#Mentions of Character Death

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 9 Polaroid | No. 27 “Let me see.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria/Sanctuary

Warnings: Self-harm, mentions of character death

You thought it would be a no-brainer that you’d accompany Daryl to run Sanctuary. The man had been tortured and humiliated within those walls by the very people he was meant to now help. Still, Rick had balked at the idea of losing your aid in Alexandria. Daryl had, of course, sided with the leader and encouraged you to remain behind. It was by his persuasion that you agreed for a time. 

That is, until a visit to the thrice cursed compound. 

You entered with Rick, hearing his praises being sung as per usual. When he stopped to converse with and reassure the people, you continued onward, in search of the only person that mattered to you. 

Daryl was not in his room. You let yourself linger for a few minutes though, sitting upon his bed— unmade, of course — and lifting his pillow to your face to inhale the scent he’d left behind. You’d be able to indulge in that later, though, so you lowered it to your lap and leaned forward to take in his lodgings. 

Things were tidier than you’d ever expect from the archer. Maybe someone would keep things cleaned up for him as you would do when he was home with you. He had a few things pinned on the wall: maps and plans and a single photo. Of you. It wasn’t the best by your standards. Glenn had taken it at the prison. Your hair was a mess. You had one eye pinched shut, having just woken up. Your hand was reaching toward the camera and there was a smile on your face. You remembered the moment well, though you didn’t know that photo had made its way to Daryl’s possession. Regardless, the fact that the archer had only that, his crossbow, and the clothes on his back from home made your heart swell. 

You replaced his pillow and made his bed before you stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Outside was the next option. There were a few men out there but no sign of your partner. 

“You seen Daryl?” You queried. They seemed friendly enough. Not former Saviors but workers, you surmised. 

“I saw him over toward the old cells a while ago.” An older gentleman answered. He offered you a kind smile that you saw no reason to not return before you entered the door across the way. 

The former cells were being converted into more rooms for the people that still resided in the compound. Today, though, it seemed no one was working on that project. The halls were dark aside from the tiniest bit of light filtering underneath one of the doors. 

“Daryl?” You kept your voice low, suddenly fearing what the shadows could hide. The compound had been cleared of the dead but in the days you were living, fear was almost always justified. 

You reached the door and stared at the space underneath. The light was unsteady, almost vibrating. So, a candle or a match, maybe. 

You tapped a knuckle against the metal door and waited, only to be met with silence. The hinges groaned when you opened the thing, the smell of cigarette smoke and…something else wafting into your face almost instantly. 

You wanted to be relieved that you had found Daryl, but the sight you were met with was anything but relieving. He was sitting against the wall of the cell that you knew without asking had been his. He had shown you before. His lighter was open and burning on the floor, a polaroid lying beside it. But distressing were the obvious tear tracks on his cheeks and the burning end of the cigarette he was pulling away from the top of his hand. 

It was with clear understanding that you moved slowly whilst he repeated the process, burning another deep circle just below his knuckles. He didn't even seem to notice you were there, even when you were sitting on your knees directly in front of him. His vacant gaze wasn’t on you or even on the wounds he was inflicting upon himself. It was settled solemnly on the photo beside the flame. You leaned to see what it was, and your stomach lurched violently. 

Glenn. It was a grizzly photo of Glenn after—

Daryl had told you about this photo, how they had used it to try and break him. How it had nearly worked. 

But…why did he have it? You were sure it had been destroyed. 

Unless—

You closed your eyes, allowing a single tear to cascade down your cheek and fall to the floor. This wasn’t about you. 

“Daryl?” You kept your voice calm and even, gently taking the cigarette from his grasp and putting it out on the concrete floor. His hand and wrist were a mess of circular burns but that could be dealt with later. “Hey, can you look at me?” 

His eyes lingered on the photo for a moment before sliding toward you, his head turning slowly. His gaze was still eerily blank. You took that moment to reach, without looking away from him, and flip over the picture. If you could coax him back to you, you didn’t want to risk him drifting away again by accidentally seeing it. 

“That’s it. Hi.” You cooed softly, caressing his face and brushing back his unruly hair. Recognition was slowly seeping into those gorgeous blue pools. You smiled gently when you felt his hand come to rest on your forearm. 

“Y/N?” His voice was quiet and rough. How long had he been in here? 

“I’m here.” You soothed, continuing to offer small, comforting touches while not invading his space. “Want to tell me where you were just now?” He stared at you for a moment before his carefully placed expression crumbled. Shit. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” You pulled him forward gently, his face in the crook of your neck before his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. You shouldn’t have asked, not yet. Should have given him more time to fully gather himself in the present and out of this cage. 

So you held him in silence and let him cry, rubbing his back in slow circles. His uninjured hand had released your arm to grip at your open flannel, fingers flexing in the material. You weren’t sure how much time passed and didn’t really care, your full attention on providing grounding and comfort for the man in your arms. He eventually calmed enough to pull away, attempting to turn his head in order to hide the wetness below his eyes but your hand tenderly caught his jaw. You shushed him softly while using both thumbs to wipe away the moisture. 

“What can I do for you, baby?” It was a loaded question. You knew this was more guilt than he was capable of ridding himself of all at once. His talk with Maggie had been a start, but far from the end. Daryl carried things for years before eventually allowing himself to come to terms with the emotions that certain events left for him. Daryl and feelings had never been friends. 

He didn’t answer, not out loud. His eyes moved to the polaroid and remained there, managing to remain dry but no less haunted. Still, you understood. 

Your hand came to rest atop his, lifting it and placing it on the back of the picture. He pinched the edge between his thumb and index finger, and you did the same just beside his, not allowing him to flip it over. You helped guide him the small distance to the lighter, releasing the photo to clasp his wrist in a loose grip as the corner of the polaroid caught fire. Your eyes were on him as he watched the thing burn. For a moment, you thought you’d have to shake his wrist for him to release his hold but he dropped the photo mere seconds before the flames could reach his fingertips. 

Only a small pile of ashes remained when Daryl reached for the zippo and closed the lid, sending you both into complete darkness. Your hand was still on his wrist, holding the connection until he was ready to move. 

“Le’s go.” His voice was quiet and he pulled away from you but you could hear him getting to his feet. You had a split second to worry for him before you felt his fingers lace through your own. He guided you to the door and down the hall, the simple act leaving a bad taste in your mouth. How many times had he come here in the dark to navigate without an ounce of light?

The door opened and your eyes were assaulted with the afternoon sun, forcing you to shield them under your hand. With a squinted glance, you saw Daryl doing the same. You both seemed frozen to the spot while your eyes adjusted. It didn’t take long for people to approach, riddling the archer with questions and concerns of every caliber. He tensed almost violently beside you, his hold on your hand tightening. 

“Hey!” You stepped in front of Daryl and held your hands up placatingly. “I can promise you that Daryl is very adamant in hearing each of your questions and concerns. However, we are fortunate enough to have Rick Grimes in tow today! You’ll find him in the worker’s hall and can direct everything to him in Daryl’s stead today!”

The people seemed more than happy to adhere to your suggestion, shuffling off as one unit to find the former sheriff. You watched them leave and felt your bowman’s arms encircle your midsection. 

“Rick ain’t gon’ like tha’.” He warned from behind your shoulder. 

