#brofic

[the-ironic-monster]

The next chapter is written.

yayeah.

but i gotta finish art first hue hue.

[boysintears]

Nightmare // Winchesters

Warnings: angst, death, inuries, very discriptive/graphic, gore, panic attack symptoms i think, like organs getting ripped out, swearing

Words: 1,816

Summary: one of the youngest winchesters night terrors

A/N: this isn’t written as readers pov, gender neutral sibling, i wanted to write this for longer now, i hope you like this

Tags: @supernatural-squadd ; @winchesters-favorite-girl ; @thegreatficmaster

Opening my eyes, everything was black, I couldn’t see nor hear anything. It was a deafening silence, only my erratic breathing, sounding in my ears. Trying to figure out where I was, I lifted my hands above my head, only for them to come in contact with a soft surface. Pushing my hands against it once more, but it wouldn’t budge.

Slowly I laid my arms back against my sides, realizing I couldn’t get up. My limbs were getting heavy and it was getting harder to breath.

Rolling onto my stomach, I tried to crawl to the sides, but I only came into contact with the same material than above me.

Panic was washing over me. I was laying in a coffin. A fucking coffin. My breathing was getting more frantic, the air only getting thinner. I turned back onto my back. Lifting my hands over my head again, was costing me a lot of strength. I pulled at the cloth, trying to tear it, to come to the wooden lid of my prison.

I was panting, black dots dancing in front of my vision, pieces of clothing hanging into my face, my fingers bloody and sore, when I finally came into contact with the wood. Digging my nails into the lid, getting splinters stuck into my fingers, blood dropping onto my face.

The air was getting dangerously thin, as a whole lot of dirt fell onto me. I couldn’t breath. No more air was around me. Coughing, I tried to get the dirt out of my throat. I was suffocating on it. No! I wouldn’t die! Not now, god damn it!

Digging myself further up as far as I could. My fingers were numb, I couldn’t feel a thing anymore, besides my heartbeat, that was beating too fast and hard. The earth against my fingers got softer and more humid, as I neared the surface. Only a bit more.

My vision was nearly completely black, when suddenly my fingers broke through the ground, I could feel a soft gush of wind against my numb limbs. Getting myself to wok faster before I would become unconscious.

Heaving my body out of my grave, I didn’t care about my surroundings, bending over and coughing, getting all of the filth out of my lungs, vomiting. Using the rest of my strength to puke out all of the earth I swallowed.

Taking shaky breaths I slowly opened my eyes and sat myself up. Gravestones surrounded me, overgrown with with undergrowth. Lifting myself up on shaking legs, I brushed the leftover dirt off my face and stumbled to the nearest grave. Brushing the plants out of the way, there was no name on the stone just a number. 25. What did it mean?

Crawling back to the next grave, I found another number, 311. Confused I turned around and walked to the hole I just dug myself out off. Pulling away the scrub, with shaking hands, I found a number like the others. 12. What the hell did this mean?

Pushing my weak body up again, I walked through the graveyard. The further I walked, the newer the gravestones looked, and the higher the numbers got. The last one I saw was 600.

A shudder crawled over my back, when I stepped out of the cemetery. Throwing a last glace back, I hurried to get away from my grave.

Running through the forest, stumbling over roots and getting scared by the sound of animals, I tried to find my way out. I needed to to get back to my brothers. I needed to get back to Bobby’s. Tears started to make their way down my face, I was scared. Fucking scared, and I didn’t even care. Walking further, just getting further. Just never stay in one place too long, who knows whats out in these woods.

My lungs were sore, breathing hurt like hell, I couldn’t take any deep breaths. I needed to rest, even though I felt way too unsafe, my body couldn’t do this any longer. Reluctantly I let my body sink to the ground against a fallen over tree. Taking deep, rattling breaths of air, I tried to steady my heartbeat.

Closing my eyes for a second, I thought back to the weird numbers on the gravestones. My thoughts were interrupted when a strong hand closed itself around my throat and lifted me off of my feet and into the air.

Gasping for breath, my eyes shot open, meeting glowing yellow orbs staring into mine. A slow grin spread itself on the lips of my opponents. Showing sharp yellowy fangs, that were starting to turn black in a few spots. The grip around my neck got tighter and claws started to make their way, painfully slow, into my skin.

“Look what we have here”, he rasped. “12 lived through it”, the grin got even wider, showing of more fangs. “I should bring you to the lab right now. But I wanna have a little fun with you. So run little sheep, run as fast as you can”, he laughed.

