#Anything he can use to cause pain will be used

[randombush3]

que te quiero

alexia putellas x reader

prologue

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 3217

content warnings: just you fucking wait

notes: i slaved away to get this out asap lol

They list your injuries in an awkwardly ascending order: best to worst. You suppose the doctor’s callousness is more professional than malicious – and maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t panicking at the sight of such long, uninteresting words – but he makes it sound clinical (his job) and it’s hard to remember not everyone feels the excruciating pain you are slowly growing accustomed to. 

You wince at your thoughts’ poor choice of words. 

Apparently, you don’t remember much. In the week that you’ve been awake, you’ve been subject to every test, question, and assessment possible, all answers coming out with the same result. 

You know your name and when you were born. You know that you have a degree in Literature, but that you’re now a lawyer with an extensive library instead. You can speak all the languages you’ve ever learnt (that’s a different part of your brain, says the doctor when you ask how). They ask about your parents, your brothers, and names easily roll off your tongue, the childhood fear of hospitals still present (god, there is something that you wish had been forgotten). 

Still, the nurses approach you with sympathetic smiles, replicating the expression when they converse quietly with the worried-looking woman who visits you every day. She’s called Alexia, she tells you, staring at the gap between you as though she is a stranger to being so far apart. 

Although it was blurry when you first woke up, once Alexia reveals her name, you’re certain you recognise her.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” you tell your favourite nurse, chipper that you’ve worked it out. In an attempt to jog your memory, you’ve kept the small TV in the corner of your section of the ward on all afternoon, sort of missing the noise your committed visitor brings with her. “And she’s not here today, Isa, because she’s there.” You point at a figure running around on a football pitch. “Alexia Putellas. She’s famous!” It explains the secrecy and the inexplicable absences. You suppose a slightly different structure of her job allows her to visit at unconventional times, too. 

“Mm,” Isa hums, not quite committed to this conversation. “Let’s save the discoveries for your chat with the doctor, yeah? He should be here any minute now.” 

On cue, the pot-bellied man appears, clipboard in hand, bottom lip between his teeth. His perception leads his gaze to the TV, which, in turn, causes him to watch your reaction to the match. Growing insecure of his scrutiny, you press a button and watch the screen go black. 

“Good afternoon,” comes his greeting, clipped and determined to not waste time. You try to find comfort in that: maybe you aren't in the worst shape in this hospital. “How are your ribs feeling?” 

“Battered.” 

He writes that down. “You’re on the highest dosage of pain medication. We’ll need to start weaning you off soon, too. Especially due to a family history of addiction.” Your eyebrows furrow, and his pen scratches at the paper once again. “Okay, Y/n. Can I have a seat? Are you comfortable?” 

You take a moment to acknowledge the ache in your abdomen and head. He assumes your silence is a ‘yes’ and Isa is dismissed. “You shouldn’t be looking at any screens,” he says calmly, with the faintest hint of disappointment. “It will not aid your recovery.” 

“How am I supposed to remember anything if I can’t use… sources to help me?” you protest. 

“That is exactly what I have come here to discuss. We’ll start bit by bit. The more open you are to this, the quicker you will be released from hospital.” He smirks. “And I know that you are desperate to leave.” 

…

The stands of the stadium echo with jubilation as the final whistle blows. Alexia barely hears it due to the noise, still reeling from her penalty, proud to have scored in front of such a special guest. She’d made an ‘A’ with her fingers as she had celebrated. 

Despite her teammates’ dallying on the pitch, never in a rush after a win like this, Alexia is jumping the barrier and barreling through the crowd to get to the seats she’s been keeping an eye on for the whole match. Her mother is barely offered a ‘hello’ before Alexia is wrapped in a tight embrace. She won’t admit that the force of the impact winds her a little. 

“You played so well!” squeals Amaia, voice muffled in the sweat-soaked jersey. She seems almost giddy, which is a hefty improvement considering your current situation. 

Alexia laughs, bending down to Amaia’s level, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders. Tears prick at her eyes but she hopes it isn’t that obvious. “You saw my penalty, right?” 

She’s met with enthusiastic nodding, Amaia’s eyes widening with excitement. “Vaig veure la A! It was for me, right?” 

“For you,” Alexia confirms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Amaia’s head. Despite her efforts, the softness of the girl’s hair – the way she clings once more to Alexia’s body – is disarming. And Amaia speaking Catalan always gets her emotional. 

She wipes her tears when Amaia pulls away. 

This is difficult. Alexia is trying her hardest, but nothing is the same without you. She finds herself looking at the seat beside Amaia, expecting to see it filled by you, but it’s not; it’s empty. You are still at the hospital. You don’t even remember who Alexia is. 

You don’t remember the past eleven years, they think. Which means no Amaia, no Alexia, no Barcelona. 

It has broken Alexia’s heart. 

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “Go and get changed,” she instructs gently, in the same way she has been since the accident. Eli has become an engine, a guide. “Alba said she’d meet us at the restaurant.” 

Alexia swallows, embracing her mother. In her ear, she whispers, “I think it’s time for Amaia to see her.” Her mother’s touch remains firm, grounding her. She breathes out, and it is only now that her lungs ache that she feels like she can no longer hold it together. But Alexia is determined, and she will not crumble. 

Not in front of your daughter. 

“It’s your decision, Ale,” Eli murmurs back, her tone steady and calm. She’s seen how tirelessly Alexia has navigated these past weeks, juggling her team, her grief, her hope – all while trying to keep Amaia’s life as normal as possible. “You have done everything you can. If you think she’s ready, she’ll be ready.”

Alexia pulls back and nods, a quiet determination settling over her face. The thought of bringing Amaia to the hospital without the stability of a coma to predict her reaction has been weighing on her ever since you woke up. But, even though this step is more of a stumble, it seems to be in the right direction. 

"Now, go and get out of this kit. Amaia and I can only pretend you don’t smell for so long," Eli jokes, hand guiding her toward the locker rooms. Amaia is practically bouncing at Alexia’s side as they make their way down the tunnel, still buzzing with excitement over the game and ten goals scored. 

Not everyone is so plagued by misfortune in their personal lives – a reminder which is stark as Alexia passes the conga line of her teammates, all thrilled with their (superfluous) scoreline and exploiting the night off that Pere has allowed right from the get-go. A few of the girls wave at their captain as she walks past, but most feel uncomfortable shoving their elation in her face, aware of the shitstorm she is going through. 

The girls do keep plaguing her about what you had thought of their ‘Get Well Soon’ card, though. Not that Alexia has found an appropriate time to give it to you yet.

“Will she be awake?” Amaia suddenly asks, her voice breaking Alexia’s thoughts. Her expression is open, hopeful. Her eyes have the same shine as yours do in this light. 

Alexia glances down, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "We’ll see, Amaia," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s face. "We’ll visit, and we’ll see."

Inside the locker room, Alexia changes quickly, her mind already racing ahead to the visit. She imagines you there, perhaps looking out the window or glancing at her with that blank confusion that still cuts her deeper than she’d expected. The nurses have told her that you’re growing more restless with each day, becoming harder to occupy. You sound like a pain in their arses, which is comforting, because at least you are still you. And your questions! Alexia is unsurprised that the doctors rock-paper-scissor for ward duty. 

When she emerges, mood lifted by the thought of you continuing to be a nightmare, Eli and Amaia are waiting by the door, Amaia now clutching a small bouquet of flowers that must have been retrieved from Eli’s car while Alexia was changing. She’s holding them proudly, as if they might be a magic cure, as if a burst of colour is exactly what’s needed to bring you back.

“Ready to go?” Amaia asks, instinctively high-fiving Mapi as she walks out with Alexia. 

“Exciting plans, Capi?” her friend questions. Alexia’s look says it all. Mapi lowers her voice, allowing only Alexia to hear her; “you are strong. You will be strong.” 

“Let’s go,” prompts Amaia. Her impatience was very much inherited. 

After shooting an unconvincing look of confidence to her friend, Alexia nods, holding out her hand for Amaia to take. “Okay, okay. Say goodbye to Eli.” 

Kisses are exchanged. Alexia promises to come for dinner, even if she will be late. 

Amaia plays Taylor Swift in the car. The whiny music gives Alexia a bit of a headache, but at least it’s loud enough to dull the absolute din of her screaming thoughts. And when they arrive, it’s all too familiar for Alexia’s liking. 

She has her route to you memorised. It’s magnetic and intrinsic, and a desperate part of her is clawing at the hope that, somehow, you will have regained everything that has been lost in the day she hasn’t seen you. Before entering the ward, she tries to prepare Amaia, but the girl is as unstoppable as you can be and there is no intervening before she is at your bedside, greeting you like you remember who she is. 

…

A lot of what the doctor tells you are things you struggle to believe. Like, last year, you were made junior partner of the law firm you work at. They’re based in London. You used to live there – you moved after you’d finished your degree, bored of Bilbao and of home and of knowing every person in your world. Another confusing one: your brothers actually visit you, as though you are forgiven. 

Which sparks an aged memory. Two lines in the bathroom at the university. 

“Am I pregnant?” you ask, feeling the colour drain from your face at the idea that you might have lost the baby in the accident. 

The doctor waits patiently for you to remind yourself that eleven years have passed. 

“I was pregnant.” Nothing comes back to you, though this would be an appropriate moment for it to. The rest of the story hangs loosely at the back of your throat, unable to be spoken. You look at the doctor for help. “Did I keep it? I’m not – I wasn’t planning to.” 

“She’s called Amaia.” 

“Amaia…” you repeat. A painful realisation settles in you. How did you feel about becoming a mother? Why did you? When did they forgive you, and was it because of her? 

“Your mother’s name, I believe,” continues the doctor, “although you can remember that.” 

“I barely knew my mother.” She had died when you were very young. She didn’t feel like yours to grieve. To you, it was just time off school, hospital visits, and watching the rest of your world fall apart. You find yourself swallowed up in guilt – anger. How did you let this happen? How could you forget what must have mattered the most? “I want to see her,” you resolve, attempting to sit upright and pretend the movement doesn’t send a searing pain through your chest. “My… I want to know what she looks like.” 

Your patience need not extend for too long, as Alexia and Amaia arrive only two hours after the doctor departs. 

The sterility of the ward is no match for the warmth they exude, and you can almost sense them coming. It’s both comforting and unsettling. You refrain from telling Alexia that you know who she is. 

You have no time to, really, because there is a girl, average height with a bouquet in-hand, barreling towards you the moment you lay your eyes on your visitors. She’s loud enough to make you wince, which, in turn, earns her a sharp warning from Alexia, even further away than usual. She is watching you closely, awaiting your reaction. Her arms are folded across her chest, hair scraped into a damp ponytail, and she is withholding the emotion she wants to express because Alexia, you’ve learnt, isn’t really that kind of person. You often find yourself wondering how she first opened up to you. How long did it take? 

You want to ask, but Amaia – Amaia – begins to speak. Her voice is unfamiliar, her accent failing to reflect any time in Bilbao she might have spent with you. She speaks at first in Spanish. You hardly hear what she is saying, too focused on examining her features. 

She does look like you. Or, rather, pictures of you from years ago. Your father’s eyes, your nose. A smile that you can’t help but reciprocate. You try to remember what her father looked like, but nothing comes to mind and Amaia seems to have been unresponsive to his genes.

“Amaia,” you interrupt, not to cut her off but to test her name on your tongue. It’s foreign to you, but it suits her. She beams. 

“Do you remember me?” 

And what the actual fuck do you say to that? 

Your hesitation is telling. Alexia stiffens from where she had relaxed on the fringes on the section. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You look up at her, unaware that you had bowed your head in the first place. She has kind eyes, you think. And she must be clever, because it is not what she says, but that she says it in Euskera. 