“Whatever. He loves me. He’ll get over it. Come on.” You took his uninjured hand and pulled him along toward his quarters. Luckily, you ran into no one else on your journey and let out a sigh of relief once the door closed behind you. You leaned against the cool surface and watched Daryl slowly sit down on his bed. 

“Ya already been in here.” It wasn’t a question but you gave a shrug anyway while toeing off your boots. 

“Couldn’t find you. Had to start somewhere.” Disappearing into the small attached bathroom, you grabbed a roll of gauze, a small bowl of cool water, a cloth, and stopped in the kitchen on your way back, hoping to find what you needed. Luck seemed to be on your side. Snatching the back of one of the dinette chairs, you dragged it along with you and placed it in front of Daryl. With your supplies at the ready on the bedside table, you presented your palm and wiggled your fingers expectantly. “Let me see.”

He held out his left hand without argument, wincing when he heard you hiss at the extent of what he had done. “S’not tha’ bad.” He whispered, feeling shame start to nibble away at him. 

“Hey.” You reached to hook a finger under his chin and guide his gaze toward yours. “Don’t do that. You were dealing with your pain. Alone. Maybe we can find some healthier outlets for you together but don’t beat yourself up about this.” The space between you closed for a moment, your lips pressing gingerly to his. “I was only reacting to how much they probably hurt.”

“Okay.” He still sounded doubtful but you could help him work through that a little at a time. 

You set about wetting the cloth and pressing it against the burns as gently as possible. His fingers twitched but he showed no other signs of discomfort. There were at least a dozen new burns but with something to compare it to, there were a few scars already littering the area. How could you have missed this? 

Once you were satisfied that they were clean and the skin cooled, you grabbed the half bottle of organic honey. It was definitely outdated but you had all learned to work with what you had. 

“S’that fer?”

“I am so glad you asked, Mr. Dixon!” You beamed while squeezing small amounts onto your fingertips. “Honey has natural antibacterial properties, as well as a level of hydrogen peroxide, low ph, and high viscosity.” You dabbed a little onto each irritated circle before grinning up at him. 

“Ya sound like a infomercial.” He gave a soft snort and if that was as close to a laugh as you got from him today, you’d take it. You wouldn’t dare let him catch you staring, but he looked truly awful. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes, and he had lost a little weight. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. He appeared to have aged a decade since the last time you had seen him. 

And that simply would not do. 

“Okay! All done! Oh, wait!!” You secured the gauze with a bit of tape and pulled his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the bandage. “Can’t forget the most important treatment.”

“We kissin’ each other’s boo-boos now?” There was a hint of amusement to his tone that made it clear he didn’t mind. With another quick peck against his lips, you gathered up the mess and walked away. 

“Damn straight, we are. Things are just that serious between us, Dixon.”

On your way back into the room, you paused by the door and engaged the lock, flipping off the lights so that only the natural light from the small windows could filter in. 

“Whatcha doin’? Gotta get back out there—” 

Your finger pressed against his lips to effectively silence him. “Nope.” You snatched the radio from his belt and switched it on. “Get cozy. You’re not leaving for the rest of the day.” Before he could protest, you had pressed the call button on the radio. “Rick, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to reach Daryl. Have you seen him?”

“I have but he’s taking the night off.”

“Is he alright?”

You smiled softly at the archer from behind the device. “He will be. You got things under control, right, Grimes?”

“Could I talk to him for a second? There’s a situation with—”

You shut off the radio and placed it on the dinette. Daryl was watching you, looking a little nervous. 

“He really ain’t gon’ like tha’.” He drawled. 

“Tough shit. I thought I told you to get cozy?” You shrugged off your flannel, pulled your shirt over your head, and shucked off your jeans. Standing there in your bra and panties, you crossed your arms and cocked an eyebrow until he finally gave in with a tired roll of his eyes. 

Both stripped down to your underthings, you crawled under the blankets first and held them up for him. 

“Ain’t even dark yet.”

“Something tells me you need the extra rest. Now get in here and cuddle me like a man.”

“Yer somethin’ else.” He mused, following the order. You pulled at him until his head was on your chest and an arm draped over your middle. Once your fingers began to run through his long hair, you heard him sigh and felt the tension draining out of him. You couldn’t fix everything in a day but it was a start. Tomorrow, you’d talk to Carol about taking over there so Daryl could come home with you. Then you’d ensure Rick gave him some time off, even if it meant you had to toss the archer into the trunk of a car and steal him away to a remote cabin somewhere. 

“I sure am. You chose this. No refunds, buddy.” This was stone number one, and together, you’d build on it. 

[kunasthiast]

Sanctuary

Life comes by so fast that you just can't process everything all at once. But even when a year already passed, have you already come to terms with it? After all, acceptance is the last stage of our grief, right?

a/n: i am soooo sorry for the long wait and for this new one sksksk – i've been rotting reading and watching angsty stories that this is one i've came up with! but but but, i'll make sure to publish the ones i've been promising to publish by this week haha i just finished my junior year in uni & everything's just been so stressful wOAH

okk enough about that, i hope you'll enjoy this one <333

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: angsty, No Curses!AU Word Count: 1,679 All characters are of age.This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Life just gets the better of you sometimes. Drag you through the mud, not knowing when you can resurface from all those frustrating emotions. It’s just heartbreaking.

But, when we’re in our worst, it’s when we meet the people who’ll stay with us. Yet, the worst thing about this is that they’re only temporary.

He was the best person that ever happened to me. He was there when I was in my lowest of the lowest part of my life. He was my sanctuary. He was the the one that got away. He was my red. He was my everything.

Until he wasn’t.

—

This was the last section you wrote in your journal from years ago. Looking back on it, you realized a lot of the memories, unsaid feelings, and regrets you’ve had in that part of your life.

Closing the journal, you stood up from the chair you’ve been sitting on for the past hour. This is ridiculous, why am I reading this again? You thought.

A ring tone from your phone cut your train of thoughts. Walking towards your phone, you saw a missed phone call from your pink-haired nephew. With a sigh, you hit the call button to ring him this time around. You unknowingly shed a tear as you get lost in the phone ringing.

When your nephew’s voice came through the line, it brought a small, bittersweet smile to your face. “Oh, good thing you called me back, auntie!” Yuji’s voice really brings brightness and cheerfulness everytime he speaks, a stark contrast to your somber mood. Getting no response from you, he continued, “I just wanted to ask you what time you’ll be going today? Oh, and if you’d like me to have a sleep over there at yours this week?”

You released a soft chuckle at this and looked at the clock hanging above your doorway, “Sure, I’d love to have you here with me, Yu! I’ll be there by 3PM.” You walked towards your bedroom to pick out the clothes you’ll be wearing for today’s occasion.

“Okay, gotcha on this, auntie! I’ll give the fam a heads up, so we can catch you there,” Yuji cheerfully said on the other end of the phone, leaving you give off a small smile. “I’ll hang up now, see you there, Yu.”

As you dropped the call, you went back to looking for the outfit you’ve been planning on wearing for the past few days now. You changed into your outfit and got ready before picking up your car keys, leaving your house.

