Tw: Death - Blog Posts

Dead+Weird things

Just some things I found while walking to a local plant store

I drew this about a year ago. (In math class!!) (idk what I was thinking) (I’m also surprised no one looked in my math journal) 😭😭

jofcreman​:

now, on the short walk to adam’s house ( two blocks, jo walked fast ) , she’d gone through almost every possible scenario, every way this conversation could possibly go. most of the time it had ended with either jo punching him in the face or adam angrily shutting the door, calling the cops, maybe. either way, she’d been angry in every scenario, ready to haul him over the coals, ready to end him for what he’d done to jack. however - this hadn’t happene in any of the scenarios. this being adam richards hauling ass into the kitchen emptying his guts into the rubbish.

jo had followed him into the house, only because she thought he might try and make a run for it. but quite obviously he… hadn’t. and her angry features softened, made way for a dumbfounded yet slightly concerned expression, she opened her mouth, stumbling over what to say. fuck. this had - this had not gone to plan, like, at all. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! adam was supposed to confess and - “no!” she voiced her running thoughts, dropped her bag to the ground with an exasperated sigh, threw her hands in the air, stopped herself short of stomping her foot like a defiant child. “you’re not - ugh! you’re supposed to say how you did it and why and then - then i punch you for what you did and instead youre - ugh!” she groaned and did stomp her foot like a defiant child. “you’re not suppsoed to make me feel bad for you, asshole.”

but she did, and she felt guilt as hell, too, as she slid down next to him, brows drawn together in worry. jo sighed, a weary, heavy sound. “i don’t know, richards.”, she muttered after a moment, despite knowing it wasn’t a question asked for her to answer. she gave a little shrug, looked down at her hands. “i just - after what happened at the carnival, i don’t know what to believe anymore.” why was it always this fucking difficult? “can you just - can you tell me what you remember? about that night? promise i won’t hit you, i just - i’m just trying to figure out what happened. what really happened.”

It felt too terrifying to wrap his mind around fully. Adam knew he was capable of horrible things when he had blacked out - he’d tried to help with the fireworks, and though he hadn’t lit the match that killed five people, he had still helped. But to find out that he’d done that to his best friend? Jack? One of the kindest guys he knew, who had never done anything to Adam? It felt unthinkable. As he sat in the floor, head in his hands, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he tried his hardest to remember doing that. 

But nothing came

He couldn’t remember any of that last week - Adam couldn’t even remember how he’d been possessed. If it weren’t for the nightmarish flash of the memory of threatening Cole, Adam wouldn’t even have any inkling of what he’d done leading up to his death. That summer had been fun. Full of bonfires by the lake, working as a lifeguard, sneaking off with Cole and making plans on their escape to California. Adam remembered being happy before it had all gone black. He remembered sharing beers with Jack at a party, dancing to Summer of ‘69 in his kitchen to make Cole laugh, watching The Price is Right with Beth, taking Cindy to see The Goonies. And then everything went black and apparently, he’d killed Jack. 

He worried for a moment that he might be sick again before Jo followed him inside. “...I don’t know how I did it,” Adam told her weakly, looking up at her as she threw her bag down. “Or why. God, I have no fucking idea why.” He was horrifyingly, blissfully glad for a moment that he didn’t know. That he might never know. Because living with the memory of killing Jack sounded like absolute torture, and maybe this was kinder for him to not. But he didn’t really deserve kindness, did he? “...you can still punch me if you want,” Adam choked out, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand pathetically. 

Jo sat down, though she seemed like she was still disappointed with the lack of an answer on why Adam had suddenly gone insane and killed his best friend. “The night of the carnival?” He repeated, looking over at her as he took a deep breath to try to calm down a little bit. “I don’t... I remember getting there. Jack and I played some game for a bit, then there was the mayor’s speech and stuff. We got on the Tunnel of Love, and when we got off...it all just goes black,” He admitted, running a hand through his long hair. “I don’t remember anything else until I woke up and everyone was hurt. I didn’t even have a scratch on me. Nothing.” 

jackforeman​:

Though Adam was right, that he hadn’t killed anyone, either, that didn’t absolve him of the guilt from hurting Steve. In truth, he probably could have killed him, if what he’d heard was true and that he’d kicked the living daylights out of someone who was supposed to be one of his best friends. For what, though? Jack had no idea. Maybe to set off explosive fireworks, but those hadn’t even been his, and he and Adam would never intentionally do something to hurt people like that. They just wouldn’t.

Jack watched Adam’s face grow colorless, as though he’d seen the ghost of himself in Jack’s own eyes as he recounted what had happened. Adam had died, too? His mind raced like the red string on Jo’s board. Adam had known for weeks that he’d been dead, even from the first day that they’d come back from the commune. The forest community that they’d apparently been sent to, but in reality, they’d both come out of the forest rising from the dead. It made absolutely no sense. 

“Hold on,” he said slowly, pulling away from Adam to place his hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You’re telling me that we came out of the commune,” he lifted a hand, flexing his fingers in air quotes, “right, but we’d both been actually dead the entire time. So, the commune … it couldn’t have existed, did it?” It sounded insane, but it was the only thing that made sense, at least right now. “Because … you were there, and I was there, but we actually weren’t. Did it not actually exist at all, or were there just some people there, and they grouped us in with them?” The questions he had were all rhetorical, all ones that neither Jack nor Adam could answer right now, but he at least knew someone who could attempt to tackle the unanswerable. “Jo has this board, this … it’s a murder board, but she doesn’t call it that. But, whatever. Not the point. There has to be something on there that would help us figure this shit out.”

Jack pulled his hands from Adam’s shoulders, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I had no idea … I didn’t know that you, you know, died, too. I’m just glad that we have each other.” He paused, turning toward him. “Do you remember anything, at all? Like, about the afterlife? Because I can’t remember shit. It’s like it never happened.”

Neither of them had chosen to commit the actions that they had, Adam understood that. But he was struggling with forgiving himself, even now. He might not have made the decisions, but it had been him doing it regardless. While he could understand logically that he wasn’t responsible, it would take him some time to process the fact that he wasn’t guilty. That he hadn’t killed anyone - the Mindflayer had. The...Doppelganger had, if Max was right. But it was hard to believe that when those things sounded so insane. He had never heard of anything like that before, and Adam tried to be a pretty level-headed guy. Believing in outlandish stuff just wasn’t something that worked for him, usually. But he knew now that he needed to try to believe in it if he wanted a shot at forgiving himself for the things his body had done. 

As Jack put his hands on Adam’s shoulders, Adam looked at him in confusion. He could tell Jack was putting something together, realizing some truth about their situation. “...I don’t know,” He admitted, shaking his head. “I think it had to, right? Why else would Peter be around? Why would they want us to be going to therapy?” How could all of that just... be a coverup? And what were they covering up, if that was what it was? It made Adam’s head hurt to think about, and he just wasn’t sure he could believe all of that. “Not everyone could have died! How would...how could that many people just... come back?” None of this made any sense. Why them? What had Adam ever done to deserve being resurrected? “We just... maybe we came back, and it was around the time they found everyone else, and so they lumped us together?” He shook his head again, not being able to rationalize all of this. “We should talk to Peter. He would know. Right?” 

At the mention of Jo’s murder board, Adam bit his lip. He wasn’t exactly excited by the idea of going over to Jack’s house and seeing his sisters, if he was being honest. Jo hadn’t kicked his ass last time, but what if she’d changed her mind since? Or what if Julie did? 

Jack sat down, and Adam hesitantly followed. Perching on the bed beside him, he kept some distance between the two even now. “Jack, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Adam told him seriously. He was glad to have Jack too, in a way, but that seemed horrifying to admit considering Adam had been the one to kill him. He let out a shaky breath at the mention of an afterlife, hand subconsciously coming up to touch the crucifix that still hung around his neck even after all this time. “...no.” Adam admitted quietly. “There wasn’t anything. Just nothing, and then us waking up in the woods.” 

jofcreman​:

what happened? the way he opened the door, so non-chalantly, the way his brows drew together in worry, surely feigned concern for her brother, made jo’s blood boil. she flexed her hands, stopping herself short of letting her palm meet his cheek. no, the neighbourhood thought she was insane enough as is. truly, it was only her position at the post that spared her from their neighbour’s open ridicule. because a girl scoring a job like that, she had to have at least an ounce of sanity in her, right? even if she dressed like that and talked like that and behaved like that.  but god, adam richards’ face did look extremely punchable right about then.

her judgement was clouded heavily by red hot rage, jo exhaled deeply through her mouth a couple of times to ground herself. countine one, two, three in her head. as much as she wanted to end him right then and there, she needed to get to the bottom of this. if not for her sake then for jack’s. “jack’s okay. considering.” brows still drawn together, jo scrunched up her nose in disgust. considering she was standing in front of his best friend and presumed murderer. considering he had died at the hands of who he’d trusted most. this wasn’t right. “we need to talk, richards. alone.” and, with her voice lowered and leaning in, she added:  “about the summer of ‘85. remember? when you killed my brother?”