“I missed you,” you say. It slips out, but you mean it. Well, you assume you missed her, and therefore it is a logical thing to come out with. And, also, you are aching inside from seeing the life that you have created standing right in front of you. A life you were not going to pursue. 

Amaia does not cry, but she delicately unfurls your clenched palms and shapes her hands to link with yours. You want her touch to bring it all back. It feels like jumping off a skyscraper when you are met with nothing, still. Instead of the flood of recollection you long for, there is a faint, ungraspable feeling of something you cannot name. 

After a silent pause, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Alexia steps forwards, her arms still crossed, her expression unsure and more than a little guarded. There is a sudden swell of gratitude in your chest, more for her presence than anything specific, and, without thinking, you smile at her. 

“Congratulations,” you say, voice just above a whisper as though Amaia will be unable to hear. “I saw you on the TV. You scored, didn’t you?” 

Alexia’s eyes widen a fraction as she glances at Amaia, who is proudly informing you, “ez behin, baizik eta bitan”. Alexia manages a small, almost bashful smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. For a woman so publicly celebrated, she seems to struggle to handle your praise. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “It… wasn’t a huge match but,” she grimaces at the sound of her voice, “I wanted to play my best for, well, for you guys. Amaia was there, and you… Well, I suppose you were watching it on TV.” She doesn’t feel inclined to show you the band of pre-wrap around her wrist with your name written on it, hiding it under the sleeve of her hoodie, or tell you that you were there with her, like you always are. 

Something tugs at your heart. It’s obvious that she is desperately holding back emotions, likely for Amaia’s sake. She looks away for a moment, regaining her composure, then turns back to you with a steadier expression. Amaia glances between you both, unnervingly perceptive for a girl so young. She squeezes your hands a little tighter. 

In the silence that follows, Alexia finally speaks up again. “I… didn’t want to crowd you, but,” her tone drops into something more serious, “I’ll be back again tomorrow, and, actually… Your doctor and I have been discussing the idea of you coming home soon.” 

The word hits you like a bullet from too close a range; it’s almost too fast to register before the damage is done. 

You don’t even know where you live. In your mind, you have never been to Barcelona, let alone have a home here. And yet there is an inexplicable warmth in Alexia’s voice that makes the idea feel… less absurd. 

She clears her throat. “In three days, if you’re ready,” she softly adds, eyes glimmering with hope in a fearful way. 

Later, Alexia stands just outside the ward, talking quietly with your doctor as Amaia sits nearby, focused on the little bouquet of flowers she brought for you, picking at a petal here and there. Alexia watches your daughter for a moment, the girl’s calm focus oddly grounding. 

“She’ll need a lot of rest and minimal stress,” the doctor says, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “But it’s promising. Her physical recovery is progressing, and though her memory may take longer, familiar environments could help.”

Alexia nods, though the doctor’s words bring only partial relief. “I can make things as calm as possible for her at home,” she says, trying to avoid sounding like a child begging for a present she knows she will not receive. “We have spare rooms, and lots of pictures to look over. And she hates hospitals. You’re lucky to have her disorientated, else she’d be kicking up a big fuss.”

The doctor lets out a tired laugh, but makes no attempt to agree that you haven’t made his life slightly more difficult than it needed to be already. “It will be an adjustment for everyone, but it is important that you are looking after yourself too.” 

Alexia’s gaze drifts back to the door of your room, and she swallows hard, steeling herself. The doctor’s words linger but they do nothing to curb her determination. She would do anything for you, and if you fell for her once, you can fall for her again. 

After another quiet moment, the doctor pats her arm lightly. “Three days, then. We’ll make sure she’s as prepared as she can be.”

[beloveds-embrace]

noona. noon. any angsty thoughts to share for the duke au? 👁️ (i’m craving angst sorry)

Original post

I DO!! Angst version of the au would be if you weren’t welcomed at all. Sure, no one is being flat out rude to you, no one is actively sabotaging you and John doesn’t hit or force you into anything.

But it’s lonely.

The maids barely touch you, as if disgusted they have to help and tend to the woman their Duke needed to and not wanted to marry, and the butlers are the same. Especially the head butler Garrick. You still don’t know his first name and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell you.

During the dinner… nights with John, you’ve started noticing that your food isn’t quite as well done as his? Less decorated, occasionally burnt or not cooked well, but you don’t want to cause any trouble so you remain silent and John never asks why you seem to eat so little.

You do also meet Duke Riley, the man that John is said to have an incredibly close friendship with, something born during his time servicing the kingdom. You’ve heard so much about him, from bad to good, and you wonder how he actually is.

In the end, you wish you hadn’t met him, too. The humiliation of being flat-out ignored in your own home while he speaks amicably with John…

So yes. Life as Duchess Price isn’t a happy one, but you are just glad you aren’t physically hurting.

But you do find solace in the only kindness your parents had bothered to show you before they gave you away; your personal knight, König. He is the only one to not treat you as such. He is the only one you can confide in, feel just a little bit of happiness and friendship with even if you haven’t even seen his face yet.

“I’m so tired,” you whisper to him one night, under the blanket of the night sky. You’d thrown a simple shawl over your shoulders, and hadn’t questioned it when he fell in steps behind you, always a protective shadow. Today had been hard. You had also decided to no longer dine with John, not too excited about the lackluster food and the stilted conversations. Cold maids, lonely night… you ached for something more.

You take in a shuddering breath, wrapping the shawl tighter around yourself. Konig stands right beside the bench you are sitting on, a familiar and comforting sight and presence. But tonight, it’s not enough. “I’m so tired, König.” You repeat, your voice cracking.

König simply stares at you for a while; you are used to it, used to everything about him. The mask, the accent, the unyielding body that is always keeping you safe. The quiet congestions you have had, during the days you lock yourself away in your office to ignore the loneliness and sadness plaguing you.

You aren’t used to seeing König bend down in front of you, holding his hands out until you place them in his. Familiar pale eyes peer up at you. Proper etiquette doesn’t matter to you in this moment; who will chastise you for the lack of it when this entire duchy holds only the most basic form of respect for you?

Even if they did, you would not let go of König, your confidant. Your knight.

“…What do you need, mylady?”

After a silent moment, you take in a deep breath and look back at him. “…I want… someone who loves me enough to be kind towards me. I want someone who loves me.”

König nods his head. With bated breath, you watch silently as he brings your hands forward, under his mask, to kiss each knuckle on your hands.

“I am your knight, mylady. I am your sword, and your shield. I, too, can be your lover if that is what you want, mylady. Whatever you desire, it is my duty to provide.” König breathes out against your skin, eyes not once flicking away, words not once breaking. He is fully devoted in his decision. “Will you allow me, mylady? The decision is your, always has been. I cannot take you away from this horrible place-“ not yet. “-but I can give you my love and devotion, just as I’ve always done. Will you allow me, mylady?”

And after everything you’ve been through, all the pain and loneliness and exclusion- you can’t say no.

“…Yes, König.”

(By the time John begins to realize that he may have misjudged you, once you find out the truth, it is already far too late for mending any bridges. There is no particular feeling when you look at him, or any of his men. You only ask that no one bothers your time alone with your shadow, your knight. It’s far too late for anything.)

[bucksboobs]

Not Another BuckTommy Fixit Fic!

Buck gets Hurt. He wakes up in a hospital bed. This is becoming routine. He looks to his right to see who is on vigil duty. His heart stops.

“Hey.” Despite himself, Buck relaxes. That voice still puts him at ease after three months

“Tommy.” He shouldn’t be here.

“Um. Eddie had to go pick up Chris and… I.”

“You came.” He says it calmly, because why wouldn’t Tommy Kinard show up. He always did. Ex or not.

“I… I never got to apologize. For how it ended. That I ended it like that.” Buck realizes he must have been pretty banged up because he can’t raise himself onto his elbows. He turns to his side instead, pushing away memories of them together in bed, strong arms around his waist and a warm feeling in his chest.

“You broke my heart.”

“I know.” His face still crinkles the same way it does whenever the schmaltzy movies he loves start playing piano. “I talked to my therapist and, uh, I was stuck in the past, again, I think. Bringing up Abby, and marriage and what I did to her. It reminded me of the pain I caused everyone, most of all myself.” He fidgets, it’s strange seeing Tommy unconfident. “I have a lot of issues, Ev—Buck.”

“Evan.” If they’re going to do this he can’t hear that name that sounds like nails on a chalkboard when it comes from Tommy.”

“Evan. I have a lot of issues, and a lot of history I’m not sure I even want you to know about.” He sighs. “So I ran. And I broke your heart.”

“I just wanted us to be together.” Buck offers.

“Me too. But the longer you’re with me, the more you’re going to realize… I’m not worth it.”

“Hey.” Buck manages to get up on an elbow. “You are. You are to me and that’s all that matters.”

“I… I didn’t come here to make excuses or anything I just wanted you to know…”

“You were protecting yourself.”

“Yeah. And acted like a dick in the process.”

“Well you can make it up to me. Miceli’s when I get out of here.”

“It’s a date.”

“Great. Now go get me coffee.”

[a-shade-of-blue]

I've recently moved to a new country due to the worsening political environment in my home country, and I've been struggling to adapt. Uprooting yourself from the place you've called home your entire life is not easy, and I've had to discard many items close to my heart because I cannot afford to bring them with me.

Therefore, I cannot imagine what Mahmoud's family (@mahmoudfamily1 ) must be feeling. They have had to evacuate 16 times in a year! Each time they evacuate, there are fewer things they can bring with them. They are a family of 17 people, 10 of whom are children! With limited space on the car they use to move, should they bring all the blankets they own so everyone can keep warm, even if it means discarding a young child's favourite toy?

Then there is the problem of food. With the scarcity of food, they are forced to eat spoiled food because the alternative would be to not eat anything at all and go hungry. As a result, the 10 children suffer from constant stomachaches and diarrhea from the contaminated food and water they consume. Imagine evacuating, walking for miles and miles, while in constant pain!

Most worryingly, Mahmoud's family also includes 3 infants. The youngest of them, baby Meryem, was only born a few months ago in this genocidal war. Mahmoud's sister almost lost her life in the birth process due to a lack of medical resources. She still suffers from severe infections caused by the difficult birth because she has not been able to get the medical supplies and the treatment she needs. And reminding everyone again that they have to deal with all that while bombs are falling all around them!

Mahmoud's campaign has barely been getting any donations. Even though he has been raising funds for almost 6 months now, he has only reached 6% of campaign goal and has only raised $4,763 CAD  out of his $80K target!

This campaign is #3 on @/gaza-evacuation-funds vetted list here, #117 on @/gazavetters vetted list, vetted by bilal-salah0, and vetted by association!

Donations have stopped for Mahmoud's campaign!! Last donation was more than 2 days ago!

tagging for reach

@hazem-khalil @soggystyrofoam  @kibumkim @pigswithwings @plaidos @bellybuttonblue2 @caseys-soup-corner @squidie-tittie @bubonicherald @seravph @horreurscopes @ripe @irradiatedsnakes @dreamingamongthestars @hoodnaruto @akaratna @mai-monnie @novastarology @nightydraws @elderscrollpdf @geospiral @lone-nyctophile @mysteryvhs @wiremotherrrrr @artoatsblog @beepbatt @theothergal @mere-glim @feytouched @nash13 @chilisaws @biterflies @twistedmiffy @ilovelifetbh @thecoffeelorian @artofenby @entryn17 @bifauxnnen @dormont @dykefagz @beargif  @wouriqueen @coffeelich @battle-spouse @block-swing-perry @ana-bananya@northgazaupdates@c-u-c-koo-4-40k@riding-with-the-wild-hunt @roadimusprime@aces-and-angels@just-browsing1222@neptunerings@mushroomjar@northgazaupdates2@kyra45-helping-others@decolonize-solidarity @heritageposts@timetravellingkitty @briarhips @ankle-beez @akajustmerry @wellwaterhysteria @rhubarbspring @brutaliakhoa @decolonize-the-everything @sporesgalaxy @postanagramgenerator@heydreamchild @watermotif @stuckinapril @malcriada @appsa @buttercuparry@bixels @afro-elf @officialspec @wormzandgutz @tlirsgender @apas-95 @renegadeer @fadedlovemp3

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Cold ~ Part 2

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,020ish

Summary: Logan becomes overprotective of you.