Driving through the familiar streets, nostalgia came crashing like a tsunami. All bittersweet and vivid, everything just happened so fast that until now you can’t process it properly. You’ve never seen the therapist since then as well. What have I been doing? This thought lingered to you heavily.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as you pulled into the parking lot, taking a lot of moment and breath to ready yourself before stepping out of the car. The weight of the day pressed down on you, yet you still forced yourself to move forward, knowing that this visit was something you needed to do. To accept it.

Threading the path towards Sukuna’s grave, his laughter echoed in your mind. The bittersweet memories of him talking about how you’ll both die of old age. Yet, in this lifetime, he went away early just a year ago.

As you reached his headstone, you knelt down and placed the bouquet of flowers you had bought earlier. The sight of his name etched in the stone was a painful reminder of the reality you are still struggling to accept.

“Hey, love, it’s already been a year,” you whispered as your voice was trembling. Your eyes began to blur as tears formed and dripped down your cheeks. “I miss you a lot.” The wind rustled the leaves, as if the world was offering a gentle response to your words. Knowing that it’s fall, your and his favorite season, you watched the leaves gently fall around you. You knelt there in silence, letting the memories of your husband wash over you. The days you spent together, memories of the love you shared all came rushing back.

Sukuna was always red, the liveliest color you’ve ever known. From his personality, his joy, his laughter, his teases, his jokes, his dreams, his kisses, to his love for you. Everything’s red. The liveliness caught onto you when he first met you at the park, when you were at the lowest of your low. When he offered you an ice cream out of nowhere. It’s a bit strange to accept that from a stranger, sure, but you were not in the moment to deny this comfort food. And he just sat there in silence as you both lick onto your ice creams. It happens everytime he sees you at the park, until you’ve both started talking with each other. He became your sanctuary for years. 

Yet, in the blink of an eye, Sukuna became blue. Everything he once was turned to blue. And it all happened just a year ago. His sudden absence left a void that you couldn’t fill. The vibrant red color that he embodied faded to a somber blue, marking the moment he was taken from you by the world. He made your world bright and colorful.

Looking at his headstone, there is an overwhelming sadness mixed with the beautiful memories of your husband. The pain of losing him was still so fresh, but so was the warmth of the moments you shared. The way he would laugh boisterously at your clumsy self and corny jokes, the way he would hold you close as if you’re going somewhere, and the way he would whisper sweet endearments in your ear – these memories were all you had left.

“You know, I still think about why did it have to be you, love. It may sound bad, but why couldn’t it have been the other driver?,” you murmured as your fingers traced the letters of his name etched in the cold stone. This thought lingered in the air, unanswered and haunting. The accident that took him from you was so sudden, so unexpected. But then again, there is no accident that isn’t sudden, right? The questions plagued you for months until now. What if he had taken a different route? What if he had left a few minutes later?

Cutting you from your deep thoughts, you heard someone calling for you. “Auntie! I’m here,” Yuji called out as he came running towards you. You looked at him, and well, tears had to show up again since Yuji resembles your husband a lot, considering that he was his uncle. His pink hair, the shape of his eyes, even the way he smiled – it was as if a piece of Sukuna still lived on through him. 

Yuji reached you and gave you a tight hug, his youthful energy and warmth momentarily lifting the heavy weight in your heart. “I brought flowers,” he said, holding up Sukuna’s favorites, chrysanthemums. 

“Thanks, Yu,” you whispered as you took the flowers and placed them beside the ones you brought. Yuji knelt beside you, his presence comforting. “I miss him too, you know,” he said softly. “Even with the constant teasing, he always takes me out for my favorite pastimes and telling me all sorts of tips and his cool stories in boxing.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision again as you remember just watching Sukuna tell Yuji stories everytime your nephew sleeps over your house. Those nights always ended with your husband playfully wrestling Yuji, their laughter filling the air. “Yeah, he was always there for you,” you softly said. 

“Your the reason we didn’t decide to have a kid, you know? He used to say how you were just too naughty,” you jokingly added to lighten up the mood. Yuji laughed at this, his eyes twinkling with the memory.

“He really said that?” Yuji asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“Every time you left,” you replied, smiling through your tears. “He’d always talk about how much he enjoyed having you around. You were like the son he never had.”

Yuji’s laughter faded into a thoughtful silence, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “He meant a lot to me too, Auntie. He was like a second father.”

You both sat there in silence for a while, the wind rustling the leaves around you. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the cemetery. The pain of losing Sukuna would never fully disappear, but having Yuji by your side made it a little more bearable.

As the day turned to dusk, the sky painted in the hues of pink and orange, you felt a gentle peace settle over you. Breaking the silence, you finally said, “He always believed in living life to the fullest, he wouldn’t want us to be sad forever.”

Yuji nodded, his cheerful and bright face turned to a somberly one. “Yeah, he’d want us to keep going. We’ll get through this, auntie.”

“Thanks for being here, Yu,” you said softly as you squeezed his hand. “Anytime, auntie,” he replied with a steady, reassuring, and comforting voice.

“I’ll see you again soon,” you whispered, placing a kiss on your fingertips and pressing them against the cold stone. Standing up, you both took one last look at Sukuna’s headstone. The wind blew gently, rusting the leaves once more, as if in agreement. You brushed off the dirt from your clothes and gave Yuji your car keys. Walking back to your car in silence, side by side with Yuji, the weight of the loss seemed a little lighter. 

In your heart, you know that Sukuna will always be with you. That he’ll be guiding over you. He will always be there with his ice creams, laughs, kisses, and hugs in your memory.

Despite this loss, you know that in another lifetime, it will always be you and him, growing old together.

[flamingpudding]

DPxDC Family Week June 23 (Day 6)

Prompt: Grandparents | Lost

A/N: I felt like writing something with some Angst I guess, tho I don't know what all I need to TW so if I forgot something please tell me.

TW: Grieving Danny, mentions of accidental mass Genocide, Mentions of Character Death

AO3 Link: DPxDC Family Week Contributions

Danny sat on the roof of Wayne Manor staring longingly at the smog and light polluted sky. Trying to get at least the smallest glimpse of the stars above him and ignoring the two ghostly presences that he knew were watching him worriedly. He didn't want to feel like this anymore but at this very moment he resented Gotham. Despite Lady Gotham being welcoming to him and despite the warm welcome the Wayne's were attempting to give him Danny couldn't help but feel like he just wanted everything to end.

Amity had gone up in an ectoplasm powered explosion. The entire town was gone. And so were his parents, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, Valery, Wes, and everyone else he had ever known. Even Ellie had gotten caught up in it just when she had gotten officially adopted by his parents. All because he told his parents about Phantom. They accepted him, Ancients, they were even starting to change their ways. Their research was no longer biased and rather filled with the truth Danny was able to provide them. His parents had turned from Ghost Hunters to Ghost Defenders. Helping him and Ellie in sending them back to the Ghost Zone as well as rescuing them from the GIW. It was so nice not having to worry about them hunting him or injuring him any longer.

But of course everything couldn't have stayed like that. His life was doomed to not let him have good and peaceful things. Because the moment his parents changed they also stopped providing their weaponry to the GIW. Apparently that was the only thing that stopped these people from attempting to develop their own stuff. Which resulted in them creating their own highly dangerous arsenal.

