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arkham-ayden · 7 months

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Part Two of following a prompt list for October! Descendants themed ofc

Part One here!

• Pairing: Mal/Evie/Carlos/Jay as found family

• Prompt: visiting a haunted house

• Word Count: 1736

• Additional Warnings: depiction of a dead body, insects, specifically maggots

“Come on Carlos, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Jay, we really shouldn’t be here. Just looking at it gives me the chills.”

The house in front of them was none other than Hell Hall. Grandiose and ominous, the dark of night made it look even more intimidating. Atop the roof were two gargoyles on either side, snarling mouths carved wide and the stone was eroded in places, caverns in the sides and one of the wings was missing. Carlos shifted in his spot, looking to his friends, Jay had his arms crossed, snarky grin plastered on his face, Mal in a similar stance, though noticeably less confident, and Evie was holding herself together, sharing Carlos’ timid demeanour. Her lips were pinched in a tight line, she’d also protested coming here but Mal had convinced her to come along despite her protests.

Carlos hadn’t been back here in some years, since his mother had passed. He ran away to live with Evie, hearing of his mother’s demise only a few weeks later. Rumour had it that she had died from the madness that followed his absence; she was used to Carlos maintaining the house and herself, when he left, she’d lost what little of her sanity she had left, she’d gone around hurling abuse at other villains and confining herself to one small room, barricading herself in with no food or water, mistakenly believing she was above the human needs, claiming herself a god. He didn’t go to her funeral. He never wanted to see that woman again, never wanted to return to the house that held him hostage for sixteen years of his life. That house stood for everything bad that had happened to him, coming back made all the hairs on his body stand to attention.

Jay had begun pulling at the tarnished silver door knobs, clearly closed tightly.

“We should go back. I have a weird feeling about this.”

The taller boy stopped pulling for a moment to jest back.

“Oh, too scared? Come on dude, you lived here, you can handle one night back.”

“You’re not funny Jay,” Evie shot back, anger laced in her usually soft voice. “This place is creepy enough, let alone on Hallow’s Eve.”

“Isn’t that exactly why we’re here?” Mal questioned. “Move back, tugging at the doors clearly isn’t working for you.”

Jay stepped back, hands raised in mock defence. Mal had pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, fiddling with the locks. Evie rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ease out some of her tension.

“Why don’t we just go to my castle, we can scope out the dungeon. I know the way around it.”

“E, we’ve seen that dungeon enough. Plus, you got your ass handed to you in there, I’m not making you do that.”

Carlos flinched at her words. He never spoke about much of the abuse, but he’d dropped details here and there. Clearly no one had paid attention to him. That fact hurt him more than expected, he had half a mind to leave alone, let them have their own fun. For some reason though, he stayed. He half wanted to show them around, show them the closets he was locked in for half of his life, show them the traps he had to step around for fear of his life, show them the weapons he’d become friends with. Maybe they’d finally take him seriously.

After a few moments, Mal had got the doors unlocked. They swung open with a loud creak, hinges barely holding the heavy blocks of wood up.

“We’re in. Let’s go.”

No sooner as the words left the girl, Jay ran in, staring around at the main hall, tall ceilings and blank walls with a decaying staircase in the middle as the centrepiece. Carlos felt his blood run cold as he spotted one of the closets he’d be thrown in.

“Where was her room? Hey, Carlos, are you listening?”

“Upstairs, third door on the left hallway.” He replied, almost on autopilot.

Evie was the first to notice his discomfort, offering a weak rub on his arm, unsure how else to help. He rested his head on the arm, taking a deep breath, lungs suddenly feeling like he couldn’t take in enough air. All four of them walked the staircase, Jay leading the charge. Suddenly it crossed Carlos’s mind, had anyone removed Cruella’s body? He felt the blood run out of his face and his hands felt numb. A loud bang resonated in the hall, doors had been slammed shut. There was no breeze and none of them were close enough to have done it. Footsteps came from in front of them, the clacking sounds of heels hitting the tiles were too familiar to Carlos. His mother would never go without them. Jay whipped around, questioning the two girls if they’d done it to mess with him, to which they denied.

“It’s not them. It’s my mom.”

“How the hell do you remember what her footsteps sounded like?”

“I had to! If I heard her in time, I could hide from her.”

His eyes rolled and Carlos felt fire in his cheeks, a sudden surge of anger ran through him.

“What? You’re telling me you never had to hide from your dad? You never ran away to avoid him flogging you?”

“Not cool, man.”

“Whatever.”

Carlos forced himself to the front of the group, walking to his mother’s old room. His fingers lingered from turning it open. He was scared to look in there, praying someone had taken her body and buried her somewhere. There was a funeral, she had to be six feet under, there was no way she’d still be here. A menacing laugh echoed in his mind, judging by the tentative looks on the others’ faces, it echoed in the corridor too. He took a breath, and opened into the room. Immediately, a pungent smell of death violated Carlos’ senses. He retched, covering his nose with both hands to try and staunch the smell. Everyone followed, covering their mouths and noses. The laugh was louder now, the breaths in between sounded high and strained, like someone clinging to the last tendrils of life. When Carlos regained his composure, he looked back at Jay.

“Still want to check it out?”

The boy didn’t speak, eyes wide and unblinking. Evie had thrown up, Mal tending to her. If no one else was going in first, Carlos would. He stepped further into the room, the smell becoming more pronounced and pungent. He covered his nose with his t-shirt as he continued in.

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point, we can go.”

“No. You wanted a haunted house, I’ll show you a haunted house.”

His voice was slightly muffled under the shirt but Jay had heard it loud and clear judging from the tight line of his lips and harsh angle of his shoulders.

The bed looked made, as if done that morning. The side table he could see was caked in a thick layer of dust, in similar fashion were the trinkets Cruella had collected over her years, all in her red, black and white colour scheme. Nothing looked out of place by any means, the pillows and cushions were fluffed, the curtains were drawn and he could see the boards lining the empty window frame. He rounded the corner of the bed and fought to not vomit himself. His eyes darted, hardly believing the sight. But there was a funeral, there was a coffin, this couldn’t possibly be right. Jay had entered the room, guarding his own nose.

“You don’t have to do this, I’m sorry, you were ri-” He cut himself off.

The girls had entered to see what the commotion was about, Evie let out a squeal that almost turned into a scream, Mal turning away with a fist to her mouth. The laughter was unending as they stared, unending and only becoming more unhinged.

It was a skeleton. He could almost convince himself it was fake if there wasn’t residual black and white hairs scattered on the floor, he could convince himself it was fake if there weren’t clinging patches of decayed flesh on the bones, he could convince himself it was fake if there weren’t swathes of maggots wriggling around on the floor and burrowed into the tiny flesh patches. It wasn’t fake.

Carlos collapsed to his knees, unable to worry about the writhing white masses only a foot away from him.

“There, there was a funeral, I don’t, I don’t, t-there was a coffin. She, she’s supposed to be, this isn’t-”

“Carlos, Carlos, get up,” Jay was pulling at his arms but it was like he was rooted to the ground. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, we can go. Let’s go.”

He sat there, panting heavily. He’d wanted her dead, he’d wanted her dead for years. With her laugh in his head and her corpse right in front of him, he realised he never wanted it like this. He felt more arms grab at him, Evie and Mal but he felt a third, icy cold pair wrap around his waist, beckoning him to stay. With some effort, the three got him to stand, tugging at his jacket to pull him out of the room. Only when he was out could he stop staring at the yellow-white bones and the chilling laughter stopped. None of them spoke until they were out of the house again.

“Do, do you want to talk about it?” Evie finally spoke up.

“No, no I don’t.”

There was an awkward silence for what felt like agonising minutes.

“Can we go home now?”

“Yeah,” Mal chimed in. “We’re never coming back here. You’re never coming back here.”

“Okay.” His voice was barely audible, and he felt something hot run down his cheek. He reached up to brush away whatever had grazed him, but it was wet. He had been crying.

“I’m so sorry ‘Los.”

He didn’t answer.

The image of that night, he knew, would be burned into his mind. He closed his eyes to try and ignore the thoughts. The image was etched into the back of his eyelids, a photo of perturbation.

Carlos knew he was in for a restless night, only seeing her skeleton slung across the floor and further defiled by maggots. At least she was gone.

Then, the laughing started again.

#carlos descendants #mal descendants #evie descendants #jay descendants #ao3 fanfic #descendants #i went darker #i can never go back #this was really fun to write #im gonna work on formatting i promise #im trying #i havent formatted properly on tumblr ever and im trying to wing it #how do links work #i hope i did this right #help #anyway i hope you like it #im planning to make longer works #seadogs has taken a small backseat #ill get to it eventually

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evita-shelby · 8 months

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Hi, hello

This is my first request ever, please ignore my spelling mistakes if there's any, I'm French so...

So how abt the femreader /OC (as you want) has an illness and is destined to die but Tommy pursue her and falls in love with her anyway and then she dies and we see how he copes. I'm a sucker for angst.

Thank youuu

You are welcome 😊

I cried so hard i ran out of tp to clean my snot.

Promise

Gif by @manie-sans-delire-x

Cw: death, illness, grief, suicidal thoughts

You hoped he’d forget about you while he was in France, but when he stepped down that platform he was as in love with you as when he had left.

You had broken things off with him before he even left and yet he returned to you as if nothing changed.

No matter how much you tried, Tommy never left your side.

Eventually you had to tell him the truth.

You were dying.

You had a year at most, the tumor was not operable, and it wouldn’t be long before you were dead.

“I can’t leave you, love, not when you need me most.” He had said as he held your face in his hands.

And he hadn’t.

Not when the barmaid showed up and made it clear to all that she wanted him, not when he provoked Kimber and certainly not when Campbell threatened to have the hospital deny you care if he didn’t give him the guns.

Campbell hadn’t expected you to laugh and spit at his face, “Do it, do your fucking worst, Inspector. I am dead anyways.”

You were dying, but you were never going to let Tommy and his dreams die with you.

You had a year.

And you had decided that your last wish was to see Tommy get the hell out of here and be the great man you know he is.

This you tell him as the two of you stand as witnesses for Freddie Thorne and his sister, Ada.

He couldn’t say no to you, he said so as you tied his tie for him and told him to drive you and Ada to the courthouse where Freddie was waiting with his cousins and a rabbi.

“It could be us up there,” he said quietly knowing you’d say no.

“Ask me again in a year.” You love him, and that is why you refuse to tie him to you like that.

Time passes slowly, you encourage him to pursue Grace because he needs the distraction. There was something there, on her side at least.

Not that he budged, said he didn’t need anyone else. Not when he had you.

“I’m going to marry you.” He says the words you feared the most. He did never learn to let go, even when death took those he loved most, he stood there refusing to let go.

“Tommy, I do not want to tie you to me like this. Not like this.” You plead for him to move on weeks later when he takes the barmaid to the races.

“I’m gonna marry you, when you go, I want you to go as my wife, y/n.” he vowed just as you vowed to see him succeed.

You supposed that is what had you say yes.

He wants to do things proper, keeping almost every tradition and custom in place that you find to your liking. Whatever you want for your big day, he and Polly make it happen.

Its sweet and thoughtful you think as he gets the two of you on a table at the Garrison and announced to all that the two of you will be getting married.

He had bought you a ring, a Claddagh ring like the one his mum had worn. Only difference was that the other one was lost in the Cut and yours had a red garnet heart to represent his love and devotion to you.

Tommy was a romantic, no matter what he did to hide it.

You dance in the dark of your room nights later to some old record your mama had since she settled here with your father.

“We could always elope, go somewhere just us and come back like our parents did.” He suggests and you nod.

As much as you’d like to do things properly, you’d rather get the things on your list done before you meet your maker.

Besides, that trip to Liverpool before the war had been lovely and you’d like to see the sea again before you go.

“I’d like that.” You say and that next morning the two of you set off to Liverpool like the wild teenagers the two of you used to be.

The wedding is lovely even if it happens in front of strangers, but the weekend the two of you spend as newlyweds is enough to make you forget your time is running out.

Perhaps when your health becomes worse you could return here, die somewhere beautiful away from everything.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” He admits as the two of you lie down on a blanket and enjoy the sun on your faces on your last day here.

“Once its over, we should come back here.” You say as if you knew for sure you’d be alive by then.

Zilpha Lee saw your death in the first chills of December. A black star and blood on Tommy’s heart.

It was late July now.

Only five months left in your clock. And you were going to make the most of it.

And you did, you danced at John and Esme’s wedding like there was no tomorrow. You gave the barmaid a good enough thrashing she never even got to call the police on Freddie and when little Karl was born it hurt your heart to know you would never have this with Tommy.

You wept like a baby in his arms as everyone celebrated down at the pub.

“Promise me you will love again.” You dry your tears and make him swear to live for you.

He cannot die with you, you refuse to let him.

“Don’t make me promise that, love, I’ve only ever loved you.” He shook his head, refusing to even think of a life without you in it.

It becomes the first of October that night.

You can’t hide your illness no matter what you do. A girl from the neighborhood is hired to help you and from your bed you play cupid between the sweet but never spineless Linda and the most unlikely dashing knight, Arthur.

When they finally go out ---with Finn to keep things proper--- it is late November.

And as if by magic, you are bursting with energy enough to leave your bed and make sure there is no loose string left by December 1st.

You are laughing with Polly over something when you see it in Tommy’s carefully annotated diary.

A black star on December 3rd.

He plans on having everything done by then, to deal with Kimber and Campbell that same day and spend the rest of your time on earth in a cottage by the sea.

It was supposed to be a surprise until you answered a call back from the woman renting it.

If only you could live long enough to get there.

But you won’t.

Zilpha had said on the day of the Black Star.

On December 3rd your time was up.

And you had fulfilled your mission, on that day Tommy would have reached the first step towards getting the hell away from here.

Only Polly knows what transpired during that meeting with Zilpha Lee and she holds you as your heart breaks all over again.

“Promise me you’ll take care of him.” You ask her as she holds you tight enough to put you back together again.

“Of course I will, sweetheart. Just like I told Martha Strong I’d take care of her boys and John’s Martha as well.” The older woman promised you as she gave you her Black Madonna.

Its is December 3rd when Tommy leaves the house as giddy as a boy on boxing day.

“After this it will be just us in that little cottage by the sea, love.” He had promised kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

And there wouldn’t be.

The moment the bullet strikes his chest, you collapse at his desk and never rise again.

By the time Jeremiah lets him go, you are gone.

That night, after the undertaker has taken you away to prepare you for burial, he takes your ring, a bottle of whiskey and his gun.

When he pulls the trigger, there are no bullets and he curses you for leaving and refusing to let him leave with you.

He wakes up in Charlie’s Yard, with his aunt and uncle wearing black for mourning.

“I promised her I’d take care of you, don’t make break that promise, boy.” Polly said as she helped him back on his feet.

