness, a static void. He can’t see what he’s struggling against, and when his left hand is slammed to the ground again, it opens, and the blade clatters against the floor. Heaving for breath as Davin’s weight momentarily leaves his chest, only to feel himself being hauled by the shoulder onto his stomach. He braces his hand against the floor to push himself up – but Davin’s knee resettles on his lower back, and his arm is yanked out from under him, pried up between his shoulder blades.

His right arm. The broken one.

Renee lets out a shout of frustration, writhing in vain to push the weight off his back. His voice is raw, but the words come out. “Get the fuck off me! Get the f—argh! Shit—”

It’s like Davin reads it in the way he’s struggling – he twists Renee’s arm just to the threshold where making wild movements no longer wins him a sliver of leverage, but instead causes enough pain to suck the air out of his lungs. Renee feels himself involuntarily curling in to Davin’s grasp, some desperate attempt to alleviate the strain on his broken bones, and in that moment, fingers grasp the his hair again, pulling his head back.

“I can tolerate a lot from you,” Davin growls in his ear. “But if you can’t show even a modicum of self-restraint here, I’m gonna drop the curtains on this whole fucking thing, you understand?”

“Argh, fuck, fuck—”

“I don’t care who I need to kill. Do you understand what I’m telling you right now?” Davin pushes his arm up further.

“Ffff—fucker, f—shit, stop—”

“Do you understand?” Followed by another notch, and the blinding tension in the joint seems to instantly triple.

Renee screams, back arching, free hand pushing at the floor. He spits it out, a hoarse cry scraping through his broken throat. “Yes! Fuck!”

It takes a second – emphasis – before Davin lets him go, all at once.

As soon as he is free, Renee kicks himself forward a few paces to get away, clutching his arm tight, panting. He rolls over on his back just in time to see Davin getting to his feet again.  

“Jesus Christ,” Renee gasps.

Davin fixes his folded-up sleeve. He peers down at Renee’s cowering figure, almost in passing, before his eyes drift to his watch. It’s the eerily unbothered demeanor, the way he is barely even out of breath.

“Who are you?”

Bracing a hand on his knee, Davin leans down to pick the knife back up. Clicks it shut and clips it back in his pocket. He finally meets Renee’s gaze directly, but the moment of pause where he might have answered passes, instead, with the silent glance alone. One in which the power dynamic – Renee on the ground with Davin towering above him – isn’t lost between the lines.

He snorts.

And then he leaves the room.

Previous / Masterlist / Next (coming soon)

#writing #moneymakers #renee #davin

[abigail-pent]

John Gaiusposting, Nona spoilers below the cut

FUCK THIS GUY FUCK HIM SO MUCH

like when we got the preview with his POV/ him recounting the story to Harrow-as-Alecto in Harrow's dream, it actually seemed kind of reasonable for a minute for him to see himself as a hero type. Certainly the trillionaires are plausible and appropriate villains. But as it goes on and you realize over time that this is JUST ANOTHER INSTANCE OF JOHN GAIUS PAINTING HIMSELF IN THE BEST POSSIBLE LIGHT, I just want to throttle him

like after everything we see of him in HTN it's not surprising, not at all. But it is *interesting* to see him set the scene, set himself up to look reasonable actually, and then turn up the heat on that narrative until we the audience are the frog in the pot of boiling water. by the time we get to the nuclear option, it's too late for us, but looking back, can we really see exactly where everything started to turn?

and the way it's told, it's almost like EJG is implicitly asking Harrow/Alecto/the audience to believe that that's how *he* experienced it. As the frog in the boiling water. but ... that can't be true.

he had competent people around him! specifically he had Cassy, who asks him to choose one goal: destroying the trillionaires' project or saving Earth. he says they're the same thing and seems incredulous that anyone could believe otherwise. but that is so, so, SO obviously false. where was the rest of this conversation? surely our girl C -- would not just let him say that unchallenged.

nope: she had to have told him that's bullshit. maybe he didn't believe her. maybe he did, and didn't care. he had so many "yes" men around him (especially Gideon and Cristabel), and cared so little about anyone but himself, that he must have been far beyond reason at that point. absolute power will do that to you, I guess.

just like. the way he took off Gideon's arm. (ps: what happened to it? is this a Chekhov's gun for ATN? also why was that necessary?) the way he accepted Cristabel's suicide and used it *immediately* to destroy the whole world. the way he LITERALLY SACRIFICED ALL OF HUMANITY TO GET VENGEANCE ON A HANDFUL OF ELON MUSK TYPES. and tried to make it look like everything was their fault, when in actuality, yes they were awful, but John is the guy who threw the baby out with the bathwater. He could have just taken a few deep breaths and gotten on with the actual lifesaving work.

And he was so rigid in his idea of what the solution to a dying Earth should be! He could have tried his hand at fixing things before evacuation, like Augustine suggested, but he was too inflexible to even consider it. My advisor always says "good research is nimble" and this is the opposite of nimble. This is nothing but rank unchecked ego.