Danny drew in his knees and buried his face in them, eyes stinging. Everything has gone to shit then. He knew that Jazz and probably everyone else too, would tell him that it wasn't his fault. But he couldn't help it. If he had never told his parents the truth, they wouldn't have stopped their deal with the GIW, then they wouldn't have started developing their own stuff. And then they wouldn't have come up with a nuclear level kind of ecto-bomb that was supposed to clean out Amity of all the ghosts but ended up destroying and killing everyone in town while leaving Danny as the only survivor just because he had been called by Clockwork for some stupid royal duties.

He remembered screaming, yelling and cursing once he returned and realized that his entire home town was gone. Accusing Clockwork of everything and nothing, demanding for him to send him back at least a couple of hours so he could prevent it from happening, but the other only shook his head telling Danny that even he didn't expect that change to the timeline and that it would be useless to try and prevent it from happening. Danny hadn't believed him at all as he broke down in the rumble place that used to be his home.

Of course that level of an explosion would also finally gain the Justice Leagues attention after all the failed calls he and his friends had made. He had wanted to scream at them too, blame them for so many things when they never offered their help before, but he didn't. His screaming at clockwork already had trained him of all the energy he had left. Besides one of the people coming by to check what happened was Batman and of course when they found him Batman would arrange for Danny to probably get taken care of which meant Bruce Wayne showing up and taking him in.

He guessed Bruce Wayne taking him in was still better than Vlad at this point, if that other halfa had survived that was.

Danny only went with the man because Clockwork had told him too, despite the anger still bubbling in his core whenever the ancient ghost contacted him, he listened albeit reluctantly. Because Clockwork told him that he could still avoid a Dan Timeline by going with that man but the ghostly teenager didn't know how. He had lost everything and right now he felt like he understood Dan better than he had ever before. His core hurt so much and he wasn't sure how long he could hold onto his sanity.

Sure he mimed the good kid for the Waynes, yet it had all been an act at the beginning. He got along with Jason just fine, probably because he could feel something familiar from him. Something he hadn't really paid enough attention to figure it out. Damien was nice company and he liked how the boy reminded him of Sam. Sure the kid had been a bit stabby but that was nothing compared to the time his parents spent hunting him when they hadn't known. Tim also reminded him of Tucker in a way, brilliant and adept to technology like no one else but the guy needed a better sleep schedule. Though Danny could relate to the coffee addiction they both appear to have. He kept his distance from Dick though. The eldest Wayne kid reminded him way too much of Jazz with the oldest sibling energy that came from him. Cass on the other hand was a nice and calming presence, she didn't talk much and sometimes that was all that Danny needed, just a silent presence next to him that didn't try to do something or talk about anything with him. Duke also was nice to be around though the other boy had kept his distance at first he now appeared more curious about him than before, Duke also had subtitly asked if Danny was a Meta, but luckily for the halfa, he had been able to redirect that question without answering it.

Still no matter how nice they were or how much he got along with them. It felt wrong, wrong to be here, wrong to accept their kindness, wrong, wrong, wrong. He could feel how his core fell into the chaos of is emotions as ice slowly spread around him.

"There you are, little Danny." He tensed but didn't look up. A cold wisp left passed his lips as he breathed out and he felt a ghostly presence 'sit' next to him on the roof; one was still watching him from a distance. His ice receded not wanting to end up making that other presence an ice block despite his need of wanting to be alone.

"You know, my son and his kids are pretty worried down there. I am sure that little Jason is currently tearing through every hidden nog and cranny he used to use. And little Damien is just seconds away from stabbing someone in his ire, he gave Titus one of your shirts Alfred hasn't washed yet in an attempt to find you and I believe little Tim is speed watching every video from all the cameras my son has installed. Sweet little Cass and little Duke are slinking along and using the shadows to look for you and little Dick appears to have become a headless chicken while simultaneously trying to calm down my son."

Danny didn't answer nor did he acknowledge Thomas Wayne's presence next to him. This was another thing he would have to get used to. Thomas and Martha Wayne, two of the ghosts that stuck to the Manor had taken to him the same way Lady Gotham had. But for some reasons the two were rather protective of Danny, referring to him as their newest grandchild. Something he just couldn't understand.

He was sure that if Jazz was here she could explain it to him. Ancients, he missed his sister.

"They are postponing their patrol until you're found, you know."

"I didn't ask them to." The halfa muttered lowly, still not looking up. The ghost next to him chuckled. Danny had figured out pretty quickly that the entire Wayne Family were vigilantes. In fact they were the Bat-Clan. If he hadn't figured it out by going around invisible and intangible during his first night here because he was suspicious of Bruce being another fruitloop then Danny was pretty sure that either Martha or Thomas would have spilled the truth to him sooner or later.

They had gushed so much about how proud they were of their child and grandchildren and how Danny would perfectly fit in with them. How they would give him the support he needed and the protection he deserved. He didn't want it, he was not going to replace the support he had before.

"They mean well. I know that my son can be…" Danny peaked up from his knees to see Thomas hand waving in a way that he couldn't interpret but had seen Jazz do too whenever their parents were being difficult. "... but he tries to be a good Dad."

"I don't need them trying to replace Mom and Dad." Was his grief, frustration and resentment leaking through his voice? Because if Thomas was going to give him the 'My son is a good Dad talk' he would not hesitate to change and fly away for good. He had played with the thought of running away before but Martha, bless her ghost, had convinced him to stay longer. How she had done it Danny didn't know but that woman could be very persuasive when she wanted to be or at least that was what Thomas told him.

"No one is trying to replace anyone." He felt Thomas' ghostly hand motion over his head like he was stroking Danny's hair. It took Danny a moment until he actually felt the motion, allowing the others ghostly touch to reach him and ignoring how his core painfully hummed at that action.

"Really, cause it sure feels like it with how they 'care'." Maybe that had been a low blow but the halfa was getting fessed up and bitter with the Waynes. It wasn't like they were mistreating him. No, in fact they were treating him very well despite Danny always drawing a line. Never getting too personal with any of them despite how well he could get along with them. Martha and Thomas kept encouraging him, assuring him that they were all honest with him even when he didn't want to hear that.

Because even if he denied it with his mind, his core knew, he had already stopped pretending to like them after the first week with them. Martha and Thomas constantly sought him out, claiming it as their duty as his grandparents. Checking in on him and how he was settling in, asking how he was feeling. And when Danny would refuse to acknowledge them, the two ghostly resistances would just laugh and start telling him about their family, trying to help him understand. About their son and their grandchildren. About random things the two had seen happening that the rest of the family didn't, like Alfred the cat and Batcow taking a walk around the Manor unnoticed by everyone.

Unwillingly he had learned a lot of embarrassing stories like that about the Waynes all during his first week. Dicks escapades with chandeliers, Jason's special book collection no one knew about, Tim sleep deprived action he thought no one knew about, Cass little pranks she liked to pull and no one ever traced back to her, Duke's hero speech practices and Damian's constant attempts to smuggle new animals into the Manor. His core had ached, lamenting the fact that he would never be able to share stories like that with his sisters or his best friends anymore. Rationally thinking he knew these ghostly grandparents only meant well but it only made him miss Amity more.

He curled up again, once more burying his face in his knees.

Would his core ever stop hurting? He had failed his entire hometown? What was his obsession worth now? He hadn't been able to protect anyone. Would… would his core stop hurting if he let insanity take him? If he became like Dan after all? Was that how Dan came to be? It made sense, didn't it? Dan did come from a timeline where he had lost everything.