After your funeral he leaves for the seaside, hoping to have the peace and quiet to finish what he started and yet as he sits there in ghe sand looking at the ring he gave you, he remembers your voice making him swear to live for you.

And he does.

On December 3rd 1922, he returns to the beach with May Carlton now wearing your ring on her finger.

“Thank you.” He whispers to the wind.

#tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader

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drawlody · 12 days

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My list of Adam ships♡ n my opinion bout them (also fics rec :D)

Adam x Luicfer (Adamsapple/Duitarduck) 10/10

Need i say more:)))??!?! started out as a "haha funny slip-up ship" to "hey they got really good angst potential". The friends/lovers to enemies to lovers is STRONG with this one n i am eating up everything i could found on ao3. Smth bout this macho-ass man finally getting to stay back n not take charge for once feel nice, also princess Adam supermacy wooooo. Whoever came up with the ship name i applaud u cause that's like a 3 layers name(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It's not an Adamsapple fic without Adam having at least 1 mental breakdown n Lucifer have his guilt eating him alive:)))

Very fucked up torture but i swear it worth the pain:D The dove is so dead it start to rot so plz read the tags properly (plz check out the AngeliaDark other works too they got good shit)

This one have a splits so check out both the fics (beware the author have a skrewed sense of what is considered wholesome:))))

I didnt think a smut scene could be this sad

Adam x Lute (Guitarspear/Guardrock) 10/10

Litteraly my first Hazbin ship, assholes in love is an underrated dynamic we desperately need more off:))) That with a dash of evil dude x loyal subordinate (which i havent seen since the Deathglare days) n opposite attract (look they have one main thing in common is that their extreme bloodthirst, other than that she's stricter than ur mom n he's lazier than the Sloth ring itself but that the beauty of it no? He convince her to chill tf out n not to burst a blood vessel, she keep him on track n make sure Sera dont come on their asses)

They're just being silly enabling each other terrible behaviour n i love that for them (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Litteral besties i tell ya

Heavy non-con shit involving Val but Lute will revenge our boi i promised u that

Cool idea n they r just made for each other damn

First hazbin fic i read which is a really cool smut:D

Adam x Micheal (we need a ship name people ) (update: it's Songbird/Guitarhero) 10/10

I like how we dont even got a proper comfirmation of Micheal design/personality yet the ship is here already ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ( im using the Nakariiale's design as a base here love their design)

Hit me with that rebound love x "u look like my ex so im using u as a replacement but ill fall for the real u eventually" x co-workers in heaven. I'm thinking smth along the line of "after Lucifer fucked off with Lilith, Micheal became Adam guardian angel n they just hang out" ya feel me here? (✿◕‿◕✿)

Shout out to Bloog_b for dragging me into this ship:DDD also im on the Adam x the archangels ship as a "gotcha" to Lucifer of sort. Like bitch u stole my wives imma steal your brotherS

Look it's Adamsapple endgame but trust me u will be feed well on this ( u know how good u gotta be for people to ditch the main ship?)

I'm giving yall 4 fics here cause i can only found 4 rn(._. )

this one is uhh non-con so beware

Micheal is indeed Adam guardian angel in this one:D

Adam x Eve (Flowertunes) 8/10

I dont care what yall said they love each other throughout Eden n Earth , might have a falling out in heaven but that doesnt change the fact that they were once IN LOVE. Honestly why cant we just have a couple that have the same bright-eyed innocence like one another.I refuse to believe Eve like willingly cheat on Adam with malicious intent n all, simply she was indeed ''tricked'' or just not fully understand the sistuation, n Adam love her way too much to think that she would do that to him like Lilith. Hell the dude was heartbroken after L left , starting the abandonment issues, so he would have cling to Eve, doing everything so that he aint alone again, even if that mean leaving Eden

Honestly it pisses me off that the Adam/Eve tag on ao3 most of the time is just 1 dialouge between them back when Eve bit the apple n thats it no elaboration on the couple whatsoever >:(((

Lots of switcharoos

sinner eve woooo

look its hard trynna find a fic focusing on them ok?

Adam x St. Peter (Guitargreeter (bet ya didnt see that coming:))) 7/10

Base on this fanfic alone Joe my dude u r on the path of becoming THE Adam crack-ship writer n i am here for this:)))) just so u wait this dude gonna whip out a AdamxNifty , AdamxHusk fic later on ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

From within the fic itself the ship its 2 bros in love with homophobia standing in the way >:( also when did we have a name?!?!?!?

I just like Adam x anyone in heaven alright:D like bro famous n he got that ancient rizz, u telling mr he cant bag a hottie or 2-100+ hmm?

Adam x Alastor (Angelicradio) 8/10

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT ABOUT THEM THAT I SHIP I JUST DO φ(゜▽゜*)♪ i blame YOU honestly rn this ship is either Adam found Al after the fight n they make a deal or they're in heaven n they chillin this ship is confusing:D

They're angels on heaven

Adam gone back into eden n do shit differently

This is both Adam/Eve n Adam/Alastor kinda

Adam x Alastor x Lucifer (Angelicradioapple/ Charlie's dads (only me call them that lol)) 9/10

''Hey Charlie u know how u r sad that your mother left? Wellllllll i got you 2 new dads suprise:DDDD''

Look 3 miserable men who hate each other + hell's greatest dad + my love for Dadam = Messy ass old men yaoi :DDDD n it work perfectly with Alastor Asexuality too!!! Like Adam n Lucifer could fuck each other brains out before Al joining in for the cuddles lol

Chaos ensue

Not exactly a love triangle but a love corner but hey we barely got food here :D

I cant believe how hot this shit is lol

Adam x Eve x Lilith x Lucifer (Eden poly/ applecore?) 8/10

They could have been all married to each other(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But as much as i go "OooOooo Poly yay'' i just cant vibe with EvexLucifer, like the cheating vibes is wayyyyyyyyy too much i just cant man . I mean with the interpetation that Lucifer came to Eden to hang out with the humans they all know eachother, they're a throuple yes but BUT when Eve came into the picture it was only with Adam n him only so the other 2 is ehhhh. Im fine with EvexLilith cause im seeing it happening later, not hidden from Adam while LuciferxEve got that deception going on .So uhhh in this ship they're more like bestie than lovers to me¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also AdamxLilith is an underrated pairing like everytime i saw this applecore thing going on these 2 r at most tolerate each other like cmonnnnn we already twist this to hell n back, why cant we make it so their arguement was a petty non-malicious one n they still cares for each other hmm???

They're one happy family

IDK what to tell u bittersweet reunion n loving family is the only typa fic u get with this ship

Not that im complaining i need this wholesomeness

Adam x Mammon (Adammon/Madam/Greedyguitar/ 1st chirstmas.... hasnt had an offical name yet) 10/10

They r litteraly same person different font idk what to tell u. More insults thrown around than Guitarspear but they're pretty similar. Adam is just " sinners suck ass but this dude is the worst in the best way". Also they're both big bois (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ , they love towering over others

I'm sorry but there r barely BARELY

any fics of them :(

The art side is more plentiful tho :D

Adam x Angel Dust (Holydust/guitardust) 5/10

THEY ARE BESTIES YOUR HONOUR n that the exact reason why i cant see them be together as a couple 100%, like the shit-talking bff vibes r wayyyy too strong XD Angel finally got someone who have the same vulgar humour as him n if Adam got married in hell Angel would 100% be his best bitch of honour (≧∀≦)ゞq(≧▽≦q)

They're best friends who have casual no-string attached sex that is ACTUALLY no-string attached:)))

I came to ship them due to those "What if they're co-workers under Val' scenarios ive been seeing on Tumblr

I got like 1 fic on ao3 i mean if u r looking for just platonic friendship between them then rest asure most Adam's redemption fics have that

I got 1 fic on tumblr

Adam x Charlie (Charadam/Guitarprincess) 5/10

U know this ship give me a pretty bad first impression since a good chunk of the fics r either heavy non-con shit or lean wayyyyy to much into the daddy kink, ya know how Charlie got suppose daddy issues n all that jazz?:))) yeah that... that

But after seeing the art side of this ship im chillin with them now, since the art r pretty wholesome, usually having them decked out in punk-rock clothings hanging out. It's a big "Fuck you" to Lucifer n i live for these mf argueing ╰(*°▽°*)╯

So uhhh stay away from the fics if ya want an actual functional couple instead of wtv messed up shit we got there:))) But here's a fic anyway, the only one where it feel bearable n actual trynna go into said messed up relationship i already warn you

We got cracks like Guitarmaid (AdamxNifty), Valadam (AdamxVal) which i dont have enough materials to decied, Classicalrock (AdamxSera) sound interesting but also havent found anything , Guitarhalo (AdamxEmily) is an unexpected find, find i deem them to be more familial than romantic so we'll see if there's a fic good enough to convince me

Edit:i forgot to add Blitzo like Mammon already there why did i forgot

Adam x Blitzo (i dont think anyone even ship this but me:)) 7/10

I cant find a single fic where they has anything more than a 1 nightstand n 1 interaction where they hit it off , i live off imagination alone (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`) but like fr fr they would match so well, like their bloodlust n general jerkiness would make them the 3rd asshole x asshole ship on this list :DDDD

Tho as much as i wanna see them go further i feel like an on-n-off relationship/friends with benefits fit em more ya know ( *^-^)ρ(*╯^╰) If ya have any fic but the 2 here that have them interact lemme know cause a bitch need food :)

This is a lot of tag(._. )

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maltedghost · 2 years

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The Omori Fanbase and Misunderstanding of Psychosis

This is going to be more ranty than anything else, so I apologize for that. I think it’s important that I also clarify this is coming from my personal opinion, and not everyone thinks the same.

I may as well mention, I have gone through psychosis for two years and have dealt with long term mental illness my entire life; it’s an uphill battle, and it’s something that never truly goes away. Medication is needed to properly maintain the symptoms of psychosis, and I want that to be kept in mind while reading this.

Here we go

For a game that emphasizes how mental health can take hold of and deteriorate the psyche, I’m surprised/somewhat disgusted by how a majority of the omori fanbase characterizes Basil as an obsessive yandere who is nothing but clingy and all smiles.

I also think it’s important to remember that DW Basil is what Sunny/Omori wants him to be, the same way Sunny/Omori creates the rest of his friends to be ‘perfect’ (which is why he keeps killing DW Basil when he steps out of line from that ‘perfect’ and ‘delicate’ persona).

That being said…

The fanbase is able to separate the DW and RW versions of the characters, but for some reason, this is not the case with Basil. Basil is treated as being exactly the same in RW like he is in DW; clingy, obsessive, and childish (when in reality he is fearing for his life and avoiding everyone like the plague—especially Sunny).

But why is that? My only guess can be is that this is another case of people misunderstanding symptoms of psychotic episodes.

When someone is going through psychosis, reality becomes distorted. You are unable to think or act correctly. Every day is waking up in fear, paranoid that something is going to come get you. It becomes difficult to distinguish what is real and what is not real. You don’t trust anyone, and you have the feeling of constantly being watched. Every day is a waking nightmare, and every night is a battle to fall asleep. It’s impossible to run away from your delusions, and they follow you everywhere you go like some festering parasite that only grows stronger over time.

Basil’s mind has clearly deteriorated throughout those four years. It only makes sense his paranoia and delusions became worse over time, eventually evolving into full psychosis; auditory, visual, tactile hallucinations… its made explicitly clear in-game that Basil suffers from all of these.

As represented by Basil’s SOMETHING, he is quite literally being eaten alive by his guilt and paranoia.

Now, as for anyone who has dealt with psychotic breaks, you’ll know that pushing away those thoughts only make them worse. Which brings me to my next point:

Basil is not obsessed with Sunny. He quite literally has no choice but to think about him. I truly believe he tried pushing away any reminders of his trauma, and I imagine during his first year alone, he tried giving up on the idea that Sunny would be there with him so they could have each other’s backs. He most likely tried moving on and living life as normally as he could.

But that’s not how PTSD works.

Basil’s trauma, no matter how hard he tried to push it away, haunted him every day—thus, Sunny haunted him every day. Every day, Basil’s paranoia had been reminding him of what happened, who was there, and what was promised.

This is what leads him into his psychosis, and his haunted perception of Sunny.

When Basil finally sees Sunny for the first time after four years, he’s not happy. He’s more-so nervous than anything else.

Sunny is a reminder of his trauma, and it’s made clear Basil isn’t ready to face him given he never wants to join your party.

(Displaying disoriented speech)

When he finds out that Sunny came out after all these years just to leave again (he didn’t even hear it from Sunny), of course that would trigger a psychotic response; thus, Basil retreats into the bathroom and manically repeats the phrase that’s gotten him through those four horrid, lonely years.

(Repetition of words/rumination)

While hallucinating as Sunny seemingly enters the bathroom to comfort him after all these years, he’s left alone again to be consumed by his paranoia. This goes on for the remainder of the game; Basil actively avoiding the party and staying inside, believing there is no hope left for him or Sunny.

(Foreshadowing suicidal thoughts)

And then his grandma passes.

Something interesting is that every interaction with RW Basil always leads to a fear response from Basil. Even if the incident from four years ago is never brought up, it’s obvious it’s constantly on his mind (again, psychosis consumes your every waking thought).

(he immediately becomes paranoid around Sunny, talking about Mari, unprompted).

And then there’s Basil’s meltdown.

(Hostility)

Some more symptoms of psychosis is sometimes having to deal with bouts of aggressiveness, word repetition, restlessness, and of course, frenzied/incoherent speaking.

When these meltdowns happen, it often reveals innermost thoughts and/problems, but in a more panicked sort of way. With that said…

I believe Basil’s dialogue in this scene reveals how he truly feels about Sunny.

Taking on the responsibility of hiding a horrid truth, all by himself, for four years—the guilt, paranoia, hallucinations getting worse and worse—and then finding out that the only other person who knows about this horrible sin is about to leave you again; but this time, forever. It’s cruel, and I don’t blame Basil for feeling some type of resentment towards Sunny.

(Part of me views Sunny losing his eye as punishment for his sins, but that’s just me).

Conclusion

I guess what I wanted to get across was that I’m sick of seeing people mischaracterize yet another psychotic character as nothing but a creepy yandere. I find it insulting to those who have gone through either short or long term psychosis (including me), and any of those who may still be dealing with psychotic breaks. I really want to see the fanbase do better, especially when this is a game that can be seen as mental health awareness.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t horribly saddened by OMORI’s neutral endings. Seeing Basil commit suicide and succumb to his psychosis is scary, and it’s something so many people dealing with mental illness fear every day. It’s a reminder of what could have happened to me had I not gotten the support and help I needed (meds, friends, family).

Afterthoughts

I don’t think Basil hates Sunny. Does that mean They should continue being friends? Well, maybe; exposure response therapy is usually helpful for dealing with things like this, and if Basil were to continue avoiding Sunny like the plague I believe it would only make his mental health worse (also of course Basil shouldn’t have stabbed out Sunny’s eye but my boy was hallucinating throw him a bone).