*maybe* this story is the way John honestly experienced it. *maybe* this is what the inside of your head looks like when you're desperate to try and save humanity and you throw yourself too hard into research and you make breakthroughs that change everything about what you think you know to be true and you get royally fucked over by funders who then smear you in the press. but even if that's actually how he experienced it: we know that the version of John who recounts this story is actively lying to Harrow-as-Alecto towards the end, about the order in which the nukes went off, and he gets mad when she points this out to him. *this* version of John is STILL ACTIVELY MANIPULATING HER, even *if* he's not purposely structuring the way he tells the story to make his audience think there's some hope and reason left in there.

Augustine was wrong, actually. Someone still does need to be punished for what happened to humanity. But that person is John Gaius himself.

#nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth #ntn #tlt #the locked tomb #emperor john gaius

[myechoecho]

Till the End of the Moon, ep 29

God, the grief that Tantai Jin has is all conusming. It is on another level.

I don’t think Ye Qingyi is really wrong in what he is saying to Tantai Jin, but he’s going about it the wrong way. He doesn’t understand Tantai Jin and why he cannot let go.

On the surface, it looks like they are going through similar things: both have lost the love of their lives but Ye Qingyi has also died and came back to life because Pian Ran sacrificed herself for him, his grandmother, father, brother and sister all dying. So I cut him some slack in how he’s treating Tantai Jin

However, he doesn’t under stand the difference between them. Ye Qingyi was loved. He was a beloved and cherished son. The favoured son really, until he surrendered to Tantai Jin but even then it was only his father who cast him out. He grew up with love, and security.

Tantai Jin only has Susu. Susu was the one who loved him, protected him and taught him to love and other emotions. Yes, she also betrayed him and tried to kill him but it doesn’t matter. Tantai Jin was so staved for love and when he got it he was absolutely willing to take any scrap he could get - he was used to scraps after all.

Ye Bingchang. She tries to escape only to get caught. I thought she’d wanted to survive but nah, she blurts out her deeds in front of everyone (also blames everyone but herself). It does give Tantai Jin a piece of the puzzle he was missing and what set everything into motion.

Bingchang whining to bet let out - GIRL, you literally just admitted to trying to kill Tantai Jin and and killing your grandmother. Why would they let you out?

I don’t know how I feel about Xiao Lin giving her comfort and telling her that he really did love her.  Perhaps it’s petty, but I don’t think she deserved it. We don’t see much of her before the love threads, but what little we did see she was still selfish and jealous. The love threads amplified that. She remained awful after the love threads were removed.

I also don’t think she loved Xiao Lin but hey, she ate the porridge so she’s dead finally. Not sure if we’ll see another version of her in the present (or rather 500 years from when she dies) but if we do, I hope she’s nothing like the last two versions.

 I don’t know what the guy needed with the blood of the enemies and tears of lovers (which I guess is supposed to mean that Bingchang really did love Xiao Lin but I don’t believe it). Whatever it is, I don’t trust it or like it

Tantai Jin won’t destroy the world because Susu loved it so he’ll just remove himself from it.

Baiyu, who honest to go deserves a massive raise for being the most loyal and steadfast bodyguard to Tantai Jin, offers a different (but equally suicidal?) option to burning himself alive - a chance to possibly see Susu’s spirit/soul.

Tantai Jin searches for Susu’s soul for 500 years, at great cost to his life. Which to be fair he doesn’t care about without Susu and he can withstand any pain (physical, at least). The Divine Essence that Susu gave him is sustaining and healing him so he keeps going on. Side note: did she mean to give him healing powers and prolonged life??

But now that’s running out and it looks like he might die (doubtful) and we also see Susu again at the very end and she’s not an illusion.

The underworld looked very pretty and I love how the spirits tried to help even though they knew he was cray cray.

Back in the real world, all kings “descended” from Tantai Jin wear a mask, which suspiciously looks similar to the Devil Lord mask. I’m curious to know if it is still Ye Qingyi under that mask because I’m pretty sure he’s part demon now.

The two demons from the Ming Ye and Sang Jiu time line are back and looking for the Demon Lord “fetus”

So that begs the question - did Susu just remove the Evil Bone™ or did she destroy it? Because it sounds like it’s still out there which means the Devil Lord can rise again. It maybe doesn’t have to be Tantai Jin. 

Also, I’ll be mad if Baiyu is really dead and was given the lamest death scene.

#till the end of the moon #my thoughts #cdrama

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Part 6: “I reject your reality, and substitute my own”: Maybe There is Hope After All

Note: this is a part of my essay "The Awkward Meta-Tragedy of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman", see [here] for the masterpost of all links, reading order, and content warnings.

Well, despite everything the author might have possibly intended, I still do care about Morpheus and his fate.  To paraphrase Ludo’s 2008 album title, “He’s awful, I love him.”

                And that’s part of why the most common interpretation of his ending—as both a fully planned suicide and a tragedy—disturbed me so much.  At best I could metaphorically “scoot” it around to interpret it as a traditional tragedy where his fatal flaw was his inability to seek help/treatment or cope with his issues, and thus the warning to the audience is a positive one to seek help if you’re struggling.  Once again, though, given the way depression sometimes works, that still feels vaguely close to victim-blaming.