Jo seemed.... angry. With him. And Adam wasn’t sure why. What had he done to Jack? The last time they’d talked had been at the carnival, when Adam had beaten him at Down a Clown, but this was definitely unrelated to that. Before that, it had been when Adam had come out to Jack and told him about dating Cole - but Jack had seemed fine with it! So Adam couldn’t understand what he had done to piss Jo off in the last few days. 

“Considering?” Adam repeated, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Consider the carnival? He hadn’t thought Jack got hurt - he hadn’t seen him in the hospital. But maybe he had been? Maybe Jack and Jo were made that Adam hadn’t come to see him? “Did he get hurt or something?” He asked. And then he got his answer on why Jo was upset with him. 

“I...killed Jack?” Adam repeated, freezing where he stood on the front porch. “No, I didn’t. No,” He shook his head, taking a step back and running into the door. “No, because I wouldn’t...” No, Adam wouldn’t do that. He would never, ever lay a finger on his best friend. But Adam wasn’t Adam when he blacked out, was he? And there was a whole week of his life in 1985 that Adam had no memory of, except for the time he’d nearly strangled Cole. If he had almost done that to the love of his life, what was he capable of doing to his best friend? “Oh my god...” Adam slumped backwards into the house, leaving the door open for Jo to follow. Without being able to stop himself, Adam doubled over the trashcan, throwing up the contents of his stomach at the thought of killing his best friend. His teammate. The guy he’d spent countless nights hanging out with in high school, the boy who’d come over and watch movies with him or join him at parties. The man he trusted more than almost anyone else, and who should have been able to trust Adam too. 

“I don’t remember doing that,” Adam sunk to the floor in his kitchen, tone almost a whisper despite them being alone now. Head in his hands, Adam pulled at his own hair. “I love Jack. He’s my best friend. How could I... how could I do that?” He asked, knowing Jo wouldn’t have an answer. 

loverboymontgomery​:

The rush of tears made Cole feel lightheaded and, despite his frantic blinking, they spilled down his cheeks. It was him. Adam was okay. He knew it was his him when he heard the layers of guilt in his voice, when his boyfriend angled his head to the floor. Cole hated seeing him like this, maybe just as much as he hated seeing out-of-body Adam. “Sweetheart,” Cole cooed, attempting to make his brittle voice sound comforting.

“Of course… Of course I want you here. Will you come sit by me?” he asked gently, though internally he felt like he was twelve years old, begging his mother not to leave him at bedtime. He was afraid of what happened, of course. But more than he was afraid for his own safety, he was terrified of what all of this meant for Adam. A pang of guilt swirled amidst the fear; Cole should’ve told Adam everything he knew, right away.

As Adam sat next to him, still cautious, afraid of something, Cole reached out his arm, offered his hand. “I’m okay,” he promised. “I’ll be fine. Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” He searched Adam’s body for any sign of injury and met his eyes. Cole desperately wished that this was all they had to talk about, that Adam could climb into bed with him and things could be simple. But he knew better, and he wouldn’t leave Adam in the dark, not again.

Painfully, Cole twisted and picked up his water, needing some relief for his throat before he dared dive into this. “You don’t remember anything?” he asked, eyes lingering on the crease in Adam’s brow. He desperately wanted to shield Adam from this, to never tell him what horrible things had been done and said through his body.

Cole was crying again, in anticipation for how much this was going to hurt Adam. Adam, who couldn’t fathom hurting another person or letting someone down. Adam, who was always so good, who happily took on the burden of being the strong one, the shoulder to cry on. Adam, who deserved better than all of this. Cole bit down on his trembling lower lip, willing himself to keep it together, if only for Adam’s sake.

“Before you died,” he began cautiously, knowing that even saying that much was still shocking, “You were different. It wasn’t you. I didn’t know until later, but you were… possessed, I guess. By this thing they call the Mindflayer. It made you act different and then… it killed you. Or, it died and you died with it.” The whole thing still hurt his head, honestly, and there weren’t nearly enough answers. “I don’t know how or who or why but… you came back. And I think it’s happening again… it controlling you. I thought you were going to die again,” he choked back another influx of tears, remembering that horrifying moment at the carnival.

Cole had immediately recognized the similarities between Adam at the carnival and Adam the last day he saw him– the stiffness of his body, the coldness of his tone, the cruelty of his words. He hoped Adam never found out about that moment. Swiping at his cheek with the back of his hand, Cole met Adam’s eyes again and tried for an encouraging smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I don’t have more answers. But we’ll figure it out. Together, like you said.” He lifted Adam’s hand to his lips, ignoring the shooting pain from his ribcage. “I promise, love, we’ll figure it out.” He didn’t know what figuring it out meant, not even remotely, but he knew he wasn’t going anywhere until they did.

Adam wouldn’t have blamed him if Cole had told him to leave. Because Adam didn’t know what he had or hadn’t done - especially to Cole - but he knew it couldn’t be pretty. He was just so fucking worried that his nightmare really was a memory, that he’d said those things and shoved Cole up against a wall and nearly choked him. He wouldn’t be mad at Cole if he was scared of him, because until Adam got some answers, he was pretty scared of himself.

But his chest ached when Cole called him Sweetheart, voice rough but so Cole. That alone made him want to cry and hold him and tell him that he’d never ever ever want to do something to upset Cole again. And when Cole asked him to sit with him? Adam had no choice but to walk closer, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed, farther away from Cole than he would normally. As much as Adam wanted to seek comfort from his boyfriend, he didn’t want to jostle any of his injuries.

“Are you sure?” Adam asked urgently, blue eyes studying Cole closely. He knew he wasn’t physically okay - he had broken a rib. But how was he handling all of this emotionally? Cole had a tendency to be in denial of things, to want them to be perfect even when everything was falling apart around them. And Adam needed to know that he wasn’t doing that right now. “Baby, you have to tell me if you’re not okay. Please. I can’t,” He took a deep breath, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I can’t handle it if you’re not honest.”

He reflexively tried to reach for the water for Cole, to take care of him without even being asked. But Cole could do it himself. He didn’t need Adam to smother him right now, no matter how much Adam wanted to. He slowly lowered his hands back to his lap, clasping his knees tightly. “Not from the carnival,” Adam admitted sadly, biting his lip. “Just riding the Tunnel of Love, and then I woke up to you being put into an ambulance.” He finally let himself lean a little closer, needing physical contact to ground himself. His hand slipped into Cole’s, squeezing it gently.

Adam hated seeing Cole cry. If he could do something to make it better, to shield him from whatever pain he was facing, he would. Adam would shoulder any burden if it meant keeping Cole happy and healthy and safe. He would do anything in the world that Cole Montgomery asked him to do - something that had been true since they met in early high school. Gently, he leaned forward and wiped away Cole’s tears with his free hand, touch feather light against his skin.

And then Adam’s world collapsed.

“I…what?” He asked, confusion lacing his voice. That didn’t make any sense. He had been possessed? By…by a demon, or something like that? For one gut wrenching moment, Adam worried that maybe this was God’s way of punishing him for being who he was. For who he loved. But Cole called it the Mindflayer, and that didn’t sound like any demon he’d ever heard about in church on Sunday. “So I really died?” Adam begged Cole to lie, to tell him that he was kidding. But something in his eyes said that this was true. He didn’t even try to stop the tears that were flowing down his cheeks now, letting them hit the starched sheets of Cole’s hospital bed.

“What if I am?” He asked, lip trembling at the thought. Adam didn’t want to die. He was still so young - there was so much of the world he wanted to see. He wanted to live with and love Cole for as many years as possible, not die before he’d even turned 25. Right now, he needed to comfort Cole though, and he leaned forward to sob on his shoulder, free hand wrapping around his neck as gently as possible. In the nightmare he’d wanted to do that out of anger, but now the only thing Adam felt for Cole was love. Love and guilt for putting him through this.