In reality, I think Basil just wants things to go back to the way they were, just like everyone else does. It’s very clear given the context of the game that Sunny and Basil have a special bond (“a red string of fate”).

If anything, I believe Sunny is more obsessed with Basil than Basil is with him, but that’s a different post for the future.

…and don’t even get me started on how Sunny told the truth then left Basil to pick up the scraps and deal with the aftermath of his friends.

…and no, I still have no idea what is up with Basil getting the idea to hang Mari.

#omori #omori basil #omori sunny #omori analysis #omori spoilers

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strixcattus · 1 month

Text

Chapter II: Scorpion/Frog

This is new.

History

This is new.

Most of the cabins Cold has seen were in ruins, or close to it, in all appearances having stood unoccupied for years. This one is… not.

It almost looks as though it grew into its shape, its walls a tangle of roots outlining windows and doorways. The roots disappear into the packed-earth floor and coil around a muddy shelf where the blade, as it occasionally does, is perched. The door forwards looks ill-fitting in its frame, and the hinges and handle almost look like they’re formed from some sort of cord.

This is new. Which means there’s probably something new to do here.

How fortunate.

He takes a moment to consider the blade. That heroic one always used to say it gave them more options, didn’t he?

He’s not here this time. Neither is the Narrator, come to think of it. And Cold is in his own body instead of watching through that other one’s eyes. That’s new, too.

May as well take the blade. It’s always worth it if it gives him more new things to try.

The stairs down are as much of a tangle of roots as the rest of the cabin. It’s not surprising, though it is unfortunate. If he were going to be dropped into a new cabin, couldn’t it have been one with more to see?

“Something nasty finds itself on my stairs,” the voice of the Princess calls from somewhere below, and Cold freezes.

This… is new. All the other Princesses he’s met didn’t deign to start talking until he was face-to-face with them.

“Why don’t you come down so I can take a look at you?” the Princess asks. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Is he supposed to say something here? He supposes it doesn’t really matter. If this cabin is like the others—and it will be, eventually—he’ll get a chance to try again. And again, and again, and again.

“No talking, then?” she continues. “Fine. I don’t need to hear your voice to know who you are. Come on, let’s… chat.”

Let’s.

Cold descends the final few steps into a cavern of roots. Of course. The Princess crouches at the other end of the basement, one hand tucked behind her back.

She’s more corporeal than most of the Princesses he’s met. Her hair is unruly, with a few loose sticks stuck in it, and a crown of twigs sits atop her head. Her ears are pointy, and a long tail curls behind her, a tuft of fur at its tip.

This is new. Almost interesting, even. Certainly she’s nothing like the Princesses he’s met before, at least in appearances.

She eyes him. “Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there holding that blade of yours?”

That’s right, he’s supposed to talk now, isn’t he? Can’t rely on that other one to do the talking for him? That’s new. And not necessarily in a good way.

“I’d rather not stand here forever, no,” he says. That’s probably a good start to a conversation, right?

The Princess tosses her head. “Good! Neither would I.”

And now they’re at a standstill again. He’s listened in on a little conversation in his previous experiences, hasn’t he? He ought to be able to have a little back-and-forth with her, right?

“Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?” he asks. This is almost frustrating. How did that other one keep this sort of thing up?

The Princess’s face splits into a grin. “Dropping the facade, are we? How about this: You don’t kill me, and you won’t find out what happens if you try.”

That is hardly a fair trade. “And what if I want to find out?”

“Then try me.” The Princess leans forward, teeth bared in an expression that only somewhat still resembles a smile.

Well. If she wants him to “try her,” he’ll just have to oblige.

He’s halfway across the room before the Princess even seems to realize he’s begun to move, knife grazing her shoulder as she ducks out of the way. As he turns to finish the job, a handful of dirt sprays upwards from the floor of the cabin, spattering his veil with dust.

In the moment it takes for him to shake the occluding particles away, there’s a clatter of chains, and once he can properly see again, it becomes clear that the shackle which ought to have been around the Princess’s wrist is now lying, empty and undamaged, on the ground.

Claws dig into his back from behind, pricking him through his cloak as the Princess attempts to drag him to the ground. He obliges, digging his elbow into her form as he lands on top of her. She wriggles her way out and makes a move to reverse their positions, and he slashes wildly with the blade, noting the moment it hits some sort of resistance and the Princess hisses in pain.

Then her hands have reached around to claw at his face, and he stabs at her wrists whenever his arm is free to do so, and the two of them tumble across the cabin floor, leaving a trail of blood (mostly hers, some his) and feathers (entirely his, unless she’s hiding something) behind them.

This is new. He’s never had the chance for a fight like this one before. Whenever it came down to violence, the Princess had always sorely outmatched him. This is better.

It’s going to get boring soon if this is all she can muster, though. At least he’ll probably die eventually and get to see something else.

The Princess tears herself away from him, crouching at one end of the cabin. The wounds on her look shallower than Cold would have thought. She’s good, if not good enough to actually kill him.

She’s laughing. Why is she laughing?

A creaking begins to emerge from the walls of the cabin, and Cold glances behind him to see that the roots have begun to move, growing inwards to seal off the exit. This is new. Is it the Princess’s doing? Is that what she finds so hilarious?

“Do you hear that?” the Princess spits between cackles. “Those are the roots of the wild, and they’re not going to stop until there’s nothing left in this cabin but them.” She folds her arms as the roots begin to grow into the space between the two of them. “Well? Cat got your tongue? No last regrets to voice before you’re crushed into oblivion?”

Cold blinks. “Why would I have any regrets?”

“Wh—” the Princess stutters. “We’re about to be crushed to death! Don’t you regret trying to kill me now?”

“Not particularly.” A root nudges Cold’s leg, and he obligingly steps out of the way and leans against the wall behind him. May as well make sure he has a comfortable seat to watch the show. “To tell the truth, I’m actually quite intrigued.”

The Princess only sputters as the roots close in further, lifting the two of them off the ground. A shame. He was just starting to get the hang of this “banter” thing.

At first it’s actually quite cozy to be nestled between the roots, even as they force his limbs into place. The Princess stares through it all, mouth agape.

Then the pressure reaches a more respectable level. There’s a pop in one of Cold’s shoulders and a snap around his ankle, spikes of pain shooting out from both locations. The Princess’s limbs, too, are twisted away from her, bones creaking under the strain. She’s going to die the same as him. Was that her gambit all along? Kill them both and hope for a good show when he realized he was going to be crushed to death?

Pity. For her, not him. Being crushed should be interesting enough on its own without anyone trying to make a speech.

Roots push inwards on his ribcage and begin the work of turning his hands and feet into a pulp, pain melting outwards from each pulverized digit. The form of the Princess is slowly warped away from a human shape, red bleeding through every visible inch of her skin.

There’s a root beginning to press up against Cold’s forehead. That’s unfortunate. If it moves too much further, it’ll crush his skull, and then the whole affair will be cut short.

Even so, he shouldn’t complain. This is plenty new, and whatever comes after it is sure to be just as fascinating.

By now the pain is impossible to source, pressing in from every extant part of his body. The Princess’s jaw is no longer open, nor could it be, from the roots pressing in on her skull. Cold’s vision begins to swim red.

I wonder how much longer I’ll get to stay here before—

His train of thought is cut off with a pop. Everything goes dark, and he dies.

He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, his first visual contact, is a tangle of roots. As he sits up and scans his surroundings, it becomes clear that the walls, too, are a tangle of roots. The floor isn’t, but the roots from the walls still burrow into its packed dirt surface.

It’s the same cabin as before.

This is new. And not in a good way. There’s only so much to do in a single cabin, and Cold’s certain he’s already experienced the most interesting of it. Maybe he ought to conserve his choices to make them last as long as possible, if he’s going to be stuck here forever.

Or he could try to leave. He’d never done that when he was with that other one. It could be interesting. It’d certainly be new.

The door to the outside holds fast when he tries the handle. Some experimentation reveals that its hinges, while not the flimsy cords of the basement door, aren’t fully stable, but they’re still stronger than anything Cold can muster up. It’s locked. So that’s why he never left.

The windows are open, though, and easily wide enough to slip through. Cold lifts the blade from the table and slips it into his sleeve in a single, fluid motion, then sticks his head through the window.

Or, he would have stuck his head through the window, if the window hadn’t decided to stop him.

He taps the window with his beak again, then harder when it refuses to budge. Then he slams his forehead against whatever force is keeping him inside, and only receives a headache for his troubles.

Whatever it is, it’s smooth, and barely feels like a thing at all even when he runs his hand along it. And whatever it is, he’s not getting through without a fight.

He grips the blade tightly in his hand and brings it down on the whatever it is.

His arm bounces back violently, pain blossoming through the side of his hand. It’s as though the whatever it is is perfectly content to allow the blade through, but exerts special restrictions on him.

How nice. He’s special.

Whatever’s going on, he isn’t leaving this cabin until it lets him. A classic game of the Narrator’s, one that only ends when the Princess says it does.

He’ll just have to go back down the stairs and see what buttons she has left to press.

The stairs are exactly as they were the first time around, not a remnant of the moving roots to be seen. Has the Princess reset as well? She must have, if the world remains intact.

“Back for more?” her voice taunts before he’s halfway down the staircase. “The first time wasn’t enough to send you running home?”

He finishes his descent in silence and once more locks eyes with the Princess. She’s back where she stood the first time around, hand once more tucked behind her back.

“Still have that blade, I see. So you haven’t learned your lesson?”

Cold shrugs. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do this time.”

She raises her chained wrist from behind her back. “Then let me spell out your options for you. One: You attack me again, and we have a repeat of our little dance. And two:” She lets the chain fall from her arm. “You decide to play nice, and maybe things will be a little less painful for you.”

A little less painful? Not necessarily a reason to cooperate, but being crushed to death probably wouldn’t be as interesting after a few go-arounds. “And what if I do neither? What if I go back upstairs and leave you behind? What happens then?”

“Why don’t you try and see what happens?” the Princess asks with a grin.

All right, then. He’ll try it and see what happens.

He’s just turned to put his foot on the first step when the voice of the Princess comes from behind him. “Wait, you’re not actually going to leave? Even after what happened last time?”

Cold glances over his shoulder. “You said to try and see what happens. I want to see what happens.”

The Princess grits her teeth and sighs. “I was going to crush you again, all right? I would have had the roots of the cabin upstairs crush you just like the ones down here. Curiosity sated?”

…He retreats from the staircase. “Yes. Curiosity sated.”

The two return to their positions at opposite ends of the room. “Well? Are you ready to help me now?” she asks.

This part isn’t anything new. The Princess can’t leave without him. It is new that she’s flesh and blood, though. She can’t use his body as her key out of the cabin, not as though the door would open for him, either. Do they simply need to both be at the door outside?

And what would she say if she learned that they were both trapped? Now that would be interesting.

“All right,” he says. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

The Princess creeps forward, shackle abandoned on the floor behind her. “You’re going to march right up that staircase, and I’m going to be behind you watching your every move. Then you’ll open the door for me, and the two of us will never have to see each other again. Deal?”

Sure. Why not. “Deal.”

He starts up the stairs, and the Princess follows close behind. The roots don’t move from their positions forming the walls of the tunnel back to the cabin—perhaps the two of them really will leave, and Cold will get to see what the Princess thinks of their predicament.

Then clawed fingers dig into his back, and he finds himself falling, colliding with the stairs and with the walls until he and the Princess are both sprawled out along the basement floor.

He doesn’t bother trying to sit up. “What was that all about?”

“What was that about?” the Princess spits. “I was doing what I had to to make sure you didn’t turn that blade on me halfway up. Don’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind.”

It hadn’t. “I could have done that? I didn’t know I could do that.”

The Princess sputters, then there’s the sound of movement from where she landed, cut short by a gasp of pain. Cold attempts to lift himself to take a look, only for his limbs to fail to respond as a spark of pain shoots down his spine.

He’s been immobilized. This is new.

“Well. I guess we’re both going to die here,” the Princess says from somewhere Cold can’t see. “Again.”

“It’s not the same as last time,” Cold argues. “Last time we were crushed to death. This time we have broken spines. It’ll be a lot slower. We’ll probably starve… or is it thirst that happens more quickly?” That tiny one ought to know, what with his obsession over preventing any harm to their physical body. He’ll ask the next time he sees him, if he remembers any of this by then.

If he ever gets out of this cabin.

The Princess huffs. “Stop talking about how long it’ll take to die. I’d like to waste away in peace.”

That’s fine. He didn’t have much more to say, anyway. Maybe he’ll try stabbing her in the back the next time around, just to see what it feels like.

He awakens in a cabin. The ceiling, as before, is a tangle of roots, and so are the walls. The blade is back in its position on the dirt shelf.

When he stands, there’s a faint ache in his back, but it fades quickly enough. No doubt the Princess is in a similar situation.

He takes the blade without a second thought. Maybe he should stab her in the back this time. It could be fun. It’d definitely be new. But then she’d probably fall on top of him, and the two of them would end up lying on the floor of the cabin with broken backs again, and how many times can that sort of thing happen before it gets boring?

There is something else he’s never had the chance to try. Wasn’t there that one voice who swore up and down it was one of the most entertaining things one could try in these cabins?

Cold raises his arm and flings the blade out the window. It disappears beyond the hilltop before he can see it land.

Well. “Entertaining” may not be the word. It was worth trying, at the very least. Something new. And now the blade is gone, so the only thing left worth trying is heading back into the basement.

The Princess doesn’t utter a word until he’s face-to-face with her, this time. Her arms are folded, chain already lying on the ground beside her. “Well? Back for more?”

“You were the one who killed us last time,” Cold points out.

“And?” The Princess sticks her nose up. “I was acting in self-defense. You had a blade. What else was I supposed to expect?”

It is so, so unfair that Cold had to find out he could have stabbed her in the back after he’d already experienced a broken spine. “And now I don’t. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

The Princess approaches him, tail low. “After you, then.”

“I’d rather not.” He won’t see anything new if he lets her attack him from behind again. “After you.”

“What, don’t trust me?” She leans towards him, lips curled in something approaching a smile. Her canines are particularly long. “Little old me who would never drag the two of us to the bottom of a staircase leaving us both with broken backs?”

Cold looks down at her. “You just did that.”

She shrugs. “I had to try. Can you really blame me after you attacked me out of the blue?”

“It wasn’t out of the blue,” Cold says. “You told me to.”

The Princess’s face freezes for a moment as though she’s replaying their first meeting in her head. “That… was a threat,” she begins, voice shaking. “I was threatening you.”

“I know.”

It takes a moment for the Princess to manage anything except working her jaw in an imitation of words. “Th-there’s something wrong with your brain! You’re not normal!”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say something along those lines.” Cold shrugs. “Are we leaving or not?”

