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ANSWERS BELOW THE CUT !

#☼ ask prompts.#☼ answered.#character insight.#SCREAMSs

nearly a decade , and yet he can still remember his mother's last words as clear as the day they were spoken ; her voice barely above that of a whisper , strained , but even so it continued to fill the young boy with a warmth and love that only a mother could give . ❝ . . . my little birdie , ❞ she had said to him , her hands cupping his round, pink cheeks using her thumb to gently wipe away his tears . ❝ no more tears , baby . it's going to be quite alright , i promise , my brave boy . ❞ he was ushered out of the hospital room then . he remembers seeing his father there , physically , but he could not have been farther from present in that moment . he almost appeared bored of the situation . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀content warnings in tags.

present day , and the man was still hardly present . ❝ dad , ❞ he calls out to the older man but hardly receives a grunt . so he says it again . . . again , and again , and again and — the recliner has hit the floor with a loud thud and birdie flinches so hard he's thrown himself against the front door . footsteps are racing down the hall now , and birdie can feel the panic take hold of him and weigh him against the floor frozen from the fear . he can't breathe , it's hard to catch his breath and it hurts . he can hear the car honk outside and curls in on himself , raises his arms to cover his face as his father draws nearer . it'll be over soon . hands roughly grip onto his wrists , nails digging into scarred skin and pull them from cal's face . they're held down and cal doesn't fight back , only stares up at his father with the widest, tearful eyes . a hand clasps itself over his face and nose as his father hisses at him to shut the fuck up , and get out . he does . birdie stands up from the floor slowly , cautiously like if he moved too quickly it would only anger his father more . feet shuffle against the dusty floorboards as trembling hands fumble for the door handle . finally unlocking the door and being able to hurry towards the car where a comforting face greets him , he can notice the disapproving frown that has replaced louis's tiny smile . no , not disapproving ; concerned , frustrated because they know what's happening without birdie actually saying it out loud . calypso opens the passenger side and climbs in , sits in silence staring at his wrists which feel like they're throbbing and sting from the skin that was broken by his father's nails . they both stare . until calypso turns towards his partner with that smile of his — so believable that it made even lou nauseous . calypso's places a hand on lou's cheek and reaches across the console to place a soft kiss against the other's scruffy cheek , his heart skipping a beat when he can tell that louis was leaning into the kiss . there are obvious tears welling in his eyes now . nobody says anything .

nobody says anything for a while , actually , which is unusual for calypso . they sit in silence , enjoying one another's presence simply as lou drove and birdie watched the scenery of passing cars and the sun playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds and trees . music plays to fill the silence , bouncing from louis's metal and birdie's campfire folk songs respectively . but even atlas himself could hold back these tears . the boy's face slowly distorts as tears flowed down his rosy cheeks like a wild river , choked sobs belting from deep within his chest ; a puddled mess of tears , drool , and snot . his hands have flown up level with his temples , and his wrists drive themselves against his skull repeatedly and he groans agonizingly in emotional distress . louis doesn't hesitate to pull over on the side of the road and undoes both of their seatbelts . and as he raises his hands to put a stop to birdie's actions , birdie flinches and screams . lou pulls away , turns the music down and gets out of the car so that he can open birdie's door . and when he does , birdie's eyes widen when the cold air hits him and he crawls out onto the mix of grass and gravel and dirt , hugging himself as he tries desperately to gather enough air to fill his lungs . his partner has dropped to the ground now beside him , reaches out wrap their arms around him to gently restrain the broken boy from causing anymore harm to his head . there is no attempt to silence calypso's sobs , only encouragement . encouragement to finally let himself be angry , to let his anguish and fear burst out of his chest after being locked away for so long that his heart was exhausted . had he done something wrong ? what could he have possibly done to be treated the way his father treated him , when all he had ever done was love him and look to him with respect . but for years all the man did was sit in that disgusting living room with the stained carpet from when he had dropped his juice as a child , and his mother had to clean it up . that living room with the rotting wallpaper which was once his mother's favorite color , a darling shade of baby blue . and the busted radio which only ever played one station and nobody could figure out how to fix it , nor was there the money there to fix it . ❝ mama loved that radio anyway , ❞ he chuckles wetly through his tears and his snot . lou perks up hearing him speak , but doesn't interrupt him ; only encourages him to speak with a hum . ❝ sh...she always managed to dance to those silly songs - some weird ska music . ❞ a gentle thumb caresses the tears gently from his cheeks , a sleeve wiping at his face to clean it up and gentle kisses pressed against his head . and he leans into this touch , allows his body to sink against his boyfriend . he is worn now , physically . the mask has broken , but birdie continues to paint a smile on his face . calypso is lifted up to his feet by lou and led back into the car . his favorite songs are put on , but there's no point ; he has fallen asleep now , slumped against the window with lips slightly agape and his shoulders and chest rise and fall slowly .