Notes: I hope this part makes some sense… I got sick yet again so I'm really craving someone to take care of me.

Cold ~ Part 1

Logan became a master at taking care of you during an arthritic flare-up. The consequence of that was that he also became a master at doing everything he could to make sure that you didn’t flare up. When is why he was marching towards you, with a clear look of anger.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you were stretching in the Danger Room.

“Uh, stretching,” you responded, continuing your movements. “I have a training session with Scott in a few minutes.”

“Not anymore. You’re not training.”

“Logan, I can’t gain more strength in my powers without training.”

“You’ve trained twice already this week.”

“And my current goal is three times.”

“You’re not ready for it yet.”

“I think I know what I’m ready for, Logan.”

“No. You don’t. I can sense that you’re overdoing it.”

“I’m feeling fine. I’m going to train.”

“Everything okay here?” Scott asked, feeling the tension as he entered the room.

“Yes.” / “No.”

“Okay, then,” Scott said, slowly backing up. 

“I’m training, Logan,” you argued, standing your ground. 

“Like hell you are,” he grumbled. 

The two of you stared each other down, trying to see which one of you would break first, though you both knew the answer. With a scoff and a stop of your foot, you grabbed your training bag and threw it at Logan.

“Since I’m so weak, carry that back to my locker,” you huffed, marching off.

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn’t want to be the bad guy in your life; he was just worried. He also simply cared deeply for you in a way he hadn’t cared for anyone in far too long. He hated seeing you in pain and would do anything to prevent the pain you were forced into constantly. Logan had even talked to Hank about somehow using his healing mutation to help you. Hank said it was impossible. So Logan was forced to keep a careful eye on you, no matter if that meant you were often mad at him. 

~~~

You did your best to avoid Logan for the next few days. But no matter how hard you tried, Logan was there, stopping you from training, or carrying heavy items, or using your mutation. The anger was festering inside of you, and it all came to a boiling point when you were called into a mission briefing. Everyone was already in the briefing room when you slipped in. You hung back by the door, trying to prevent Logan from seeing you just yet.

“The base that you will be infiltrating is in an interesting location,” Charles explained. The table everyone was surrounding changed to show the base. “It is several hundred feet down in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Long Island. Due to their security system, there is only one way to reach it.” Charles’ eyes fell on you, causing the rest of the team to turn and look.

“No,” Logan immediately said. “No fucking way.”

“Logan, Y/N has been training for this. She has known about this mission for weeks now and is prepared.”

“Don’t care. She’s not a part of this. Find a different way.”

“Do I get any say in this?” You piped up.

“No,” Logan quickly responded, still focusing on Charles. “She’s not going. It’s too dangerous.”

You were growing angrier and angrier, forcing yourself to clench your fists as you felt the water pipes in the wall begin to tremble. Jean noticed and came over to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we take a break and reconvene later?” Ororo suggested.

“Later or not, Y/N is not going,” Logan argued.

“It’s not your choice!” You yelled. “It’s mine! I can do what needs to be done.”

“No, you can’t! You are too weak.”

A few gasps were heard throughout the room.

“Weak?” You repeated, both hurt and angered. “That’s what you think of me?” Suddenly, the pipes burst in the walls.

“Enough!” Charles commanded. “Y/N will be participating in the mission. And you will all be leaving at nightfall.”

You rushed out of the room, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall. You could hear loud footsteps behind you, already knowing who it was. A large hand caught your wrist, forcing you to stop, but you didn’t turn around.

“You can’t go,” Logan’s voice was stern but slightly wavered at the end. 

“You’re not in charge of me, Logan,” you replied, trying not to let him know how you were feeling. “I am going on this mission, no matter if you think I’m weak or not.” You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but his grip only tightened. “Let me go, Logan.”

“Not until you drop out of the mission.”

You finally looked at him, anger replacing hurt. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N—“

With a flick of your free hand, the pipes in the hallway walls broke. The water shot out of the walls and pummeled Logan, throwing him back and away from you. You were breathing heavily as you stopped the water. Not wanting Logan to see how hard that was for you, you quickly left.

~~~

The jet ride was completely silent. You grabbed the pilot seat next to Scott so that you didn’t have to look at Logan. You could feel Logan’s eyes staring daggers into you.

“We’re here,” Scott announced, having the jet hover over where the base was located. He looked over at you. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you responded, determined.

“Great.” Scott stood. “Everyone get tethered up, then Y/N will clear a channel once everyone is ready.”

“I���m not going down,” Logan said. “I’m staying with Y/N.”

“We need you down there, Logan,” Jean said. “We’ll all be connected through the comms.”

“I can handle myself,” you added. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

You could see Logan’s jaw clench tighter. He let out a grunt before focusing on getting tethered up. Once you were sure they were all ready, you opened the bottom of the jet up. You took a deep breath before stretching your arms towards the ocean water and creating an open circular channel.

“Let’s go!” Scott said, jumping down first. Jean and Ororo quickly followed, with Logan lingering behind, watching you.

“Go, Logan!” You shouted. 

He watched you for a few more seconds before jumping down with the rest. You ground your teeth together as you began to feel the strain of using your mutation like this.

“Alright, Y/N,” Scott said over the comms. “We’re in. We’ll let you know when we need the channel opened.”

“Got it,” you responded.

As you let the water go, you stumbled back, falling to the ground. You could feel the achiness start to set into your joints. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe you were weak. The jet suddenly shook as it was hit. You fumbled over to the pilot’s seat, trying to steer the jet away.

“Guys!” You shouted into the comms. “We have a situation up here. I’m being fired on!”

“What?!” A chorus of voices yelled over the comms.

“It looks like they got a few of their own jets in the sky.” The jet rocked as it got hit again. “Shit!”

“Y/N?!” Logan’s worried voice flooded through the speakers. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You quickly punched a few buttons. “I’ve gone into stealth mode. Hopefully, that holds them for a little bit, but that means you have to free those mutants fast.”

It was another ten minutes before Scott gave you the signal to reopen the channel. You reopened the bottom doors and focused all your energy on opening the channel. Unfortunately, that also meant that the opposing side could find the jet. The jet shook yet again with another hit.

“Hurry!” You urged. “We’re open for hits!”

Scott and Jean came up the tethered lines first, each with a mutant with them. Ororo was next, two mutants with her, and then Logan with the last one. He could immediately sense that you were hurting more than the strain on your face was giving away. Untethering himself, Logan headed for you, but the jet shook once again before he could get to you. You released the hold you had on the water as you flew up and rammed into the ceiling. You let out a cry of pain. Logan moved fast, sliding as he barely caught you before you hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, I've got you,” he whispered, holding you tightly against him.

“Hang on!” Scott shouted. “We’re going to get out of here!”

Everything hurt inside. You couldn’t even hold onto Logan, just laying against him limply as you cried. Logan did his best to hold you steady as Scott flew the jet every which way to avoid getting completely shot down. Jean ended up using her powers to keep Logan and you still as everyone’s hearts were breaking at the cries and whimpers of pain coming out of you.

It took far too long for Logan’s liking for Scott to lose the other jets and return to the mansion. As gently as Logan could manage, he carried you out of the jet and to your room. He laid you down before moving around the room to grab a heating pad, medication, and a change of clothes for you.

“You were right,” you whispered. If Logan didn’t have enhanced hearing, he would have missed it.

“About what?” He responded, bringing all the items over to you.

“I’m weak…”

“No, I— I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you did… and yes, I am… I shouldn’t even be on the team. I can’t even handle one mission.”

Logan sighed, trying to get his thoughts together before he spoke. You took it as a sign that he let you win. With a whine, you sat up.

“You can go,” you told him. “I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he responded gruffly.

“Logan,” you sighed. “I’ve taken care of myself before… flare-ups can’t stop me. I’ve got to keep living.”

“There. Right there. That’s why you’re the strongest person I have ever met.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I… I’m sorry. You are not weak. I just… I, God, I’m terrible at this.” His hand raked through his hair. “I—Sweetheart, I care so much about you. I am constantly worried about you, but it’s out of…”

“Out of what, Lo?”

He gave you a knowing look. “I think you know what.”

“I think you need to say it so I don’t go assuming things.”

“I… I love you, sweetheart. And I just hate to see you in pain. I wish that I could take it from you, and trust me, I asked Hank about it, and I—”

You winced as you placed your hand on top of Logan’s mouth to stop his rambling. “I love you, too. And I know that I haven’t said it enough, but thank you for taking care of me.”

His hand carefully wrapped around your wrist as he kissed your hand and moved it down to your lap. “Always.” He looked at you, wanting to kiss you, but he could sense the pain you were in. “What do you need?”

You looked away. “I… I can’t change.”

“Alright.”

“I need some heat.”

“I grabbed your heating pad.” He held it up.

“Could you hold me?”

“Are you sure? I’m a lot heavier than you and I—“

“And your body is my personal heating pad. Please, Logan.”

“How do you want me?”

You winced as you moved to lie down. Logan’s hand hovered over your body, not knowing exactly what to do to help. You moved onto your side, back facing Logan. He got the hint and carefully maneuvered around you so that he was the big spoon and you were the little spoon.

“Like this?” He muttered nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you replied.

“You sure. I can—“

“Logan. Just hold me.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck before resting his head there. “I’ll hold you as long as you need, sweetheart.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

Zommari Reraux is quietly terrified by Tousen.

Not that the man has ever threatened him. If anything, Tousen was consistently polite, if not outright Congenial with him and the other arrancar, whether they deserved it or not.

It's the eyes.

Zommari relies on his eyes- he has hundreds and hundreds of them, taking in the world around him from every angle, keeping him safe. More importantly, when his eyes take in the world, they take the world into his heart.

That's why he calls his resurrection ability Amor- for him, to see the world is to love it. He loves Las Noches, the way the light of the moon and stars outside and the artificial sun inside dance in it's shimmering halls. He loves Hueco Mundo, the sight of the vast horizon of the desert expanding the horizons of his heart. he loves everyone he sees- how they move, their colors, the sight of thier faces! Zommari wishes he could take them all- take everything! And keep it in his heart, where it's safe.

He's downright gregarious for an arrancar, following his colleagues and superiors around, watching them with adoration- with Amor. He makes a point of trying to look all of them in the eye at least once- to see into their souls, to feel the connection- to keep some part of them safe in his Amor. Just in case.

So the first time he looks into Tousen's eyes is something of a shock.

"...It doesn't cause me pain, if that's a consolation." Tousen speaks up after a too-long moment of silence from Zommari.

"I- I didn't mean to offend, Lord Tousen!" Zommari yelped, stumbling back to the other side of the lift from the underground laboritories of Las Noches to the top of the dome. "I was just- you don't act like you're blind?"

"On the contrary, by definition I do!" Tousen teased, dropping back to rest on the elevators railing, perfectly aware of where it was. "Should I be groping for objects I've misplaced? Constantly searching for the furniture or running into walls?"

"I- I'm sorry. I've. I've never met anyone like- well. Missing senses aren't exactly adaptive for Hollows." Zommari muttered. "...What's it like?"

"Dark!" Tousen nodded cheerfully.

Zommari stared blankly.

"...Or so I'm told, at any rate. It's not like I have anything to compare it to- I've been as I am for as long as I can remember." He shrugged, waving his elegant hand evocatively. "Don't pity me- I can't miss something I've never experienced."

"You don't find it frightening?" Zommari muttered.