The Princess grimaces. “I suppose. After you.”

“I already said I’d rather not. After you.”

She shrugs. “Can’t fault me for trying. Fine. After me. But I’ll need some insurance first.” She holds out her hand. “Why don’t you hand over that blade of yours? I know you’ve got it hidden away somewhere.”

Oh. That will pose a problem.

“I don’t have it,” Cold begins.

“And you expect me to believe you just left it upstairs?” The Princess folds her arms. “Nice try. Give it.”

“I don’t have it,” Cold continues, “because I threw it out the window.”

Again the Princess is struck silent for a moment. “Do you expect me to believe that?” she snaps, far too late to have nearly enough impact. “Where is it, really?”

As though he would know. “Somewhere in the woods outside. I didn’t see where it landed.”

“You’re really sticking to this story?” the Princess asks. “Fine. Give me that cloak, then, so I know you’re not hiding anything.”

Hand over his cloak? He supposes that’s a logical thing to ask. If he isn’t wearing his cloak and she can see his hands, then she’ll have assurance that he isn’t hiding the blade anywhere, regardless of whether she believes he threw it out the window. There’s no reason he shouldn’t acquiesce.

But… he doesn’t want to. Why doesn’t he want to?

The Princess continues to stare at him, tapping her foot. It almost looks more like an animal’s paw than a human foot, sharp claws glinting in what little light reaches the basement. That’s new, right? The others weren’t like that, right? When they had visible feet at all, that is.

She’s not going to budge until she’s gotten ahold of his cloak, is she.

Cold sighs and shrugs off his cloak. “Give it back when you’re done with it,” he says as he tosses it to the Princess. It’s a completely unnecessary request. He’s a bird. He doesn’t need additional clothes on top of his feathers.

The Princess snatches the cloak from the air and immediately begins rifling through it. Cold blinks as a couple feathers dislodge themselves in her search. “How does this thing even work?” she asks, stretching the hood far beyond what it was meant to accommodate. “Are there any pockets in here or what? And where are the sleeves?”

“The pockets are on the inside. And you could find the sleeves if you were looking at the shoulders.” Cold digs his toes into the dirt of the basement while the Princess continues to tear apart his cloak.

Eventually, the Princess seems to have decided the only way to comprehend the garment is to attempt to wear it, and tosses it over her shoulders, wrestling with the fabric for a moment before one of her arms actually manages to pop out through a sleeve with the sound of tearing cloth.

Something snaps, and Cold can’t tell whether it’s figuratively or literally. He strides across the basement, Princess too occupied with navigating his cloak to notice him until they’re face-to-face. By the time she does react, it’s too late for her to stop him.

He grabs her free wrist—which is currently punching the inside of his cloak—and wrestles it into the opening of the empty sleeve before letting go.

The Princess growls and pulls away, but slips her arm through the rest of the sleeve. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

“I didn’t say you could destroy my clothing. We’re even.”

She huffs, but she’s clearly more focused on locating the empty pockets than arguing. “It’s your fault for not wearing something that makes more sense. How does this even work?”

“I don’t have to explain that.” Cold watches as the Princess turns. The cloak is clearly too long for her, hem dragging in the dust—though, there’s not too much of a reason to care about that, right? It would have gotten dirty either way. They’re in a dirt hole. “Can I have it back now?”

“You weren’t lying about leaving the blade behind,” the Princess begins, hands still in the pockets of Cold’s cloak.

How much longer is she going to stall? “I told you. I threw it out the window. Are you going to give that back now?”

The Princess arranges her face into a thoughtful expression. “I suppose…” She breaks into a grin. “No. After me.” Before Cold can react, she’s already slipped past him and begun ascending the stairs.

He’s never been mugged before. That’s new.

He starts up the stairs, Princess easily keeping her distance. It’s fine. Soon, they’ll both be in the cabin proper, which means they’ll both be trapped in the cabin proper, which means the Princess won’t be able to keep running and he’ll be able to take his cloak back and assess the damage.

Why does he even care so much about this? It’s only an article of clothing, which as established he does not need.

The Princess reaches the top of the stairway and turns back to him. “Thanks for the cloak,” she says as she slams the door.

A lock clicks, somehow. There wasn’t even a lock on the outside of the door.

This, unfortunately, is not new. Why does he always seem to be the only person who isn’t allowed to lock a door?

He can hear the Princess rustling about on the other side. “You weren’t lying about the blade being gone,” she says, followed soon by, “Ugh! What’s wrong with these windows?”

“Don’t you need me to let you out?” Cold asks. “I think that’s how this is supposed to work.” It isn’t, at least not this time, but it’s not as though she needs to know that.

“Yeah, I’ll pass. I’d rather not have to leave with you, especially now that you’re probably plotting ways to get back at me.”

That’s hardly fair. Cold hasn’t gotten to plot even once through this whole ordeal. She’s been the one doing all the plotting. “Can I at least have my cloak back now?”

The Princess laughs. “Trying to trick me into opening the door, are you? Even if I didn’t see through your plot, I wouldn’t give it to you. I’m actually starting to like this weird thing. I think I’ll keep it.”

He wasn’t even plotting! And it would have been a good plot, too, if he’d actually intended it as one. This just keeps getting more and more unfair by the minute.

He’ll have to wait until things reset again. Starvation should set in eventually, or he could try to hasten things. He doesn’t have the blade, but that shouldn’t necessarily make it impossible to speed up the process, should it? He’s got hands. He might try to use them.

He awakens in a cabin before he can attempt anything. Everything is roots, again, just as it’s been for the past three times.

As he raises a hand to adjust his veil—it’s started to slip, somehow—he freezes at what he sees when it crosses his vision.

Or rather, what he doesn’t see. Which is to say his arm is not in a sleeve, which means the Princess still has his cloak. This is… new? Things are supposed to reset whenever they reset. With some changes, to be sure, but everything has been the same in this cabin every other time.

The blade, fortunately, seems to not have fallen prey to the same effect. It’s right on the table, exactly where it’s meant to be, having had the good sense to obey the laws of this world.

The Princess expects him to show up with some sort of plot. When he inevitably doesn’t have one, she’ll concoct one on her own. She’s clearly much better at this sort of thing than he is.

Why is he, of all voices, here, of all places? There would have been much better candidates for this. Surely some of the other voices would have easily been able to outthink her.

But he’s no good at scheming, and he’s about out of ideas. The Princess clearly has no intention of trusting him. And she took his cloak.

He’ll just have to hand the decisions over to her. Maybe she’ll be able to think of something new.

When he reaches the basement, the Princess is grinning. Successfully pulling one over on him—without dying herself—must have put her in a good mood. That, or stealing his cloak.

“I see you’ve got the knife this time,” she says. “Where’d you have it hidden away?”

Is it really so hard to believe he’s capable of honesty? “I already told you. I threw it out the window. It reappeared when I woke up.”

The Princess shows no sign of belief. “What are you even planning to do with that thing? I thought we’d established trying to kill me would only lead to both of us being crushed to death.”

Her eye contact breaks at the sound of metal hitting the ground near her feet. A pretty good toss, in Cold’s opinion, given they’re on opposite ends of the basement.

She reaches to pick up the blade, gaze flicking back up to Cold as though this might somehow be a trap. As though he’d be able to think of one.

Then she crosses the basement, blade in hand, the sleeves of Cold’s cloak covering part of its hilt. He really needs that back.

“I wouldn’t have done that,” she begins once they’re face-to-face. “Why did you?”

“Trade for my cloak back?” Cold asks.

The Princess laughs. “You have to set the terms before you give away your only bargaining chip. Did you not bother to think a single part of this through?”

Oh. Right. He knew he’d been forgetting something.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to care this much about an article of clothing. “I gave it to you because I’m out of ideas. Maybe you’ll be able to think of something new to do, if you’re so intent on scheming against me.”

She stares at him for a moment, gripping the blade. Then she turns it around in her hand and plunges it into his chest.

Of course that would be her first thought. He doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

The Princess must be able to pick out some sort of expression on his face, because she hesitates and asks, “What? Were you expecting something else?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything. I just…” He looks at her. “I’ve already been stabbed. I was hoping for something new.”

She stares at him, mouth agape, as he falls to the floor.

He awakens in a cabin. It’s the same cabin. It’s always been the same cabin.

…Except this time there are shoots of some sort pushing up between the roots of the walls and sprouting from the floor.

And the blade is gone this time. That’s new, though it’s not surprising. If the Princess gets to keep his cloak, surely she can keep the blade as well.

He’ll just have to go down and ask for it back.

The new shoots continue to appear as he proceeds down the stairs to the basement, weaving between the roots that form each step. The basement itself is speckled with green everywhere he can see, and a few beams of light are able to filter through new gaps in the roots of the ceiling.

The Princess is curled in on herself at the other end of the basement, clutching the blade in both hands. Her tail curls around her feet. She hasn’t bothered to take the chain off her wrist yet, or even hide it.

She’s still wearing his cloak. At least it looks like she’s properly buttoned it since stabbing him.

“What do you even want?” she asks, not bothering to look up. “Why do you keep coming back down here? Just leave. You’re allowed to.”

Her voice sounds… drained.

Cold steps closer to her and sits down a few feet away. “I can’t leave. The door doesn’t open.”

The Princess looks up. Her eyes are ringed with red. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m supposed to need you to leave with me.”

Neither of them says anything for a minute, until the Princess speaks again. “I don’t get what’s going on in your head. I killed you so many times, and you never tried to take revenge. I locked you in the basement and you gave me the blade. Why aren’t you angry about all of this?”

“Anger is an unproductive emotion,” Cold says. “It wouldn’t benefit me to feel it.”

The Princess stammers. “Y—you can’t choose not to feel anger. It just happens.”

“Not if you don’t let it. It’s the same with other emotions. Everything’s so much easier once you stop feeling them.”

She laughs, her tone devoid of humor—or much of anything else. “There’s something wrong with your brain,” she says. “Normal people don’t think like that.”

“And why should I care if there’s something wrong with me?” Cold asks.

“I guess…” The Princess lowers her gaze to the blade in her hands. “I guess… you don’t have to. Just… answer one question for me.”

“Why did you give me the blade?”

Again with the interrogations. Is it really too much to believe he’s telling the truth? “I already told you. I ran out of ideas. Trying the same things again would have been boring, so I decided to let you choose. That’s all it was.”

The Princess bites her lip. Her crown of twigs has a little sprout growing through it, Cold notices. “You never lied to me, did you?”

“No.”

For a moment the two of them continue to sit in silence. The Princess is the one to break it, pushing herself to her feet and allowing the chain to fall from her wrist. Cold follows her with his gaze.

She takes a shaky step towards the stairs and glances behind her. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Cold follows her up the stairs and into the cabin. This time, when they reach the top, the Princess steps back to allow him through the doorway.

They stare at the closed door for a moment. If it doesn’t open for either of them, there’s no logical reason it would unlock now that they’re both here.

“You should try it,” the Princess says. “I think I’ve used up your trust.”

It doesn’t actually matter, but fine. Neither of them really has any advantage over the other. Cold steps up to the door and tugs on the handle.

It creaks open.

That’s new.

He steps into the woods outside, Princess on his heels. The trees appear to have been reduced to stalks of black charcoal, and the ground is largely devoid of growth save for a few sparse clumps of grass. The hilltop is ringed with large, thorny vines, and a few red roses sprout right where the cabin meets the ground.

This is when it ends, isn’t it? Hopefully he’ll have his cloak back the next time he’s awake.

He and the Princess stand in silence for a moment. Then another, and another. Nothing happens.

When he turns to her, she’s already looking at him. “This is new, right?” she asks. “It doesn’t normally work like this, right?”

They both already know the answer to that question.

This is new. It might even be the most interesting thing to happen since Cold first found himself awake on a path in the woods.

He doesn’t say that, though. What he says is, “Can I have my cloak back now? Or the blade?”

The Princess just laughs. “Can’t fault you for trying, I guess. Maybe I’ll give them back later.” She starts down the path into the woods. “Or not. Come on, I want to see what’s out there.”

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the cold #the witch #stp fanfic #fun fact: by word count this chapter is TWICE AS LONG AS FEAR/SAFETY

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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Flowers By Your Grave

Unnamed Male YAndere x G.N Reader

Summary: when your best friend dies, you’re given a flower from his garden. A slightly different look at the hanahaki disease.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: light body horror, death

He had always been a sick kid. The first time you met was a week after elementary began due to him coming down with chickenpox right before the semester began. He wasn’t very good on his feet either. Every other day he’d end up with a new bump or bruise – even going so far as to break a leg that never healed properly. An all around klutz, but at the end of the day he was still –your best friend.

The funeral was small; the only people that showed up were his parents, a few teachers – and you. You stare at the coffin where he lied. From where you were, you couldn’t see him, but you had before you sat down. He looked – peaceful. Like he was in the middle of a pleasant dream, reminding you of sleepovers you had before he died. It is what you hope for him to have – knowing how much he suffered.

It began with a cough. Years had passed since you first became friends, budding into young adults during high school. He had gotten into an argument with his parents – how they regretted every squabble to this day. You came in to save the day, distracting him from his woes with a trip to a local mall. While it stormed outside, you had a wonderful time in each other’s company. You saw a movie, got ice cream, found matching bracelets together. When it was time you head home, you gave him your jacket so the weather wouldn’t dampen his mood; promising to stay with him through thick and thin. When he got home, he complained that his chest hurt; thinking it was the beginning of a cold.

You never got that jacket back. He jokingly claimed he wanted to be buried in it, but here we were today. You couldn’t do it anymore. After the ceremony was over, you grabbed your things and got ready to go. You couldn’t see him being lowered down.

“Y/n?”

His father catches up with you before you leave, his eyes red and voice hoarse. He was glad to see you, even if briefly. If there was anyone hurting more than him, it was you.

“Are you heading home?”

“Yeah I, um…” You clear your throat. “I just need some time alone.”

“If it’s not too much trouble. I have something for you. “

Somewhere during middle school, your dear friend had picked up a new hobby. A community garden had been put near the school, and overtime it would become where you found him each morning. At first he was only interested because of a small comment you made, but he eventually came to love it himself and found out he had a bit of a green thumb in the process. At first it was just keeping the flowers in his house alive, then working on a small garden in his backyard. He even managed to get you to grow a few in yours as well. His first confession was with a bouquet of flowers grown just for you.

And then there you were. Holding a vase with one of said flowers growing from its soil. It was a white, red tinted on the edge of each petal. His father told you it was the last one he ever grew. That he wanted you to have it – as his closest friend. It came with a letter as well, one that would be shoved into a drawer the second you got home.

When you got back, the first thing you did was check the flower's health. The rose’s petals had begun to wilt slightly, neither of his parents doing much else besides giving it water every other day. It was nothing you couldn’t fix given time.