"Oh little Danny." The pressure on his eyes became too much and the halfa could feel how wet tears soaked the fabric of jeans as he pressed his eyes against his knees. A cold touch lay across his shoulder and he was sure that Thomas was giving him a hug, he could feel his core calling out to his self proclaimed ghostly grandparents but he ignored it. "Let it out, there is no fault in grieving. Ancients know how nearly everyone in this family had gone and dealt with grief. There is no need to rush, we all will be there for you."

A sob escaped him as his shoulders started shaking.

He didn't know how much time passed as he didn't even register how the cold touch on his shoulders changed to a warm one. How it became more grounding as someone rubbed his back. The ghostly presence that had been next to him had disappeared but instead there were six other warm presences around him and a seventh one not too far away.

Danny didn't look up but he knew, he knew that the Wayne's had joined him on the roof and he was pretty sure that the arm around his shoulder probably belonged to Dick and that the one rubbing his back was Duke. The one sitting close to his legs was most likely Damien as it was the smallest and Tim was probably the presence to his right. There was another silent presence behind him, Cass most likely as well as Jason's sort of ghostly but not presence. He could even sense Bruce close by.

No one said anything and the halfa was fine with that. His core didn't warm at their silent actions but it did hurt just a little bit less. For a brief moment Danny thought that maybe he wouldn't have to become like Dan after all for it to stop hurting. Maybe Thomas and Martha were right that staying here would help him heal.

Thomas watched all his grandchildren silently giving their support and help when his newest grandchild was lost in his grief. He was still worried about the little guy, he wasn't the youngest among them but he was carrying a lot on his shoulders. His trauma and grief are so different yet so similar to the rest of their family and his core ached with that knowledge. Couldn't the children just be happy without any difficulties throwing rocks in their paths?

At the moment Lady Gotham was making sure that no other ghosts would come to bother his grandchild. Apparently little Danny already had his own little group of rogues that were eagerly awaiting to check on him. Thanks to the city's spirit though, he and his wife could make sure that the little halfa was settling in well with his new family without them trying to fight his newest grandchild.

"Don't worry dear." His wife floated over to him, laying her head on his shoulder as they watched the children. "They will help him with his grief and once they have he will fit right in with the lot of them."

A chuckle escaped him as he watched the eldest helping up the grieving boy who was doing his best to bury himself in his oversized hoodie. The second oldest ruffled the halfa's hair when they passed him on their way back into the manor, the youngest hot on their heels, sticking close to the grieving teen. His granddaughter taking the chance to hug the boy and not looking like she would let go anytime soon while the third oldest boy followed rambling about an observatory he would like to take Danny too.

"I know they will. I am just wondering how our son will deal with our grandchild's special status as well as counting as a royal family once little Danny opens up."

His wife giggled. "Well that is a problem for another day, dear. I am sure our Brucie will know how to deal with it and if not Alfred is still with him to support."

Thomas nodded. "And if everything fails, we will be here to help guide them?"

"Of course my dear."

[somefanficrecomendations]

i'm feeling devious (you're looking glamorous)

Author: fivecenturiesverse Fandom: Stranger Things

Summary: Steve Harrington is secretly a nerd. He's also, in Eddie's opinion, a massive dick. (Or: five times nobody but Eddie believes that Steve is a giant nerd, and one time he tells everyone else.)

Readers Notes: This fic is light, fluffy, and touchingly real. Amazing writing with great characterization, what’s not to love? The author captures Eddie’s frustration and astonishment beautifully, managing to balance the humor of the situation with a plot that’s lightweight enough to feel approachable and is easily digestible. While this fic isn’t a steddie must read, its definitely a should read.

Rating: Teen   Warning:  N/A   Words: 3,127        Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Additional tags: POV Eddie Munson, 5+1 Things, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is Bad at Flirting, Steve Harrington is a Nerd, Platonically Married Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Mentions of Death, Humor, Fluff

Additional Info:

  Podfic Available by renna_jenkins

[andy-solo1]

A Moment In Time [Peter Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Andrew Garfield Peter Parker x GN! Reader

Words: 741

Warnings: Angst, mentions of character death, cannon typical violence

*****

Peter’s arms were wrapped tightly around you in a near choking embrace, and, if you hadn’t seen the expression on his face before he’d pulled you close, then you would have joked about him using his spider strength to try and crush you to death. 

That expression, when you called out his name and he turned to look at you, his face had gone white, the colour drained from him. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked like he saw someone back from the dead. He looked different, from how you’d seen him just earlier that day. Older, more hardened than he once had been. 

It was only when you felt a tear fall from his face onto the bare skin of your neck did you finally break the silence hanging in the air. 

“Peter? What’s going on? I just saw you, when I went to help you fight Max. How did we end up here?” 

He didn’t respond, only tightened his grip around you as more tears fell against your skin. 

“Peter?” You asked again after a few moments. “What happened?” You asked, more urgency and desperation in your tone. 

“You died.” Peter whispered softly against you. A shiver of cold dropped into your gut and the breath felt like it dropped out of your lungs. You should have been denying the statement, but you knew Peter, he rarely lied to you, if he did it was to protect you. He’d never lie to you about something like this. 

“How?” You asked breathlessly, liking your lips, suddenly feeling like you hadn’t drank in years. “What happened?”

He lets out a shaky breath before speaking. “After we stopped Max, Harry, my- my friend Harry showed up in a suit with a glider. He was so angry that I never gave him my blood to- to save him, so he grabbed you and flew up high with you.” 

You wracked your brain, but you remembered nothing of the young Osborn coming for you. “What then?” You asked quietly.  His arms tightened impossibly more around you and he let out a small sob before his next words. 

“I tried to save you. I tried so hard to catch you when you fell, but I was too late. You fell too far and when I finally caught you…it was too late, I was too slow. You snapped your neck when you hit the ground.” He whispered, his voice breaking at the end. You stood in stunned silence as the confession hovered around you. 

“It wasn’t your fault Peter.” You whispered softly, even as disbelief stirred around in your mind, though you knew deep down it was all true. “You tried to save me, and I could never blame you for that. But, how am I here?” 

He finally let go of you, enough to look you in the eyes, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “It took me a long time to realise that you wouldn’t blame me for what happened. I still do, but it’s not as bad as it had once been. As for how you’re here, well, that’s a longer story.” 

You listened as Peter explained to you about the multiverse, and how himself, Max Dillon, Dr. Conners, and some other version of Peter Parker and villains he’d fought had been pulled together into the universe of a third Peter Parker and they were all trying to save the villains before finding a way home. 

“I want to help you guys.” You told Peter once he finished explaining it all. 

“No, I lost you once because you wanted to help. I’m not losing you again.” He pleaded. 

“Peter.” You whispered softly, making him look down at you with such a sad expression you could hardly bear to get out your next words. “Hun, odds are, you will lose me again, when we go home.” 

He shook his head, tears slipping out again. “No, please, there has to be a way to help you too.” 

You raised a hand and caressed his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. You placed a soft delicate kiss against his lips. 

“Peter, it’s going to be okay. If you do lose me again, at least you have this chance, this moment to spend with me. One last time. I love you.” You whispered. He smiled sadly and pulled you close again. 