“I do remember… something from before. Or maybe it isn’t a memory, maybe it was a - a nightmare, or something,” He rambled, tears continuing to fall as his thumb rubbed over the back of Cole’s neck from the uncomfortable position he was committing to. “I…or, it wasn’t me but it was me. It was my body. I was so mean to you, and I shoved you against a wall and told you to leave me alone. I thought I was going to kill you, Cole. But I…I stopped it. I don’t know what I did, but I stopped it.” Adam told him, sobbing into the space between Cole’s neck and shoulder. Maybe this wasn’t fair - maybe he shouldn’t be acting like this when it was Cole in the hospital, not him. But fuck, Adam needed comfort. Adam needed to know Cole was alive and that they could get through it together. That Cole didn’t hate him or blame him. “I love you.” He whispered when his tears felt like they might begin to subside. “I love you more than anything, Walden.”

jackforeman​:

WHO: jack foreman & @goldenboyrichards​ </33 WHERE: the richards’ residence

All that Jack could think about on his drive over to Adam’s house was that he had killed him. Probably with his bare hands, too, or whatever that black thing was that he saw in his head. He didn’t know what to think, or how to feel except betrayal and confusion. This was his best friend, someone he’d gone through hell and back with, and it was Adam’s fault that he had missed three years of his life. Three years of not being with his sisters, of being beside them while they mourned him, no matter where they thought he went. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were as white as the hood of his car, his breathing heavy but shaky as he made his way the few blocks to Adam’s house.

He’d waited to do this until Cole was out of the hospital, now knowing what he knew about the two. The past few days had been spent locked in his room with the occasional visit from Jo or Julie until he’d gotten the call from Adam’s sister that he was back at home. There were more important things than demanding answers about something that had happened years ago, especially when it concerned someone who Adam loved.

Jack’s heart was in his throat as he got out of the car, needing a moment to catch his breath before he rang the doorbell to see Adam’s face. It was a sight he hadn’t seen in the flesh since being in the Tunnel of Love despite replaying in his mind, plaguing his dreams since then. The look of determination before Adam had taken him into the warehouse was etched into his memory now, forever. As Adam opened the door, Jack took a step back, forcing a pained smile as he greeted him. “Hey, I heard you were home. Could I, uh … do you have a second? Can I come in?”

Some people were scared of spiders, some were scared of heights. Adam Richards was scared of letting down the people he loved the most. He always had been. Being a people pleaser was in his DNA, constructed out of the burden of being the only son and eldest child in the family. A duty to protect others, keep them safe, had long since been ingrained in him. Hurting someone? Hurting someone went against everything that Adam stood for. In his core, his very being, Adam was destroyed by the thought of hurting another person. It was unthinkable.

Killing Jack? He couldn’t fathom it.

After Jo had gone home a few days ago, Adam had barely left his room. He had known that the blackouts were bad, that they were something he should be scared of. His body wasn’t his when they happened - because Adam would never, ever hurt someone he cared about. But did that really matter? Because Adam had done it. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been his decision; he had still killed his best friend. His body was more than capable of murder, even if it wasn’t Adam calling the shots. 

When his mom told him that Jack was here to see him, Adam felt nauseous, like he truly might throw up. How could Adam even look at Jack right now? But... how could he not? Jack had every fucking right to hate him - Adam hated himself for what he’d done while blacked out. And if Jack wanted to confront him, then Adam couldn’t and wouldn’t stop it. He shakily walked to the door, opening it and peering at Jack sadly. 

“Yeah, man. Of course,” Adam said, opening it wider and leading the way towards his bedroom. He didn’t want his parents to overhear what he had done. “Jack, I - I’m so sorry. I don’t remember... doing that. And you can say or do whatever you want to me,” He told him after he closed the door behind Jack, nervously stuffing his hands into the pocket of one of the few hoodies Cole and Beth hadn’t stolen from him. “I get it. I’m not really safe to be around right now.” 

CHRISTOPHER BRINEY, CIS MALE, HE/HIM | who’s that? oh it’s ADAM RICHARDS. i hear they’re 22 and are known as THE GOLDEN BOY around THE FOOTBALL FIELD. they’re known to be COMPASSIONATE AND SELFLESS and CLOSED OFF AND GULLIBLE. some people say they remind them of THE SMELL OF FRESHLY CUT GRASS MIXED WITH DRYING PAINT, THE ROAR OF A CROWD AT THE FINAL WHISTLE, SNEAKING KISSES AT A RED LIGHT AT THREE IN THE MORNING, A SHEEP IN WOLF’S CLOTHING, EVERYONE IN TOWN KNOWING YOUR NAME. they DO NOT believe they died.

THE BASICS

FULL NAME: adam jacob richards

NICKNAME(S): richards, quarterback

AGE: twenty-two

DATE OF BIRTH: october 3rd

HOMETOWN: hawkins, indiana

CURRENT LOCATION: tree commune hawkins, indiana

GENDER: cis male

PRONOUNS: he / him

ORIENTATION: homosexual ( only known by cole and maybe a small amount of other people he trusted ? )

OCCUPATION: former lifeguard at the hawkins pool

THE FACTS

Adam has the most apple pie backstory you can imagine. The eldest of three, he’s always been the dependable golden child. His father is a dentist, a steady job that keeps them on the well-off side of town. His mother was originally his receptionist, but gave that up when she had Adam. For as long as Adam can remember, his mom had been around to take care of him and his little sisters. She was always there to pick him up when he fell, or hold him after a nightmare. He was closer to her than his father, although they had a fine relationship too. His memories of home are happy, filled with family dinners around the kitchen table, singing along to the radio as they drove to church on Sundays, and his family cheering him on every Friday night. Adam loved his family so much.

There’s only one thing that could make him want to leave them behind, and that’s the knowledge that he could never fully be himself in Hawkins. Adam didn’t realize that he was gay until he was in high school - he just thought that maybe the attraction guys described feeling for girls was overexaggerated. Once he met Cole Montgomery, though, everything changed. He pestered Cole to help him with English, relishing their weekly study sessions until things shifted and they began seeing one another romantically. Being with Cole made Adam feel more like himself than anything else in the world did. And while Adam adored his family, he needed to get out of Hawkins in order to be truly happy.

Cole wasn’t the only thing that made Adam want to leave, though. Hawkins itself came with a sort of pressure. Here, he was the Boy Next Door. The Hometown Hero. Every Friday night, Adam was expected to put on his jersey and play his part as the star quarterback, beloved by all who attended their games. And at times, Adam felt suffocated by that. There were so many rules and expectations he had to follow in order to just exist in Hawkins. In order to play sports and be accepted - which Adam wanted - he had to behave and act a certain way. Which is why Adam knew that once Cole graduated, he had to leave with him and go somewhere where no one expected anything from him.

And that was the plan, until the summer of 1985. Things were good, stable, until suddenly Adam was being controlled by the Mind Flayer and was killed at the Starcourt Mall. Adam doesn’t really remember this time; he doesn’t know that he died. It’s all really hazy, honestly. But now that he’s back and people are claiming that he joined a commune in the woods for three years…well, Adam doesn’t know what to think.

THE HEADCANONS

Adam’s always fully embraced his role as a big brother to his younger sisters. He loves them both dearly. While he’s closer to the middle sister just due to their ages (she’s around 18-20), he also loves Cindy, who’s 16 now. He feels bad that he missed out on their lives for the last three years for sure. 

He loves football and sports in general. The comradery of a team, the thrill of people depending on you - that’s so special to Adam. The only part of it he hated was the pressure and expectation to be someone that he wasn’t. He hated the toxicity that could exist in that world, especially the casual misogyny and homophobia. That’s why he always tried to rise above it while still working the system? Like, he couldn’t step too far out of line or call too many things out, but he always tried to stand up against bullying in his own way. 

Adam is just... a very genuine person. He’s absolutely a himbo who takes a lot at face value. He’s never understood why people can’t just mean what they say, or have good intentions. Like this man is a Lawful Good through and through. 

School wasn’t easy for this man. He did okay in some classes, but really struggled in others. In order to keep him on the football team, though, I imagine he had tutors in several of his classes. 

Literally he did not know he was gay until he was like 15-16 years old, he just thought that his friends were exaggerating when they talked about girls. Like, he was like “They’re nice. Fine, even. Pretty, I guess.” and then he met Cole and was like “Ohhhh I get it now.” 

He had a girlfriend when he met Cole, and once he realized he liked Cole and wanted to date him, he felt intense guilt at the thoughts of cheating on her. So, either 1) he broke up with her or 2) he kept dating her but told her everything, and she was willing to be his beard. If someone wants that connection, PLEASE lmk because I would love to see either option. 

Truly he always tries to see the best in people. Even those who don’t deserve it. 