All you can think about for the following hours is him. Promising he’ll get better; hacking up blood seconds later, refusing to tell you what his illness was. He always tried to keep you in good spirits. You were never going to be apart – soulmates. A guilty consciousness would follow you for the rest of your days. You weren’t there when he needed you most, afraid of him uttering words he had countless times before. Your thoughts travel to the flower. In your moments of regret and grief you swear to take good care of it. And so you do as such.

You clean its vase; adding a mixture of vinegar and sugar to its water until you bought some proper food. It stayed on your desk, gaining its needed sunlight while still being in a place you could keep it close. It returned to better health in no time, an honest surprise to you. You had flowers in your yard for a while, but never really thought you were good with the keep. He taught you everything you knew.

With time, the flower is ready enough for you to put it with the others. You carefully loosen it from the pot and drop it in the hole you made, dirt gathering under your nails as you refill it. You remember doing this with him. Pushing small mountains of soil together, your dirty fingers brushing against one another. Tears well in your eyes. You wipe them away with a sad smile, watering the rose along with the rest of your garden. You notice that the others appeared to be wilting as well.

The following weeks are difficult, but manageable. You balance taking care of your garden and the other aspects of life, focusing more on the former. Your other flowers just kept getting worse, no matter what you tried. You contacted a few floral shops, but they only gave you information you already knew. On the other hand, the rose was faring well; colors vibrant and standing tall. While you were upset about the rest, at least this one was okay.

Coming home one day, exhausted from work, you shuffle to the back door with a watering can in hand. It had now been a month since your friend was gone. The wound was still fresh, but you had to keep moving for yourself – and him. You douse his rose in the fluid, roots drinking it up like a thirsty man. It grew far beyond expectations; petals full like a head of cabbage and stem like a small trunk. You don’t know if they usually got that big, but you were happy. You kneel beside as you set the can on the ground, placing your hand over the patch of soil.

“I hope where you are.. that you’re happy.”

Later that night, as you get ready for bed, the wind knocks at your window. Tired as you may be, you swear it carries a message in the form of a whisper.

More time passes, you continue on. You spend less time in the garden, but still give it proper care. The rest of the flowers are on their final leg, yet you still try to bring them from the brink of death. The rose tilts under the weight of its petals. You nearly trip over an exposed root one time as you tend to its thorns. Was that normal?

In the coming days, you simply admire the rose’s beauty. You could see why your friend loved them so. It was like something from a picture book. White as snow, decorated with a touch of red. Crimson – blood like.

As you inspect the bud, you notice something – off within its center. Like a pearl in an oyster, it bulged out to where you could vaguely make out the shape. You pull it out. It was off white, flat, and covered something at one end that looked like – gums. A tooth.

You drop it instantly, scrambling away until your back hits the wall of your house. You stand on trembling legs, staring at the small tooth on the ground. Without a second thought – you run inside.

When you build up the courage to go back outside, the tooth is nowhere to be seen. You check the rose for more, but find nothing. It does little to ease your mind. It felt so real. The jagged edge, the slime of saliva. You wanted to throw it out, but you couldn’t.

You start to forget to water it, but that doesn’t stop its growth. More teeth appear, vines and thorns growing far beyond the reaches of where it lies – twisted in some places to bend into odd shapes. The other flowers were completely gone at this point, but you didn’t care.

At night, you hear knocks and scratches at the windows – rattles at the door, but when you go to check it out there’s nothing. It’s always nothing. He still whispers out to you.

The rose continues to grow, taking form. The voices continue. Screeching, rasping, begging; for you. Just like he did. You couldn’t find the strength to terminate it yourself, nor will to call someone else.

Eventually you break. You shattered and finally opened the drawer left abandoned months prior. It was the least you could do. Bring some closure to you both. You run your thumb beneath its lips, reading the contents of the page within. The letter of his suicide.

“Hey, Y/n,

I’m writing from my bedroom. The doctors let me go home since there isn’t much time left. Did you know I kept the cast you signed when we were little? I kept everything you gave me, which is why I’m dying now. Don’t blame yourself. This was my choice. If I can’t have feelings for you, then it’s better this way. I’m leaving you with the first flower I was able to keep. It was so hard to get one that’s intact when they’re coming out of your throat. I had to cut it out, but it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurts anymore, since I know we’ll always be together.

I lo-"

You crumpled the paper up. No. No. You were so tired of hearing. It hurts too much now, salt in wounds already bleeding profusely. Maybe if you had just gone on one date you could have seen how he felt, even if it was just a fraction of it. He gave up so much to be with you; you both did, but you just couldn’t look at him the same way he did you. An absolute obsession. His only desire to be eternally yours, and you the same.

The glass door opens. Feet shuffle through your house, the pull of vines along your floor. Hunting your location, it finds you. Its body was made of thorns and roots, smaller flowers blooming along its frame, able to blossom with your care – your love. Exposed teeth grit at the open air, chittering as it opens its jaw; covered partly by the manly petals that made up its head. Pure white as always. It draws near, dragging one leg beneath the other. Sight less, it gazes upon your curled form in the corner. It kneels, grabbing your shoulders. It presses its mouth to yours, hard teeth caressing your gentle lips. It mutters four single words as it pulls away. Ones you hoped to never hear again.

“I love you…. Y/n.”

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gloomiebearwritings · 2 years

Note

How would Kuai Liang, Kabal, Hanzo, and Erron black react to finding their s/o after being abducted? Your mk posts has me sighing and if you are comfy with it, I would love to see how you think they would be with this happening. Thank you💕

Sure thing!! Hope this works for ya! ❤

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

Kuai Liang

When he finally found you, he broke, whispering your name before rushing to you, putting a wall of ice between the two of you and everyone else once he has you in his arms

He had dark bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights he had as he searched for you and those who took you; the latter being dealt with by those he brought with him

He never meant to become so vengeful, but you were far too near and dear to him to waste a moment in time not searching for you

His arms were around you in an instant, holding you as tight to him as he could without hurting you and softly whispering to you it was safe again, apologizing profusely for failing you. You, the love of his life, were taken away so swiftly and he will never let himself live it down. Regardless of anything he’d pick you up and carry you to safety where whatever injuries you have can be properly taken care of before he takes you home.

Even after some time has passed since it all happened, he makes sure no one slacks on keeping a better eye on those around, not even letting himself lax for too long especially when you’re both outside. The only time he allows himself to finally relax is when he knows those who took you are fully taken care of and don’t have a chance to come back.

Kabal

He cut down anyone responsible for taking you without hesitation, not giving a damn if they were directly responsible or just associated with those who were

No real thoughts ran through his head besides wondering how he could have been so stupid as to think no one would try anything

He never stopped searching, even if he grew more on the ragged side from not sleeping much; in his mind a couple of dark bags were nothing compared to you not being safe

Once he had you in his arms he could finally breathe again, the tightness he had felt the whole time finally dissolving; his voice however was still gone. Apologizing over and over between kisses to your forehead, promising you he’ll never let anyone in like that again. As he took you to a safer location, he kept telling you he couldn’t believe that he let his guard down like he did, that he should have known someone would try something eventually.

The rest of the Black Dragon, even months later had to deal with his constant watch; but no one had the gall to try telling him to chill after he landed a few people over time in the infirmary. Your safety means more to him than that of the ‘idiots’ he deals with daily and reminds both you and the others of that.

Hanzo

He was physically ill the whole time he searched for you, unable to bear the thought of losing yet another in his life; only feeling free once he had you again

Despite his best efforts his past came back to haunt him, the fear of losing you too drove him letting slip his vengeful nature

He cared little for those he cut down, seeing them in his way as a painful fragment of the past

Finding you was his moment of relief seeing he hadn’t completely lost you; that he could take you home and make sure no one can hurt you again. There was no one left of those who had taken you by the time he had you in his embrace; him promising you he made sure those who were responsible were gone. His guilt over what happened made it hard for him to speak, what little he did get out being hushed and quick as he tried to hold back the tears.

He never truly became comfortable again, sure his home was safer than it was before, but you were taken from him too easily he felt. So, he kept as close an eye on you as he could without invading your space, telling you he just worried for you even if those people were gone.

The moment you were taken from him was the moment he stopped caring about what others thought of his actions

Not once did he care how little sleep he got, or how many people became afraid of him for his actions

You’re his world and he’d decorate everyone involved in harming you with new holes, all without a care for who it was he was getting rid of

His senseless violence only stopped when he finally had you in his arms again, his grip trembling from his waning anger and overwhelming joy. He’ll make sure you’re not too wounded to get back home safely before taking you anywhere else, not wanting to be the reason you get worse if you’re too hurt. While not admitting it openly around anyone he shed silent tears when he held you so close again.

As time passed, he became a little less paranoid, but still stayed rigid when newer people or those he didn’t quite trust were around you two; often telling off those he finds too suspicious. He’ll even train you to use his old pistols, reminding you that you never have to hesitate, that he’ll take care of any consequences later.

#my works #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #erron black x reader #hanzo hasashi x reader #erron black #mk hanzo hasashi #mk scorpion #mk x reader #mk sub zero #mk kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #mk kabal #kabal x reader

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cuddlepilefics · 4 months

Text

SKZ Season Greetings - 15

Change of scenery

Seungmin had eventually cried himself to sleep in Changbin’s arms, despite Felix’ coughing in the room next to his. Jisung’s heart ached for his twin as he sat on the couch, nibbling some apple slices. Him and Hyunjin had confirmed that his fever was slowly going down, so he should hopefully get over his illness like Changbin and Jeongin soon too. Hyunjin had made it his mission to ensure that Jisung would continue to take it easy to avoid another relapse. “What are you planning to do when you finish that apple?”, the dancer asked softly, as he scrolled through social media. His feed was filled with holiday-themed posts and he couldn’t help but feel jealous, still being too sick to go out and enjoy the season.

Clearing his throat, Jisung admitted: “Don’t really know yet. I’m most definitely done sleeping for a while but I don’t want to make the same mistake again. My mind is telling me that I have no right to be lazy now that I’m doing better but….” – “You’re slowly getting better but that doesn’t equal being better”, Hyunjin pointed out, sniffling into his sleeve, “Don’t let your mind guilt-trip you into working yet because we know how that ended the last time.” Jisung hummed in agreement. No matter how frustrating it was, he should probably refrain from working a little longer.

“Do you have anything you wanna do today, hyung?”, Jisung pouted, hoping the older would have an idea for a distraction, so he wouldn’t feel too guilty about not working. Hyunjin shrugged: “I thought that I might paint something, you know, craving the Christmas spirit. That would mean, having to go over to our dorm though and I don’t wanna be there all along while everyone else is here.” – “I could come with you”, the rapper offered, trying to not sound too eager, “I’d gladly keep you company but you’d have to let me watch or else I’d get bored out of my mind.” Laughing tiredly, Hyunjin agreed: “You can watch me paint. Maybe we can listen to music together but no singing, okay? Your voice still sounds really strained.” – “Deal”, Jisung beamed, “Let’s head over right away? We can leave a note for the others, so we don’t have to wake anyone.”

That was exactly what the pair did, though it took them a bit longer to actually leave because Hyunjin kept fussing with Jisung’s scarf for a couple of minutes, making sure it covered his neck well. The cold air made Hyunjin’s eyes water and his nose run, so his dongsaeng linked their arms to guide him while he miserably sniffled into a damp wad of tissues. As soon as Jisung unlocked the door, Hyunjin kicked off his shoes and blindly stumbled to the bathroom to trade the soaked tissues for fresh ones and to properly tend to his runny nose. Jisung took the opportunity of being back at own dorm to change into a fresh set of clothes that actually belonged to him before going to check in Hyunjin. “I’ll start to set up my stuff in a moment”, the dancer promised after blowing his nose for the second time. He was just recovering from a short sneezing fit, triggered by his first attempt at blowing his nose, and the short walk through the cold had certainly drained him.

Jisung had flopped down on Hyunjin’s bed, laying on his tummy and playing games on his phone while the older set up his art supplies. It had been a while since he last had the time to paint something. Stay would certainly be happy if he could post a seasonal painting. Maybe that could be his Christmas present for Stay if he was too sick to really be active on bubble. This gave him a chance to still do something nice for their fans and if forcing Jisung to keep him company would keep the rapper from working himself sick again, that’d be even better.

What Hyunjin hadn’t expected to be such a bother was his nose. He almost snapped at Jisung when the rapper had broken into giggles somewhere along the line. “I’m sorry”, Jisung choked out between giggles, when he saw the annoyance in Hyunjin’s eyes, “I’m sorry, hyung, but you got some paint right there.” He motioned to the tip of the dancer’s nose, plucking a tissue from the box. Approaching Hyunjin, he caught his wrist and chuckled: “Hold still, you’re making it worse.” With how red the dancer’s nose was, Jisung was afraid he’d hurt the older if he rubbed the paint off too harshly but his light touch brushing against the tip of his nose tickled badly. Drawing a sharp breath, Hyunjin’s eyes flooded with itchy tears while the back of his sinuses tingled. He scrunched up his nose and squinted at Jisung, hoping the younger would get the hint and hurry up. “Don’t touch your face, I got you”, Jisung promised, glancing at his hyung’s paint-covered hands. He carefully cupped the tissues over Hyunjin’s nose when the dancer’s breath hitched.

The force with which Hyunjin pitched forward, certainly took Jisung by surprise but he made sure to hold the tissues in place. He watched incredulously as his hyung’s eyelids fluttered shut for the fourth time. “Done?”, the rapper asked worriedly, not used to Hyunjin sneezing more than once or twice. He didn’t get a reply, just the older panting with a distant look in his eyes. After the fifth sneeze Hyunjin finally sniffled: “Ndow I’b done. Sorry.” Shushing him quietly, Jisung wiped his nose with the tissues before grabbing a few more. Instructing the older to close his eyes, he gently wiped over his tear-dotted lashes before covering his nose again. “Blow”, the rapper whispered, gently cleaning his friend up, making sure not to irritate his sensitive nose further. “Thank you, Ji”, Hyunjin sniffled tiredly, as he glanced down at the paint on his fingers, “Quokka for the rescue.” Giving the older a crooked smiled, Jisung hummed: “No problem. Be right back.”

After disposing of the tissues, Jisung quickly went to wash his hands. Hyunjin already started to wonder if the boy got lost on his way back because it took him so long to return but when he did, he was carrying a pot of tea along with two cups, so they could share a hot drink. While Jisung poured them a cup each, Hyunjin went to wash the paint of his hands, glad to take a break from painting for a bit because it was starting to aggravate his headache. Cuddling together on Hyunjin’s bed, the pair sipped their tea and startled when Jisung’s phone rang. “Hey, I just found your note. Did the two get tired of us?”, Minho teased. Laughing softly, the rapper explained: “Hyunjin-hyung was the only one awake and he wanted to paint something. My fever went down quite a bit and I got bored, so I tagged along to watch. How are things going?” – “Well, Lixxie is completely knocked out, that’s for sure”, Minho hummed, “That makes it easier to keep Chan in bed though because I can convince him to stay with Lix. Changbin and Jeongin are both awake and feeling better but they’re keeping Seungmin company. Innie said Min is really restless and emotional, so… it’s good he has someone.” – “And how are you, hyung?”, Jisung whispered over the phone, not missing how the older failed to give an update on himself.