“I love you too.” He replied softly. “I always have.”

[currentsofdreams]

So I started something. This bit is a rewrite of the first Fade scene that's been bouncing around my head since I made my Wardenquisitor a Rook. Pretty sure his words upon seeing the eluvian in Minrathous were, "Last time I followed Solas through an eluvian, I lost an arm. Let's go."

[boombambaby]

Wompy Bear

Wompy bear was the first toy he’d received from his mother, and the only physical thing he has left of his parents. Once they perished and Yzma was left to raise him, she ordered most of their belongings to be dumped into the sea as a ‘tribute’ to them, under the ancient custom that an Emperor is to carry their belongings into the next life. In reality, she was having it destroyed to make it easier for her to pave her way into becoming an Empress. But Kuzco held on to Wompy for dear life and refused to give him up for any reason. He would bring it everywhere with him; to meals, to baths, to ceremonies and then when he was slightly older, to meetings and tutoring sessions. Royal staff, upon realizing how important the stuffed toy was, made replicates that they would switch it out with when Wompy needed washed or mended. Kuzco as a child didn’t exactly notice the difference, but as he became older and more aware of what they were trying to do, he allowed them to take him from him and pretended as if it didn’t affect him, not to have him. Though he always made sure to get it back when they were finished. It became a comfort item for him, and even now that he’s an adult he holds onto it for comfort and reassurance in difficult times, or when he’s very afraid. This of course isn’t something he readily shares with anyone; he does have a fearless, arrogant, vain Emperor image to keep up, after all.

[imagine-the-energon]

PRIME DIRECTIVES, CHAPTER 1

At 25, she never expected to die.

Well, no. That’s a lie.

By 25, she was surprised she hadn’t died anytime before then. It was like some cosmic being kept pulling her back from that potential brink, not ready to part with their favorite toy just yet.

Except, one day, perhaps they looked away for a second longer than they should’ve, and the consequences… well, they’re the reason why we’re here.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the children were all playing in the park, and she was stuck on a bus, desperately trying to get her outdated phone to charge so she could find her mother’s message about where the book was located in the local library.

It was supposed to be a one-stop trip, but instead, it felt as if the world had gone cold as she looked around. The windows were open to let the cool air in, and she could see traffic was a bit more congested than usual.

Something in her gut told her to stay seated, but the smell of the diesel truck ahead of them was starting to give her a migraine, so she shifted a seat over, standing up to push at least her window closed. The second she touched the window, she realized the emergency latch had popped off and a wrong tap would set the alarm off.

“Ma’am?” she called out hesitantly, trying to get the driver’s attention. “Ma’am, I think this window is busted. The latch-”

Had she looked away from the window, she wouldn’t’ve missed how the traffic lights were blinking, or the desperate look on the truck driver’s face as he tried to stop in time.

As it were, she was thrown into the window she had tried to warn about, her front half leaving the vehicle before being slammed back in it as the bus tipped. She landed harshly against the seats across the aisle, screaming as she swore she heard a crack. Glass was embedded in her stomach, and she couldn’t hear much beyond the screeching of what sounded like the emergency exit alarms.

It hurt to breathe, and she was vaguely aware of people yelling around her, and the jostling sensation of being moved.

It wasn’t until they put her under for emergency surgery that she realized she couldn’t feel her legs.

----------------------------------------

She wasn’t sure when she woke up, or how, just that one moment, she was being put to sleep, and the next, she was sitting in a small cafe, nothing but a cup of coffee in front of her.

She could see a few other people also looking around in confusion. She glanced down at the cut before pushing it away, slowly standing up, the concept feeling… alien to her. After a few shaky steps, she got to the closest person. “Are you ok?” she asked, but the Latina woman suddenly let out a wail.

“¡He muerto! ¡Él me mató! ¡¿Cómo estoy vivo?!”

She never studied Spanish aside from a few Duolingo sessions here and there, but yet, it was like she could understand what was being cried out perfectly, and judging by how a few others went pale, so could the rest.

Slowly, as if nodding to herself, she spoke again, this time to everyone else. “Ok, a show of hands… who here remembers being in some sort of accident, or… or getting killed?”

Her own hand was the only one up at first, but slowly, the other twelve also raised their hands. She let out a shaky breath, dread building up as she glanced around. There was no one else, save for the barista.

Glancing back at the others, she moved forward, the barista looking up immediately. He had a sad look on his face but otherwise held a smile. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Where are we?” She asked, making him blink.

“New York,” he replied. “Are you alright?”

“I think I’m dead.” It slipped out so easily, she couldn’t even be shocked by it. “Are you the Grim Reaper?”

He set down the cup of coffee he was making (it looked similar to the one she had, except there was some swirling blue liquid in it) and sighed. “You always were perceptive, Purity.”

“That’s not my name,” she protested, but yet she couldn’t deny the feeling of rightness she had felt when he had said that. “My name is Ashley.”

“Ashley,” he corrected. “You’re not dead. Not quite. You’re all in a state of limbo, between life and death.”

The woman had stopped crying by then, and she looked furious. “¡Mándame de vuelta! ¡Llévame de vuelta ahora mismo para que pueda matar a ese hijo de puta!”

But the man shook his head. “I can’t take you back to your previous life, but I can continue it back where you were supposed to be.”

Ashley stared at him, jaw slack as the implications hit her. “I got truck-kun’d,” she muttered. “How long have you been trying to get us? And why us and not others?”

“Because you’re my creations. You weren’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be better .”

She shook her head. “No. No! Only I can call myself useless, got it? I don’t even know who you fucking are!” The second she stopped talking, he just looked at her with bright, unnatural yellow eyes. He was human, but his eyes…

His eyes were alien.

“You know my name,” he started as she took a step back, shaking her head. “All of my children do. Especially you twelve,” he turned to the others, motioning to them one at a time. “Prima. Alpha. Vector. Nexus. Solus. Mortilus. Alchemist. Amalgamous. Onyx. Micronus. Quintus. Septimus.”

She knew those names as if they were seared into her very soul.

“Dynasty of Primes,” she whispered. It tickled her mind, reminding her of the memories she had forgotten over the years. The amazement and hope she had felt. “You’re trying to say you’re Primus? A fictional god?”

He let out a deep chuckle. “I am not trying. I am saying.”

She blinked, and suddenly, she was in nothingness, floating in pitch-black darkness, only able to see herself and nothing else. It looked like she was falling, but the sensation wasn’t around. Slowly, the darkness shifted, and she was face to face with… what could only be described as a giant eye. It was the size of a bus, and that same alien yellow as before.

The eye shifted back, revealing a giant robotic face. The top of the robot’s helm was blue, with a blue chin guard, and all of the kibbles across its shoulders were spires and towers. She couldn’t begin to describe just how massive the robot was, only that its presence didn’t frighten her. Rather, it was comforting.

When the robot spoke, the mouth didn’t move, but his voice surrounded her, practically vibrating all of her bones. Do you believe me now, Purity?

“Why do you call me that?” she asked once her throat felt like she could finally breathe.

It is what you should have been. It is what you are. It is what you always will be.

She bit back a scoff; in what world has she ever been considered pure? Regardless- “Are the others also getting this treatment?” she asked instead, and the mech shook his head.

They are remembering their previous life in the world they were supposed to be in.