"Mr. Rereaux, I live like this." He pouted, disappointed.

"No, I mean- I can't imagine not being able to take the world around me into my heart! The light is- Even to those who can see, I can't explain it!" Zommari sighed.

Tousen was silent for a long time, face turned so his neutral expression wasn't quite pointed at Zommari. When he did speak, his voice was soft, small.

"...Perhaps my heart is too full of grief to let any light in."

"What do you mean?" Zommari asked, the chill of dread creeping up his spine.

"Do you know what Bankai is?" Tousen asked, voice light and pleasant with menace.

"It's um. Like a second resurrection?" Zommari tried.

"Imagine if the you that is you and the you that is your resurrected form could build a new psychic ability together- the shape of that mutual creation between you and your soul is Bankai."

"...Oh. Huh." Zommari hummed, still trying to parse the first part of the sentence. "What form does yours take?"

"Mine is a Senseless Void!" Tousen laughed darkly, then pointed his face up at Zommari with a grin that carried a sharper edge than Hallibel's teeth.

"-And I'm using 'senseless' in the most literal meaning. Anyone within is not just blind to light and reiatsu, but they are deafened, can't smell or taste or touch- you can't even feel your own heart beat! The sensation is as close to being dead as one can get without actually shuffling off the mortal coil!" he laughed, delighting in laying out the horror of it like setting the main course of a shared meal.

Dozens of Zommari's eyes had opened up without his permission to stare at the shinigami in horror. "That sounds like being in Actual Hell."

"Really?" Tousen smiled as the lift finally reached the roof and the gate pinged open. "I find it quite soothing!"

Zommari was pretty sure he set a new personal record for his Sondido getting the hell out of that elevator.

AEIWAM Question: What do the various Espada Think of Tousen? Follow-up question, will they, the bunch of dumbasses that they are (because Aizen made them for loyalty, not thinking), declare him their unquestioned leader once Aizen, Gin and Urloquia fork off to see the cosmic taffy pull (also presuming that Barrigan winds up face down in a ditch per canon)?

Bless you for asking this, I needed something to chew on. I'm going to answer these one at a time because the post would be insanely long, and how the thought of him Before the Battle of Karakura Probably:

---

Aaroniero and Arruruerie are SURE they've met before, and that they owes the man a debt of gratitude.

It's possible, they suppose. They have consumed and absorbed the memories of so many hollows that maybe they remember the face from a hollow he killed.

At least, that's what they hope is going on.

But they have Nightmares. Not of being pursued by Shinigami but of being the Shinigami in hot pursuit. Dreams of walking through a city, surrounded by humans that adore them. Names and Faces- Rukia and her dipshit older brother, Jushiro with the nice couch they sometimes pass out on after long nights- if Jushiro's husband wasn't already there. ...Memories, of meeting each other, and falling in love. How it felt as natural to look up to her as it was to gaze at the moon. How waking up to him felt as natural as the dawn. Memories of being married by Captain Ukitake, after Tousen had done them the inexplicable favor of organizing the whole party and acquiring wedding rings. He loves organizing things for people. Ukitake had smiled. Especially weddings. I just hope it's not guilt from the one he didn't get to. His husband had frowned.

That's impossible, of course. They know who they are, how they arose from the vile muck in the shadowy pits of Hueco Mundo. They never stood in the sun one late afternoon, to marry, not with how it burns.

...and yet.

There's no harm in being polite, right? They don't mind locking Glottineria in it's scabbard with an audible click when he comes into the room, to affirm lack of hostilities. Or giving him the cup of tea Aizen gives everyone at his insufferable meetings afterwards- it's not like they can drink it! ...And if sometimes, when they've been working late in the lab studying the effects and causes of Hollowfication, when Tousen gets tired and starts to call them "Kaien" and "Miyako"-

-Well, what's the harm in answering in the voices he expects to hear?

[crowhoonter]

The Moon Presence holds a special place in my heart in terms of souls games final bosses because of the sheer what the fuckness of it all. All of the other final bosses have some kind of build up; Dark Souls can't go one minute without mentioning Gwyn, Nashandra and Aldia are major figures in Ds2's lore, the Soul of Cinder, while never directly alluded to is another example of the converging of time and space in 3, Isshin plays a large part in Sekiro's story, and Radagon is a major lore character with Elden Beast being pretty easy to clock as a manifestation of the Greater Will.

Flora, the Moon Presence, though? She comes out of nowhere. There are maybe two lines alluding to her existence at all, those being the workshop umbilical cord and the lecture hall note. The closest you otherwise get is the references to the terrible hunter's dream, which doesn't immediately conjure the idea of her to mind.

Even better we don't even know what she really wants. Oh sure, there are plenty of theories and inferences we can make. Maybe she uses Hunters like hitmen to prevent infant great ones from threatening her, maybe she's keeping a natural order running, maybe she wants to spread the beast plague, maybe she wants to prevent mankind's evolution, maybe she just plain loves violence. In the end though, its all still maybes. Girly walks on in and her mere existence changes so much about the story, yet she refuses to elaborate on anything.

Another very interesting aspect is, and this is probably a somewhat baseless observation, we don't really know what she is. Everywhere else in the game, Great Ones have some line of text associating them with that status. Oedon, Baby Mergo, Kos, Amygdala, The Brain of Mensis, Ebrietas. All of them have text somewhere that directly refers to them with that moniker, but Flora? Nowhere will you find something calling her a great one. Hell, in the Japanese translation, she is called "Moon Demon." It is probably safe and the intended inference that she is a great one, but the thought she might not be does tickle me nonetheless.

Then there is her role in the story. The Great Ones are said to be sympathetic in spirit, and there definitely is a part of her that echoes that sentiment. The way she cradles the hunter is like that of a mother holding a child, yet she seems to be a lot more manipulative than the Great Ones we see in game. They typically cause suffering not by tricking or making deals, but by being unaware of how they affect the world with their actions. Getting picked up by Amygdalae seems like a curious child picking up a lizard, unaware that they are hurting it. Flora though, there does seem to be a certain level of maliciousness beyond accidental. Gehrman's pain and suffering is clear to see, yet she keeps him chained to the dream because of whatever bargain he made (presumably animating the Doll). She does the same to the hunter should you forgo the umbilical cords. She also doesn't seem to want a surrogate like other Great Ones, maybe settling for keeping humans as pets rather than having an actual child.

She really is one of the best Fromsoft final bosses because of the sheer strangeness and the wrench her presence throws into the game's story. We can get a concept of most of Bloodborne's story with a bit of interpretation and reading between the lines, but she will forever be an enigma. For what purpose did Laurence and Gehrman summon her? Why is she seemingly not worshiped unlike other Great Ones? Does she desire a surrogate or are humans pets good enough? We may never know, and that is wonderful.

Stay enigmatic queen, live your freak life

[timeskip]

I have Thoughts about how the idea of "calling someone's name" in chimera ant arc ties together with Killua witnessing Gon transformed, at the end of the arc. And this is especially important for my personal POV that Gon didn't actually survive because he saw Killua there, the way I've seen some people say (though I do think this POV has merit too). It was a hopeless, tragic situation, and Killua couldn't do anything to stop it because Gon went alone :')

The concept of names is SO important to all of CAA, especially with how the ants form their identities, but it appears related to Gon and Killua too!! Killua calling out to Gon when he was transformed was such an important moment, because he's trying to save him the only way he knows how!!! And the fact that Gon RECOGNIZES that Killua is there and tries to reassure him but still continues to destroy himself is important too, because while Gon is being called for, he still keeps fighting Pitou! It's all Gon thinks he can do in his current state! It's an exemplification of how tragic CAA is for both of them, that Gon can never be saved until after it's over,,

Back to calling Gon's name; first, Killua talks about the importance of calling Gon's name in chapter 294:

"That's my one condition! Let him know you're okay. He was so worried about you, up to the minute we came in here. Give him some peace of mind. Please, put his mind as ease. Only you, Palm, can do that now. Nobody else can reach him. Not me..."

Killua really does believe that just by calling his name, Palm would be able to help Gon. Palm, not him. That the act of knowing she's okay would be a relief that could help Gon in a way Killua was completely unable to, because to Gon, Killua wasn't involved in this--pushing Killua away in order to take on Pitou alone--and Palm IS, because she went missing. But this perspective that Killua has isn't true! Killua is important to Gon, and Palm tells him this!!!

But Killua is horrified at this because he doesn't know how to save Gon!!!

It's such a vital moment. Killua desperately WANTS to be needed, to be someone Gon relies on. And Gon has already pushed him away, so Killua thinks that even if Gon needs him the most, Killua wouldn't be able to do anything--not even as simple as calling Gon's name.

Either way, though--Killua thinks that calling Gon's name is important, whether or not Palm's presence would help. After all this, Gon is spiraling so hard and he goes with Pitou alone, and kills Pitou alone, which is what Killua was afraid of--he wanted to be needed, and he's being faced with Gon leaving, which makes Killua powerless to do anything for Gon's sake (unlike what Palm is telling him). Even when Pouf tells him what's going on, all he can do is try to make it in time.

And then in 307, when Killua finds Gon:

For Killua, this is him checking that it IS Gon, because... this Gon looks ENTIRELY unlike the Gon Killua knows. And in return, Gon calls Killua's name. He acknowledges Killua's presence.

Gon knows Killua is there. They've both called each other's names now, they both know each other is there, and Gon knows that Killua is watching him not just kill Pitou as Pitou's puppeted corpse goes after him again, but also expend all his power and life in order to do it. We KNOW what Gon is going through, the guilt he feels, and all the pain he's finally unleashing on Pitou, as his sole object of revenge. He'd already chosen to give up all of himself by this point, and I... don't believe there's any way to go back on a nen contract like that. He's using all of himself, one way or another.

Even though he knows this is the end, Gon is telling Killua that he's happy. That it's not hurting him. He's trying to comfort Killua, or he's just so numb he doesn't understand what he's doing to himself. Either way, he's HAPPY that he can be like Kite, losing an arm before he dies, because this is the self punishment he feels he deserves, and he doesn't realize how much pain he's causing Killua. Gon is fully aware of what he's doing and he knows that Killua is watching him, but it's impossible to stop the self destruction he's started.

In a way, I think Killua was right. He can't reach Gon now, or at least he stopped being able to after Gon made his nen contract. He wasn't able to save Gon during the palace invasion, because Gon WOULD'VE died if not for Nanika.

But at the same time, I think Palm is also right. She wouldn't have been able to do anything for Gon just by telling him that she's okay, because this is so much bigger than her, and bigger than just knowing that Palm or Killua are okay when Gon isn't; Gon needs someone like Killua, someone who's able to call his name and help him come back to himself. Gon wants Killua to live, even if he's unable to accept Killua's help.

This is a tragedy, after all :')

I'd be willing to argue that it's Killua watching Gon which allows KILLUA to choose to live, the opposite of Gon looking at Killua and deciding to live. Killua had been planning to commit suicide with Gon, to make sure Gon isn't alone, but seeing Gon like this and desperately yelling at him to STOP, because if he keeps going he's going to lose his entire life, and watching Gon turn back and look at him tearfully... Killua wasn't prepared to witness that. And I think it must have changed his mind from thinking it would be fine if he died, as long as it was useful to Gon, to him wanting Gon to apologize. Obviously it isn't healthy, but it was a change that needed to happen. Killua needed to choose to live and save Gon, instead of sacrificing himself for Gon's sake!!!

And then offscreen somewhere, Killua finds Gon barely alive. When Killua first saw transformed Gon, Gon had called KILLUA'S name, bringing Killua back to his senses and making him realize what he needed to save. After all, isn't Gon the same as Palm? He showed up, looking like that, and Killua was terrified. And Gon needed to call his name.

They're BOTH the one each other need the most, even if they couldn't save each other!!