He fully had plans with Cole to run away after Cole graduated and Adam 100% was going to follow through. He didn’t love the idea of leaving his family behind, but he needed to be himself and not the town’s Golden Boy. Unfortunately, Adam got flayed by Billy, who he used to work with.

He wasn’t himself the few days before he died. He was a lot meaner and angrier than anyone had seen him before, so that might have raised some red flags for people. Adam was eventually killed at the mall.

While Adam doesn’t think that he died, he does find the commune idea suspicious. After all, he did want to run away, but with Cole. He’s so confused by the idea that he would have left him behind, so part of him is worried that maybe he was brainwashed or kidnapped? He has no clue what to believe when it comes to that, honestly. 

I Made Custard Cookie III If He Was In @sunseed-fandump The Bad Batch Au

His Backstory Is He Was Raised In The Crème Republic And Was Ignored/Neglected By Everyone He Started To Do Dangerous Stunts So Cookies Could Pay Attention To Him.

Until One Day His Last Stunt Ended But With Him Becoming A Ghost..

His Backstory Is Basically The Song Hansel By Sodikken

His Powers Are Undead Healing And Other Ghosts Abilities

Guilt

Sooo- I hadn’t planned to write anything for Halloween, but then I got this idea and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I know I’m a day late (typical me), but since it is done I might as well post it, right ? This One Shot is part of the Varitas AU (basically an evil Varian ahah), and I fear I got inspired by the rp blogs : @royal-engineer-of-corona and @v-a-r-i-t-a-s TW !! Amber, knife, death (there is no graphic description except a mention of blood)- if there is anything else that you think I should tag, don’t hesitate to yell at me in the comments. Takes place between Be very Afraid and Cassandra's revenge !

If most people had to describe Varian, they would use the word 'dangerous' because of what the kid could do, and what he had already done. Although the alchemist had saved Corona and been forgiven by the royal family, everyone still saw him as the criminal who kidnapped their queen, who attacked the kingdom with automatons and a mutant raccoon. Everyone still saw him as the threat he used to be and could still be, even Varian himself : if the alchemist couldn't forgive himself, why would others act any differently ? But Eugene saw things differently. Unlike the rest of the Coronans, the former thief spend most of his days with the young alchemist ever since the latter got out of jail; he had of course been wary of him at first, the memory of Varian attacking Rapunzel and the kingdom still painfully fresh in his memory like in everyone else's. But day after day, he had soon come to accept that the kid was very different from this idea that everyone had of him. Everything about him, whether it was his actions or his words, illustrated his regrets about his past actions; and Eugene could see how hard the kid was trying to make amends. That was why the word he associated with Varian was not 'dangerous', but 'guilt'. It was both an observation of the alchemist's behavior, his doubts and culpability, and also a protection against others' judgment. Varian had regrets. Varian had changed. Varian was no longer dangerous. He wanted nothing more than for everyone, the kid included, to see that and to be able to move on; for people to realize all the good Varian could make, and for Varian to see that as well- that it wasn't too late for him to be who he wanted to be. That he could still be happy. Such a shame that he had to be proved wrong. It had all happened really fast : the automatons, attacking the island one morning. They were numerous, and more just kept coming in an endless flow; even though they had no idea what was happening or why, Rapunzel had focused on going and protecting the Coronans first, getting answers after that. That was the plan. Pretty easy, hard to mess up- or, it should have been. Because now as the cold, metal hand of the automaton was firmly holding Eugene prisoner, the latter having no choice but to face the woman he loved encased in amber and surrounded by two other automatons, the former thief was left wondering how could things have possibly gone this wrong. "Well, it looks like Corona no longer has her beloved leader- if she could even be called that in the first place." And of course, how could he possibly forget the one whose satisfied tone was awakening in Eugene a deep hatred, one like he had never felt before. Varian was standing in front of the statue, looking absolutely triumphant, and how could he not be after taking over Corona and defeating their princess, their Sundrop ? The broken wall of the throne room, the latter being only a remnant of what it used to be, only added to his glorious victory, offering an heartbreaking view on the completely destroyed kingdom. His eyes were shining with an eerie joy, and a wide grin appeared on his lips as he admired the consequences of his actions; encased in amber, Rapunzel's painful and horrified expression was a terrible contrast with the alchemist's ominous one. "Don't worry, Eugene," the alchemist said after some time, finally looking away from the amber to the former thief, trapped in an other kind of prison, "She's not dead. She doesn't deserve such a fate." The alchemist confidently walked up to him, leaning against the metal hand. "No, she deserves a sentence far worse than that." The alchemist's voice was dangerously low as he stared at Eugene, watching his every reaction. The former thief didn't look away in return, instead glaring at the kid who had taken so much from him and went as far as to laugh about it too. He just- Eugene simply couldn't believe what he was hearing and seeing. Varian- Varian had made amends. He had apologized, and they'd forgiven him. He had been working ever since to help Corona, to fix his mistakes and stop Cassandra. Varian had changed- he had. Hadn't he ? But then, why would he go back on that ? Why did he all of a sudden attack Corona with these- these automatons, destroying the island, trapping Rapunzel in that same amber that destroyed his life once before ? Why would he do that to his friends, to Team Awesome ? Was it all just a wicked scheme to fool them ? Eugene stared at the kid in front of him. He was exactly like Varian- same outfit, same black hair with this odd blue stripe, same blue eyes. No, not the same. Varian's eyes weren't merciless, mocking and cold, so cold. Varian's eyes were warm, friendly and guilty. "Who..." Eugene hissed, glaring all the more. "Who are you ? What have you done to Varian ?" Varian wouldn't do something like that, Eugene was sure of it. The other half of Team Awesome, the kid who liked ham sandwiches and often forgot to take care of himself when working was not the same as the one who encased Rapunzel in amber. The alchemist who fought his fears in order to save Corona, that kid would never do something like that. Still, he didn't expect... him, to simply smirk, that same threatening smirk he thought -he hoped- he'd never see again on this face. "You know, I never thought you were right when you said that people don't give you enough credit. You are clever, aren't you ?" "What does that mean ?" He was just done talking when the door of the throne room opened with noise. Eugene tried to look behind him to see the source of the noise, in vain : the robot's grip was keeping him from making any movement. However, he had a really good view of Varian raising his head in surprise, before cautiously taking a few steps back, furious eyes staring at... whoever just came in, Eugene guessed. Said person walked closer, as Eugene could tell from the footsteps sounds, before stopping right beside him; turning his head to the side, Eugene saw... Varian. It took his mind a minute to process the information. "Wait wait wait," Eugene narrowed his eyes, "Am I seeing 2 Varians ? Is that- is that some sort of evil twin story, or...?" Varian number 2 didn't react, but Varian number 1's smirk only widened. "I guess you could say that." He did a mocking bow in front of the other two, "I am Varitas, 'the mean one'- because someone has to take the blame, and who's better to replace Varian at it than Varian himself ? You Coronians aren't really creative, you know : get yourself someone else to blame, or even better, an actual justice system." It took all of Eugene's might not to give in and harshly tell him that he was absolutely guilty for what he had done to everyone; he barely restrained himself from doing so, realization hitting him hard. That was what that Varitas guy wanted. He had been provoking him since the beginning, trying to push him to his limits; and although Eugene wasn't really one to give in to anger, what could that kind of behavior do to someone who would, someone whose guilt would make them an easy prey ? For example, someone who definitely would be the target of his own double... Oh no. "I'm so-sorry..." Varian whispered, his voice cracking. His glassy eyes were filled with tears that streamed down his cheeks, highlighting how unusually pale he was, or how dark and big the bags under his eyes were in contrast. "It's all my fault..." "Kid-no. This is not your fault, none of it is." Eugene insisted. Varian clearly seemed exhausted, on the verge of breaking down, and with all of that accumulated guilt ready to burst free, he was basically an emotional time bomb. A really, really unstable emotional time bomb that could possibly become a problem if nothing was done to calm him down before. When did that start ? Why hadn’t he noticed before, why hadn’t he done anything to protect Varian ? Varian didn’t react, clearly not believing him; it broke Eugene’s heart to see him in such a state. Of course, that's the moment Varitas chose to speak up. "You're right, Eugene : it's not his fault nor is it mine, but it is actually yours, it has always been. I know how talented you are all in the field of lies and deceit and breaking promises, but you have to be incredibly good to make him believe that you actually care about him and are his friends without him ever questioning it. Again." Varian shivered, looking down at the ground, and Eugene could only imagine the thoughts going through his head; anger and guilt and feeling of betrayal and self-loathing, all of them feeding a dangerous hatred that was definitely what Varitas was planning to use. Oh, how much Eugene hated that Varitas kid. He hated him for taking Rapunzel away, for torturing Varian; he hated how powerless he felt. "If you know us as well as you say you do, then you should also know these are not lies." Eugene growled, but Varian once again didn’t react. Varitas only rolled his eyes, fully aware that he was in control of the situation. "Oh, you are good- but thank you for proving my point." He then turned to Varian, and Eugene tensed up. Whatever he had planned, Eugene feared the kid wasn't in a good enough state to fight against. "I'm sorry I started without you," Varitas smiled, something almost warm, outstretching his hand towards Varian, "but you can still join me and serve justice, like we wanted to." Unlike his kind words, his tone was very clear : obey, or face the consequences. Varian stared at Varitas' hand for a moment, before his glassy eyes moved to the hole in the wall and the destruction beyond, then to the amber and finally, to Eugene. Eugene's heart ached as he met Varian's eyes. The raging storm of the kid's emotions was frightening, and Varian seemed completely lost. Eugene wanted to reassure him, to tell him that these were all lies, that none of it was true, that they did care about him- but he also wasn’t stupid. “Please, kid... Don’t...” Was all Eugene said, because he saw in these eyes that Varian... Varian would not believe him, or anything else he’d say. That Varitas's poisoned words, playing with Varian's deepest fears and guilt, had already had their effect on the kid. Where was he when Varian needed him ? Why was he stuck, unable to help when the kid needed him the most ? Varitas was right- just like before, he couldn't give Varian the help he so desperately needed. Varian stared at him for a while longer, before looking back at Varitas. Extending his hand, he took the other's in his own. Then, harshly pulling Varitas forward, he threw in the latter's face a green ball that exploded in a flash of blinding light. Varitas immediately shoved Varian away, rubbing his eyes with his hands; his hiss of pain morphed into a low chuckle. "Alright, looks like you've made your choice..." Eugene felt his heart drop as the two other automatons -the ones not currently holding Eugene- walked toward the alchemist, responding to Varitas's order. He knew his friend hardly stood a chance; above all, he knew Varian was fighting a losing battle, because he himself didn’t even know what he was fighting for, or if he wanted to. It was clear as day that Varian was fighting back like a wounded animal, with the energy of despair, and that this would end very badly. Eugene tried once again to free himself, even if he knew there was no way he could get out. Varian acted quickly, trapping the first automaton's feet in goo, effectively stopping him. Varitas threw at him a green ball that Varian barely managed to avoid; not fast enough to recover, the alchemist couldn't dodge a hit from the second automaton that made him fall to the ground. Not wasting any time, Varian sent a pink ball on the second automaton, trapping him the same way; he however didn't see the third ennemy attacking him from behind. "Watch out !!" Eugene stopped struggling a moment to yell in alarm. Varian startled and turned around just in time to catch Varitas's wrists, keeping him from using his knife- because yes, he had a knife, a real one. "Why are you fighting for them ?!" Varitas shouted, furious. "They are responsible for Dad being encased, for all of our woes- you should want to serve justice ! You used to want that, so why would you believe their lies again ?!" Varian didn't answer, simply staring at the knife held right between the two of them. "It was the price to pay to become their friend again, wasn't it ? Ha- you're pathetic. They will betray you just like they already did, and the worst of all is that they'll be right : you'll have no one to blame but yourself, for being stupid enough to trust them again." Varitas's eyes were filled with disgust, sadness. No answer. Varian's grip loosened a bit, his face reflecting some hesitation. “Varian, no- don’t listen to him ! He’s trying to get in your head !!” The alchemist no longer seemed to be able to hear him, his attention entirely focused on Varitas. Eugene’s voice was only a quiet noise, drowned out by Varitas’s own voice and Varian’s thoughts. "I hope you're happy. I hope you'll believe their lies that make you think that this is what's best for you, this is what you have always wanted. You won : enjoy your golden cage, Varian." "Kid !!" Eugene shouted, alarmed, and that finally snapped Varian out of it. Kicking his opponent, the alchemist made Varitas fall backwards; the latter harshly hit the ground, his grip loosening on the knife. Eugene watched with horror as the alchemist quickly took the knife from Varitas and held it at the other's throat. "Don’t do that Varian ! You are angry- we all are kid, but killing him isn't the solution !" "He's right," Varitas added, "You can go ahead and kill me, but that won't change anything. You know that I'm right, and getting rid of me won't change the truth." Varian gritted his teeth, his grip getting just the tiniest bit firmer on the knife, and Varitas let a vicious smile appear on his lips. "You and me, we're just good for destruction, hurting others, taking the blame. I know it, they know it : that's why they let you down, and will let you down again. There's no denying it anymore, Varian. If you don't kill me, I will just keep destroying everything, and you'll be to blame for not stopping me when you had the chance : but if you do stop me, that you dare kill me if you’re even able to, then you will become the villain, the murderer, the mean one, because neither of us are part of the people whose faults are all forgiven. No matter what you choose, you will lose, just like I kept telling you." Varian stared at Varitas as he was talking, unable to stop listening to him. He knew he shouldn't listen or even consider his words, but something in them struck a chord within him, reaching doubts he tried to muffle, thoughts he tried to get rid of and amplifying them to the point that he could no longer ignore them or bury them again; and even though he thought he could hear Eugene's voice, he couldn't actually hear his words. Varitas smirked, knowing that despite the appearances, he had the upper hand. Reaching in his pocket, he got out a purple ball. "It's over, Varian." The alchemist's eyes widened in realization as the ball hit the ground, exploding and covering the whole room in a cloud of purple smoke. Eugene felt his blood froze in his veins as he heard fighting noises, the sound of metal clashing against skin and a cry of pain, then a body hitting the ground; and after that, nothing. In the heavy silence that followed, the cloud slowly escaped the room through the hole in the wall, joining its peers in the sky. Eugene then saw with horror a body lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. Standing next to him, its double was panting, holding without trembling the knife stained with blood. At that single moment, a terrible truth dawned on Eugene who felt his heart come to a stop. Even if it was impossible to distinguish the twins, one thing remained certain : one of them was now dead, killed by the other. And therefore, it didn't matter which one came out a winner in this battle, because the result was the same either way. Varitas had won, and their Varian was gone.