“You named eleven of them after the original Thirteen,” she commented. “Excluding Megatronus and Liege Maximo, of course.”

They were taken from before they could return to the Well. I sent you to find them.

Her eyes narrowed. “All those accidents. Were they you?”

I prevented you from leaving before it was time. None of the others were ready yet.

“I wasn’t ready,” she protested, and he had such a look of pity, even she knew she was lying through her teeth. She had been ready since she was 11 and diagnosed with bone tumors. “I’m just a human. Why me?”

You are more than you think, Purity.

One of his hands came up, and she could’ve easily fallen through the cracks of his plates, but instead, she was now standing on his palm. “So I’m, what, dying and have to choose to stay and die or, what, continue living in a world I know I won’t survive in?”

You will survive. You must.

She shook her head. “I don’t even know what year it would be in! Before 2007? Oh, look, there’s Sector Seven and their “if it’s alien, it’s ours” policy. I wouldn’t be considered human in their eyes if it got out the information that I know. The years from 2007 to 2014 are ok, and great for gay rights, but from 2015 onwards? Cemetary Wind going and killing any Cybertronians regardless of faction? That’s not even talking about human allies! So I get sent to that world, I have a maximum of seven years to live depending on where I get placed if I accept.”

No harm will come to you.

“And the others?” She demanded, crossing her arms. “There are twelve supposedly Cybertronians turned human who are about to be thrusted back into that world. Are you going to put them back to their hypothetical original race? Or are you going to have them remain human and be torn between two species?”

If their human body is intact, that is their choice.

She could somewhat understand that and nodded. “How many and who can’t be human anymore?”

Solus, Amalgamous, Onyx, and Septimus will return as descendants of their former selves.

At least four had to go through identity crises just to be told they can’t be human anymore. She felt sick to her stomach. “And me? I get to remain human, right?”

You must. It will be your job to connect the races. You must stay hidden in plain sight.

“So I stay human and become The Liasion?” she joked. “As tempting as that is, I… I can’t. I can’t just leave my family like that.”

But they have already left you?

For a god, she could hear the confusion and anger in his voice, causing her to sigh. “We’re… tight on money. If it comes between being in debt with a brain-dead daughter or pulling the plug, I hope they do the latter.”

Would they not wish for you to be happy?

She hesitated and hated the fact that she did so. “My father would’ve,” she finally whispered. It had been him and her eldest sister who introduced her to the Transformer’s franchise, and it had been them who encouraged her to do what she loved.

You will find happiness with the rest.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath..

How long had she been unhappy? How long had she cried herself to sleep? How long has she felt like she never belonged?

When was the last time she had been able to be herself?

When she opened her eyes, she could see the mech smiling down at her, and she gave a watery grin back. “What year are we going to then?”

----------------------------------------

Six chose to remain as humans, while two transitioned back to Cybertronians. Most noticeable was Solus and Nexus, Nexus remaining a human while Solus declared herself his guardian. The others paired up, leaving her alone, but as she was left in a small cottage on the outskirts of a forest, she supposed it was for the best, especially with the giant pile of paperwork she had been given to sort through.

Beside that were her black laptop, a smartphone, and a smaller manilla folder. The phone buzzed once, then twice, then it was a never-ending stream.

With a sigh, she picked it up, noticing the giant group chat.

[COMM DEVICE 6]: So… was all of that a weird fever dream?

[SECURED PHONE 4]: You mean where we’re all actually 50-foot tall aliens with half of us stuck in human bodies?

[SECURED PHONE 2]: OH THANK GOD IT WASN’T JUST ME

[COMM DEVICE 3]: Sound off, who is who?

As they introduced themselves, she turned, booting up her laptop and looking over the giant files first. The first bit was false documents, birth certificates, passports, all that jazz. The second was the stuff she’d get in trouble with Earth's government for having, while the third would definitely put her on the squish list.

Her phone gave a final buzz, causing her to look over at it before quickly changing the numbers to the names provided.

Mortilus: So the human who was with us is Phone 1 then?

She bit her lip before sighing and beginning to type.

[SECURED PHONE 1]: You may call me Ashley. I have the documents for those who are human, seeing as I am supposed to act as a bridge between our species.

Nodding to herself, she added that she’d be turning off her phone to get used to her surroundings and that she still had access to her emails if they needed her. Looking around, she realized just how right she was to call it a cottage. There were two rooms downstairs; the first one being a living room/kitchen area, which had a sliding door open to reveal a burnt orange. 1970-style muscle car parked along a gravel driveway that wound through trees. There was a small staircase in the corner of the room, and when she peeked upstairs, she found another two rooms. The staircase led directly up to the bedroom, a door on the opposite end of the bed. A quick peek in there told her it was a bathroom with an attached closet. It was roughly the same area as the other room downstairs was also a bathroom, but only a half-bath.

The best, or, perhaps, worst, thing was that everything was decorated exactly how she loved it. The pillows on the chairs and blankets were thrown onto the couch for no apparent reason - it was like she had been the one who decided where everything went.

Feeling too unnerved, she left the cabin and walked outside, pausing as she realized that she could actually walk without feeling severe pain. But yet, her chest burned as if-

She was frozen for only a second before she bolted into the first-floor bathroom, ripping off her shirt, bile rising up at the sight of the numerous scars on her, her once brown hair now a more silvery-blue tint.

The most noticeable was a giant Y across her collarbone that went down between her breasts, ending at her naval.

“Fuck,” she whispered, the stitches flaring to life a second later, causing her to cry out in pain. She fell to her knees, curling up as much as she dared, After the initial wave of pain washed away, she all but crawled out of the bathroom, fumbling for her phone.

[SECURED PHONE 1]: Cybertronians, scan your humans. NOW.

She could feel something warm trickling down her stomach as she let the phone slip between her fingers as she leaned against the table leg, trying to catch her breath between the sharp bouts of pain from the dissection wounds. Or would it be vivisection, considering she was alive with them now?

She could hear her phone ringing, blaring a ringtone she vaguely knew, but couldn’t be bothered to answer. She knew that something wasn’t right if she was passing out, but, well, she also didn’t do blood, and seeing that on your body was definitely a way to knock that trigger out of the ballpark.

And so, as she lay bleeding, she felt a deep pulse within her soul...

[on-coming-dusk]

sad thought hour (for my Zombie AU)

Wayne Munson knowing that his boy got bit, knowing that there is only going to be a little while before he's turned and...

Eddie grabbing his arm, looking up at him with tear filled brown eyes, telling him, "Kill me. Please, kill me then get the hell out of here Wayne. Please. You can't die too you need to find Gareth and get to the safety zone. Please Wayne."

Wayne staring at his kid, surrounded by the now full dead zombies, knowing the general direction that Gareth ran but not knowing what he was going to find if he went looking. Staring at his kid who he failed to protect, Eddie got bitten protecting him, because he wasn't paying attention and he got pinned and...

Wayne raised his shotgun, bringing the butt of it down against his temple with enough force to send him crumpling to the ground. He gave himself a moment to breathe, to try to steady the way his hands shook, to stare at his nephew and the small trail of blood that ran from his forehead where the gun made contact, the other that came from the bite mark on his forearm.