But I do think Killua is helpless to do anything even up to the moment Gon's jajanken explodes. After all, Gon saw that Killua was there and still kept fighting Pitou's body with his full strength, not even relying on Killua, reassuring Killua that he was okay (like saying that Killua didn't need to be involved) after Killua pushed him out of the way of Pitou's attack (which Gon was fully going to take!!! He was fully going to die if Killua hadn't saved him!!!). His self punishment didn't have anything to do with Killua, but Killua watched it anyway.

And that is of course part of why Killua is so upset after the arc!! Because he's finally starting to realize that he's been putting so much of himself on the idea of being "needed" by Gon, but he can't live like that anymore. He needs Gon to apologize for running ahead without him and being someone Killua couldn't save until after it had already happened.

Anyways I love the ways that the arc builds into the tragedy throughout the whole thing, it's so good <3

[red-room-studi0]

Silent Hill: Gone Turbo

HE IS HERE AND HE IS HERE TO SUFFER!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

I will now tell the tale of this silly little guy ✨

In this Au, Litwak’s arcade is located in Silent Hill.

This event happens after the road blasters incident and after the Arcade closes temorarily for a while. 

Turbo and the Twins never survived the Road Blasters incident. But the day the arcade closed, Turbo was reborn inside the arcade in human form. Turbo wakes up seeing the arcade empty and confused as to why he’s inside an empty arcade. The cabinet games were looked to have been shut down (in the real world the cames are still plugged in and still running). Turbo’s memory of his life and what he had done has been erased. He only remembers his own name the Twins, Glitching and the town he lives in. 

Turbo exits the Arcade and wanders the ghost town and takes time to get used to the environment and take time to think and all that stuff. Turbo eventually comes to the theory that the Twins are probably somewhere in the town and decides to go out and find them. In the typical Silent Hill fashion, He runs into monsters, people who are also looking for someone or something, people who want to kill him and all that stuff.

During Turbo’s journey he learns more about the town, The Order, the fire incident and just about anything there is to know about the town. 

The twins ARE present. But the’re only visibly seen by Turbo and are not there for him for any good intentions. The twins exist in the Town as demonic spirits to Turbo to torment Turbo, ofc Turbo doesn’t remember what he has done until later and would live the rest of his human life in guilt and regret after defeating the twins. 

Turbo would finally understand why he was reborn in the town. The monster infested town is his Hell. And he has to forever live in it until he finally accepts what he has done and forgives himself for it and promises himself and the arcade to be a better person. 

There are Four endings you can choose from bassed on how you would like the ending to be.

Turbo moves on and forgives himself and decides to be a better person and forgive himself on what he has done. Turbo in this ending decides to find Litwack and help him through harsh times becoming his close friend and help him run the Arcade.

Turbo never forgives himself and forever blames himself for what he has done to hurt his twin friends that he was close too like they were his siblings (Turbo and the Twins are not related) and other people (even before the Road Blasters incident). He decides to forever force and drown himself in his sorrows, guilt and pain. forever live in the alternate nightmare of the town that is his Hell. Forever.

The UFO ending (if you’re a Silent Hill fan then you know lol-)

The Dog ending (again if ur a Silent Hill fan, you know)

Side Story: This is mostly about Litwack and as to why the Arcade has Temporarily closed.

Mr. Litwak’s wife had fallen severely ill to an unknown disease after Road Blasters and Turbo Time got unplugged. A week later Litwaks wife succumbs to the illness. Litwak becomes severely depressed and temprorarily closes the Arcade so he can get well and make funeral arrangements. Litwak never had another employee or assistant to help him continue run the Arcade during harsh times.

FUN FACTS: As a way for Turbo to save his progress, he uses an Nintendo NES console to save. He uses an unknown NES cartridge to put in the console and save. Throught the process of Turbo’s journey, the image on the cartridge slowly appears and becomes visible. Once fully visible the game title and image reveals to be “Turbo Time”. Which unlocks another memory for Turbo.

Another fun fact, at a point through Turbo’s journey he comes across two red cars that appeared to have collided into eachother. One is fully red and the other is red with a familiar white stripe. The white striped car seems to be the one that has caused the crash and looks to have “T boned” into the other car. The person in the car appears to be dead and looks to be veary familliar to a racer dressed in all white. The face though is completely unrecognizable as the face has been completely crushed and disfigured. A gold medal sits next to the dead body and is ised to unlock a door (yay know like your typical horror game puzzle/key fashion). This unlocks another vague memory, but Turbo didn’t know that the dead body was supposed to represent him after the incident. 

Another fun fact: Turbo’s last name “Torrenz” was a last name he had given himself from a poster when he was talking to a cop.

ANYWAY thx for reading! This was actually sm fun to makkkeeeee hehehehehehe 💖💖💖

[tare-anime]

This lovely art from @aerequets really aligned with one of my HCs about how Yor's past will be revealed to us:

The three of them unexpectedly meet at one mission. Maybe Twilight was trying to find information, Yor was doing her mission, and Yuri was suspecting something fishy at the SSS higher ups. Or something like that

After the first commotion, which somehow resolved quickly because the three of them coorperate, Yuri aim his gun towards Twilight, full with hatred because this man bertrayed his sister. Twilight was full with guilt. And Yor felt her world crumble because the two most important men in her world were not what she think they were.

Nevertheless, Yor tried to separate them. And yet both men were so stubborn.

They were so focused into their fight that they didn't realized reinforcement came, until Yor step up in front of them and was severely injured protecting them.

Both men finally direct their anger towards the reinforcement whose goals was to eliminate any eye witness.

Fierce battle ensues, but of course our heroes managed to survive (barely, in Yor's case).

Twilight and Yuri then cooperate and rush to help the most important woman in their life.

Twilight told Yuri to find transportation, while he tried his best to stop his wife's profuse bleeding.

Yor gently held his hand, and whispered, "Don't abandon Anya..." which Twilight's responded with, "No. I will never." And in his desperation he told her that he will finally took a holiday from his job, and they will go to the apple festival at neighbour town (or any other family activity), which Yor responded with, "I'd love that."

Twilight smiled and warned his wife to take a deep breath cause his next action would hurt like hell.

And indeed it was.

The bleeding slowed down but enduring the pain was too much for weakened Yor and she passed out.

Twilight bit his lips to stop himself from crying, when he hugged and covered his wife with his jacket, whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry....I'm sorry...."

Yuri came with functional vehicle and all of them rushed to medical facility.

At the hospital / hidden medical facility (maybe WISE's), Twilight was sitting, waiting with 'dead look' on his face. (For once he cannot do anything. For once all he can do was sit and wait.)

Yuri shoved a cup of hot coffee in front of his face, and said "My sister is strong. She managed to survive injury this severe back then, of course she will survive again this time."

Twilight was shocked to hear that. And we get a bit of Yor's flashback via Yuri's POV.

Little Yuri was sitting at the side of his sister's hospital bed. At that time he was told that Yor got an accident during her job/being mugged etc. And little Yuri cried his tears of joy when Yor finally opened her eyes. He took care of her. And after she finally able to stand back on her feet, Yuri studied extra hard, and got accepted at the Uni at 14 y.o.

Twilight was surprised to hear the story.

The doctor came out and tell the men that Yor has survived her surgery, and will be closely monitored at the ICU.

Just when Twilight want to see her, Handler came and asked him to finish the interrupted mission. So he went with several WISE agents.

He succeed in finishing the mission, and returned to the hospital.

Upon entering Yor's room, he saw Yuri snoring at the sofa. Anya curled at Yor's side. And his wife was sleeping with so many monitor cables, IV lines, oxygen mask attached to her.

He carefully held her hand and whispered, "Yor, please come back to us. To me."

Yor was dreaming about her past. When she was living happily during childhood, Yuri's birth, her parent's death. Her survival during her first years after her parent's death. Her meeting Garden. Her harsh training. Her first kill. (All of these will make our heart shatters without a doubt 😭💔💔)

And during her harshest days, she will always remembered her father's words, "Remember the warmth of your family. Your home."

Her father's words still echoing when Yor finally opened her eyes.

She looked around and deduced that apparently she was still alive. Especially since she can feel the warmth around her.

At the sofa, Yuri was sleeping soundly. Curled right next to her was Anya. And the one holding her hand was her husband.

She smiled, and with all the power she had at the time, she carressed her husband's hand with her thumb.

Loid jolted awake. And in his disoriented state, his eyes widen, and come close to his wife, whispered, "Yor?"

Yor rasped, "I'm..... home...."

Loid cried out of happines, and kissed her saying, "Welcome home." (And we will be bawling hard over this panel for sure 😭😭😭😭)

[neuvigroove]

𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚.

pairings. scaramouche x fem reader synopsis. scaramouche swore to himself to protect you from dottore, but in order to do so, he must abandon you. before he leaves though, he makes sure to put a smile on your face. genre/warnings. pure angst, written in scara's pov, reader is energetic and childish, she/her pronouns used for reader, mentions of blood, stabbing, and death wc. 1.1k a/n. i actually shed a tear while writing this and listening to summertime sadness. playlist. die first - nessa barrett, summertime sadness - lana del rey, train wreck - james arthur

[2:39pm]

today is y/n's birthday.

i can see her in the near distance, skipping around like an excited little kid. she's always had too much energy for me to bear, but perhaps i've grown used to it, seeing that she's always glued to my side for some reason unknown to me.

that bliss however, will change today. dottore knows about where she's from. a planet far from the depths of teyvat. a globe dominated solely by the human race with no room for elemental power. a planet currently known as earth.

very little is known about this planet, which only causes dottore's interest to peak. her origin makes her the perfect test subject for the doctor, but i will not let him lay a dirty fingernail on her.

we cannot continue to travel as one; dottore will find her if she's with me. i don't have any cards left to play.

i do worry that leaving her alone would put her in another danger. she carries no vision, nor any strength that could compare to the creatures of teyvat. however, nothing is more dangerous than becoming an experiment of the second fatui harbinger. on the inside i know she'll be okay. she can find-

she can find my replacement. a new companion.

my only option is to watch over her from the shadows. that is the only way i can protect her.

sometimes i can tell that i hurt her feelings when we converse. but my personality is something i can't change, and she's never seemed to want change from me. perhaps that's why i've enjoyed her company more than i could ever enjoy another human being's. she understands me more than i think she does.

since i made her cry on her last birthday, i've decided that i could attempt to make her smile this time around. in my defense though, the cookies she made for us to share together were truly detrimental. but... maybe my words were too harsh. i forget what i said exactly... "you wanna poison me? are you so dumb as to have forgotten that i'm not human?"

my eyes trail back to ms. craziness and my eyes widen when she trips over a tree branch. i actually have no idea how i've been traveling together with a girl who has two left legs without dying. i don't notice the tears streaming from my eyes until she looks my way and spots me.

she runs over to me, and i quickly wipe the useless, hot tears. when i see her happy expression, i need to make an effort not to let the guilt eat me alive. i think i've admitted it to myself a while ago, but i love y/n. i'd presumed just as everyone else that i'm a puppet incapable of anything close to love, but if what i feel for y/n isn't love then i'm not sure what it is. i am positive that it is love. when you experience pain, you don't doubt it and assume it's something else. you just feel. and when i'm with her i feel.

"SCARA!" y/n exclaims as she topples me over in a hug. i nearly fall to the ground, but i'm able to catch us before it's too late. gosh, can she even contain her energy for two rational seconds?

i shove her off of me, but before i can say anything, she excitedly holds up a compass-like trinket in my face. "look! a sweet young boy gave me this lovely compass! it's supposed to lead you to wherever you'll be the happiest! and~ it led me right to you! we are just the perfect little duo, aren't we scara?"

i scoff, "and you believe that? it led you towards me because i'm standing north from where you were earlier."

y/n's excited expression drops.

"oh..." she pouts. "well... we can still pretend, right?"

pretend. maybe i can pretend she'll always be with me.