                Another way to get around the unfortunate implications would be if his death was not, in fact, a carefully planned suicide.  Maybe he just fucked up enough that eventually the various things he fucked up all stacked properly to be his downfall without any intent involved?  But, that does raise the huge question of who got Loki to kidnap Daniel, provoking Lyta and thus causing the rest of the dominoes to topple.  In the suicide interpretation it’s implied to be Morpheus himself who intentionally set the situation in place; without that explanation that’s an odd open thread left.  But still, an accidental buildup of issues rather than intentional suicide would make things a lot less uncomfortable.  Somehow, “you can do everything you can to change and still have negative and destructive consequences come your way” or “you can try your best and still fail” feels more reassuring than the alternative of “he did change, but he still decided to die—in the end, it didn’t even matter.”

Totally replacing a dead loved one still feels weird, regardless of their manner of death; I don’t think there’s any way around that.   But, at least if it was not a suicide, then it doesn’t validate the “my family would be better off without me” sentiments that might be present in suicidal ideation.

And then, there’s the theories about how Morpheus might not be dead—at least not completely—and that he might have found peace and happiness outside of oblivion after all.

One major factor is the fact that Hob dreams about seeing Morpheus and Destruction together after the events of The Wake.  While Hob himself dismisses it as “just a dream,” there’s the fact that both Morpheus in-universe and Neil Gaiman out-of-universe both insist that dreams in this series are never “just a dream.”  Combine that with what I pointed out about “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and how the story is meant to let the fae live on despite leaving Earth, and it paints an interesting possible picture.

Maybe Morpheus did find a way to leave his job after all.  To live on as something else, as Morpheus rather than Dream of the Endless, as a dream or a story or a memory or a friendship, but no matter what, separate from the responsibilities that so stressed him—and with a responsible and eager successor to take up the reins in his place.  Maybe Hob’s example of living through everything even showed him that changing with the times is possible.  Just walking away like Destruction did wasn’t an option for him, and not just because Morpheus felt he couldn’t abandon his realm without leaving someone to be responsible.  He also couldn’t just walk away because, probably, it wouldn’t be dramatic enough!

Come on, Morpheus is a (possibly literal) Drama King; of course he’s not going to quit quietly.  Plus, he knows from Destruction’s example that just leaving also leaves open an eternity of the other universal powers trying to nag you into going back.  What’s more dramatic, and conveniently going to prevent anyone from coming after you, than making sure everyone thinks you’re dead?

Or, well, actually dying.  Sort of.  I have no doubt that some aspect of Morpheus died.  Perhaps the aspect that was Dream of the Endless, died, but, as I mentioned, left Morpheus to live on separately in some other form.  “You cannot kill an idea” can go both ways; it can mean that we’re not supposed to care that Morpheus is dead, or it can mean that Morpheus lives on.  He, as an independent identity, with a specific name he has chosen, is also an idea.  If the question is “change or die,” it obscures the fact that this is also a universe where people can change by death.

Heck, there’s even an example in this series of people deciding to finally live upon finding themselves post-life.  Chapter 4 of Season of Mists introduces the Dead Boy Detectives.  At first, much like “Façade,” this chapter seems to have little to do with the overarching story; besides showing how bad it is to have the formerly hell-bound dead returning to Earth and featuring a cameo by Death, there’s little to connect it to the primary narrative.  The majority of it is just about two random boys dealing with supernatural bullies, and both ending up having been murdered by the bullies at the end.  But, the story ends on the fact that they choose to “make the most of their afterlives.”  They leave behind the crappy situation assigned to them by their circumstances by living on in a new form (in the boys’ case, ghosts).  If two random kids can do it, why can’t Morpheus do the same?

Actually, there’s a whole lot of events in Season of Mists that I’ve seen propped up as evidence that Morpheus was settling his circumstances to prepare for his suicide, but I believe can just as easily be interpreted otherwise.  It could either be him setting up backup plans in case of his accidental imprisonment or death, or even intentional preparations for a successor to take over for him when he dramatically retires rather than straight-up dies.  I could fill an entire other essay with that evidence; I planned to include it here but my page count is already far exceeding what I intended, so I’ll save that for a possible later time.  If anyone reading made it this far, let me know if you’d like to read that!

So, do I believe in these more optimistic interpretations of the ending?  In terms of authorial intent, I’m not sure.  I think there’s certainly a reason everything seemed so shockingly pessimistic at first read, and possibly that was the intent.  The books were written at a different time, when the author was at a different place in his life.  But stories are also about belief.  And when the author straight up says that it’s open to interpretation, well… I’d rather choose to believe that this grand, sweeping, thought-provoking narrative isn’t about an irredeemable depressed asshole being rewarded for suicide, with the reader being scolded for caring. 

Perhaps asking whether or not that’s “true” is missing the point.

#the sandman #the sandman comics #the sandman spoilers #the sandman comics spoilers #neil gaiman's sandman #the sandman comics meta #the sandman comics analysis #literary analysis #my writing #sandman essay

[hopeymchope]

I am INCREDIBLY disturbed by the amount of people I see championing the horrifying act of suicide that recently occured outside the Israeli embassy in Washington D.C.

There are people acting as though this should be celebrated and remembered, claiming it's a valuable "sacrifice." Like it's "heroic" — as if this guy (whom I will not be naming here) was standing in a war zone and shielding Palestinian children from IDF bullets or something. As if he was hurting ANYONE who is party to the atrocities he's protesting. Even much-depised suicide bombers accomplish more with their terrorism than this act ever will.