They were so close to the safety zone. Detroit was only a couple of days away by foot now. And Eddie was never going to make it there. It had been months now, their journey had left them turned around and lost several times but they pulled through. They got back on track, they were going to make it, until now.

Wayne grabbed his pack, his flashlight, the last couple of items that were still scattered around their camp. He was going to find Gareth, get that boy back to his parents. He couldn't fail him too. He turned back to Eddie, raising his gun to fulfill his boy's last wishes. He pressed his finger against the trigger...

Then he turned around, walking away without a single glance back. Maybe it was selfish. He knew Eddie was already gone, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He headed down the path that Gareth ran down, trying to force rhythm back into his breath and control back into his hands knowing that when his boy came to he wasn't going to be his boy anymore.

:((

Anyways that's sad hour over here i'm so sorry

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 7: The Sail

Chapter 46

We leave Cassia with the Leegs. There’s a limited number of people we trust to keep an eye on her when so many rebels would hear her name and want her punished for her father’s investment in the Hunger Games, and most of our trusted friends will be in this meeting. So she stays with the Leegs, playing cards in our room.

Johanna walks to the meeting with us. None of us say it, but I know we are all hoping that there are more survivors out there than just the ones living in the mansion. We’re victors, after all. If nothing else, we know how to survive. But then we walk into the room and there are thirteen chairs around the table.

Coin is already seated in one of them, a small stack of loose papers in front of her.

We sit across from her, as far away as possible, Finnick, then me, then Johanna. Cecelia comes in next and sits by Johanna, then Gloss, Cashmere, and Alvan by Finnick. Peeta comes in with Beetee, then Enobaria by herself. How she is still alive, I have no idea. Finally, Katniss and Haymitch arrive, and all the chairs are full.

Is this really it? I remember a funeral full of victors, fifty-six of us, mourning Megary. And now there are twelve of us, and we all have the same broken look in our eyes. Even Enobaria looks different than I remember her. I still think she’d be willing to rip someone’s throat out with her teeth, but she looks… tired.

Coin steeples her fingers in front of her. “I have asked you all here because you are the remaining victors. You are uniquely qualified to make the decision that lies before us today.”

I don’t like the sound of this. I’m tired of being special just because I knew how to swim.

Apparently, two options face us today. Some of the rebels want to execute those involved with the Hunger Games: Gamemakers, financial supporters, style teams, escorts, the scientists who designed the mutts, the Capitol’s most prominent citizens, all of them. Some of the rebels want leniency. Snow has been removed from power. The districts have won. The next president can outlaw the Hunger Games and we can be done. Compromise, however, seems unlikely.

Then Coin presents her plan for justice: the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, featuring the children of the Capitol’s most prominent citizens and highest government officials. “I believe this is an acceptable compromise, delivering justice to the proponents of the Hunger Games, while avoiding the barbaric executions of all involved.”

She pauses while we digest this.

“Your individual votes will be kept confidential, of course, though it will be announced that the victors made this decision.” Coin shuffles the sheets of paper in front of her.

The old victors stiffen. I’ve never been in a meeting with Snow, but from the reaction everyone else but Katniss and Peeta has, this is a familiar power move.

Coin leans back in her chair. “As there are an even number of victors, my vote, as interim president, will be the tiebreaker. And I must vote for these Games.”

“No!” Peeta practically yelps.

All I can see is Cassia Vickers standing in the arena.

Johanna is trying hard to look impassive. “I vote yes.”

“I vote no with Peeta.” I stare around at everyone else. “How can you say this is not barbaric? We’re no better than the Capitol if we agree to this!”

“No,” Finnick says firmly. “No more Games.”

Coin is giving Finnick and me something just beyond the neutral look of displeasure.

“Give them a taste of their own medicine,” Enobaria says. “Yes.”

From the look in Johanna’s eyes, having Enobaria agree with her almost makes her change her vote.

“No,” Cecelia says. “I’m the only person here with kids, and let me tell you all, you cannot imagine how horrible it is to think they might someday face the arena. I would never do that to anyone. Not even the Gamemakers.”

Coin picks up the stack of papers, taps one edge on the table, straightening them.

Alvan’s hands, resting on the edge of the table, are shaking. Finnick is breathing too fast.

“Yes.” Gloss sounds defeated.

Cashmere echoes him, her whispered “Yes” barely audible.

“No. We’re better than the Capitol,” Beetee says. “We rebelled and we won and now we have to prove that we are the better choice. Another Hunger Games will not do that.”

Alvan nods, hands still shaking, staring through the table. “We- we gotta be better’n they were. No.”

We are all looking at Katniss and Haymitch.

Katniss volunteered for her sister. Katniss just watched her sister die. Katniss wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Yes. For Prim.”

My hands ball into fists.

“I’m with the Mockingjay.”

I want to scream. Or maybe strangle Haymitch.

I do neither as Coin nods once and says, “Good. It’s decided. It will be announced this afternoon after the execution of Coriolanus Snow.” She stands and leaves the room, leaving the rest of us in shocked silence.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Cassia is playing tag with Tilly, Edie, and Bax.

“What do we do now?” Finnick has his head in his hands. “Do we tell her? Do we pretend we didn’t know? Do we hope for the best? Maybe she won’t get drawn?”

I bite back a bitter laugh. “Titus Vickers? They’ll draw her. You and I both know the reaping was easy to rig before and you can be sure they’ll rig this one. Snow’s granddaughter, Caesar Flickerman’s youngest, Cassia, they’ll draw them all. Honestly, I think Plutarch’s lucky he doesn’t have any kids.”

“What if we left?”

“What, walk back to Four?”

“No, just left the mansion. We could find a place to keep low until… until it’s done.”

Before we can debate the merits of this plan, Cressida and the Leegs arrive. Cressida to inform us that Coin wants us in our rebel uniforms for the execution and that they have been returned to our room, and the Leegs to stay with Mark and the kids, since they are wanted at the ceremony, but not to stand by the victors. Cassia will go with them, with their solemn oath they'll keep her safe.

Once dressed, we join the others and take a hovercraft to the City Center at the end of Victor’s Way. They give us places of honor in the front row as the crowds fill in, down the length of the street. I clutch Finnick’s hand.

Katniss walks out on the ground level, only ten yards away from where Snow is tied to a post. He is smiling.

I force myself to watch. This is the man who has taken so much from me. I will watch him die.

Katniss readies the arrow, takes careful aim, and shoots Coin.

****

****

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Tag List:

@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider @anakins-ride-or-die

[prokopetz]

I love that Supergiant's answer to "how can we possibly follow up on the first game's rebellious failson protagonist" is to make the sequel's protagonist an earnestly dorky honour-student-with-impostor-syndrome type whose college major is murder.

[bespectacled-bookwyrm]

2023 Whumptober 14

Summary: They must make their escape.

Written for the 2023 Whumptober event!

[indi-ice-cube]

🏜️ 🚗 🎢 

 in the feels again 

warnings: Discussion of Character Death, Grief

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[e-turn]

just some rambling under the cut

okay imagine this. when Mikeys hair start growing its already grey after everything he witnessed. His temples are already grey although he didn't even turn 20 yet.

also just wanna let you know this line possessed me for too long

Geralt looked at Ciri and almost screamed with rage when he noticed silver threads among her grey hair.

The Lady of the Lake, Andrzej Sapkowski