"pretending won't get you anywhere in life," i respond flatly.

"oh, but you pretend all the time," she responds. "i know you sometimes pretend that you can't hear me when i ramble about random things. although it hurts my feelings, you're still my best friend, scara."

what she said is actually not true. i in fact remember everything she rambles about in great detail. like that one time she was complaining about how she hates her hair because the wind blows it in an unattractive way. it was just so annoying because she needs to set her priorities straight. her appearance should be the last of her worries.

"give me your hand," i say. my voice is softer than i intended it to be. when she extends her hand, i slip a diamond bracelet around her wrist. on it is a charm with her nickname for me engraved in the center: scara.

please don't forget about me.

"oh, scara... it's beautiful! I'll never take it off. i promise."

"i have a matching one," i respond as i hold up my wrist for her the see.

she smiles when she sees the nickname engraved on my bracelet: princess.

there it is. her smile.

i sigh. "human, i know that you have your other shenanigans to deal with today, as do i. but meet me up that hill in the forest at sunset."

"oh, okay? scara, why are you being extra nice today?"

"um," i attempt a half smile. "it's your birthday, isn't it?"

[6:03pm]

i pick up the sword from the wet grass of the forest mountain beneath me. it's raining hard tonight. y/n is going to catch a cold, and i won't be there to care.

i walk over to the puppet standing across from me. my puppet. the puppet i've created to fake my own death. isn't it funny? the puppet of a puppet. both abandoned by their creators.

i take my bracelet off and slip it on its wrist. she has to believe it's me.

"i'm sorry," i whisper before stabbing my clone in the chest. i close my eyes when i hear my own voice cry out in a short-lived pain. it falls to the ground, lifeless as i walk away into the forest.

the bloodshed spreads with the heavy rain, and moments later, i see y/n approach the dead body. there she is.

and i feel as if my nonexistent heart has cracked in half when she screams. my eyes close in a sort of pain i've never experienced before. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, princess. it's the only way you wouldn't look for me.

i wish that a day will come where we can be partners again. but on the inside i know that her human lifespan is not long enough to fulfill that silly wish.

scaramouche fanart credit: X (Twitter) : llxx88103769

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 53/54

Prev | Next

Danny hugged Sam and Tucker. He would miss his friends, but there was no reason to stay. His dad and family were in the other dimension. Besides, even when they destroyed the portal, they could visit with Wulf's help.

Ghostwriter, who had been stuck in the thermos with Danny, had said he would look for Wulf so that they could facilitate communication between the friends. The other ghost had gone through the portal when they let him go to tell Raven they were fine and not to call other heroes.

Thank the Ancients he did because if time was slower in Danny’s home dimension, who knows how long it’s been in the other dimension? He didn’t want Auntie Raven freaking out. They already had to think of something to explain Danny’s disappearance. They didn’t need to add heroes to the mix.

They all went to the basement. Danny was wary; he didn’t want to see the Fentons’ bodies.

He was thankful Talia had cleaned up well. There wasn’t even blood on the floors. He did idly wonder where she hid the bodies.

Don’t think about it.

“We’ll miss you, Danny, but I’m glad you found a parent that cares about you,” Sam said as she hugged him again.

“Yeah, dude, you deserve some happiness. And who knows, you might have caught up to our age again the next time we see each other. You’re so shrimpy right now,” Tucker teased.

“Hardy, har-har, Tucker.”

His friends grinned, and Danny couldn’t help but give one of his own.

“We’ll wait for Wulf. We can trade letters or try to visit each other in the Ghost Zone,” Sam said with a sad smile. “It’s not goodbye. It’s an ‘I’ll see you later’ type of deal.”

Danny nodded, “I’ll miss you guys, but…”

Danny turned to look at his dad. He was standing by Talia and Jazz. Talia was tucking Jazz’s hair behind her ear and telling her something. Jazz’s eyes were still red. Danny couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Jazz had killed the Fentons to save him. It was his fault.

Talia had a maternal air around her as she continued talking to Jazz. Maybe he should accept her, not as his grandmother but as part of his family. She seemed to be helping Jazz after—after what happened.

Sam brought Danny back to the present.

“Live your best life; it sounds like you’re in a great dimension.”

“It has problems, but at least I’ll be more accepted with my powers. And the best part is, no GIW or Vlad!”

“I wonder what he’s going to do when he finds out Maddie is, well, you know,” Tucker said.

Danny tried not to think about it. He ignored the renewed sense of guilt at the thought of the Fentons’ deaths.

“You guys should go; we’re going to blow up this place and the portal. We don’t want anyone to think it was your fault.”

They hugged one last time, and then they were gone. It saddened Danny to see his friends leave, but he didn’t regret his decision. Besides, it was, as Sam said, it wasn’t goodbye.

“Are you sure about this, Danny lad? We can stay here. I have no problem leaving it all behind and, umph.”

Danny had tackled his father, “You’re silly, dad. I’ll miss my friends, but we can always visit. This dimension has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’d rather be home.”

Danny saw Batman and Nightwing’s tense shoulders relax from the corner of his eyes. Danny ignored them. They had been the main cause of his dad’s pain.

“Danny, chum, stop.”

“I’m not doing anything, daddy,” Danny said innocently. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely ignoring the two men. And maybe glaring at one of the founding members of the Justice League with glowing eyes wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t help it.

Dad laughed and hugged Danny, “I love you, chum, so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“I hate to break up this sweet father-son moment, but it’s time to leave,” Jazz said in a hollow voice, “I set the portal to blow up in ten minutes. That should give us enough time to get far enough away from it.”

“And you’re sure this explosion will stay isolated to the basement,” Batman asked. Which okay, it was a valid question, but why couldn’t someone less annoying have asked?

Jazz turned toward him, “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll only take out the basement and the portal. Nothing or no one else will be affected. Also, I know that you copied the data on the computer. I want to receive a copy. And that isn’t up to negotiation, Batman.”

“Busted,” Nightwing murmured.

“Seriously, old man?” Danny grinned at his dad’s pissed-off tone.

“Of course, I’m…sorry that I didn’t ask before doing so.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. Let’s go.”

Dad glared at Batman one last time before walking through the portal. It was time to go home.

____

Jazz drank a hot cup of tea as she watched the sun move across the sky. Ellie was sleeping beside her in a baby bouncer.

Thankfully, by the time they returned home, they had only been gone the whole night and part of the morning. They had made up a story about looking for Danny in the woods behind the school all night and having found him. The official story was that Danny had followed a kitten into the woods and gotten lost. It hurt Danny’s pride a little, but they had to come up with something.

The police had notified the school officials, and by midday, everyone knew Danny had been found.

Even Avril had shown up to make sure they had been fine.

“I’m so glad little Danny is well,” she crouched down to Danny, “Don’t follow animals into the woods anymore, sweetie; it could have ended so much worse. Oh, Sarah was so worried.”

Jazz couldn’t tell if the woman was being sincere or not, but they were all too tired to care about her.

After their statement had been taken, the little family went back home. Raven had picked up Ellie, and Jazz had wanted to hold her little girl after the shitty day she had.

They had let Bruce and Dick stay the day so they could rest. Bruce had overstepped his boundaries but still helped get Danny back. He even gave Jazz the drive and asked if he could review the information.

Jazz and Jason could let the two men rest at their home.

Jazz had been too restless to sleep, so she had offered her bed to Dick while Bruce had taken Jason’s. Jason had gone to sleep with Danny in Danny’s room. Raven had gone home but promised to return with Roy and Lian the next day.

Jazz took another sip of her tea, Ellie’s soft snores calming her nerves.

She let time pass her by without any real thoughts, which was her excuse for not noticing Talia until she put something wrapped in a white cloth in front of her.

It took Jazz a moment to recognize the shape of the item. It was a knife. Jazz’s blood ran cold.

“I doubt you would want to keep it, but I had to ask before taking that decision away from you,” Talia said.

Jazz took the wrapped dagger in her hands. Although it was clean, she swore she saw red specks on the cloth.

“It’s Danny’s; you should ask him.”

Coward, she thought to herself, making Danny decide is a cowardly move.

Talia put her manicured hand on top of Jazz’s, “It’s yours now, Jasmine. I can take it away, and you’ll never see it again, but you have to decide.”

For a while, only Ellie’s soft snores punctured the silence.

Jazz put the dagger down.

“I want to keep it, as weird as it sounds.”

That dagger was her partner in crime. Probably the only other thing that could understand her. After all, it had helped Jazz take Jack Fenton’s life.

Jazz tried not to think too deeply about her keeping a souvenir of her first kill.

She laughed hysterically: did she really think ‘first?’

Talia squeezed Jazz’s hand. “Jasmine, I am not a perfect mother or person, but I want to be here for you. I want to help you through this.”

Jazz looked at Talia and said sincerely, “You have helped me. Thank you.”

She got up and hugged the woman. Talia tensed with surprise before putting her arms around Jazz.

Jazz would get through this. She could try to find a therapist who specialized in PTSD, or she could ask Talia to find one who wouldn’t report her to the authorities and lock her up.

She would not let this consume her. Jazz had her future ahead of her; the Fentons had taken enough of her past, and they would not have her future either.

Hey everyone, just one more chapter to go through, and I'll finish this fic. I actually have tears in my eyes. I can't believe it's almost over 😭

[crimsonwolf715]

What Have I Done?

{I know canonically that Dick’s fears are all mental hurdles (failure, his family not loving him, etc), but I like the idea of that soul eating guilt. So enjoy this definitely far (maybe not really far, but still far) from canon fic about Dick on fear toxin 🫡}

Scarecrow’s been out of Arkham for three days. Tim managed to find his location and the Bats are at the place so they can get him back to Arkham before he causes a major incident. 

“Scarecrow’s in the warehouse, so proceed with caution,” Bruce says. 

“You got it, old man,” Jason says. 

“I’m always cautious,” Damian says. 

“That is a lie,” Tim replies. 

“Don’t fight, you two,” Dick says. “Focus on Scarecrow.” 

The five split up and start searching the warehouse. 

Dick’s cautious when walking into each area, making sure he has an exit route. After searching half of his area, he walks into a room with his escrima sticks at the ready. There’s nothing in the room beside a large bookcase partially against one wall. Dick checks behind it for anything, then turns to leave. The door slams shut and he hears some kind of click. He runs over and starts trying to open the door. 

Gas starts coming in through the vents and Dick pulls his mask on. He keeps trying to manhandle the door open when something comes flying at him. He ducks and realizes that it’s a small rock. He turns the way it came from in just enough time to see another rock hit his mask. His mask cracks and he starts cursing. Gas fills the room and Dick continues to try to get out, but the door stays firmly in place. 

He’s holding his breath, trying to avoid inhaling any at all, but that doesn’t work. He can’t hold his breath long enough. He breathes it in and starts coughing immediately. It feels like it’s burning his nose and throat. He keeps trying to get out the door until he hears it. 

“Richard.” 

Dick turns and Bruce is standing there in full Batman uniform, giving Dick the full power of the Batglare™. 

“You’re a disgrace, a plague on this family,” Bruce says. “You failed me. You’re not a part of this family anymore.” 

“No, don’t do this,” Dick pleads. “I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“You should be. You’re a sorry excuse for a partner and a son.” 

Tears well up in Dick’s eyes. “ Please, stop. ” 

“You should just go back to Blüdhaven and never come back.” 

Dick starts crying. “ Dad. ” 

Bruce starts shouting that Dick needs to leave and Dick claws his comm out of his ear so he can better cover his ears. He hears his family start screaming in pain. He opens his eyes and sees all of them being brutally tortured by Joker, Two-Face, and Scarecrow. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to believe that’s what’s happening. A loud bang interrupts his family’s screams. Dick turns and Scarecrow’s there with a big ass sword. Dick pulls out his escrima sticks and attacks Scarecrow. The two start sparring, Dick having the upper hand. 