The hand around my throat let its grip looser and he threw me against a tree not far from him.

It took me a second to realize what just happened, before it hit me and I scrambled to my feet and run as fast as I could.

Pushing myself to run faster, as I heard it’s footsteps catching up to me. My legs were tiring, but I pushed them to run even faster than before, having the feeling of somebody breathing down my neck. I didn’t dare to turn around, afraid of falling over a tree root and being caught again.

I was panting, my throat hurting from the monsters hard grip, my pace was getting slower, my body being too tired from all the events, that happened in the last few hours.

Not having heard anything in a while, I dared to turn around and look if the thing was still behind me. A loud scream left my lips, the monster standing directly behind me, wearing a disappointed expression on it’s face.

“Oh, 12, you let me down”, he sighed sarcastically. “I really hoped you’d make it further, being the only one that lived through the first round of our experiments”, he said grinning.

I was frozen in fear, looking at the creature towering over me, before he let his clawed hand come down, swiping it over my face.

Falling to the ground, the pain made me cry out. He grabbed me by my hair, lifting me up again. Holding me directly in front of his face, his stinking breath causing goosebumps to appear on my skin.

Without saying anything, he beat my head against the next tree, knocking me out.

The next time I woke up, a bright light was shining directly into my face. Turning my head away, I tried to lift a hand in front of my eyes, only to find them bound to my sides. Groaning, I lifted my head to find myself on a doctor like chair, my hands and feet bound to the material of the seat.

Fearfully I looked at my surroundings. The room was big and windowless. The walls were made out of cement and the plastering was falling off in some places. Weird tubes, filled with green liquor, were standing in the middle of the room.

In one of the containers swam a body, it didn’t move, looked dead even, and it was hooked up to three different tubes. Suddenly the body moved, only for a second, as if a shock ran through it.

Scared, I looked away, to the other side of the room. I could see a big metal, double door. It was closed and looked very heavy.

Weird sounds were coming from the other side of it, like metal, hitting some other, softer material. I heard something break, before loud heavy steps neared the door. Instinctively I started to tug at the bounds around my wrists, trying to get free, before the person the steps belonged to could come through the door. But it was no use, the door opened and two tall, muscular built men, stepped through the door, they were dragging a cart behind them. The materials on it making clinging sounds.

As both neared the light, their features became more visible and a feeling of relief swam over me as I recognized them. “Sam? Dean?”, my voice broke as I croaked out their names. A happy smile on my lips.

I was free, my brothers came to safe me, like they always do. We were going to go back and everything was going to be okay.

But they didn’t react to me calling their names. Instead Dean surrounded the table, to stand on my other side and turned my head away from him, so he could look at the holes in the flesh of my neck.

“Why can he never do as we tell him”, he sighed. I was confused, what was going on? Tears were falling from my eyes. Why weren’t they helping me? Sam took a pair of scissors off of the cart and cut open my shirt, before he changed them against a scalpel. Taking a rag, that was hanging on the seat I was sitting on, he cleaned the knife, while Dean started to speak again.

“12, I am surprised, that you lived though the procedure. I didn’t expect your scrawny, weak body to be strong enough”, Dean said. He took a needle and rammed it into my neck.

The substance burned in my veins, making me scream in pain. My voice was coarse, my body burning all over. I was in such agony, that I didn’t notice Sam started to cut into my chest with the scalpel.

He cut all the way from my chest to my belly button. I saw him pulling my chest open, sticking his hands into my ribcage. My brother frowned, when he didn’t get what he wanted.

I was in so much pain, wishing that I could just fall unconscious, but even though black spots where dancing in front of my eyes, it wouldn’t bring the loved blackness.

Dean put his hands into my chest as well, and grabbed a few of my ribs. He started to pull at them, ripping pieces of them out of my body, until there was a hole big enough for Sam to reach.

A searing pain shot throughout my whole body, a scream as loud as a banshee’s escaped my sore throat.

Looking up through my teary vision, I could see Sam holding my, still pumping, heart. He grinned madly before he took a big bite out of it. And finally the pain ended and everything became black.

I shot up screaming, seeing a face in front of me wearing a, way too familiar, mad smile.

Masterlist

[sexticles-blog]

FFXV PROMPTO/NOCTIS - prompt: tattoo

“Stop fidgeting!” The light voice of his childhood friend instructed, a fair-skinned hand squeezing his own pale wrist.

“I’m only trying to get comfortable, Prompto.” The young prince drawled, rolling his eyes.