There is NO value in suicide. There is only mental illness, abject horror, and everlasting trauma. There is only the anguish and eternal torment of everyone who ever cared about you, everyone who bore witness to what you did. To celebrate and champion this? Is a selfish, malicious act — one that will cruelly damage many people who need love and support. One that could definitely encourage similar, senseless deaths.

In fact, that is ABSOLUTELY happening. Because of this I am literally seeing people on this very site who are openly considering suicide and openly being encouraged by others to do it. Which is sick shit.

But very, VERY importantly? It actively hurts the cause it claims to be drawing attention to. Because it makes the protesting side look insane and unhinged. With his horrifically awful act, this man brutally undermined the thing he claimed to care so much about. And beyond that? His act of protest did nothing but EXPAND and EXTEND the reach of the horrific violence he claimed to be against. The result is akin to watching someone "protest" what's being done to the children of Gaza by shooting a random baby in the fucking head on the streets of Albuquerque.

What do you think you did? What do you think you accomplished? You spread violence, you scarred everyone around you, you horrified and devastated everyone you know, and you made your side of the argument look awful. THAT'S your impact. THAT'S the attention and message you spread.

But then, that's what this level of depression and mental illness does to a person, isn't it? You lose sight of your own value, you are unable to comprehend what you're doing, and you ultimately do nothing but destroy yourself unless you can get the help you need/deserve. And that's pretty scary. I've been there before. I even had some of these urges before — to unalive myself "for a cause." But I'm SO glad I came out the other side of it. What a waste that would've been. What damage I would've done to everyone I know.

This is a horrible tragedy... and perhaps the saddest part of it is how little it will even matter. People will remember what's currently happening in Gaza for decades, maybe centuries to come. But this act? No one will remember this except, perhaps, as a piece of disturbing trivia. "Can you fucking believe this psycho?" THAT'S the only legacy of this that will ever, EVER matter outside of this poor man's family.

I wish I had some idea of what COULD make a difference in Gaza. It feels pretty helpless to be this far from where all that horror is unfolding on the Palestinians who live there.

If you love this act? If you think it's valuable and/or admirable? I am begging you to reassess your thought processes. If you claim you want to protect innocent lives? Remember that that doesn't just mean the lives that are abroad, and it doesn't just mean protecting the neurotypical. It means valuing and protecting the lives of yourself and those around you, too. Including neurodivergent people who're struggling.

Value lives by valuing your own. Fight violence by not committing violence. Combat horror by not spreading horror. Show love and care for others by caring about how your actions will impact everyone you know.

And if you feel like this kind of act is a good idea for you? There's help. There's ALWAYS other options. And there's ALWAYS a better way out — even if it may seem like there isn't.

I realize people sometimes think they have no other escape. But if you're willing to consider escaping by completely giving up on ever living, then you damn well have to consider every possible alternative first. Cutting off your family, running away, starting from absolute scratch; anything else is better.

#tw: suicide #embassy suicide #gaza #And feel free to block or unfollow me if you disagree. I don't care. #You spread the idea of violent suicide being a heroic act - you win stupid awful prizes #suicide help #suicide support #suicide hotline #self immolation #IMPORTANT #if you get to the bottom of the tags I guess I'll mention this poor bastard's name #I'm just trying to bury it as hard as possible #aaron bushnell

[aemiron-main]

im gonna refine this into a full analysis at some point but here u go

thinking about mike and the future and the themes of future in st and Will’s back to the future references and how not only do they time to possible time fuckery but more than that they tie to the ways in which Will and Mike’s unique and often contrasting gay experiences tie into the way that each of them views the future/their own future specifically.

Will is gay men who can’t see a future because they’ve faced so much external oppression and fear that they will die from a hate crime before their own internalized homophobia can even try to get them. Will is fighting to try and see that future, whatever it may be. He’s got those back to the future references partially because just like Marty McFly, he’s disappearing from the timeline entirely- he’s not going into a DIFFERENT future, he is being REMOVED from the future.

Mike is gay men who don’t face as much external homophobia, Mike isn’t like Will, he isn’t gay men who don’t see a future at all: Mike is gay men who see that future TOO CLEARLY. Who SEE an awful, heteronormative future so clearly and kill themselves to stop seeing it, to stop it from happening, so that they don’t have to face it. They don’t realize that another option exists, they’re so focused on escaping that horrifying future that they can’t see the other possible futures. Mike isn’t being erase from the timeline, he’s being forced to suffer through it unless he erases HIMSELF.

Guys like Will, on the other hand? They can’t see the future at ALL initially, until they fight back, until they start to realize that there’s people who love them for who they are and who protect them, until they realize that maybe the external hate crimes WON’T get them. And so once they start to be able to see the future, they can sort of see all of those possible futures, they CAN see that awful, heteronormative one like Mike can, but they can also see the GOOD futures. And yes, there’s always that lingering fear that their future will be ripped away from them by a hate crime, but at least they can see the future now.