#WRITING.#character insight.#NOT A STARTER.#cw// abuse depiction in first three paragraphs #cw// sh warning (head afflicted)#if there is a better way to tag that pls dm me KINDLY with recs!

b@nshee headcanons.

sex with a banshee can be a thrilling and fulfilling and even dangerous experience. it’s otherworldly and not even remotely close to a regular euphoric sexual encounter. banshees are creatures that feed off energy more than anything else, the darker the better so they will provoke one’s inner most deepest carnal desires and fetishes and bring them out to play. climax, especially for the non-banshee party, feels like an overwhelming out of body sensation. that’s because the soul is trying to exit the body in response to her presence. superhumans can find it in themselves to come off the high quicker and safer than regular humans because of how active and alarmed their reflexes and senses typically are thus snapping out of euphoric trance to prevent their souls from getting sucked out of their person. however the same cannot be said for normal, powerless mortals making it impossible for them to ever survive sex with a banshee due to their more naive nature. superhumans and supernaturals alike can even grow addicted to any kind of sexual activity preformed with a banshee since the orgasms are so intense and they have more free range to enjoy darker themes in the bedroom. however, post banshee sex will have their next experiences with humans or even superhumans pale in comparison and pleasure and completion may feel anticlimactic and disappointing.

#character insight.#valentina ambrosio headcanons.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝟑 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 .

@heckatomb .

one. emily jumps in her sleep. you know this because you don’t get much sleep either anymore. at least not a full night’s rest. it’s hard to look at her sometimes, not without feeling guilty. you’ve caught her looking at her scar though you know she tries not to, it’s ugly, it’s permanent, it’s a constant reminder to both of you. at first, you didn’t process the severity of the injury. no, you thought he had only manhandled her. you couldn’t believe he was capable of hurting her or truly anyone to that extent. when you made your decision to finalize your goodbye, you closed his dorm door and fell to your knees and wailed. tremor overtook you, body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears that tore straight through your chest. a cry so painful that it hurt to breathe. you do your best not to think of it often. but some days you don’t know how to stop blaming yourself for it.

two. sex is not a reliable coping mechanism. that and vibrators need to up their game. you’ve already broken 3. you lost your virginity at an early age. not the way you thought you would, certainly not to the person you wanted to lose it to. you were 14 when you grew into your figure but you were 15 when your mom’s boyfriend actually took notice. for a while, you stood out of each other’s way. he’d ask you if you had a boyfriend or wanted one and you had your eye out for a certain scorpio whom you reluctantly grew apart from. you’d laugh and tell him no, he would proceed to compliment your features. you didn’t think much of it until it grew to be a frequent thing and he progressively got more descriptive with time. at 16 is when he began groping you, pressing his body against yours, leaning into you whenever he could and your mom got mad at you for it. she started treating you differently. it wasn’t until he sat next to you at a family dinner, clad in what was your favorite sundress, that his fingers made direct contact with thin fabric of panties and you jumped up in your seat and left, without explanation. you had aiden come pick you up, he was your ex best friend’s boyfriend at the time. you asked him if he’s ever had sex before, he swallowed thick and said of course. looking back, you could have dealt with things differently, arguably better. but you asked him to show you, to touch you so you can replace the man’s burning caress that poisoned your flesh, the very feeling made your skin crawl so you took matters into your own hands. neither of you knew what you were doing but it felt good, euphoric almost. and ever since it’s been your go-to trauma stress reliever. but vibrating plastic isn’t the same as physical intimacy, you’re not taking it well. you’re itching to be touched again, licked, fucked. you crave it. you need it.