The two sat together in his apartment, television blaring with the sound of some popular rock group. Whilst watching music videos and being their generally lazy selves, Prompto had come up with an ingenious idea - that they would each give each other a stick and poke tattoo of the other’s choosing.

Noctis had agreed, realising only too late that they were both slightly intoxicated and that Prompto would almost certainly draw a dick on his wrist. Also that his father would probably cut his hand off for doing it - but they’d worry about that later.

“If it’s a dick, I will have you executed.” The prince told his blue-eyed companion, deadpan. “In public. I will invite Cindy to the after party.”

“Ah,” The blonde sighed, “fine. I won’t. I’ll just do a… number seven. Because that is how long we’ve been friends for since we started at high school together.”

“Very sentimental.” The raven nodded in acceptance. “Know what I’m gonna do on you?”

“What?” Prompto laughed, drawing a shaky outline as carefully as he could - a small, simple ‘VII’.

“…I was just gonna draw a dick, not gonna lie.”

“Noct!” The fair haired youngster laughed loudly.

Trying to get a good angle, Prompto took a firm hold of his friend’s hand and held it on his knee while the prince summoned a small flame into the palm of his hand. He sterilised a needle and held it in the crackling ball of heat until it turned red at the end.

“Get ready!” The blonde cackled, driving the needle with some force into the prince’s wrist. Noctis flinched, swearing under his breath. “Surely it doesn’t hurt that much?”

“It’s just uncomfortable.”

“Ah.” The blonde nodded, squeezing the prince’s hand as he continued with his work of art, grinning happily as he reflected on the last seven years he had been at the prince’s side.

[batreyn]

things you said when you were drunk - JayDami

Jason’s careful pursuit of his target was halted as a mangy cat darted across his path with something in its mouth.

“I followed one, once. I wanted to see why it was taking its kill elsewhere.”

Ignoring it, Jason crept forward a few more steps, stopping once again at the sound of multiple tiny mewlings.

“It had babies, Todd. So many tiny…az…azg…fluffy! Fluffy babies. And I just.” 

Jason stared down at the litter of kittens. Two were already dead and the rest didn’t look like they would make it. Despite that, the mother seemed determined to continue trying.

“This mother was falling to pieces, barely able to take care of herself, and yet here she was making sure all the babies had a healthy start at life and I couldn’t…”

With a sigh, Jason tucked his gun back into its holster. If he had known Damian would be a sentimental drunk, he never would have pushed for them to have a night out drinking.

Personally, Jason could care less about the animals on the streets, but the memory of Damian’s face crumpling in despair over all the animals he couldn’t help had Jason reaching out to pick up the three remaining kittens to take home.

That, and the lingering hilarity when Jason had realized Damian had forgotten the English word for cat amidst the kid’s breakdown.

THE END.

[batreyn]

Dd, 17: things you said when you were scared.

“You can’t–” A strangled sob, followed by measured breathing. “I don’t want to be left alone.”

Within his cocoon of darkness, he felt a hint of pain. It grew stronger for a moment, and then nothing.

For a long time, the only sound that could be heard in the hospital room was the beeping of machines and pumping of compressed air from the ventilator.

It took nearly two weeks for Dick to regain some form of consciousness, and another four days before he was well enough for any proper progress to be made.

Damian hadn’t left the hospital once, having claimed the rest of the room as his own with a cot, suitcase, and makeshift desk where he did what small amounts of schoolwork he was able to focus on.

It’s where he was now as Tim sat in the visitor’s chair, chatting away with Dick.

“We were all convinced you were a goner this time,” Tim admitted. “I’m not even sure I would have been able to make it back from that. What made you fight so hard?”

For a moment, Dick remained silent, his gaze flickering to Damian. He wasn’t about to admit the countless times he had heard the boy’s voice filter through to his dreams. The pleas, the crying, the confessions, the angry accusations. He may not have heard it all, but he heard enough.

“I wasn’t about to make you guys attend a second funeral for me,” Dick stated instead.

He would keep Damian’s secrets safe for a little while longer.

THE END

prompts closed

[batreyn]

Ok, no, I can’t leave fandom just yet. Because now I’m having these THOUGHTS that won’t leave me alone.

Now, let’s say Bruce/Barbara stayed mainstream-ish canon and didn’t get put with Batman Beyond-verse. Which means Dick’s falling out with them is WAY beyond huge. As in yeah, he stayed away. Far away. Bye, Felicia.

And then in comes Damian.