After a moment of silence, Minho sighed: “Not much different. ‘m still really sniffly, my head hurts and the fever just doesn’t want to go down. I napped with Chan and Felix but now I can’t sleep anymore and don’t want me being restless to wake them.” – “You wanna join us, hyung?”, Hyunjin offered. “Oh, hey, Jinnie”, the older smiled, only now becoming aware of his fellow dancer listening, “If I wouldn’t be a bother….” Hyunjin and Jisung exchanged a look before the dancer scolded: “We’ve been over this, hyung, haven’t we? You need to stop always assuming you’d be a bother to people. You’re more than welcome over here. If you could do us one favor though… We’re running out of tissues because we only stocked up your dorm, assuming we’d only be there, so….” – “Yeah, sure, I can do that”, Minho chuckled, “I’ll be over in a bit and I’ll bring tissues.”

It didn’t take long till the front door clicked and Minho shuffled in, kicking off his snowy boots. There were still some snowflakes in his hair and he shuddered as he shrugged off his coat. With trembling hands he plucked a tissue from the box he was carrying and caught two stuffy sneezes in it before wiping his cold nose. Jisung emerged from Hyunjin’s room after hearing the commotion and made his way over to his hyung with a wide smile. Throwing his arms around his shivering hyung, Jisung hugged the older tight and offered: “Do you wanna pick a blanket from my bed? You could get all cozy when you join Hyunjin-hyung and me. I’ll just go and grab a cup for you. We have tea in his room.” Minho nodded gratefully, happy to get a change of scenery despite feeling just as sick as he had these past few days.

#fanfic #fluff #comfort #fanfiction #sickfic #stray kids #sick #skz

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oh-gh0st · 9 months

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um. hai......... publicly posting about them now (wow! be Quiet). ill give context under the cut (hope u guys like reading ^-^)

so its the first year that ghost is living in akatsuka and as per annual tradition the town hosts a festival to celebrate their shrine. choromatsu asked a week prior while hanging out with ghost on their library shift if they were going to go, but they told him they were still thinking about it. it was sort of obvious they weren't because they got annoyed whenever he asked. like they didn't even want the topic brung up… he was a little disappointed because he wanted to see them there, but they didn't seem like they were interested. afterall they had declined plans to hang out previously because they weren't that much of a social-lite. imagine his surprise when they said they would go! oh he was over the moon when he got home that day…. his brothers were quite pissed at him for subtly rubbing it in their faces, but they were also a bit jealous. ah well.

he was awestruck when finally met up with them outside their home. they had a muted, deep crimson yukata on with a very pale green obi tied around their waist. they looked amazing… he had a hard time keeping his eyes off of them the whole night when they walked around. obviously im not going elaborate, but you know what i mean…. coughing. anyways at the end of the night the town hosts a big fireworks celebration to honor the shrine. choromatsu asks ghost if they would like to join him and his family. theyre hesitant, but they do eventually agree. they decide to go back to the family a bit earlier than the other brothers, and this is where matsuyo gets intoduced properly to ghost. as a mom is, she's all over them, absolutely adoring how pretty they looked.

the rest of the siblings arrive, and theyre all teasing choro for bringing a "girl" over to the family blanket. after a bit more moments of teasing, ghost gets up and walks off, visibly annoyed. after scolding his brothers for teasing, he gets up and follows ghost, arriving at the top of the hill overseaing the rest of the families and people. it's a few moments right before the fireworks start. he asks them if theyre alright, and apologizes for his brother's behavior. theyre awfully quiet. theyre usually not this quiet….. hes starting to get a bit worried. 'are you okay…?' '… i need to tell you something.' they start.

choro doesnt say anything back initially because hes enamored with how they look. it helps that it was a clear night and that the moon was out, because the moonlight was hitting their face just right. they looked so cute, but they were blushing like mad. not even a scowl or an angry expression evident on their face…they were staring off to the side. the fireworks are getting prepared, matches lit to light the strings. ghost, in an instant, grabs choro's hands. their touch was warm but cold at the same time, bringing an oddly comforting chill to choromatsu. 'promise you wont laugh. or think it's stupid. please…' he looked down at them, their eyes flicking up to him through their lenses. '…i wont. i wouldnt ever do that, i promise.' he tightened his hands in theirs. the fireworks were about to go off any second now, as the crack of them lighting sounded throughout the area. families and people got ready, the anticipation boiling up to the brim in them.

ghost takes a breath, and stands up straight. they're looking dead at him, but their brows are furrowed upwards. they take a breath and start to speak. choro could feel how nervous they were, as a slight shudder was now noticeable in their hands. And as the first firework shot up into the sky, the ear-piercing sound ringing into everyones ears, ghost spoke. 'i love you, choromatsu matsuno.'

fireworks went off rapidly, loud booms looming throughout the sound of the night. but choro didn't pay attention to a single one of them. his eyes widened as he registered their words, his cheeks rising in heat tenfold. he just stared, too stunned to speak… no it had to be impossible. how could ghost love him if they hated his guts, beat him up whenever they got into an argument… scoffed at him with such a crimson face whenever he was right? but… he liked it. he liked them. liked them more than just a friend… more than just that. when he realized he had been staring for a while, he shook his head and stared at them. his mouth still hasn't closed. he stammered, but eventually found his footing. 'i… are you… you do?' 'yes. i do.' they replied through gritted teeth, looking away again. they were upset… did they think he hated the confession? but he didn't, that's the thing! so, knowing the one thing that wouldn't make them upset, he pulled them into a hug, pressing his cheek against their head. he leaned down to their ear, '…i love you too. i love you so much…' his voice was wavering. he was nervous. ghost stared ahead, now their turn to be stunned. as they processed his words, they playfully scoffed, slowly bringing their arms around his waist. they both stayed like that for a while. they might've missed the fireworks, but this was so much better.

#ghost's doodles #oso san posting #ghostoro #<- dont look at me. filtering purposes. scoffs #god FUCK FUCKING I HATE YOU PEKO FOR GETTING ME TO POST THIS. UURURHGGHGH #i was feeling self-indulgent last night. its one of the many scenarios in which either one of them confesses #ik i talked about a different scenario from the ask game about a week ago. that's prob the canon one..........#im going to throw myself off a bridge don't Look at me.#i need to draw ghost beating the shit out of him as a palette cleanser. i need to see him beat tf up #or ill draw atsutodo. we'll see.#fades out of existence

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genuineapoptosis · 11 months

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Prolonged (Miguel O'Hara)

Characters: Miguel O'Hara x Nb!Reader

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, domestic, mental illness, control issues (or lack there of), alcohol

I genuinely made a new writing blog just for the sake of posting this. Lmao.

Grief is a nasty sort of thing. One that eats at you slowly. Like rust on metal. You don't notice it until bits and pieces start falling off and you know it won't ever be like it was before.

It's one of those nights again.

You were working late. It's always the silence that really does it for him. Creeps into his bones. Makes his stomach turn.

Miguel did try to fight it off. How pathetic it would be having another one of his episodes. Another one of his fits. You never called them that. But he did.

Isn't it funny, how when you need alcohol to fix your shit the most, it just makes it worse? He probably shouldn't have reached for the whiskey. He probably shouldn't have poured himself a glass. And he probably shouldn't have poured another.

He knew you'd be back from work soon. He knew how awful of a sight he might be now. He knew you'd just be disappointed in him. How revolting it all was at the end of the day.

Every last tragedy in his life was his own fault. And every last one that will hit him in the future shall be as well. So when eventually you get tired of his shit, he has to mentally prepare.

And then he'll be alone again. Missing every single person he lost, with the number raised slightly.

Pity is for weaklings after all. He owns up to it all.

The keys jangled as they entered into the outside lock. You were back.

You opened the front door, leaving your things in the hallway and stepping into the living room area. Only to find Miguel sitting on the sofa, staring into empty space. Next to him the evidence of his situation.

You walked in slow, immediately reaching for the bottle so you can put it away. Your action cut of by his own hand wrapping around it. Pulling it back towards him without a word.

"Love.. I thought you weren't gonna do that anymore.." You spoke softly, as if a single wrong sound could offset what you were trying to say.

"Should it matter?" He asked bluntly, placing the bottle besides him but not pouring up another glass. He has yet to turn his face towards you, still staring off.

You sigh, moving in front of him. "It matters to me. You promise you'd deal with it differently."

As if that shoved a knife into his flesh, he looked up at you. Eyes full of malice and spite. "As if you fucking care!"

He realised what he had said once the words had left his mouth. Eyes growing wide as his hands cusped his face. "I'm sorry fuck I shouldn't yell. I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry."

You knew nothing you said could help right now. How could it? This was something you knew you could never truly understand. And you could never truly help him heal.

So you just reached your arms around him, pulling him up to your chest. His body tensed at first, before he wrapped both his arms around your torso. Eventually he relaxed, but you could still feel how rapid his breathing was.

"Was it... -Again?" You spoke with a pause, unable to yet again find the right words.

He squeezes you tighter, trying to gain some stability in doing so. "...Yes..."

"It wasn't your fault." He didn't have to do anything for you to know that he didn't agree with that statement. But you had to try. For him, at least. "I wouldn't lie to you. You know this."

You losened your grip, lifting up his face by his chin so he'd properly look at you. "It's always the hardest when it's something out of our control. Because then we feel like if we tried harder, worked better, we could stop the bad things from happening."

"But you did so much. It's not your fault, love."

You knew it hadn't gotten to him on the level you hoped. But he didn't scoff this time. And he didn't push you away. And that was okay. He needed to take his time and you were willing to give him as much as he needed.

"Can we go to bed? ...Please?"

He asked and together the two of you slowly made it to the bedroom. And together the two of you held each other to sleep. And together, the two of you will make this work.

#miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #atsp #miguel o'hara x reader #my writing #miguel x reader

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wisp-of-chaos · 2 months

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OC Kiss Week 2024 - Day 5

Todays prompt is "Darkness". The little ficled about my and a friend illithid OC's takes place roughly a year after "Lost". Progress is made and issues are healed but some ghosts of the past are stubborn and refuse to leave without a last, nasty reminder that they're still around and not yet done with Vlassk.

As always, my little ficlet can be read here under the cut or at Ao3! Enjoy!

Day 5 - Darkness

Everything was calm and comfortable and shrouded in a cold, gentle darkness.

Vlassk’s mind was quiet and unbothered but stirred when he felt a long, slender claw carefully moving down his back; tracing one of the dark markings near his spine from his shoulder blades to his hips and then …

He twitched ever so slightly. “Stop that”, he giggled and squirmed as clever fingers teasingly brushed over his tails but he made no attempt to escape them, “I’m ticklish.”

“Oh, I know my little slug”, Vlassk heard a familiar voice chuckling and froze; dread rising and gripping on his mind and heart. No!, he thought and snapped his eyes open; fear and denial gathering in his chest and his throat tightened and constricted. No, this can’t be! He can’t be here. He’s- …

Qirilissk laughed. Sharp and cruel and with a dark promise laced into every single noise of it. “He can’t be here because he’s dead”, he voiced out Vlassk’s thoughts and his fingers dug into the soft, tender skin at the small of his back just above his tails; making Vlassk wince and gasp in pain.

Qirilissk laughed again. “Oh you silly little slug”, he cooed with poisonous sweetness as something cold snapped around Vlassk’s neck, “you should know better. I am never going to leave you. Nothing can part us, not even death.”

There was a tug, which had Vlassk choking and gasping as his neck was twisted at a most hurtful angle and pulled around; making his single red eye meet a pair of bright, green ones that smirked down at him with ill intent.

Qirilissk’s tentacles curled with a smile and the corners of his eyes narrowed and sharpened while he moved his hand from his back to his chin; tracing a claw along Vlassk’s jawline and then tilting it up even further; putting some additional strain on his already aching neck. “I will forever be a part of you, my beloved little pet”, he purred and flexed his wrist; making his claws tear and dig into Vlassk’s skin, drawing pale, silvery blood and a soft cry of pain out of him.

“No!”, Vlassk defiantly shot back at him and began to struggle; to wriggle and push against Qirilissk’s hold in an attempt to break free and get away. “You’re not a part of me! You never were and never will be! You tried to taint and corrupt me but never succeeded. You failed!”

Qirilissk hissed disapprovingly and tightened his hand around Vlassk’s face; burrowing his claws deeper into his skin and piercing flesh and muscles alike. “It seems you need a few more lessons on how to properly behave and address you master, slug”, he growled out but instead of cowering, Vlassk only laughed at him; raw and rough but sure of himself.

“Try as you may, but you’ll never break me”, he bit back with equal poison in his voice as he saw in Qirilissk’s gaze.

Qirilissk’s eyes flicked to the side and towards Vlassk’s left, blinded eye for a brief, lingering moment before his tentacles curled some more and his smile turned into a smirk. “But I already did break you, didn’t I?”

Vlassk almost laughed again. “You damaged me”, he corrected him with cold detestation and brought up his hands to push and punch against his chest, but soon enough had them gripped and restrained by a pair of slippery tentacles, “but every wound eventually heals and nothing you ever did was permanent.”

Vlassk saw Qirilissk's eyes narrowing down dangerously and felt his fingers stabbing him deeply, yet he didn’t stop. Never again would he bow and flinch away from Qirilissk’s hollow cruelty. Never again would he give up on fighting him.

“All of your efforts and experiments will fade from the colony’s archive, disappearing into nothingness. You will be forgotten and nobody will remember your name or that you even were born in the first place because all you ever did was sow fear and pain. And nothing of that ever lasts. Your existence was a complete failure!”

Qirilissk’s eyes hardened and his tentacles parted and exposed his teeth in a threatening sneer. He growled deeply and lowly but Vlassk refused to back down. Never again.

Vlassk growled right back. “You are an utter waste of time and brainwaves”, he declared; reached back with one of his tentacles, tensed it and then lunged at Qirilissk. His limb made contact; slapped him hard across the cool, damp cheek and pulled out a surprised “Ow!” out of him that had Vlassk’s mind stalling and the nightmare disappear like matutinal fog.

He blinked his eyes open and into focus and found himself staring at a very sleepy and grumpy Larik rubbing his cheek and giving him a questioning look. Vlassk tensed and nervously knotted two tentacles in front of his mouth. Oh no.

“I am so sorry, Larik”, he said and instantly shuffled closer and carefully pried Larik’s hand off of his cheek to inspect the spot he accidentally punched, “I didn’t mean to. I was dreaming and having a nightmare and- … I’m sorry. Truly. Did I hurt you?”