Will is starting to see the future, and WANTS TO see it, he's realizing that he could HAVE a future let alone a good one,  just HAVING one just MAKING IT to adulthood without something external (such as a hate crime, which is what his disappearance is partially paralleled to) killing him. Mike, on the other hand, can see the future, has always been FORCED to see it so fucking clearly and hates it, DOESNT WANT to see it, and wants to escape it. Will is forced away from the future- Mike wants to actively escape it. Will represents death by murder/hate crime, Mike represents death by suicide. Mike doesn’t realize that there’s other options for his future, much like how suicidal people often feel like there’s no other option than their own death. Mike sees that awful heteronormative future as the only option, and that future is synonymous with his suicide/death. It’s the ‘only option’ in his mind, the same way that suicide is seen as the ‘only option,’ again, that future is synonymous with suicide for him. 

Will is being forced not to see it (dying by hatecrime before he can see it). Mike is being forced TO see it (heteronormative standards he’s grown up with, watching his parents, the milkvan-karen/ted parallels), and Mike being forced to see it is what’s pushing him towards dying by his own hand. 

And Mike is always late. It’s not that he doesn’t show up, it’s not that he’s being erased from that timeline, it’s that he’s late, that he’s running on his own time, that he can seen that future/timeline clearly and is trying to avoid it even just subconsciously/narratively as a character by not conforming to the typical sense of time/timeline by being late. Will, on the other hand, again, is being removed from that timeline/future entirely. 

And how Marty McFly doesn’t kill himself, even though he almost  causes his own death- he’s dying not because he’s committing suicide, but because he’s Marty McFly and because Marty McFly is the person that he’s accidentally erased out of the timeline. A similar idea applies to Will; Will is dying/at risk of death because he is Will Byers, because he is who he is (gay but not just gay, hypervisibly gay, and raised in a household with someone like lonnie and growing up in bigoted hawkins), he’s only ‘killing himself’ in the sense that he’s dying because he IS himself, whereas Mike is the one actively killing himself. Marty, like Will, is being erased from the timeline because he is who he is, he isn’t the one erasing himself, but rather, that external force of time is preventing him from ever being in the future at ALL, just like how hatecrimes/murder are trying to prevent Will from ever being part of that future. But Mike? Mike is the one preventing himself from being in the future because he sees his future and ACTIVELY TRIES TO ESCAPE IT BECAUSE HE THINKS ITS THE ONLY POSSIBLE FUTURE. Will wants to see the future, wants to be there for it, wants to go full Marty Mcfly and fix things and be able to exist as himself. Mike does not. Mike is the opposite, does NOT want to see the future because in his mind, he’s already seen it too clearly. 

This also ties into how in S4, both Mike and Will keep talking about how it’s been “a year” when it’s actually only been 6 months, and they specifically talk about this the most during the rink-o-mania fight. They’re on the same page abt time now. But why are they on the same page about time now? Didn’t I just say that they represent different gay experiences/ways of seeing the future and that that’s reflected through the different ways that they interact with time/time imagery? Yes! But they’re starting to be on the same page. Just like how I’ve talked about in other analysis, with how in S4, Mike’s gayness is started to be framed around active attraction to men rather than lack of attraction to women, and Mike’s invisibility vs Will’s hypervisibility, Mike is now shifting more towards being hypervisible and being affected more by external homophobia. He’s not there yet, but he’s getting there. And at rink-o-mania, interestingly enough, even though Mike and Will are fighting, they agree about the ‘year,’ about the time, about the future, which is odd because if Will is upset about Mike not calling for a year, then wouldn’t Mike maybe try and defend himself and be like ‘it was only 6 months’? (even though we know he DID call). 

Will is gay people where their parents have “always known from a young age,” and the ones who have also been externally targeted from a young age when other people also realized that Will was different. Mike is the one who is a surprise, the one whose identity and sexuality gets dismissed because “he never showed any signs of it” (he DID, but the signs he showed didn’t align with peoples’ preconceived notions and stereotypes about gay men, and not only do the characters in the show have this issue, but people WATCHING the show do too!)

And also- Mike is suicidal, but we also see it as more of a passive suicidality in s4 than it was in s1, he’s not walking off of cliffs anymore. Part of him is so self-loathing that he almost feels as if he deserves to suffer through that miserable future. 

And this ties into how IH will kill you slowly, and how mike’s eating issues tie into both that and his passive suicidality, like they’re PART OF IT. he neglects himself in part due to his guilt and IH and general self loathing, It’s similar to internalized transphobia and how that interacts with EDs: you don’t realize what’s wrong, why you have so many issues with your body, so you cant treat the ed until you treat the internalized transphobia. I don’t think that Mike has direct issues with his body that fuel his eating issues, but i do think it’s similar situation in the sense that the eating issues aren’t going to be resolved until the core thing (his self loathing and IH) is resolved. i need to finish this properly at some point and how it ties into henrys talk of time and the future and seeing the future as a straightjacket. 

#stranger things #st analysis #mike's mental health #tw ed #mike's food issues #mike wheeler analysis #will byers analysis #gay mike wheeler #gay will byers #byler analysis

[eldritch-spouse]

Just read that one post on how to REALLY escape from Breg and YIKES the hurt on that one. Like, the dudes getting captured and taken back to the same hell hole he escaped from begging and pleading for YOUR help only to see you just. There. With the other staff. LIKE MY GOD. Dude when i read that i was like YIKESS. That musta stung. Bad.

Like I remember reading another post bout what would happen if Breg was recaptured and how he literally killed himself while thinking of you and how happy he was that he met you and managed to live his life. I’m gonna give props to you cause you ended that post PERFECTLY. How in his final moments he’s thinking of how beautiful you are and how lucky that is like thats fucking heartbreaking.