and three. despite everything, you miss oscar. you’ve picked up writing again, it’s a mix between a myriad of soft and forlorn poems and reoccurring dreams and nightmares about him. on a good night, you’re in his arms again. he’s not angry, he’s at peace with you. his smile makes your heart skip a beat, you kiss him and see stars. he can hold you without hurting you. on a bad night, you’re clinging onto him for dear life, begging him not to hurt anyone else while he laughs at you. all your efforts to save him are meaningless, he doesn’t care about you, he’d never love you. he doesn’t want to change. and on those nights you wake up in cold sweat, unable to sleep until the sun is up and the process repeats. you know you should hate him, despise him for all the bad things he’s done. you text him semi regularly, because you know he won’t receive them anyway.

why can’t I fucking hate you, oscar. I shouldn’t miss you. you hurt the only person I really have left. why would you do that? you weren’t angry at her, you were angry at me. you should’ve hurt me. you fucked this up so bad. I wanted you, you don’t understand I really wanted to be with you. you don’t deserve to make me feel this way. I know deep down you’re not this person, I just want you to prove me right. prove to me that there’s more to you than this shit, tell me i’m not crazy for caring about you that i’m not wasting my time. tell me you miss me back, give me something, anything. I hate that I don’t know anything about you, I don’t know if you’re okay, if you’e being taken care of, if you’re fucking some other bitch. please. can you please come back to me. please, oscar. please.

#valentina ambrosio drabbles.#character insight.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 .

@heckatomb .

back is to the building wall, the frigid breeze cut at your flesh; a cold anchor to keep you grounded. you’re already on your second cigarette, you’re plagued with the memories that you’ve repressed for so long. you didn’t dodge any bullets, you simply denied that they hit you and now they’ve resurfaced twice as strong.

you can easily recall a time where you thought you were on top of the fucking world. you had this routine. competitive spirits you both were, to strive to wake up before the other to please each other. ritualistic almost, to her it was a game. she was always one step ahead of you, she’d tinker with your alarm and be under the covers by 5:15 exactly. she worked effortlessly in her craft but brought you to ecstasy in a way that not even you could compete with. she knew how to touch you, how to sate your greedy sexual appetite. in return, you orchestrated her multiple orgasms and preformed pornstar caliber sex. always a little emotionally constipated but for her you’d try and you did. money was a non factor, she only took what she needed yet, still, you gave so much more.

she had you wrapped around her little finger, but it was beyond sex. that was just a bonus. she made you feel things you never thought you could but that’s not why you loved her. you truly loved her for her. for the person she was. her strength was intimidating. she knew how to hold her own, never backed down from anything until she got her point across and you could do nothing but shut up and apologize. insecurity was not in her diction, she never claimed to be better than anyone else but she didn’t have to, she knew it. she was brave, strong, independent, unpredictable, wise beyond her years and she didn’t need you. fuck, she didn’t need anyone. everything about her was intoxicating, enthralling, bewitching and admirable. the ideal woman, your twin flame.

the day you met her, she was outside of a bar, smoking a cigarette. you couldn’t bear the smell and your face gave it away, she teased you about it and looked breathtaking while doing so. the first time she kissed you, she had just ashed her stick and, till this day, you’re unsure if it was her innate sensuality bleeding into the kiss or maybe the extreme, rapid thud in your chest but something masked the godawful flavor of nicotine and suddenly it became a heavenly taste. she made you step out of your comfort zone on multiple occasions. you hated dancing, even more so publicly, but she’d take your hand in hers and rhythm coursed through your frame and you grew to love salsa. her impact implemented itself into your daily regime, stuck to you like velcro.

you can’t remember the exact moment everything changed. one night you were glistening in passions of rough sex and the next morning she blew you for the last time. by the afternoon, she was waving goodbye with a smile, sitting passenger seat to the man you introduced her to. the man you invited into your home, whom you shared your concerns, your dreams, your fears. and he used it against you. you watched him drive away with the woman you love and that was when you experienced true heartbreak. not when you were 6 and your dad told you he was leaving because of you, not when you were 13 and your dog was poisoned by your neighbor, not when you were 17 and your brother beat you half dead for flushing away his vices, not when you were 23 and you watched your first wife miscarry due to the stress of discovering your many extramarital affairs but when you were 38 and you watched the love of your life leave you as easy as she got you. she left you with nothing but photo albums, bitter resentment, a large, vacant family home and a shattered heart.

she didn’t need to hex you, you loved her with everything in you. truth be told, you still do love her. and maybe one day you’ll finally admit it.

#diego marquez drabble.#character insight.