He gently smoothed a tentacle over the slightly bruised cheek and felt a wave of sympathy and regret rising in his mind and didn't try to mask or hide his concern. He gave Larik’s other cheek an apologetic nuzzle and cuddled closely to his chest; a soft purr rumbling out of his lungs and onto Larik’s skin.

“It’s fine”, Vlassk heard Larik not say but chuckle and felt himself getting pulled closer; his face almost getting squished against his broad, strong chest and let out a small yelp, “I understand.”

He found his frills nuzzled and the top of his head softly kissed and started to melt into the embrace; a small smile curling up the tips of his tentacles and giving his mind a warm, pleasant buzz.

“And besides”, Larik continued, a playful edge sneaking into his voice and mind as he teasingly nudged him, “you need to try harder than that to hurt me, my sweet siren.”

Vlassk blinked; then snickered, flexed his tentacle and …

“Ow!”

#oc kiss week #ockiss24 #oc kiss day 5 #my writings #random rambling #harem au #squidlings au #dnd original stuff #illithids #illithid oc's #vlassk #larik

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residentweasels · 1 year

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Radiohead Songs With Resident Evil Characters

Featuring very few characters this time cus I took the time to apply correctly and describe why I put what..

Equally so, the descs of the songs do not match the actual meanings, I applied meanings that I believe would fit the characters themselves ! Every character got two, and some got a bonus :^)

Chris Redfield -

Vegetable (points towards having done so much for what feels like nothing, repetition in the refusal to stop and to spit at anyone who tries to stop, overall a tired song of someone who is on the cusp of giving up),

(Nice Dream) (The minute hope and joy in one good dream could put a pause on everything else in reality, that one sheer, minimal good thing would be a deal-breaker against what is just another day all the same against what has been a stalemate on earth for as long as he's been around to try and solve it. That if at night, he could sleep and have a good dream it would be what he needed only then.),

BONUS: MAN OF WAR (pretty self explanatory, descriptive of being designed to kill despite the eventual fact of death sooner or later only meaning he'll be food for the worms)

Leon Kennedy -

How To Disappear Completely (after everything done, everything experienced is a hum and a denial that "I'm not here" creating an implication of dissociation towards events, something I apply as a hc but yk. not to mention the idea of moments like that already passing, as if the pause in action could reverberate the worst of it all in a single second),

Street Spirit (expectations of perfection, protection and a steelish way of life that can't keep itself together, broken thoughts become lyrics in this with the slow rising ticking and picking of the song to act as the time being always just out. Mentions of death like a glaring concept as if the mere idea of death being so close isn't a shock much anymore)

Ethan Winters -

Paranoid Android (Applicable lyrics against things he's faced, feelings he has, repetitive notions towards different lyrics, ending off with "God loves his children" bringing back to the catholic part which is a friends hc!)

Fake Plastic Trees (dissatisfaction in a life deemed unreal, sad tones and consistent mentions to being worn out but still going, wishing to just escape)

Albert Wesker -

All I Need (a continuous sentence of indecision, whether things are right or wrong. Putting oneself down and then up again, consistently denying yet desiring someone to love "you are all I need, you're all I need" before it shifts into the rest of the song being "it's all wrong" "it's all right")

Videotape (Depictions and descriptions of hesitation, repetitive audio creates that feeling of being unable to properly finish the beat, the thought and therfore the words against someone who they won't ever see again)

BONUS: Ill Wind (a short quiet echoed song of reverberating the belief that showing emotion could make an ill wind, a cold blow of words that "must not be spoken")

William Birkin -

My Iron Lung (love driven away, consistent tone of something eery, a cynical happiness towards something that really isn't happy, but under the facade of sarcasm/humor in the midst of suffering)

No Surprises (with everything someone can do in a life, there comes a point where you're only living to provide, to leave that lasting mark while making an internal promise to not leave anyone behind who needs them in their life, "no alarms and no surprises" is a quiet, gone feeling of just slipping away, not in control)

Sherry Birkin -

Everything in Its Right Place (repetition, glitched out memories of words, but the tone shift between the pacing and singing makes it feel like a slow moment in a fast scene, constantly dealing with everything at a time with no near end)

Ful Stop (true ignorance is bliss, choosing to know and ignore the wrong you see is its own form of moronic tragedy. This song represents the harsh reality that someone can face, and how destructive it may prove to be if you can't accept the truth. Most of the song is the repeated lyrics of "truth will mess you up" accompanied by a picked up pace in speed of the song as "all the good times" floods over the truth, covering up what should have been accepted a long time ago.)

Excella Gionne -

Nude (Soft, even tones and higher pitches as if it's a calm scene, but it describes a sort of guilt inducing scene, as if the nice sounds of the song are meant to be a false sense of safety to let the 'truth' in, a guilt towards either not being enough, or being too much for someone),

Burn The Witch (a sharp, repetitive song meant to replay a single type of feeling as something builds up, a feeling of confident anger accompanied solely by the idea that its meant to represent a panic attack. The chorus is a break in the pace to be a reminder of the duty, the reminder of being the messenger, the voice of the song)

#resident evil #albert wesker #excella gionne #ethan winters #leon s kennedy #william birkin #chris redfield #sherry birkin #radiohead #modwesker

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possum-socks · 11 months

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Going on my monthly Shadow rant because I am ill please pretty please don’t perceive me when I am Shadow posting this post doesn’t exist don’t read it. TLDR at the end.

Okay so I know we like to discuss what ruined Shadow’s character. Where did things go wrong with this guy? And people often credit this to Shadow the Hedgehog 2005, and it would be redundant for me to explain why. People also credit it to the fans themselves, and how their interpretations and jokes affected how sega wrote Shadow’s character. This is all true, but I don’t think any of this can be called THE moment. I’m sure people have already said this, but they fucked Shadow up the instant they brought him back, and here are my deranged 3 AM thoughts on why:

In Shadow’s first appearance in SA2, he was meant to die at the end. This is not news to anyone. Throughout the events of SA2, Shadow had his grand character arc. He managed to break through the altering Gerald did to his memories, and he remembered his true promise to Maria. Shadow realized what he truly needed to do with his abilities and time on earth, and so he gave his life to save the planet and all the people who called it home. We can see as he knowingly falls to death, that he is content with his decisions, and he is content in knowing that his life will end with the fulfillment of Maria’s wishes and a saved planet. Before he dies, Shadow comes to respect his rival Sonic, and even let’s go of his claims to being the ultimate lifeform (massive character development!) when he comes to feel that Sonic himself is a more worthy being of such a title. And so, SA2, a very character driven story of living and learning throughout life, (it’s literally the main theme), concludes, and Shadow peacefully falls to earth. Sega was so pleased with the events of SA2 that they felt comfortable killing Shadow off, as they felt like his story was properly concluded, and they had succeeded in using his character to express these themes of good vs. evil and learning throughout life.

But! Wow! The fans love Shadow? What are we to do? Retcon his death and develop on his character after his newfound revelations and growth in SA2? Show Shadow as he continues to grow after SA2 while carrying on Maria’s wishes for earth and the lessons he learned? Kind of! But not really! In other words, NO!

They gave him amnesia. They did not just retcon Shadow’s death, THEY RETCONNED THE ENTIRETY OF HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN SA2. WHY?! This is the decision of sega’s that I will never ever understand. Everything he experienced in SA2, everything he discovered and realized, gone. Why did they do this? I do not know. Perhaps they felt like if they brought shadow back after he had already experienced such impactful development in SA2, that they wouldn’t have much room for things to do with his character, but that’s just not true? There was plenty left unsaid in SA2, which is part of WHY fans were so desperate for more Shadow. SA2 still left room for so much that could be done with Shadow, WITHOUT giving him amnesia and making him forget everything first! They just didn’t need to do that! I don’t get it one bit. Giving Shadow amnesia weakened any of the impact that sega was initially trying to achieve with the themes they illustrated through Shadow’s arc in SA2. Why should we care what happened in SA2 if sega doesn’t?

And you could argue that the amnesia is not a big deal, since eventually he does gain his memories back. Yes, he does slowly gain his memories in shadow 2005, after they had already made the decision to give him guns and vehicles and swear while he shoots down humans on a motorcycle with evil aliens. Okay sega. My problems with 2005 are not with the guns and edgy aspects but with the fact that the shadow 2005 game had to happen at all. He shouldn’t have needed to side with an alien bent on world destruction to get his memories, because he shouldn’t have forgotten them at all. Maybe sega just really wanted to give Shadow ptsd over Maria dying again, who knows. Either way, when Shadow has his memories back afterwards, (FINALLY. Plus, is it ever confirmed that he actually remembers everything?) it still often feels as though he was never impacted by those events at all. He still gets portrayed as being obsessed with his “ultimate” status, he still gets portrayed as not having respect for Sonic, and he still gets portrayed as some emotionless macho asshole. The decision to give Shadow amnesia in Heroes made it feel like Sonic Adventure 2 never happened, which is arguably the absolute most important game when it comes to Shadow’s character and who he is today. Instead, it feels like those events were partly erased.

The best they have done with Shadow’s character since then was STH2006. I actually think they did quite well at giving Shadow a convincing arc in 2006, even though they kind of just re-hashed the arc that he already goes through in 2005. At least 2006 didn’t further damage his character. Yay!

I just find it fascinating to think about and wonder if Shadow’s character would be different had they not given him amnesia. Shadow 2005 would’ve never happened, which is probably a good thing! I wonder what sort of Shadow game we could’ve gotten if Shadow wasn’t an amnesiac busy trying to get his memories back. Perhaps sega gave Shadow amnesia in Heroes just so they COULD have it as a set-up for ShtH2005, so there would be a convincing enough reason for why they gave Shadow a Glock. Or maybe it had something to do with the arc they basically just forgot about in which Shadow thinks he might be an Android, which, imo was just another strange decision by sega. Anyway um yeah.

TLDR; I think sega giving Shadow amnesia after SA2 was the worst decision they ever made with his character and sega loves to make Shadow re-experience his trauma! And re-learn lessons he has already learned!!!! Hooray

#im ill please don’t read this please don’t read this #this is just so i can get rid of my brain rot please do not perceive this post #if you think im spouting nonsense i know i am don’t tell me i already know #shadow the hedgehog #Sonic heroes #sonic adventure 2 #shadow the hedgehog 2005 #sonic the hedgehog 2006 #sonic 2006 #sonic the hedgehog

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withlovewriting · 2 years

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Mixed Drinks and Smoke Rings 15: You Got A Friend In Me.

Chapter Fifteen: You Got A Friend In Me

We are the reckless, We are the wild youth, Chasing visions of our futures, One day, we’ll reveal the truth, That one will die before he gets there.

Summary: New to town, you didn’t need a friend, you needed a dealer. Thankfully, a girl from your Narcotics Anonymous meetings knew just the guy.

Characters: Fezco (euphoria) x Non-descriptive Reader

Words: 4,017

Chapter Warnings: Drug use, abusive relationships, mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of mental illness, crude terms in regards to mental illness, gross exes, jealous bitches, no appearance from fez in this but our man is back soon, majority of this is unedited so i apologize for any errors

Series Warnings: Addiction, sexual themes, cursing, abuse (various), smut, drug use, teenagers being fucking idiots. 18+ only, minors DNI

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Masterlist

taglist: @iamasimpingh0e @chelseagirl77 @zeida @thepawn1999 @alanis-altair @purplebtsmagic

The days that followed Mouse's death all blurred together, and you felt as if you had lost any concept of time.

Being on winter break didn't help, and you found yourself awake all night, partying with Rue, and getting high, before passing out and waking up the next afternoon, only to start the cycle again.

Fez hadn't tried to call you, but he had sent a single text. A simple 'I'm sorry' that you didn't think merited a response. He was sorry? Well, good. That night was a hard one, causing you to trip badly, and Rue spent the night holding you until you eventually cried yourself to sleep.

Rue's emergency stash dwindled quickly, and you'd promised her that you'd buy a few extra pills at Devon's to pay her back. You still had a little money stored away that some relatives had sent on your last birthday, and what better to put it towards, if not a great night out with a friend.

You were led on Rue's bed, ignoring the sheer audacity that you had, doing drugs and staying at the house of a woman who had previously questioned whether your friendship was good for her daughter.

Unable to hold it in, you released a giggle, turning until you were upside down on her bed, head grazing the floor as you watched her slowly dance around the room.

A knock came from Rue's door, leaving her to quickly dart toward her bed, jumping on it and nearly sending you off, both of you giggling again.

"Come in!" Rue managed to get out, opening a book in front of her.

Leslie stood in the doorway, observing the situation. She wasn't sure what had got into Rue as of late, but she at least seemed happier. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her daughter actually giggle.

"Everything good in here, girls?"

You lifted your head, accepting Rue's helping hand to pull you up the rest of the way, "Yeah... Yeah. Sorry if we're being too loud, Ms. Bennett."

Leslie pressed her lips together, watching as her daughter skimmed through a book before placing her face into it, "Why are we even doing the reading? It's so boring..."

"Because we have a pop quiz the first week we're back, and Mr Richards is an asshole." You told her simply, turning the page of your book.

Leslie couldn't help but smile, watching as her daughter sighed, but pulled her head up, continuing to read, "You staying tonight?"

Part of you felt bad, wondering if you were putting them out. But Leslie never seemed to worry, in fact, she had offered a few times. You wondered if maybe Rue had mentioned your father to her, but the thought quickly slipped your mind,

"If that's alright with you?"

Sending you a smile, Leslie nodded, "Sure thing. Dinner will be ready in about half hour."

Before she could close the door properly, she stuck her head back in, calling your name, "You can call me Leslie."

You grinned, even after she closed the door.

"You can call me Leslie," Rue mimicked, prolonging her mother's name and making kissing noises at you.

Giving her a shove, you scrunched your nose, "Don't be gross, Rue. That's your Mom."

"Oh, I know that. I just wanted to make sure you did, too."

Giving her another shove, you had to quickly catch her before she fell onto the floor, causing you both to giggle again.

After dinner, you sat watching a film with both Gia and Leslie, curled under a blanket with Rue. Your brain was barely able to keep up with the plot line, feeling yourself coming down. Rue had passed out not even twenty minutes into the film, snoring every now and then as she rested on your shoulder.

You pulled out your phone, ignoring the fact that you hadn't heard anything from your father -- or Fez -- despite not being home for several days, and you'd found yourself living out of Rue's wardrobe.

"I hope you don't mind, but I was grabbing Rue's washing this morning, and I found a white dress that I can only assume is yours. It had a red stain down the front, but I wasn't sure if you wanted it washed. Kinda looked expensive..."

You turned to face Leslie, eyebrows high as you took in her words. The last time someone had done your washing was before your mother left, and for some silly reason, the sentiment had you choked up.