Kai hadn’t moved from his place in front of the mirror, his gaze never moving from his reflection. If anyone walked by they’d think he was possessed, like he was just looking through himself. The cuts and bruises from the accident still present, but faded slightly as days passed. And the memories still as vivid as the day it happened, every time he closes his eyes he saw the bright blue and red lights, the sound of the sirens blaring in his ears, and the image of his mother lifeless in front of him.

“You think I give a fuck about appearances? You think I can get up and speak about her? Like I don’t think about her every second of everyday, and the worst part is I can’t even remember the good things! I can’t remember the love she showed us, or the jokes she make, or anything besides seeing her laying there,”

“None of you know what I went through, father or Nate haven’t even asked me a question about it or checked to see how I’m doing. We’re all mourning, we’re all crushed by the fact momma is gone. But none of you were there, none of you had to see it or experience what we did. And god, it shouldn’t fucking be her who’s gone. It’s not like anyone would’ve missed me anyway,” he spoke, finally turning from the mirror and facing his sister. His eyes rimmed with tears, before walking right past her, head held high and taking his place in line with his family.

“You know it’s Mama’s wishes that you speak.” Vanessa approached, clad in an all black lace gown that exposed skin both on her mid-drift and her thighs, crossing her arms as she approached her brother. You couldn’t tell from Vanessa’s appearance, but the moment was somber as ever. Everyone surrounding them in all black, paying their respects, and getting unnecessarily close to hugging each of the Montgomery siblings. 

Vanessa looked over the crowd, eyes locking with their father’s right away. There were tears his eyes, bit no resemblance of pain. No droopy eyes, sleepless nights, or weightless heart to match. Just a stern nod and back to shaking hands the eldest Montgomery went. “I get it you’re in the middle of the, God forgive my language, fuck the world and everyone in it mood but right now you need to be a Montgomery. You already know what’s waiting at home if we don’t perform. So play your fucking sweet, artistic dreamer role and be miserable after. People are watching.”