“Dick, snap out of it.”  

Scarecrow’s not going down with the usual amount of force, so Dick stops pulling his punches as much. 

“You’re worthless. You’ve failed the city and your family. My toxins will turn this city into a hellhole of despair.” 

Scarecrow uses his sword to disarm Dick. Dick throws a kick at him but he manages to dodge it. Scarecrow raises the sword and Dick grabs the knife out of his boot that he only keeps for emergencies. He throws it and it nails Scarecrow in the side. Scarecrow drops as Dick’s vision blurs. 

“No, I need to get him into custody and stop the bleeding.” 

Dick’s body gives out and he passes out. 

Dick wakes up and he’s in the warehouse. He sits up and Tim’s beside him, bleeding. It seemed like he was trying to stop the bleeding, but he passed out before he could. Dick goes over and realizes that he can’t move his right arm without excruciating pain. He ignores it and starts putting pressure on the wound. Jason runs into the room. 

“What the hell did you do?” Jason asks. 

“What did I do?” Dick replies, confused. 

“Tim was fighting you, so yes I’m asking you.” 

Dick backs away from Tim, realizing that he wasn’t fighting Scarecrow. He was fighting Tim. Jason rushes over to Tim. 

“What is wrong with you right now?” Jason asks. 

Dick’s back hits the wall and pain shoots through his shoulder. He ignores it as tears well up in his eyes. 

“What have I done?” Dick asks. 

Dick runs out of the room and he hears Jason shouting his name but he ignores it entirely. He makes it outside and trips. He lands on his knees, then throws up. Once he finally stops throwing up or dry heaving, which takes almost ten minutes, he looks for his comm. He doesn’t find it though. 

I must have left it inside. I remember I took it out because all I could hear was Bruce saying that I was a… I am a failure. I almost killed my little brother. Tim’s been through so much and I probably just gave him so much more trauma. He’ll never trust me again.  

Tears start falling and Dick quietly sobs there, unsure what else to do. 

“Dick.” 

Dick turns and even though he can barely see past the tears, he recognizes the outline of Batman. He starts crying harder, all of the things Bruce said earlier rushing back into his head. He feels Bruce’s hand on his good shoulder and he tries to push the hand away. He doesn’t deserve any kind of comfort. 

“Jason’s gotten Tim to Leslie and he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “We need to get you there too.” 

“No.” 

“Tonight isn’t your fault.” 

“Yes it is. I’m supposed to protect my siblings, and I almost killed Tim. How am I supposed to live with myself, Dad?” 

Bruce pulls Dick into a hug, careful of Dick’s shoulder even though he didn’t tell him about the injury. Dick hugs Bruce back tightly and the sobbing resumes. 

“You’ll take it one day at a time, like we always do.” 

Bruce rubs Dick’s back until a small beep sounds. 

“I hear you. We’re on our way back now,” Bruce says to whoever’s on comms. 

“I… I can’t face him, Dad.” 

“I’m gonna take you to Leslie. We can discuss you talking to Tim once you’ve completely detoxed. I’m going to pick you up now, is that alright?” 

“Sure.” 

Bruce gently picks Dick up and takes him to the Batmobile. The drive is silent, Dick silently crying. When they get to the Cave, Tim’s nowhere to be seen. Leslie’s waiting for them though. 

“Go see Tim, Dad. I’ll be fine,” Dick says. 

“Are you…?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Leslie gives him a checkup and aside from having to bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when she checks his shoulder, she doesn’t seem concerned. Dick’s barely hearing what she’s saying, but nothing concerning. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with your shoulder.” 

Dick turns to look at her. 

“I want to take you in to get scans,” Leslie says.

“Great, sounds perfect,” Dick replies.

“Don’t be sarcastic with me.” 

“I’m not. Get off my ass about it.” 

Leslie looks surprised and Dick sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean that. I just… I don’t really want to be around right now, and I don’t really want to go to the hospital.” 

The elevator opens and Damian comes out. Dick watches as Damian makes a beeline for him. He braces himself for a lecture or criticism, anything to live up to how people should be treating him. 

“Are you alright, Grayson?” 

“God only knows what’s wrong with my shoulder, but other than that I’m peachy. Is Tim alright?” 

“Yes, Timothy’s fine. He didn’t lose too much blood thanks to the three of you and I apprehended Scarecrow with Father. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

“I hurt Tim.” 

“Under the influence of fear toxin. You clearly thought that you were protecting yourself from someone that would cause you permanent harm. No one blames you.” 

“Other than me,” Dick says. 

“Other than you,” Damian echoes. “I’m going to stay here with you for a while. Father’s speaking with Timothy and Alfred’s otherwise occupied.” 

Dick notices that Leslie’s in the elevator, but he doesn’t care to say anything. 

She’ll be back.  

Damian sits in front of Dick and leans against him. Dick runs his hand through Damian’s hair, quietly humming. 

“What song is this?” Damian asks. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “My mom used to sing it but I can’t remember the words well enough to look it up.” 

“My mother used to sing to me as well.” 

“Yeah, it kinda seems to be a thing that moms do. Jason said that his mother always used to sing this one song to him and he always knew that it was time to settle down. He didn’t tell me what song it was because I would abuse that, which he technically isn’t wrong about, but even Tim said that his mother sang to him when she was around.” 

Damian nods and Dick goes back to humming. Damian falls asleep after a short while and Dick keeps running a hand through his hair, trying not to cry again. Jason comes down with his hands in his pockets. 

“What the hell did you do?”  

Dick looks back down at Damian so Jason can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

“My sweet baby,” Dick whispers. 

“Hey. Can we talk, Dickie?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Sure,” Dick answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. 

“I… You…” Jason takes a breath. “I’m sorry.” 

Dick looks up at Jason. “For what?” 

“I… Tim told us that you possibly had been affected by some kind of drugs and I blamed you the second I saw Tim’s condition.” 

“It’s my fault, Jason.” 

“It was the drugs.” 

“It was me. Drugs or not, it was my hands that hurt him. That wasn’t Scarecrow.” 

“Get your head out of your ass,” Jason says. “That’s not how this works. Those drugs make you completely hallucinate something different than what’s really there. As someone who’s killed people on that before, it’s not black and white. Tim’s fine and that’s great, but you need to get out of your head.” 

Dick goes to snap back at Jason and he finds he has nothing to say. Jason’s not wrong, but all Dick can think is that he hurt his little brother. That it could have been Damian. That Tim could have been a little less prepared and died because of him. 

“Jason…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I forgive you. You took the exact approach I did.” 

“Thanks. Leslie’s probably gonna be storming down here any minute.” 

“Did she tell Dad that I was refusing the hospital?” 

“Oh, she was going when I saw her. If that approach doesn’t work, then she’ll just come down here and give you a lecture.” 

“Yeah, sounds nice. As long as she isn’t too loud and wakes Damian.” 

“Oh, Damian got the normal fear toxin and the cure administered. He’ll be sleeping till morning regardless.” 

“Well, that makes him falling asleep in this position make more sense.” 

“He likes you.” 

“I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s sleeping on me in a way that was perfectly normal for me with Bruce.” 

Leslie comes down with a triumphant look. 

“Bruce must have told her that you should go,” Jason says. 

“When was the last time he was the boss of me? I’m not moving.” 

“Alfred said that you had to get your shoulder checked out,” Leslie says. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dick says. “Jason, can you take Damian?” 

Jason gently picks up Damian, who huffs, but doesn’t wake up. Dick gets up and follows Leslie. She drives him to the hospital and she must have called ahead because it was ready when they got there. Dick goes through the process without complaint, even though he’d rather complain a lot. 

“How did this happen?” Leslie asks as she looks over the scans. 

“I don’t know,” Dick answers. “I barely remember most of tonight. That probably won’t stick, but I don’t know.” 

“Alright, I’ll see if Tim can let me know. If not, that’s fine. Your injury, thankfully, isn’t as bad as I thought it was. You’ll still have a recovery time for it, but it’s not too bad. No working while this is healing.” 

“I think I’m just gonna stay at home and hug my baby brother.” 

“I doubt Damian will let you hug him that long, but feel free to do that with one arm.” 

She goes through the plan with him and gets his arm in a sling, which is annoying. She takes him back to the manor and when he walks in, Bruce is sitting at the dining room table. 

“Hey, Dad,” Dick says. 

“Hey,” Bruce replies. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Fine. I’ll be in this thing for a little while, but that’s not the end of the world. Why aren’t you with Tim?” 

“Tim wants to talk to you, so I was waiting for you.” 

Dick takes a breath, then nods. The two walk upstairs and Tim’s arguing with Jason about the proper way to hold Damian. 

“I am holding him just fine. He’s still asleep and he’s not complaining,” Jason says. 

“Hey, Dick,” Tim says. 

Jason turns. “Hey, Dickie.” 

“Hey, you two.” 

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Jason says. “I’m gonna get Damian into his bed.” 

Jason heads out and Dick takes a seat. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says. “I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Dick replies. 

“Did I hurt your shoulder?” Tim asks. “I don’t really remember the end of the fight.” 

“I actually don’t know. I don’t really remember my shoulder getting hurt. I’ll be in this for a while and be fine, so it doesn’t really matter who hurt my shoulder.” 

“Hey, Dick?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You still see us as equals, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“So no hard feelings then. Batman’s kicked the shit out of ninety percent of the Justice League and they still don’t hold a grudge, much.” 

Dick nods. “Okay, deal. I didn’t think of it like that.” 

Tim shrugs. “Sometimes you need a more objective view. I’m trying not to be so objective about my relationships with you guys, but it’s good for things like this.” 

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair. “Alright, I’m gonna try to get some rest.” 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Dick.” 

“See you in the morning, Tim.” 

Dick heads to his room to try to get some rest.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

ae don't see the point in engaging in a fandom if you don't even really like the characters

like, yeah, folks get ford wrong, and they get mabel wrong too. but they also get stan wrong. like. a lot? just as much as they get ford wrong, even? is. is there a chance the only reason folks talk about ford's mischaracterization more is because he's made out to seem worse than he is and stan is made out to be flawless and people like flawlessness and perfection and more attracted to characters deemed as having no negative traits because they feel better projecting themselves onto said character

anyway, ae can't say anything on dipper cause ae don't even really know his character that well (was always more interested in the others unfortunately) so ae have no clue if like. folks are mischaracterizing the main character too

but the point is: you have a main cast of like four characters. maybe five, if you count bill. and three out of those four (maybe four out of those five, considering the. what would we call that. 'wet kitten'-ifing of bill, especially recently), a large chunk of the fandom violently mischaracterizes. do you get us here? like, it's one thing to throw some headcanons into the ring, tweak some bits of a character, etc.

what the fandom does with ford and stan is not that. ford is not ford, and stan is certainly not stan. and mabel? we all know how she's treated

aey don't want to say like. all the folks here are doing it for this reason. but ae'm willing to bet this is due to 1. not interacting with the actual material for a long while and 2. not being able to let go of the series due to nostalgia

and ae get that, ae do. it's hard to let things go that are important to you. but you're not the only one. gravity falls praises weirdness, the differences in beings. lots of folks are attached to the show due to this, especially neurodivergent or just generally outcast folks. it says you will find your place, where you will find community and safety. it says that things get messy, but they can always get better