"Oh, I uh... I spilled ketchup down myself after the formal. Burgers and white dresses really don't go hand-in-hand. But uh, no that's fine. I'll be heading home tomorrow anyway, so I'll just chuck it in with everything else."

Leslie nodded before placing a soft kiss to Gia's head and returning her gaze to the TV.

Trying your best to inconspicuously look around the room at each Bennett woman, your heart felt bruised. Although you knew Rue's family wasn't perfect, and a member was missing, you still felt your heart tug for something you missed, something you longed for.

You were certain if you just followed the path that your yearning heart tried to pull you down, eventually it would lead you to wherever your mother was. So you could lay in her arms as she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead as a film played on in the background.

But your mother never really was a very affectionate person. Even when she was there, she wasn't really there.

Turning your attention back to the TV, you tried to blink away the tears that were fighting their way out.

The music was thumping so loudly that the floors were shaking a little. You had absolutely no idea whose party this was, just that Devon had text you the address telling you he could find you there.

So, you and Rue hopped on the train making your way back to your old hometown.

"We'll never find him, this place is fucking huge," Rue's eyes were round as she glanced around the ridiculous-sized kitchen. You knew by the time she'd see the pool, you'd be propping her chin back up so she didn't catch flies.

Houses in this gated neighborhood were basically mini-mansions. You should know, after all you’d spent enough time at Liam's house. Big houses filled with lots of expensive furniture that they hoped would fill the void in their sad, lonely lives. Your parents did the exact same thing.

Except now, your father tried to fill that void with alcohol.

Ignoring the slew of wide-eyed glances thrown your way, you pulled Rue through the throng of people that were loitering around, chatting as they poured themselves a drink from whoever’s parent's very expensive whiskey collection.

"Why do people keep staring at you?" Rue asked obliviously.

Rolling your eyes before sending a sharp glare at a group of teens -- all quickly turning their backs, pretending they hadn't been gossiping about you -- you huffed out a sigh before grabbing two cups and filling them with whatever you could find.

Rue gracefully accepted the drink, but wrinkled her nose when the taste hit her tongue, "Shit, rich people really got no taste."

"It's for display, mainly. They sit swinging their dicks around over who has the oldest bottles."

"That's... Fucking weird, actually."

You shrugged, taking your own sip before resuming your search for your old dealer.

"If this was Fez, we'd just have to find a couch." Rue mumbled, losing both her patience, and any tact that she had.

You grimaced at his name before taking a deep breath, "Maybe he's outside."

After managing to find him, surrounded by a group of girls as he always was, you practically ran to him, the thrill of knowing you were about to get your next high forcing you forward.

"Well shit, didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon."

His deep voice caused a smile to crawl onto your face as he shooed away the girls that surrounded him, all except the girl who was sat on his lap.

"Who's that?" His dark eyes were set on Rue, watching carefully as she looked anywhere but him, arms rubbing her arms.

"Oh, uh. This is Rue, a friend from school."

"You lookin' a little nervous, baby."

Rue's head snapped up at the nickname, eyes boring into the side of your face, but you barely paid attention, "She's fine, Devon. We just wanna get what we came here for, and go."

"How you doin' tonight, Rue?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Rue continued to look around the garden, "I'm fine."

"Devon, c'mon. Don't be a dick."

His attention snapped back to you as you crossed your arms, pushing your breasts together. Men could be very, very simple and -- lucky for you -- easily distracted.

"Fine. What can I interest you in tonight, ladies?"

With the drugs in your pocket, you were rushing toward the door when a shrill voice from the crowd stopped you in your tracks,

"Oh my god, is that really you?"

Rue almost ran into the back of you, her face screwing up in confusion. Before she could ask why you'd stopped, a girl pushed her way in between you, pulling you into an uncomfortable hug.

"I can't believe it. You know, we thought you'd like, died or something. Liam should-"

"Jen, hi. We were uh, we were just heading out. Bit of a rush, sorry."

You tried to pull Rue to your side, but Jen stepped in front of you before you could step forward.

"Oh, c'mon! We haven't seen you in forever. It'd be good to catch up. We all really missed you."

Lying bitch, you thought silently, trying not to allow the memories of her sneaking off with your ex-boyfriend to infiltrate your mind.

"I'd love to, but really, we need to catch our train..." Rue was beginning to get antsy, and you felt like the drugs were burning a hole in your pocket. At this rate, you'd both be sniffing off the sidewalk.

"We got some pills earlier, you should totally stay and hang out for a bit!"

A single brow raised as you turned toward Rue, her eyes darting to yours as a devilish smile broke out across her face.

If there was one thing better than drugs, it was free drugs.

Jen let out a squeal once you'd agreed, pulling you into another hug before she ushered you both along towards where your old friends sat.

After a chorus of 'Oh shit's and 'I can't believe it's you's, you finally sat down, Rue remaining close to you like a shadow, and you could only be grateful.

"So, where have you been? We haven't seen you since... Well, you know."

"Oh my God, Jake, shut up. I'm sure she doesn't want to relive that.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling Rue's knee knock yours as she insistently bounced her leg. You had honestly never been so thankful that Jen couldn't go more than 30 seconds without making the conversation about herself than when she changed the subject, talking about her Christmas plans to fly out to Colorado to ski with her family.

Gnawing your bottom lip, you wondered if Ash's invitation still stood now that you and Fez weren't exactly on speaking terms. Could you even sit across him at the table in his own house after the things he said to you? Did you even want to anymore?

You attention turned toward a guy you'd never seen before as he opened up a small baggy and began to crush up the pills, ignoring Jen's drivle of why she prefers Aspen to Vail -- apparently the instructors were hotter there -- and separated the first line, looking toward you as he gestured for you to take it.

Certain that Rue's leg was going to eventually break off from her body and run on it's own, you nudged her, allowing her to take the first hit. It wasn't long before almost everyone had snorted a line and your body finally started to relax.

Rue had pushed herself back on the couch, lazily bobbing her head to the music as the group tried updated you on the town's gossip, but Jen barely took a breath between sentences, and you were too high to keep up.

"Getting the party started without me? Man, I'm crushed. Heartbroken, really."

Your body froze, a breath stuck in your lung as you willed this to be some fucked up, bad trip, but the greetings from the group forced you to face the hard fact that this was really happening. This was your reality. If only you'd left earlier, if only Jen hadn't found you when she did. If only...

"Holy shit, Liam, look who finally came back. It's like nothing changed." Jen laughed, standing up to pull the boy into a tight embrace.

His brows pulled together as he looked around the group, all color draining from his face as your eyes met.

Jen pushed him toward a chair, and he collapsed down in it without much of a fight before she climbed onto his lap, placing a kiss on his slightly ajar mouth.

Turning to you, she released a high-pitched giggle, "Well, not nothing I guess."

Smiling triumphantly, she returned her attention to Liam and turned his face when she realized his eyes were still on yours, "Baby, c'mon, we saved you a line."

Rue's eyes darted between you and Liam, and if she were more sober, she'd of had the sense to get you out of there. Hell, if you were more sober, you'd of dragged your damn self out of there.

But neither of you were, so you remained sitting as you forced your lungs to work as they'd seemingly lost all autonomy.

"I hope this isn't awkward for you." Jen's eyebrows pinched together, but her tone was nothing less than patronizing.

If you weren't in shock, you would've backhanded her into next week. Instead, you quickly shook your head and peeled your eyes away from the boy who had colossally fucked up your life.

At least, partially.

"It's been a couple of months now, but we're still in the honeymoon phase, right baby?"

Liam grunted, using the excuse of snorting his line to slide her off his lap before finally addressing you,

"You look good."

Jen's smile faltered for a moment, before becoming much more malicious. Turning her attention to Rue, she cleared her throat in an attempt to garner her attention, "So, Rue. How long have you two known each other?"

As usual, Rue shrugged, waving a hand around in the air aimlessly, "I dunno, couple of months."

"So I guess she told you why she left our old school, right?"

"Jen, can you go get me another drink."

Liam handed her his empty cup, and you almost cracked a smile when her lips pressed into a thin line, cheeks tight as she forced a smile in his direction, "Oh. Of course."

Knowing he didn't have much time before the girl returned, Liam's eyes bore into your, "How have you been?"

You wanted to roll your eyes, throw your drink at him, even ignoring him would've been better than the weak 'Fine, thanks' that escaped you.

Nodding, he took the card from his friend, cutting another line as he continued, "How have things been with... You know. Everything."

The last time you'd seen him look this vulnerable was when you were first dating, and he seemed almost scared that he'd harm a single hair on your head. It no longer made your heart skip a beat, instead, you felt it sink into your gut.

Rue turned her attention to you when you didn't reply, "Everything alright?"

"We got what we need... I think we should go."

Rue wanted to argue, but one look at your bouncing leg changed her mind. Nodding, she pushed herself up off the chair, holding your hand to help you up.

"Hey, c'mon, you haven't got to leave-"

"Yeah, we haven't even caught up yet." Jen smirked, returning with Liam's drink, glaring when he ignored her attempt of handing it to him.

Standing up, Liam followed you a few steps before placing his arm on your elbow, trying to stop you. Spinning around on the spot, you yanked your arm from his grip, sending him a disgusted look, "Don't you dare touch me."

Jealously coursed through Jen's veins as she pushed herself between you both, any slither of friendliness gone, "Don't you dare talk to him like that. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She pushed you back a little, shoving you into Rue, who had no idea what was going on, "Who the fuck are you, bitch."

Making her way around you, Rue pressed herself against Jen using her height to her advantage. Rue might not be much of a fighter, but she was definitely protective.

Grabbing her arm, you pulled her back, "C'mon, Rue. This isn't worth it. Let's just leave, please."

"What a good idea. Let the trash take itself out."

"Jen, for fuck sake, stop." Liam pushed the girl away from him, causing her to send him a dirty look.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that crazy bitch was a kink of yours. Maybe she'll let you join her junkie friend and her next time-"

Your blood was boiling, and all you could hear after the sound of your palm hitting Jen's cheek was the blood rushing around your head. Everyone remained silent for a moment, unsure of what to do.

With her hand pressed to her face, Jen's lip wobbled slightly as she turned her head back to you, "You think a psych ward was bad? You'll go to prison for this, bitch."

Your chest heaved as she walked away. Sure, Jen's family had money, but her threat didn't worry you in the slightest. Her words, however, made you begin to hyperventilate. Turning on your heel, you marched through the party, only stopping once you felt the cold night air hit your skin.

"Glad to see your taste in friends has improved."

Rue linked her arm through yours, gently tugging you along to make your way back to the station, hoping to catch the next train home.

The Bennett household was silent by the time you'd crawled into Rue's bed. You should've probably felt bad about spending so much time here, but after tonight you didn't want to be alone. As if she could read your mind, Rue didn't even bring it up as she led you toward her house.

"I have a question," She said into the darkness, not wanting to push you, but curiosity always led her astray, "What did that girl mean? You were in a hospital? Did you overdose?"

Biting at your bottom lip for a moment, you wondered if you could successfully convince her you were already asleep. But it didn't really feel fair. She'd been open enough with you, and over the past few weeks, you'd become a lot closer than you thought possible, bonding over more than just your addictions.

Taking a deep breath, you felt her wrap an arm around your waist as she rested her forehead against you, gently reassuring you, "No, not an overdose."

"Did it have something to do with why you came to town?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to keep your tears at bay. You hadn't spoken a word to anyone about the time between your schools and what led to your move to East Highland. And now you didn't have Fez to share that with, maybe Rue was the next best person.

"Liam, c'mon. This is fucking stupid, just admit it!"

Following him up the stairwell, you didn't want to confess that you were scared to lose him, but you couldn't carry on pretending that you didn't see him sneaking off at parties with other girls.

Pushing the heavy door open, he stalked onto the roof, pacing around, "You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"I've seen you, Liam. Everyone has seen you. It's fucking embarrassing, all of our friends know-"

"What's fucking embarrassing, is having this conversation with you. What I do, is my fuckin' business and you have no fuckin' right to scream at me and accuse me of-"

"You aren't exactly hiding it! Fucking Hell, I'm sure if she thought she could get me out of the way, Jen would tell me herself what was happening."

Grabbing your face in his hand, Liam leaned in close, "Jen is a fucking slut, alright? She'd do anything, with anyone, for a bit of attention. She's just trying to get a reaction out of you, and clearly, it's fucking working."

"I saw you, Liam. I'm not blind, and I'm not fucking stupid, alright? I saw you both. Fuck, you don't even try to hide it."

"Do you blame me? Look at you, look how you're fucking acting. You're an embarrassment."

Pushing his chest, you tried to shove him off your face, which only led to him grabbing your arm, pushing his face into yours, "We all know you're not gonna leave me, so what is the fucking point of this argument?"

He was right, you had no intentions of leaving him when you'd first brought up the subject of him sneaking off during parties, and the fact he'd walked into lunch with Jen, both looking a little disheveled.

"You're a fucking asshole, Liam. A fucking-"

"You think I give a shit? I can be whatever the fuck I want, and not a God damned person is gonna stop me. You can't handle what I do? Then fine, fuck off. You're not exactly irreplaceable, baby. There's a hundred other girls at this school alone who would jump at the chance to ride my dick. You could kill yourself tonight and not a single fuckin' person would give a shit. You're not fuckin' special, understand?"

Tears were flowing, blurring your eyesight as you sobbed. Liam knew how fucked up you'd been since your mother left, and with how he was acting, your father may as well have packed a bag and fucked off too. Liam knew exactly how to fuck with your weakness.

You shoved him again, yanking your arm free from his grip. Between the force of your pull, and the lack of visibility, you felt yourself wobble, not aware of how close you were to the edge.

"What a piece of shit," Rue mumbled into your back, her arm holding you tight.

"A part of me can't blame him for it, I mean, I was a fucking mess and not all of my problems were because of him."

Scoffing, you felt Rue shake her head behind you, "Yeah, but he didn't fucking help. What happened after?"

"I woke up in hospital. They said even though it wasn't too big of a fall, I was lucky I wasn't badly injured. Apparently, Liam had told the police that he had ended things with me because he'd just found out about my drug habits. I went psycho and threatened to kill myself before jumping. The hospital confirmed I had drugs in my system, and with everything going on at home... They believed him. They sectioned me on a 5150 before sending me to a psychiatric hospital for three weeks. NA is part of my outpatient treatment."

"And he got away with it? None of your friends said anything?"

You couldn't hold the laugh in, wiping the stray tears that had begun to fall, "He's a rich, white, American man. Nobody questioned it. And they weren't my friends, they were his. They weren't going to incriminate him, or themselves like that."

"I fucking hate this place," Rue sighed as you shifted, snuggling your face into the pillow, "I fucking hate him."

"He's my own Nate Jacobs," You joked, voice void of any humor.

You weren't sure how long you laid in Rue's bed as she quietly snored away behind you, silently wiping away the tears that didn't seem to stop.

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