I was impressed by Rich Cheese cookie so I wanted to draw something about her

I drew this last month

status : — closed for @goodgrac3s (blue)

location : — second hand threads

the  scent  of  old  fabric  and  citrus-scented  disinfectant  clung  to  the  air,  as  familiar  to  liila  now  as  her  own  shampoo.  she  was  elbow-deep  in  a  box  of  donations,  pulling  out  a  faded  bon  jovi  tour  tee  that  had  definitely  seen  better  decades,  when  the  silence  of  the  store  struck  her  harder  than  usual.  no  laughter  from  the  dressing  rooms.  no  half-assed  lizzie  commentary  from  the  fitting  room  bench.  just  the  buzz  of  the  ceiling  fan  and  the  low  murmur  of  some  indie  playlist  she'd  queued  up  an  hour  ago.  lila  swallowed  hard.  the  shirt  in  her  hands  crumpled  in  her  fingers.  she  didn't  allow  herself  to  cry  at  work.  that  was  for  the  confines  of  her  dorm  room,  exclusively.  she  straightened  up,  her  jaw  clenched,  and  shoved  the  shirt  onto  a  hanger.  when  she  heard  footsteps,  soft-soled  and  familiar  lila  didn't  even  look  up  before  she  spoke.  “you'd  think  murder  would  come  with  more  closure,  huh?”  her  voice  came  out  flatter  than  she'd  intended.  not  bitter.  not  angry.  just…  hollow.  like  she'd  run  out  of  steam  three  grief  spirals  ago.  she  finally  glanced  over  at  blue,  brushing  a  strand  of  hair  from  her  cheek  as  she  nodded  toward  the  donation  pile.  “someone  donated  a  live,  laugh,  love  wall  decal.  if  that's  not  a  goddamn  sign,  i  don't  know  what  is.”

The Loner - Short Story

Birth

Like most children, the Loner was born crying. Unlike most children, the Loner was also born fighting, squirming violently in the arms of the doctor as he tried to hand them to their mother. Their parents never quite knew what to do with them as they grew up, that vicious fighting instinct sticking with them even as they learned other ways to vent their emotions. When the Loner finally learned to speak, among their first words was the persistent repetition of the word “doom”.

Early Years

The Loner’s childhood was filled with just that: loneliness. Since learning to talk, they never quite learned to filter their language. The topic of doom—with occasional variations of “the end of the world” and “Armageddon”—was almost always on their lips. Their parents came to ignore it, pretending it wasn’t happening, just like they did with everything else they deemed odd from their child. The children at school never managed to do the same. They always did their best to steer clear of the Loner, even when all they wanted was something as harmless as teaching their peers how to efficiently sharpen a stick into a spear.

The Collection

Shortly after the Loner entered second grade, a secret collection of food began to grow in their bedroom. They quickly discovered the short lives of the bananas and ham and cheese sandwiches their mother packed for their lunches. The cans they stole from the pantry, however, never seemed to fail them as the other foods did. Cans accumulated in every hidden corner of their room: under the bed, at the back of the closet, and at the bottom of their toybox.

The Model

High school shop class quickly established itself as a favorite of the Loner. They were allowed to build whatever they wanted, so long as they made sure to complete their actual assignments, and it was in that class that they built their first bunker model. Wood sanded perfectly smooth held the shape of their dream home and they could barely hold back their excitement over their creation. The Loner proudly showed the model off to their parents and, met with their characteristic disappointment and disapproval, resolved to keep it hidden on the top shelf in their closet. Only they could truly appreciate the craftsmanship.

Higher Education

College was never in the Loner’s plans. Their parents begged them to go, but there was nothing they could do when the Loner signed up for a survival camp instead. It wasn’t different from most other summer camps, aside from the poisoned water and the death of four campers. There, the Loner finally received the final pieces of their education and when they returned from camp, they were ready to move out into the world on their own.

Home

The Loner’s first home was, as it would turn out, also their final home. They hand-built their fortress in a section of forest just near enough to society to reasonably live. Everything about it was perfect from the complex water filtration system, to the diverse garden in the greenhouse, to even the armory hidden in the basement. Their favorite part of their home was none of those details, but rather the bunker nestled below the basement. It matched that first prototype almost exactly, with only a few important differences in the air filtration system and the food storage. As the rug that laid before their front door said, this was truly their “Home Sweet Home”.

The Outbreak

The day the first outbreak aired on the news, a persistent knocking came at the Loner’s door. They knew who their guests were even before checking the security cameras; their parents, old teachers, and old classmates crowded at their doorstep. Everything the Loner had warned and tried to teach them about was coming true and they begged the Loner to save them. The Loner contemplated their options for dealing with their unexpected guests for a while—days, actually—before making their decision. They knew they’d be hated for their choice but, as they reasoned with themselves, they only had accommodations for one.

Survival

Long after those guests rotted away, the Loner lived peacefully in the fortress they’d built. Every aspect of the survival system they’d created served them dutifully. Despite its perfect working condition, they spent much of their free time even further upgrading their home, just for fun. As soon as the Loner managed to fix the local telephone lines, communication was quickly revived in the surrounding area. It took some time, but a close community of survivors eventually rose from the ashes of their fallen society.

They knew it was still too dangerous to travel outside so underground tunnels were soon built between the survivors’ homes, further connecting their new community. After a month of heavy negotiation, a simple trade system was established in their community, allowing proper sharing of all of their resources. The Loner was everyone’s go-to person for whatever they might need, and the Loner’s prices were always the fairest in the community. Despite the unlivable conditions beyond their walls, the Loner eventually settled into a comfortable life. They finally weren’t alone.

Death

Of all of the causes the members of the old society died from, the Loner died peacefully of old age. The friends they’d made in local survivors made the journey to their fortress to stay with them in their final hours. It was a peaceful release, the most peaceful the survivors witnessed in the many years following the outbreak, and it was the end of the Loner’s long life.

This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I took recently. I don’t have any current plans to continue it but I thought it’d be nice to share it with you all! I hope you guys like it!

*unshed tears shining in my eyes*

So beautiful and brutal at the same time😭

The Last Goodbye

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Warnings: Infidelity, major character death, emotional distress, pregnancy loss, grief, regret, angst

Word Count: 1,000+

Inspired by @writing-fanics

It began as a whisper of discomfort. A slight fatigue that settled in your bones, an ache that did not fade even after hours of rest. At first, you dismissed it. A lady of your station had little time to entertain sickness—there were balls to attend, guests to entertain, and a household to manage. Anthony, always busy with his responsibilities, hardly noticed.

You told yourself it was nothing.

But then, the fevers came.

They crept in during the night, leaving you shivering beneath layers of blankets, yet drenched in sweat. The coughing followed—deep, wracking fits that left you breathless, clutching your chest as if you could hold your very life in place.

Still, you told Anthony nothing. He had already been so distant. His late nights had become more frequent, his excuses less convincing. Parliament meetings. Affairs of the estate. And yet, his cravat smelled of perfume that was not yours.

So you suffered in silence.

-

The physician confirmed what you already feared.

Your condition had worsened. There was no cure, only time—time that you did not have.

Benedict was the first to notice. He saw the way your hands trembled when you lifted your tea, the way your complexion had lost its color. He sat beside you more often, watching, worrying. It was Benedict who sent for Anthony the first time you collapsed, body too weak to carry you forward.

But your husband had not come home that night.

When he arrived the next morning, his eyes were tired, but not from concern. His cravat was slightly undone, the buttons of his waistcoat not fully fastened. You had seen him leave in pristine condition—he had not slept in your bed.

“Where were you?” you asked, voice hoarse from the previous night’s coughing.

Anthony hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, before forcing a smile. “Matters of business, darling.”

Lies.

But you were too tired to fight.

-

You were mostly confined to your bed now.

The sickness had taken too much of you—your strength, your appetite, your breath. Each step was a battle, each word an effort. The physicians tried what they could, but their expressions told you the truth.

You were dying.

And Anthony still had not noticed.

He came home later and later, his excuses becoming nothing more than background noise. He did not see the hollows beneath your eyes, the way your hands trembled when you reached for him. He did not see the way Benedict looked at him—how dare you leave her like this?—or the way your ladies’ maids turned away, unable to hide their pity.

You wanted to tell him. To scream at him. To make him see you.

But what use was a battle when the war was already lost?

So, you smiled when he kissed your forehead. You forced yourself to laugh when he told you of his day. You pretended you did not smell her perfume lingering on his coat.

And at night, when he did not come home, you wept.

-

Anthony had finally noticed.

It was Benedict—of course, it was Benedict—who had forced him to look at you.

“She is dying, Anthony,” Benedict spat, gripping his elder brother by the collar. “And where have you been? With her?”

Anthony had scoffed at first, had shoved Benedict away with a roll of his eyes. “You are being ridiculous. She is—”

Then he had seen you.

You had been sleeping when he entered the room, your form barely more than a shadow beneath the sheets. Your skin, once so full of warmth and color, was ghostly pale. Your lips were dry, cracked from fever. Your breaths came shallow, labored, the rise and fall of your chest so faint it terrified him.