1: erasing stan's mistakes and flaws and making him a perfect can-do-no-wrong was coerced into every bad thing he's ever done character fucks that up (and the stan in our head personally likes to have his gremlin shenanigans acknowledged). it means stan didn't have to work for his happy ending, he didn't have to better himself, he just had to sit and wait for ford to drop it in his lap. this means it is not equal. it's not fair to ford, if he's the only one that had to put effort into it (especially after the thirty years of being in a completely alien place??). this also becomes an issue when you take into account that a large amount of people still give stan all his canonical trauma. you are not your trauma, you are not responsible for it, but you do need to work with it. it can't get better by itself, you need to help it get to that point. and this is speaking as someone with ptsd. it will always be there, but you can ease the pain. thus, treating stan in this way yields the opposite meaning: he doesn't struggle with it. he doesn't make mistakes. he never lashes out because of the suffering as commonly occurs. he doesn't have to try. making him messy makes him real, and making him real means he can be used as a device to help those hurting to heal. his experiences are relatable for a lot: and thus making him have to work for his good ending instead of just waiting for it to fall into his hold is important. if he can do it, you can, too! you don't get that if he doesn't have to try

2: ford is a very neurodivergent-coded character. this does not mean he is canonically neurodivergent; it does, however, mean that when you demonize him, make his character worse than it is, it is very difficult to avoid spewing out ableism. saying x trait of ford is bad for y reason means you are bound to fall into a pit trap of hurting beings who don't deserve it. most folks think of autism, of course, but this also applies to a lot of other things. personality disorders, paranoia and anxiety, ocd, and a whole host of other things folks have no control over. he has a lot of hurt he was never able to process properly, and that adds to him being a messy character. this is good! he works hard to pry his life from his abuser, and he works even harder to better himself and get his happy ending with his family! and yet. the fandom does not acknowledge any of that. he is demonized for things stan does, too, and ae have never such horrific victim blaming as in the fandom. again, this hurts people. he is not irredeemable, and he is not responsible for what his manipulative abuser did to him. implying or outright saying he is harms beings that are trying to heal from similar experiences. furthermore: the emphasis on him being arrogant, having an ego. stop that. if he has a little bit of arrogance to him, so what? that's normal, that doesn't make him a bad guy. especially when folks dig so hard to find any scraps that prove this apparent trait of his. everything is scrutinized. learning to love yourself is important, and gaining a little bit of an ego is part of that. building confidence and pride in your accomplishments is good! being able to genuinely say you're cool or amazing or smart or beautiful or strong is good! building all of this up is an important part of healing, especially from trauma, and demonizing ford for it is actively working against this

pointing these things out isn't hating on stan or defending ford, either. the characters have personalities, and it's better in the end to let them keep them, as messy as they may be. stan has flaws, ford does too. but they're good people, they have good intentions, and they work to better themselves and repair relationships. they're not all the way there, yet, but they will be. you just won't get to see it (that's what fics and fan art and headcanons and discussions are for)

this turned out so much longer than ae meant it to be, but like. idk, needed to get our thoughts out ae guess

[stargodau]

Chapter 1 Proposition

         Bill stared at the ceiling feeling utterly empty. His afterlife now consisted of nothing but pain and misery, tests, needles, medications, and physical abuse. The Theraprism a place of ‘healing’ and ‘redemption’ did nothing but break him apart, slowly. The crack across his body had expanded to both sides now, breaking him into five pieces. He lay on his cell floor staring at the incandescent light overhead. It burned his eye but he didn’t mind much, pain was the only real thing he had felt in a while.

          A click. The door opened to show one of those nasty therapists standing there. This particular therapist reminded him of someone who had far too many eyes. They took on a sort of sky blue color with darker blue frills. 

       “Patient #323322 the great Axolotl has requested your presence. Do not make it wait any longer than necessary.” The therapist’s shrill voice and calm tone, made him wish they had given him medication to deafen him along instead of just subduing him.

          “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He groaned getting up off the floor. Cuffs were of course immediately fastened around his wrists and two guards accompanied them as they walked through the halls to Axy’s office.

          “Do not disappoint the Axolotl.” Was all that was said to Bill before he was shoved inside the office to face the lizard on his own. The Ax’s office was cluttered, papers stranded on its desk and around the floor. Books were stacked against the walls stretching up to the ceiling. Each book, Cipher knew, contained the knowledge of countless dimensions, crammed in using magic.

          “Have a seat Bill.” Rumbled the Axolotl in its low, cheerful voice. Bill obliged. The Axolotl itself looked quite haggard for it being an all knowing benevolent god. There were slight creases under its star filled eyes, though those too had lost some sparkle to them.

          Bill considered before starting conversation. “What’s the word frills? Finally taking me outta this dump or do I need an extended stay?” He really hoped he was being released, he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

          The Axolotl cocked its head at him, the responded, “ We are here to discuss your inability to accept the Theraprism’s help. You know your therapists only wants best for you, though no matter how much they try you seem to stay the same.” Bill stared ahead at the amphibian, confused. What help? The therapists had never even extended an olive branch.

          It continued, “You seem to in fact, gotten worse as we can see from these cracks here.” A hand was extended towards Bill’s left side where the cracks had grown onto.

          Instead of groveling or apologizing like the Ax probably hoped he would Bill became glowing red with anger. “Getting worse? GETTING WORSE? All I have been trying to do is get better while here but those ‘therapists’ insist I’m not doing enough, and do you know what happens? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS? I get shoved into a void for ‘wellness’ and to think about how I can ‘change’ and ‘be better’. I’m a lost cause already but the only person who can’t seem to figure that out is you! Perhaps using these dimensions worth of knowledge you can get a brain!” He didn’t have any powers but oh boy did yelling without immediately getting beaten feel good.

          Once again the Axolotl didn’t react harshly, just sighing before it spoke. “Bill I know you are suffering that’s why I came here. The Theraprism won’t teach you anything, it’s not  what’s right for you. I just came here to tell you that I’m coming up with a solution. Please be good for a few days and I will contact you to let you know the new arrangement.” It smiled at him, prompting him to answer.

          “Well, how could I say no to that Axy? I accept your deal with open arms! What’s the catch though, I know you aren’t stupid enough to give this to me for free.” Bill narrowed his eye at the amphibian, something was up and he was going to find out what it was. The Axolotl was staring at him with a strange look he couldn’t quite decipher.

          “I will contact you once I figure out the exact details of this new deal Bill. Be good and may you have star filled days.” And with that the Axolotl disappeared from sight. The guards grabbed him before leading him back to his cell to wait in agony until the Ax contacted him. Waiting, with no hope at all.

[blackjackkent]

Ask prompt fill for @jennycalendar for this ask meme: Major Arcana Tarot Prompts Jaheira + The Chariot (Control, willpower, success, action, determination) Ty for the prompt! <3 This one's a little stream of consciousness but I enjoyed writing it. c:

-----

He is alive.

The thought rings like a bell inside Jaheira’s head, a cold clear burst. He is alive. He is alive. He is alive.

She watches Minsc curl his battered body into itself on the floor of the sewers, pulling his arms underneath him, struggling for balance, for strength. His face is darkened with bruises from Hector’s fists, lined with the scores from her own wildshaped claws. His eyes are half-closed and his breathing labored; any sane man would collapse under the beating he has taken. 

But she knows him. Minsc will rise, and rise, and rise.

“He won’t stay down for long!” she cries out.

The relief in her is like a taste of madness, a snapping free of impossible tension. For months, she has traveled in curse-laden darkness chasing the Absolutists, but in truth she did not believe it could be for anything more than vengeance. Surely Minsc was dead long since, dead in that terrible hole he forced her to leave him in; there was nothing left to her but to see that those who killed her old friend might suffer for it.

She never dared to believe, until this moment, that she might be wrong.

He is alive. He is alive. He is alive. They have poisoned and stolen him but he can still be saved. 

She rounds on Hector, for a moment unheeding of the solicitousness in her own expression. Everything - dignity, decorum, self-control - falls away in favor of the precipitate need. They must not have him a moment longer. 

“Tell your illithid to protect him from the elder brain’s influence. Quickly!” she barks.

Hector nods, his fingers white-knuckling as he grips the Prism with both hands. A muscle works in his jaw and his eyes roll back in his head.

She looks down at Minsc, her pulse thumping in her temple like hammer blows. The muscles in his back are twitching with strain as he balances on knees and fists. 

She has fought at his side so many times, for so many years; she knows every line of him, every quirk of movement, with more detail than she has ever known anyone short of a lover. She knows the twist of weight that will bring him onto his feet, a slight favoring of the left knee over the right - not because of the scar wound on the outside of his thigh, but because he will pivot the great bulk of his weight and lash out a kick like a greathammer. 

And she knows the madness in his eyes, too. She has seen that flat blank rage sparked by a thousand righteous causes, rising to beat back evil at every turn. But here it is corrupted and wrong, turned against the good by the machinations of the evil. Turned against her.

“Hector!” she snaps.

Hector’s head jerks slightly. His eyes work violently under their lids and his breath hitches with a low groan of effort. Jaheira’s jaw tightens and her eyes go narrow as she realizes what is going on.

The illithid is fighting back. Of course it is. What use will it see in Minsc, a thrall already corrupted by the Absolute’s taint? What use will it see in saving him purely on the basis of her friendship? It is a brutal, cold, pragmatic thing, and it will rebel against such fickle sentimentality. It will try to convince Hector to leave Minsc behind, that he is worthless, dead mad weight.

But if Minsc is allowed to rise, he will keep fighting. And after everything - after the illithids and the shadowlands, after the road and the city, after the grief and the anger and the terrible lonely pain… she will be forced to kill him.

Everything in her rebels at the thought. No. Not here. Not ever. I will die myself first.

 “The mind flayer pours poison in your ear, I think.” Her voice is all of a sudden very slow and very cold.

Hector’s eyes open to slits and his fingers flex on the Prism’s surface. His head jerks in a slight nod. 

Minsc’s head lifts; he makes a wordless noise of rage and pain and Jaheira feels something twist and snap inside her heart. No, my friend. No, I will not leave you behind, illithid be damned. We will both die here in the heart of this cess-pit before I will turn my back on you again.

She meets Hector’s agitated gaze squarely, looking past his eyes to the monstrous creature battling inside his mind. “Tell it,” she growls, “I will tear the Prism from your grasp and throw it in the deepest lava pit I can find!” Her fists clench at her sides. “Long after our bones are dust and ash, the walls of its prison will still be burning!”

She means it, too. Perhaps in a moment, she will not, because of course it would be to doom everything… but as the words emerge from her, they are a statement of absolute fact, bitter determination from a woman who has been hurt too much.

Her voice lifts, echoing weirdly in the waterlogged sewer cavern. “NOW HELP MY FRIEND!”

Almost in time with her words, Minsc finally gains his feet and roars like an animal.

“Jaheira--” he bellows, towering over Hector’s slighter frame. “You KILLED HER!”

And they are the same in that moment, Jaheira and Minsc - two wounded creatures each ready to rend the world apart for the threat of the other’s death. They have lost so much and hurt so terribly, and they cannot bear it, not again, not again, not again--

“You are being dramatic,” she says softly, a hint of bitter humor in the words even in this moment of terrible strain. I am here, my friend. Whatever happens… I am here at your side. And her words catch him, draw him back a fraction of a step as he turns and looks at her with puzzlement poking through the rage.

Hector’s eyes open and his grip on the Prism loosens, and there’s a whipcrack of power through the air that even Jaheira, with no worm in her skull, can feel. Minsc’s head snaps backwards and he cries out, his dark eyes rolling to show the whites; staggering, he rocks back on his heels, clutching at his temple.

Relief floods through her, carrying with it a wave of exhaustion so deep it is almost painful. It’s over, she realizes. It’s over. The illithid gave in. The battle is won. He is alive, and he is safe.

She can see the moment where the terrible blankness fades from him, where her old friend looks out of his own eyes again. And so she’s able to laugh, just a little, when he turns and looks at her, the Stone Lord’s calm replaced with the befuddled good humor that she knows all too well.

“Jaheira?” he mumbles unsteadily. “I… do not understand.”

“Good.” She chuckles low in her throat and reaches out to rest a hand on his forearm, real and warm and solid as an oak. “That means you are back to your old ways.”