Dick hears about him through the grapevine and just seethes. Because seriously, Bruce? It wasn’t enough to knock-up someone in the family, so you decided to sleep with the enemy?? And golly gee whiz, this kid made it. Well, good luck with that. Enjoy lying in the bed you made with that one.

But then Batman disappears and Dick receives the plea from both Alfred and Tim. Please come back. Gotham needs help.

And against his better judgement, Dick comes back and meets this angry, holier-than-thou child whose high pedestal is stuck up his ass and is begging for a proper beat down. And Dick hates working with him, but knows the kid needs the guidance of the cowl and needs the position of Robin more than Tim does.

Naturally, Tim is NOT okay with this. WAY more NOT okay than the original. Because he brought Dick back so they could work together, not so that he could be fired from his role after fighting so hard against Damian to keep it.

Now, here are Dick and Damian constantly butting heads. Because Damian is an ass. But as they continue to work together, Dick realizes that Damian still sees Bruce as this perfect being, which ok, makes sense since that’s his father. But Dick knows better. And there’s a part of him that wants to lay the ugly truth out to the kid to knock him down a few pegs.

But…at the same time, Bruce is probably dead, so maybe it’s best that he lives on in a good light in at least one family member’s mind.

So Dick buries his hatchet with Bruce and focuses on becoming a proper mentor for Damian and he sees how much the kid is hurting inside over the probably death of his father so soon after he’s come into his life. And damn it all, he comes to care for the kid. Not that he’d ever admit that to Damian, since he’s still pretty sure the kid will cut him in his sleep. But they bond, and become a pretty awesome team, and even come to share in some laughs and peaceful moments together.

But then Bruce comes back and things are…not really reconciled at all and still hella awkward. Dick is reminded of why he initially hated Damian, is reminded that Damian could very well have been Bruce and Barbara’s son, is reminded of their betrayal, and he just can’t.

So he leaves, with barely a goodbye, and Damian is left not understanding why his warm, caring mentor has suddenly gone so cold towards him, can’t even look at him, and is now hopping on his motorbike and leaving him in the dust.

Did he do something wrong? Say something more offensive than usual? Was their gradual friendship just a farce to get Damian to open up so he would be easier to deal with? Was Dick really just counting down the days until he could leave because he hated Damian that much?

Damian thought he had been doing better. He thought he had been earning Dick’s approval with his latest actions. Was he hated because of his past? Was that so unforgivable in Dick’s eyes? Does this mean nothing he does will redeem him? Do his father and "brothers" all think the same way?

Something inside Damian breaks at that thought and his father takes on the brunt of his anger and self-hatred as Damian slowly tries to learn how to heal himself.

Can you just imagine all the angsty fanfiction that would spawn from this????

[batreyn]

Only 90s Kids: Cont.

“Hey, do you remember these?”

Jason leaned to the side, shoving Damian’s head out of the way so he could see the screen of Tim’s tablet.

“Oh yeah. I’m pretty sure I shoved my dick in one of those once.”

Damian’s frown was full of confusion. “Why would you--?”

“You don’t,” Tim quick interrupted.

Going back to his lunch, Jason shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. And maybe the next few times after that, too.”

“Wow, seriously?” Tim was clearly judging him, but Jason didn’t care. He was young once and could say he died without any childhood regrets.

“Was this toy manufactured for sexual purposes?”

Tim’s head nearly met the table at Damian’s innocent question. “Do not put your dick in these!”

Damian blinked and then crossed his arms. “That wasn’t a no.”

The surprised laughter that burst out of Jason had him choking on his sandwich.

“NO! It was this sensory tube that--”

“Sex is sensory,” Jason pointed out between coughs.

“Shut up!” Tim was blushing. “Just because the tube was tight and the thing was filled with gel doesn’t mean--”

Damian’s smirk was downright evil. “Did you ever put your dick in it?”

Tim’s mouth flapped wordlessly for a moment. “T-that’s--! It wasn’t the same--! Don’t ever compare me to this cretin over here!”

Jason reached over and clamped his hand down on Tim’s on the shoulder. “A little bit of lube goes a long way, Timmy.”

Tim’s look of horrified embarrassment was met with a shit-eating grin.

Damian slid from his seat and picked up his still full plate. “You both are completely deranged.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a pervert-free zone.”

THE END.

[very-grownup]

BFF’s figured out how Seirin can win

Hyuga begins drawing a manga of the last three minutes of the game and forces it into Kise's line of sight.  His Perfect Copy skill kicks in and he is forced to play precisely according to the events in the comic.