“Y/N…”

He had whispered your name, but you had not stirred.

For the first time in months, Anthony had sat beside you. He had taken your hand—too thin, too cold—between his own and felt his heart plummet.

How had he not seen it?

How had he let this happen?

That night, Anthony left for Sienna’s townhouse, but not for the reasons he once had.

He was going to end it.

But Sienna did not make it easy.

“So now you remember you have a wife?” she had scoffed, draping herself over the chaise, eyes dark with amusement. “Is that not what I’ve always been to you, Anthony? A distraction from your duties? And now, because guilt tugs at your heart, you come to rid yourself of me?”

Anthony had clenched his jaw. “I should never have come to you in the first place.”

Sienna’s laughter had been bitter, cruel. “And yet, you did. Over and over again. While your wife lay dying in your grand estate, you were in my bed.”

He had left without another word. But the damage was done.

-

Anthony rushed through the doors of your chamber, breathless, desperate.

“Where is she?” His voice was frantic, cracking under the weight of fear.

Benedict was still seated beside you, his expression unreadable as he lifted his gaze.

“She is gone.”

The words knocked the air from Anthony’s lungs. His eyes darted to the bed, to your still form beneath the blankets, your face peaceful, untouched by the pain that had consumed you for months.

“No,” he whispered. “No, please—please, my love, wake up.”

He was at your side in an instant, grasping at your hands, pressing frantic kisses to your fingers, your knuckles, your wrists—anywhere he could reach. But you were so cold.

“Y/N,” he choked out, tears falling freely now, his whole body trembling. “Please, I am here now. I—I was going to fix this. I was going to—” His voice broke. “I should have been here.”

Benedict stood, his face void of sympathy. “Yes,” he said simply. “You should have.”

Anthony let out a strangled sob, his forehead pressing against your still chest. He had failed you. He had abandoned you in your final days, had left you to suffer alone while he chased after foolish, meaningless desires.

And now, it was too late.

You would never hear his apologies.

You would never know that in the end, he had chosen you.

All you had known before you left this world was his absence.

And for the rest of his days, Anthony Bridgerton would carry that unbearable, unshakable grief.

-

The world felt like it had stopped. The fire in the hearth flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the walls. The scent of lavender still lingered, but it was stale, lifeless—just like the room, just like you.

Anthony’s hands trembled as he held yours, the warmth he had once taken for granted completely gone. You weren’t asleep. You weren’t waiting for him.

You were gone.

A strangled sob tore from his throat. He pressed his lips to your knuckles, willing his love into your lifeless fingers, hoping—praying—that it would bring you back. But there was nothing left. Only the sound of his own broken breaths and the weight of the silence pressing down on him.

This was his fault.

He had left you to suffer alone, blind to the pain in your eyes, deaf to the way your voice had weakened. He had been with Sienna while you lay here, waiting for him, needing him. And now, when he finally realized what he had done—when he had finally chosen you—you were already gone.

He had failed you.

Benedict stood quietly by the door, watching, his gaze unreadable. He had been here, Anthony realized bitterly. He had been the one to hold you as you slipped away. He had been the one to witness your last breath.

Not Anthony.

Never Anthony.

“I told her you would regret this,” Benedict finally said, voice hoarse with grief. His fists clenched at his sides. “I told her you would come crawling back too late.”

Anthony couldn’t even argue.

He deserved every ounce of venom in his brother’s voice.

A rustle of parchment broke the silence.

Benedict reached into his coat, pulling out a folded letter, sealed with wax. He stepped forward, shoving it into Anthony’s hands, his eyes burning with something between sorrow and rage.

“She wrote this for you,” Benedict said, barely holding himself together. “She told me to give it to you only after…” His voice caught, but he swallowed hard and forced himself to continue. “After she was gone.”

Anthony could barely breathe as he looked at the letter. The edges were slightly crumpled, the ink slightly smudged—had she struggled to hold the pen? Had she been in pain while she wrote this?

With shaking fingers, he broke the seal.

My dearest Anthony,

If you are reading this, then it is already too late.

I wish I could have seen your face one last time. I wish I could have told you that I still love you, despite everything. But life is cruel, and time has run out for us.

I have known for some time now that I was not meant to stay in this world much longer. I felt it in the way my body betrayed me, in the way the pain settled into my bones, refusing to leave. I wanted to tell you, to beg you to stay, but I could not bring myself to do so. I knew your heart was elsewhere.

Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I wanted you to choose me on your own.

I wanted you to come home because you wanted to, not because you felt you had to.

But you never did.

And so, I made my peace with the silence.

But, my love, there is something I did not tell you—something I could not tell you.

I was with child.

Your child.

I found out only weeks before the sickness took hold of me. I had dreamed of telling you, of seeing your face light up with joy, of feeling your hand against my belly as our child grew. But I was afraid.

Afraid that you would not care.

Afraid that even this would not be enough to bring you home to me.

I wanted so badly for our child to know a father’s love, but as the weeks passed and my strength faded, I realized that they never would. I realized that I would never hold them, never hear their cries, never see them take their first breath.

I lost them before they ever had a chance to live.

And it broke me, Anthony.

It broke me in a way that nothing else ever could.

I know that you will carry guilt for this. I know that you will grieve. But I do not want my last words to be ones of anger or bitterness.

Despite it all, I loved you.

I loved you with every part of me, even as my heart shattered.

And I hope—no, I pray—that one day, you will learn to love again. That you will cherish what you once took for granted. That you will never let another love slip through your fingers as you did with me.

Goodbye, my love.

Yours, always,

Y/N

Anthony couldn’t see past his tears.

The letter crumpled in his grip, his hands shaking violently. A strangled, guttural cry tore from his chest, echoing through the room.

She had been pregnant.

With his child.

And he had never known.

He had left her alone to suffer, to mourn, to grieve the loss of their baby all by herself. She had gone to bed every night with the weight of their unborn child pressing against her ribs, knowing she would never hold them.

And he had been with Sienna.

Benedict turned away, unable to watch as Anthony broke completely.

He did not comfort him.

He did not tell him it was alright.

Because it wasn’t.

Because Anthony Bridgerton had done something no man should ever do—he had abandoned the love of his life in her time of need.

And now, he would have to live with it.

Forever.

Legacy Benjamin continued to do research and experiments what slowly made him lose his mind, he got more aggressive and hostile to others what caused them to leave, with no one around anymore he poured all of his time on the experiments, with no one around to stop him his experiments became more extreme, off some of the experiments he was weary though, he kidnapped people to experiment on with no regard of empathy, sympathy or anything towards them, he got a sick sense of satisfaction of it. He doesn’t let anyone come close to him and kills off most people who try. In search of more remnant for his experiments he has killed multiple children, as if he’s repeating history once again

Legacy Benjamin canonically also cut of someone’s head and now uses it as his own, the phone head he now uses more ask a mask than anything else

As the cycle goes, we are born and die. The cycle is a never ending circle of life. Returning to the earth as nature selects.

"When I die I wanna go to heaven""when I die I want everything to stop""idk what I want when I die"

Well I want to nurse every animal dead of human negligance, cruelty or ignorance back to health and lead them to a nice place for them. Thats it. Thats what I want. I wanna spend eternity shaping new fins for sharks and healing burns on souls who died in a fire, and play with abandonned cats and dogs who died alone in the streets.

Thats it, thats what I want.

Just finished season 4 of Castlevania and I have some thoughts

Overall, the ending was solid and I’m happy to see that Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard could live together and build a better future together. That part was sweet and definitely served as the best part of the entire season for me

I really wish Carmilla had a better ending, she fought a horde of night creatures and Issac and nobody could take her down individually. They had built up her plan for so long and to see it come crashing down like that was a disappointment

It felt like the carmilla’s takeover and Dracula resurrection storylines where competing for screen time and should have had a few more episodes to breath.

I love what they did with Issac this season and seeing him grow to understand humanity and want to build a better future was nice. Seeing Death was nice I just wished they’d built it up a bit more.

Overall it was a good season that kind of meandered a bit. The animation was gorgeous as always and the ending was beautiful. Looking forward to Nocturne

brain barf vol. 1 by ki

a little stream of consciousness zine

someone in my town has been murdered today this is so my chemical romance

Ouch...

i am going to cry because of this.

Its amazing because of the perfect amount of angst, fiddauthor and Stan and Ford bonding.