So imagine when he was getting recaptured, he fucking sees you just talkin to the staff so calmly and the real choker is how you look so… relieved? Like I can’t say this enough but OUCH. Can’t tell what his reaction would be but it’s hurt. A lot of hurt. Like I’m sure he’d be too sad and heartbroken and betrayed to be angry. Maybe angry later, But now? In disbelief and is absolutely devastated. Like all this time you were lying, faking everything? When he thought you loved him when really you just put up with him hoping for the day to get rid of him.

That’s so fucken awful. Cause like ya said (i think) he’d rather die than go back to the facility. So no doubt he’s gonna off himself again all while thinking of what you did. Like god that’s a real stinker. Can’t imagine how that felt. Mans gonna be a whole explosion of emotions, Too overwhelmed to handle it all because he’s just thinking of you you you.

Overall, Props to you. You really know how to write some angsty shit. Like genuinely you write really well done! Because truthfully I’ve been binging to Yer Breg tag and i loved him and all your posts! Can’t wait to get a start on your other works, Got my eye on Morell so i might check him out later lol

Ah, this post and this one.

TW: Heavy angst, mentions of murder and suicide.

It would take so long for him to process it, it really would. One moment, his brain starts trying to close that bubble all over again, trying to erase these last few parts of your relationship and pretend that you really did love him, that what you had was real and beautiful- But then, then this wave of endless fury just consumes him, and the need to kill you keeps rising.

If Breg ever got his hands on you, it would be the ugliest scene imaginable. He's sick over the fact that he can't stop craving your love yet knows what a piece of shit you really are- There's a good chance he'd fuck you to death. Fortunately, he's never making it out again. Count your blessings. And thanks to his initial outbursts courtesy of your betrayal, he'll probably remain restrained all the time, so he can't hurt anyone including himself. Suicide isn't an option anymore.

Not without his teeth, with a stump of tail, declawed and perpetually chained to the wall even inside his own isolated cell. Swallowing your own tongue is a lot harder than it looks, you know? His days are spent wailing, haunted by visions of you even as those hellish fucking pumps drain his cocks for hours at a time. If he had the opportunity to see the other groups of captive breeders, subject M197 would let himself fall to the floor and wait for them to viciously tear him apart, but he knows he'll never be given that mercy.

Even if Breg has dreams of dragging your open skull through miles of asphalt-

At the end of the day, he knows he'll do anything if it meant having you back, you finally accepting him. Everyday his body collects new scars and deformities from his futile attempts at fighting back, his sanity peels apart like rotten wallpaper, and he knows that if you didn't love him then you'll never love him now... But it's the only thing he sees when he spaces out anyway.

Because his brain won't move on, refuses to. Delusion has always been his cope, why would this be any different?

[Thenk! It's always been easier for me to write angst than fluff, I like keeping things dark :7. Morell is one of my favorites, hope you like that nutty fuck.]

#Bregory

[summerwritesfics]

🌎But I Need You Now Bi-Han

Pairing: None Length: 1075 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Ghost AU, Ghost!Kuai Liang, Detective!Hanzo Hasashi, Murder, Mentioned Suicide, Murder made to look like suicide, Grief/Mourning, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bi-Han’s going through it, Angst, One day I’ll stop being mean to these boys.

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist

Notes: Maybe one day I will stop torturing these two brothers, but on that day I think hell will freeze over.

“Bi-Han, please, stop doing this to yourself!”

Kuai’s frantic pleas fell completely on deaf ears. Bi-Han couldn’t hear him, he knew that, yet it didn’t stop him from desperately trying to get his brother’s attention.

Bi-Han sat on the couch, leaning forward, bracing himself with his arms on his knees as he miserably took yet another sip of his beer. His foot moved slightly, knocking the pile of discarded bottles that was accumulating on the floor. They weren’t all from today, but it seemed this was now all Bi-Han did. Sit in this dark room, lights off and curtains drawn, drinking away his misery.

“Bi-Han,” Kuai tried again, although he didn’t know why. “Please. Big brother. Please.”

Bi-Han did not react, staring emptily ahead of him. Kuai sobbed, falling to his knees beside his brother. He reached a hand forward, trying to touch Bi-Han’s face, only for his hand to completely phase through.

He could do nothing to stop this. He couldn’t talk to Bi-Han, he couldn’t touch him. All he could do was stand on the sidelines and watch as Bi-han destroyed himself.

Was Bi-Han doing this in the hopes of joining him in death?

Kuai’s death had been made to look like a suicide after all. They hung him from the ceiling fan, kicking a chair underneath him to make it look like he’d done it himself. They’d even made him write a suicide note. And for what? Just to hurt Bi-Han. To make him think he’d missed some signs his little brother was suffering that much.

Bi-Han brought the bottle to his lips again, giving a frustrated grunt when he realised it was empty.

A flash of rage seemed to overtake him, as he leapt up off his seat and threw the bottle across the room. This was sadly a regular occurance too. Bi-Han getting a random bout of anger before falling back into that inescapable pit of indifference.

