#jam writes

[bitch-potatoes]

Doomed by the narrative

That's what Barty called it; a hundred worlds, four words said a hundred times. He'd say it with a chuckle and a subtle smile just hiding on his teeth.

It was always going to be this way. That's just how it was.

He'd say it as the ink in his arm matched Evan's, they were just doomed by the narrative. That's what kept him going when he was haunted by the knowledge that this could never end how he wanted. Barty knew that night, one of them wasn't supposed to make it - it didn't matter that there was two portions of dinner waiting at home, the universe didn't care about the macaroni cheese in the oven. Barty didn't even like macaroni cheese. Evan did. He sobbed as he held the limp body of the only person who made even the most mundane of things seem just a bit better, there was nothing to say he was dead other than the fact Barty had seen the green bolt slice right through him.

He'd say it again in the hospital staring at the papers, cancer: stage 4. Doomed, he'd say, trying to make light of the fact Evan could hardly lift his head from his pillow because if he cried, when would the tears ever stop? Never probably. Hardly any time passed over the months Evan was sick, and yet the monitor droned on as of to rub in the fact the heart in his chest had stopped beating, Barty’s had stopped with it or so it felt. DNR, DNI. That drone would never leave his ears.

He'd say it while pushing the panic from his voice and holding Evan so close he might break him after he'd fallen from a branch. Their spot, in the treeline so no one could intrude. He'd pull his body over his shoulder, muttering comfort to a barely conscience Evan. "Trust this to happen to us, we must be doomed by the narrative," he'd whisper just loud enough for Evan to cough a half laugh in return. He'd be gone by the time Barty's legs could bring them back to civilisation. The crunch of twigs always made him flinch.

Doomed. That's just what they were meant to be, they got to love but only for a glimpse, a blink in time. And oh did they love, hard and fast like fire. Until they burnt out and the only evidence was embers and ash. Some great Shakespearean tragedy, spiralling into the same ending every time.

[anachr0nismm]

Brian's old life sticks with him. He thinks, if maybe he was better, more religious, he would have been allowed death. Would have been embraced in Heaven.

He doesn't believe in a God anymore, but that never comes with certainty. What if he's wrong? What if his defiance will ruin the world around him somehow more?

So, despite his wavering, he prays every night. He begs for safety, pleads for forgiveness, and cries for himself like a selfish prick. He doesn't think anyone but Aurora is hearing him, but what if...

What if he's wrong? What if this simple habit is what kept their little band afloat all these millennia? He doesn't want to falter a single night and be the cause of their ruin.

So he prays, and he worships, and he tries to believe anything more than the choking fear that compels him. He doesn't, he won't ever, and he'll know in just the end how truly meaningless it all was.

[fanboyzuko]

🔥🔥 ch 11 is finished hell yeahhhhhh

[theblueberryjam]

excerpt from a fey tim au

“Hello. What’s your name?” 

He doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. He doesn’t have one. 

The human child huffs. “I’m Tim-o-thy,” the child pronounces carefully. 

It’s an accident. It’s instinct.  “Can I have it?” he asks. The words spill over his lips. 

“Have what?” The child tips his head in confusion. 

“Can I have your name?” he repeats. He wants. He’s never wanted anything more in his young life. His chest aches with it. 

“It’s Timothy,” the child repeats, and the taste of the name rests lightly on his tongue. It’s plain and bland, but it eases the ache inside of him, the emptiness that he only recognizes as it dissipates. 

Greedly he snatches onto the name. Timothy. He licks his lips, and the child in front of him shudders and then starts to cry. The child’s adult runs over, concerned. 

“Timothy?” she asks, bouncing the child on her hip. The now nameless child cries harder. Timothy, newly satiated, watches. Perhaps… perhaps the nameless child feels what Timothy felt. 

Listening to the child’s wails puts a pit in his stomach, interrupting the lovely fullness there from the name. The thought of giving up the name, though, makes him want to cry instead. He can’t go back to the gnawing at his bones, gaping in his stomach, the longing in his chest. 

Carefully, he cradles the name next to his chest and breaks it in half. Maybe this will do? Immediately, the hunger returns, less than it was, but he still aches and yearns. Something in his chest, his very soul maybe, is reaching out, searching for something he only now knows he is missing. But as he relinquishes his claim on half the name, the child’s wails quiet to wimpers. 

The child and the adult leave the park. 

Janet walks over. “Do you have a name, little one?” she asks, stroking a hand possessively over his hair. 

Tim nods. 

[wanderingspacepirate]

i think i want to be a poet. be someone who writes a line so perfect i make you cry. be someone who creates a whole world for you to read and then—breaks it. right before the end. so that you have an ache in your heart from my words and nothing to soothe it with.

i want to pass my pain on to you, to share it. to share the ache in my heart from poetry i have gobbled up, and held, and wasted. i want to write a home for us.

i think i want to be a poet.

- J. Coyote @wanderingspacepirate

[writemeagoodprompt]

Henlooo!!! Thanks for writing up all of my requests! It makes me so happy to see them (and they’re all so amazingly written, of course!!) I know you’re super busy and stuff and I really appreciate that time you take to write! If you don’t mind, I have another ask. Please don’t feel pressured to write it up quickly! Hero looses control of their powers and begs Villain to help them, but Villain says no and watches them destroy everything. Thanks!

// Ah, I’m glad you enjoyed the prompts! You’re technically helping me out by sending me ideas, so thank you!! The powers I gave the Hero are controlled by their emotions, so, enjoy :) //

Screaming loudly, Hero covered their face. They couldn’t bear to look at what they’ve done. Bodies strewn about, buildings destroyed into nothingness. They needed someone to help them get a hold of themselves. They needed Villain.

“[Villain’s Name]?” Hero called out, still hiding their face. “[Villain’s Name], where are you?!” They yelled, hoping for them to answer.

“Right behind you.”

Villain’s voice was enough for them to relax, but not quite. They spun around, looking up at them. “Please, help me!” They begged, as Villain toyed with a dagger. “You’re the only one who can help me calm down!”

Villain shook their head, the shadow of a smile on their lips. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Hero’s eyes widened from fear. They can feel themselves slipping again. “No, no! You must!” They shouted at them. “You can die because of me! You have to help me!”

“You’re the one who caused this.” Villain spoke calmly. “Once I take you down, I’ll be called a hero.” They grinned, malice dripping from their words. “And you, will be called the villain.”

Hero stifled a sob as their vision went black.

[stfranciseventing]

Lucy: Tim I'm so happy I could kiss you!

Tim: Neat.

*Later that day*

Tim: I can't believe I said 'neat'.

Tim: 'Neat'. Nobody says 'neat' anymore! It's the goddamn 21st century! It's not neat to say neat, but I said it anyway because I'm a huge loser!

Angela: Don't beat yourself up, everyone gets nervous sometimes.

Angela: Remember what happened when Wes confessed to me?

Tim: Didn't you thank him?

Angela: I thanked him.

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

You can't always get what you want (but if you try sometime, you get what you need)

Fandom: The Royals

Rating: T

Warning: none

After being betrayed by Samantha/Mandy and Jasper (again), Eleanor is broken.

Meanwhile, Cyrus is finally finding some happiness. And since Violet is a good person, she encourages him to talk with Eleanor. Because Eleanor needs someone and Cyrus is the perfect person.

In a cruel world, you sometimes find your allies at the most unexpected moments.

(Missing scene in 2x6)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32069389