More sad Ford

Dont know what’s wrong with me, but you can’t stop me

~Yandere America with deceased s/o’s will~

~TW death mention~

~

Alfred had been looking at the paper for a full hour at this point. Not wanting to believe what it said. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t, he knows that you wouldn’t do this to him.

Y/n, his lovely darling whom which he gave all his love to, had died earlier that year. Leaving him alone as a single father to deal with a child that wasn’t even his. A part of him wanting to give the child up since it showed him something that he could never have now.

But he knows deep down that he could never do that, it was the only living being that you had left behind for him. It was still a child of yours and he promised himself that he wouldn’t let them slip alway like you.

But, this.

Reading your will over and over again making sure that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Reading how you had given everything to your child not even mentioning your husband once in your will. He’s not going to try and cover up how it made him feel in that moment.

He had tried so hard for you, gave you everything you had ever desired and spent every waking moment with you, just so you could learn to love him, even with the short time you had left with him.

How could you be so selfish to not even spare him anything, ANYTHING of yours to him even after all he had done! Your belongings along with your child was all he had left to remind him of you.

He was the best thing that had happened to you and you treat him like this?

You must how just forgotten, that’s it! Your illness must have made you forget to add him in! He knows you better than anyone else he KNOWS you wouldn’t treat him like this on purpose!

You two were technically together so he feels as if it’s his right to add himself into your will. He’ll cherish everything you had left to give him and he feels so great full to have a kind s/o who just had forgotten to add him.

“Daddy?”

Alfred looked down at his daughter who had tugged on his pants. He had totally forgotten that he had promised to play with them before he got side tracked. quickly giving them a warm smile he said:

“Daddy will come play with you in a second pumpkin, he just has to sign some things real quick! Ok honey?”

He made quick work of editing the paper, how having it say that all their possessions would go to their family, only then did he seem satisfied looking at the will.

He picked up his daughter taking her out of his office and towards their room to play, feeling much more relived than ever now.

~~~

Blue

Dabi angst fic, not really proof read, doesn’t contain any strong topics aside from strong hatred.

Cold. Cold was all you felt, a feeling you had almost forgotten. Forgotten how cruel it was how it was as it enveloped your bruised and beaten body. Snowflakes fell from the dark, chilly sky as wind weaved through the buildings.

Sitting atop the snowy ground you were leaning against the hard mossy brick of the LOV building a shadow cast along your face as you held your body together despite the pain from the burns and bruises. With labored breathing you raised your head to look at his face. Turquoise eyes stared back, the way they looked at you made the snow beneath your feet feel almost warm in comparison.

You had predicted this day long ago and knew it was only a matter of time before it came. You had played your role for the league you had performed admirably, it earned you praise among them. Now that you had done your part you were to be disposed of because you were no longer of worth.

You knew this was coming, you knew you wouldn’t be around for too long, you were almost hyper aware of it. Yet you cracked just a bit, you let yourself smile a little too genuinely at his snide comments and rude remarks, relished a bit too much at the feeling of his rough and burnt skin. Relaxed a tad bit more than you should have at the familiar burnt smell from him.

Doomed from the beginning, you knew that you were and no matter how many heinous crimes you committed, no matter how much blood you covered your hands in... You found yourself to be unable to rid yourself of the human feeling of love despite society seeing you as no longer human.

Though on this snowy day in January, you remembered why you should have ridden yourself of this emotion. Giving a cold-eyed appraisal of the situation, he stepped forward though you could not bring yourself to even uselessly try pushing back farther into the wall. Your body ached and started to go numb starting from your legs. The wounds ached a bit more when he squatted down to your eye level.

You knew you were fighting back tears finally met with the despair of death you both had cruelly tormented others with. His hand reached out to caress your face, his touch was disgustingly gentle, quite different to the harsh and hot hands he had beat you with just a few seconds earlier.

Staring back at him with red watery eyes you were sure you looked pathetic for someone who was infamous for being such a cruel and powerful villain. Everything you had once felt for the black-haired man before you were nothing more than a wistful memory. All that was left was a very bitter feeling that seemed to bubble over in the moment. Gathering what little strength you had left you spat at his face the glob landing on his cheek, his eyes flashed for a split second with amusement.

The hand he had placed on your cheek swept over a wound to collect the blood which in turn made you hiss in pain. “You really don’t know when to knock it off do you?...Always hated that about you, you know?” His croaky voice that you once enjoyed filled you with nothing but abhorrence now, your eyes were no longer teary, instead they stared into his cold ones with malevolence.

Not that you cared anymore but you still found yourself searching for an inkling of emotion in his lackluster eyes, but you found nothing.

The slightly warm palm that had been held to your cheek without moving much had begun to heat up slowly but surely. He started talking once more his tone casual not befitting the current situation at hand “hey you had that really dumb nickname for me...What was it again...Oh...Blue.” It was a nickname you had given him when you first joined the league, and you did not know his name.

Everything you had done led right up to your demise but what you regretted most was letting that emotion even if it was just a little. You should have known a man like himself lost the ability to love another long ago leaving only the hollow shell where a soul once resided. Perhaps it would have made this moment less bitter, perhaps if he loved you in return, it could have been bittersweet.

His hand continued to heat up while his other hand stroked your hair. It was in an almost mocking manner like he was trying to comfort his partner after a grueling day. Even as his hands heated up to an excruciating degree he did not cease his action.

Oh, how you resented him.

But oh, how you resented yourself more for being a fool.

His vile smirk was the last thing you saw before your body went up in a hot flash and your vision was taken over by one color.

Blue.

Tw: Death I was in the middle of drawing something …practically the exact opposite of this vibe, but my playlist decided to kill me, so yeah

Basically something happened, both them died type thing

I was gonna make it a full drawing, but I kept crying, so no

version w/out the ghosts

edit: My dumbass forgot to put credits smh 🤦

credits-

Cross: Jakei95

Nightmare: Jokublog

Killer: Rahafwabas

character time!

alrighty, so, this is not for the campaign i’m building. this is one of my player characters that i didn’t get to use much because that group fell apart. (scheduling is real hard, my dudes. the struggle is real.) she’s a tiefling bard.

this is phelia. she is the only child of lord arxus, a viscount, and was raised with the knowledge that her father would someday marry her off for political gain. this never sat well with her, but she knew it was her duty. fast-learning and clever, phelia had a tongue like a whip and was a quick study. music and storytelling were her specialties, though she was also quite adept at diplomacy and swordplay. she was well-behaved, the picture of nobility, the perfect daughter. and then the day came. her father told her she was to be married, he had promised her hand to an elven earl that she had never met.

she wasn’t ready. so she ran.

she cut her hair and fled from her home. she took a coin purse and a sword, bought herself new clothes, and caught a ride out of town.

her father put out a reward for her return. she was both his child and his most valuable political asset, he wanted her back. as she adventured, she had to avoid suspicion, avoid capture. even her party couldn’t know who she truly was.

(now we get into sideplot i had planned out with the dm but didn’t actually get to have happen.)

eventually, phelia was found out and brought back home. she tried to fight against her father, but in the end, it was her duty to marry the man of his choosing.

still, this wasn’t the end. no, she was to do her duty, marry lord ronan, but the wedding was interrupted. one of the enemies from her time adventuring came bursting in, taking down guard after guard. they knew those little adventurers that had been causing so many issues would be here, easy to take care of. phelia grabbed one of the fallen guards’ swords and engaged. the rest of the party was quick to join, but it was she who got the killing blow.

battered and soaked in blood that was not her own, sword still held firm, phelia stared down her father. she would not marry. not today. not this man. she would choose her own partner. and this was final.

her father could not argue. and so, lord arxus let his daughter go. phelia was free.

Even so, people like Jacquetta and Elizabeth Woodville had several children in quick sucession no problem. I think Catherine’s problem might have been health related because she did gave birth more than once, but her children died really young and I heard it said it could’ve been because something was wrong with her. I don’t remember the particular of that argument, though, sorry.

And I think Anne’s problems might have been more stress related? She was in a bit of a precarious position there and stress does some serious shit to you. Coupled with the living conditions and general health nobles had those days, it isn’t surprising she couldn’t bring her babies to term.

sassenach-on-the-rocks replied to your post: I don’t think Anne Boleyn had difficulties getting…

I always figured that was the case for both Catherine and Anne. Back to back pregnancies isnt healthy for anyone. I had a friend tell me that she was advised by her doctor that for some women it can take up to a year for a womans body to fully heal depending up how the pregnancy went.

Yep! back to back pregnancies is really hard on the body. I probably would place my bets on this being the cause of Catherine and Anne’s troubles. Then the last three wives the cause would probably be Henry inability to have sex.