“Bi-Han. I never wanted to leave you,” Kuai quietly whimpered. “Please, big brother. I need you to come around. I need you to realise that they did this to me.” He got back up, attempting to give his brother a hug from behind but only toppled through him, only just stopping himself from falling. He looked back at Bi-Han, whose temper seemed to be evening out again. “I need you to avenge me Bi-Han. Please. Fuck, please realise I didn’t do this.”

Bi-Han swayed slightly, before falling back on the couch. He slumped back, just staring at the ceiling. Kuai sobbed, nothing could have prepared him for how awful it was to see his brother like this.

He jumped slightly when the phone started to ring. Bi-Han gave a frustrated groan, but lent over slightly just enough to hit the speaker phone option.

“Hello?” He questioned, voice groggy and slurred and it was so obvious he was drunk.

“Good evening, am I speaking to Bi-han Song?” The voice on the other side questioned. Kuai Liang didn’t recognise it, and if he were still alive, his stomach would be doing flips.

“Who's asking?” Bi-Han snarled, temper flaring again.

“My name is Detective Hanzo Hasashi, your brother’s case has been reassigned to me,” he answered, and Kuai felt himself pause. Why would a detective be calling about Kuai Liang’s “case” unless…

Unless they think it wasn’t a suicide? 

“What fucking case?” Bi-Han snapped back, throwing himself back onto the couch. His fists were clenched like he was about to get into a fight. “He killed himself, can’t you people just leave it the fuck alone?”

There was a moment of silence, before Hanzo replied with “Actually, Mr. Song, upon reinspecting the evidence, I have reason to believe this was a homicide.”

Bi-Han’s face went blank, his eyes darting around and blinking, as his alcohol impaired brain tried to make sense of what he’d just been told. Eventually he sat up, a little too fast if the way he stumbled was anything to go by. He stared at the phone for far too long.

“You think… he was murdered?” Bi-Han questioned, voice suddenly the most coherent it had been in weeks. Like the shock of what he’d just heard had immediately sobered him up.

“Having reviewed the evidence, I do, yes.” Hanzo sighed, and there was a sound of something like papers being shuffled. “Would I be allowed to arrange another inspection of your apartment, as well as going over some of your answers in your previous interview. Mostly about your brother’s mental health history, some things you mentioned don’t make sense combined with the evidence we have.”

Bi-Han was quiet for a moment, before clearing his throat, “um, yeah. I mean. I’m not at work tomorrow.” Kuai sighed, Bi-Han wouldn’t be at work at any time. He’d been fired a week into his binge drinking. “So, you can come over any time then.”

“Perfect, would around midday work for you?” Hanzo questioned and Bi-Han made an affirmative hum. “Good. I will see you tomorrow then.”

The call ended, and Bi-Han sat staring at the phone.

“Was he murdered?” Bi-Han quietly whispered to himself.

“Yes,” Kuai replied back, an answer that Bi-Han would never hear. “Yes I was.”

Bi-Han’s breath hitched, his breathing ragged and uneven. As much as it hurt Kuai Liang to see his elder brother burst into tears, there was a strange comfort in it. This was the first emotion Bi-Han had shown outside of anger and numbness since he’d found Kuai’s body. His brother’s pained cries were horrific to hear, but they were a sign of the dam finally breaking. Maybe now, he’d be able to fully deal with his grief in a better way.

“I know this is hard for you,” Kuai spoke, going to kneel in front of his brother. He resisted the urge to reach out, it was futile anyway. “But I need you now Bi-Han. You always said you’d do anything for me.” God, fuck this, he threw himself forward and tried his best to hug his brother without just phasing through him. “You need to bring me justice, you need to deal with your grief. You need to live, Bi-Han, you need to live for me.”

He pulled away again, watching his brother rub at his face, no sign of his tears slowing down.

Kuai gave a sad smile, as he gave one final bittersweet request.

“I need you to find a way to be happy again.”

#mortal kombat #kuai liang #sub zero #bi han #noob saibot #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #🌎meanwhile in another universe

[crossdressingdeath]

Kyvir: Think of Bhaal, think of blood. Narrator: *Your soul opens to their divine power.* Narrator: *Father claws into your heart and stops it for a single moment. As you begin to fear for your life, you know his love is close.* [...] Kyvir: Make an offering to Bhaal. (1000) Narrator: *You offer your paltry gold to the void, like a child at the sweet shop.* Narrator: *There is no response, and you know why - Bhaal will accept the world from you, and nothing less.*

I would like to kill Bhaal please. 0/10 worst father.

To start with the slightly less horrible bit, 1000 gold being referred to as paltry is bad enough to begin with (that's. that's quite a lot of money actually. Dad's so greedy) but the way he gives you nothing in return because nothing short of the whole world will ever be good enough for him is... y'know, awful. There's also an element where... okay, I'm getting this dialogue before the fight with Orin (which. I'm going to have to come back here after that whole situation has played out just to see what happens) and Kyvir did kill Isobel so he's Father's favourite little fantasy Antichrist. He's going into this fight at a pretty severe disadvantage what with the serious brain damage! You'd think Bhaal might want to give the child he wants to win a leg up, at least enough to put the two of them on a more equal level! But Bhaal offers nothing. Durge is expected to end the bloody world, and Bhaal won't even give them something to help counteract the damage Orin did to them or some shit? Bhaal demands Durge end the world and all they get is the promise of dying on his altar at the end of everything. And the worst part is that before Orin broke their brain Bhaal managed to get Durge into a headspace where they seem to have genuinely wanted that. Either that or they got really good at faking enthusiasm for kick-starting the apocalypse... Honestly both options are upsetting, either Durge was in a state where they actually wanted to kill everyone in Faerûn and then slit their own throat in their father's name—and whether that was out of them being "put them all out of my misery" suicidal or them being conditioned to believe that this truly is the "right" course of action or whatever else it's. bad—or they had to follow a path they really didn't want to knowing it would end in their death and the deaths of everyone currently alive. Such a light and cheery story, the Durge origin.

And Durge views Bhaal stopping their heart until they genuinely fear for their life as a sign of love. Or possibly given his love is "close" when he stops their heart maybe he'll only truly love them when they're dead? God, the way love is talked about with Durge is so much. It's very much tied to fear and pain for them! Which I suspect has something to do with the implication that Bhaal may have made something of a habit of forcing them to kill anyone they grew to genuinely care about, or at least saw that as an excellent punishment when they slipped up. I'm really looking forward to actually talking to Bhaal, I'm sure it'll be deeply upsetting. From the moment they remember who they are at least part of them is longing for their father's love and they remember him as being devoted, and then it turns out they actually feel closest to his love when he's killing them. That says... absolutely nothing good about what their time in Bhaal's temple serving him directly was like. Also the fact that he can just stop and start their heart at will, at least when they're actively reaching out to him, is... concerning. I don't think that's normal...? I suspect this will come up again.

#bg3 #bg3 durge #bg3 spoilers

[bepisbee]

I hope you're ready for more random aus I might or might not write KEKW

This ones a smidge darker also not explicitly described but TW for suicide mention

Blorbos death au rotating on my mind

After the end of four swords (following manga) the goddesses were impressed by shadow links change that they gave him an option: be at peace in death, or come back and serve them. He chooses to serve them in hopes he can come back to link(Vio)

They make him the god of death. Give him the typical hoodie and scythe get up. Only thing that changes about him is that he physically ages as link does until adulthood when he'll stop growing and his eyes have black scleras.

Vio finds out after a magic accident where he dies. He sees Shadow and Shadow sends him back. He's the god of death he does what he wants ™

Vio has several secret "accidents" to see him again and Shadow gets a magic necklace from farore who pities them and is awed by the reckless abandon of Vio's life for just a glimpse of his soulmate. Vio can now always see shadow when he's around. If there's enough death energy shadow can physically manifest for him. Doesn't happen for a long while.

Insert LU situation few years later

Early on ish in the adventure?

They're transported into an empty battlefield. Recently finished maybe a week ago tons of bodies from both sides. Shadow appears they both don't think anyone else can see him physically manifest. Comes up behind Vio, clawed hand up his neck with a soft squeeze and the other around his waist. Leans in real close from behind. A greeting not to startle him and also to give affection. While he's cat rubbing against his cheek and squishing it. Soft little "hello love," because he's with other heroes and they still don't think anyone can see shadow until wind starts screaming. (They were in the back of the groupl

Apparently other people don't see shadow. Only their eras link (the colors) can. So it looks like some fucked up skeleton Eldritch thing is feeling up their archer. Then they're like holy shit it's the personification of death and it's touching Vio who is the group weirdo ™ how isn't he dead he is getting smooched by death on the cheek. (it leaves a lil black lip mark like lipstick would that fades after a few hours)

Only legend and time remain sorta calm and are like "love?? Wtf is happening? Why does the four links look like they've seen a ghost except Vio? Why is this skeleton thing death touching him?? Is Vio dating death??" Everyone else is panik

It takes a LOT of talking the team down and very angry color squad at keeping this from them. At first they all get an abridged version since Vio clearly has not told them he's died. Multiple times. Most of which on purpose. And that he's kinda technically immortal because shadow refuses to reap his soul and just returns it. (Later plot to reveal he hasn't aged at all since the first accidental death where shadow returned him which is why he is the shortest no blue it is not because he doesn't drink his milk or eat properly or get any sunlight )

Cue the "is that why you're so creepy?" From someone with no filter

It also takes a hot minute for them to realize that they are seeing a version of shadow link and everyone else sees skeleton with clawed bone hands

His form dissipates mid convo and now only Vio can see and hear him because the energy's worn off. Cue more slight panik and suspicion over why he can see him what's the actual details before Vio breaks down and tells them the truth about it. Nicely of course.

That he had been using a meld of his earth life magic and shadows old dark magic to try and bring him back and it wasn't working and not that he knew at the time but it was because shadow had been blessed by the goddesses to become their servant and. How it backfired on him and slapped his life away and he saw shadow and then woke up with red spider lilies braided into his hair.

And how he did that a few times and always woke up like that until he woke up alive like that with a necklace and Shadow hovering over him worried and hopeful. And that the necklace allows him "sight into death's door". Accidentally reveals he sees souls of dead people too sometimes if they're strong enough, shy look over at time (mask spirits)

Nooot sure if I wanna take that into a dnd ish warlock type of thing they accidentally made a warlock pact with shadow as his patron?

#four swords #shadow link #vidow #vio link #chili writes #legend of zelda #character death #tw suicide mention #warlock vio? #tw death #mentions lu but not really lu focused #death god shadow au