#TOO MANY MEMORYS OF BLOOD ON THE CONCRETE AND THEIR SHARED SOBS

[lieutenantbiscute]

The multiverse can be very unfair.

In my AU, the boys; more specifically Leo and Mikey, haven’t really fully processed Splinters death. Even after all these years. It’s kinda easy to talk to other Splinters, since they’re manly shorter and grey.

But @0ddbugs and @coffinpal ‘s Redline Splinter just looks too much like Mikey’s papa.

With Leo, it’s more so keeping his memory alive. He wears one of Splinters old kimono’s as a way to deal with bad days. Though Y’Phorion and @probably-not-a-rutabaga ‘s mutant Chompy are here to brighten the mood!

@tmntaucompetition

[longdeadblonde]

About Fausta

NAME: Fausta Warren. ALIAS: Faustina Blackburn, Theophania Warden. AGE: 10-27. TITLE: Princess, High Priestess. SPECIES: Demonic nephilim subspecies. GENDER: Cisfemale OCCUPATION: Elementary school student (verse dependent). HEIGHT: 4'2"-6'4". HAIR: Silver-white. EYES: Black-blue. FACECLAIM: Sophie Nélisse, Anya Taylor-Joy.

Personality:   Fausta is the most recent addition to the Warren clan, though her blood relation to the family is something that is heavily debated. Only a very small amount of the family has the slightest idea and those who are aware keep it a secret for reasons undisclosed. The girl has unknowingly caused a bit of a stir in the family, of course for reasons beyond her understanding or control.

  Like most children, Fausta is innocent but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy to lie to her. She seems to have a “bullshit sensor” embedded in her head to which she regularly uses to pull the “It’s not nice to lie to little kids” card. She’s also very curious and like to explore and snoop around places she probably shouldn’t. Due to her constant acrobatics, she’s very accident prone. She has this strange knowing to her, and she wields it like a shield. Like she knows something nobody else does.

  An issue that Fausta has is that she’s clingy. She hates being left behind and might even throws tantrums if she’s left at home. It wasn’t until recently that she had any real parental figures or siblings so she has an intense fear of being abandoned by them. She is also quick to anger. She takes out all her aggression on her toys. Almost all the dolls and plush toys are severely damaged and hastily patched up to the point that some are unrecognizable. Her temper is something that gets her into a lot of trouble at school since her has the bad habit of picking fights with any bullies. She’s a little scrapper too. Once she latches on, it’s a literal pain to get her off.

Biography: TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEVERE CHILD NEGLECT/ABUSE.

  Born Faustina, Fausta spent the first few years of her life in difficult conditions. Her biological father, Raphael Blackburn was a wealthy man but that wealth was not shared with his child. He clothed her, fed her, did the bare minimum, but left her alone in a dark room, chained by the ankle to a bed that was bolted down into a concrete floor. Any evidence of her existence seemed non-existent until one day, the neighbors noticed her wandering the neighborhood; barefoot, frightened, and with chains still around her ankle.

  Naturally, the authorities were notified and Fausta was quickly scooped up by social services, her father taken into police custody, he was incosolable, screaming and sobbing and praying for forgiveness for his "hubris". All he was able to disclose was that the girl was in fact his child and his responsiblity and that he had no idea where her mother could be. More than anything else, claimed that the girl should be killed for everybody's sake. Of course, these were all chalked up to be ramblings of a madman.

  Fausta spent the next year as a ward of the state, going through heavy amounts of counseling and responding very well, all things considered. She was very bright and while having her hiccups with behavioral issues, was able to thrive due to said counseling and socialization. Adopted at the age of six, the process seemed to be done heavily under wraps. This is where Faustina Blackburn's paper trail seems to grow increasingly sparse before falling off entirely and Fausta Warren's seems to creep into existence. Many of the people who worked on the girl's case can no longer say with certainty where she's ended up.

  Fausta's memories of her previous life seem to become more spotty by the day, as she mostly just remembers darkness, the blindingly bright sun, and seeing various doctors before her big sisters came to take her home one day after she'd gotten better. She lives happily with her brother and sisters, spoiled and loved. For now, at least.

[opalsdarkreadings]

✰𝙅𝙪𝙟𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙪 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙎/𝙊. 𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙪𝙨: 𝙎𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙍𝙮𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣✰

Pairing: Gojo, Yuji, Fushiguro, Nobara, Sukuna x gender neutral reader

Warning: angst, depression themes, mentions of blood

Notes: I love the smell of saddens and crying in the morining, great starter of the days. lol I hope you all enjoy, there’ll be some grammical errors so please just ignore and I’ll try to fix them when I spot them. And I’m addicted to this series and characters so I’ll be releasing a bunch of others stuff regarding this show soon.

✵𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘂✵

You were going to get up, you always did. The two inseparable prankster would be back at it agian like always. Like old times. You....you were fine

But the pit of his stomach twist and churn, his heart aching with a new found sense of despair. He knew, so why didn’t he just accepted it.

NO! You were going to get up, you just liked to joke around that’s all. So why did he feel a surge of rage so deep, so painful that ach his very core. Even destroying the special grade left nothing but dissatisfaction.

For the first time in his life he felt... hesitant.

Your body unmoving from the blow dealt by the curse demon. The curse being dealt with in seconds afterwards. The stillness felt eery, his heart pounding against his chest as he makes his way to you unmoving body

He crouch and pulled the slik blind off his face, beautiful bright blue eyes scanning over you body. Sadness being reflected in them but he kept that signiature smile of his

“S/o...can you still move?” He asked hoping, silently praying you could at least answer him.

...nothing.

“Cutie-chan~ quit playing around...get up so we can go home....” the weak laugh that left his lips felt more like whimper, as you continue to not answer him.

He doesn’t even know why he’s trying, he should be use to it. He’s lost thousands of friends in battle, time and time agian. One of his students wouldn’t come back, a coworker that didn’t make it, a close friends that died tragically. He’s heard it all.

So why did it hurt so much?...

Droplets fell over you color ridden cheek, you body being lifted into a broad chest. As Satoru buried his face into the crook of your neck, that awful perfume he hate infiltrating his nose, a choked laught left him.

“God I hate that perfum..”

That smile of yours as bright as the evening star, flooded his mind, your words ringing out as he cradled your dead body.

“I know you do, but you still love me~.”

✵𝘆𝘂𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗶✵

That face, you always made that face whenever you did something stupid. Honestly, he couldn’t talk much, seeing on half the crap he’s done was on impulse, however...god you were an idiot.

You Could’ve lived, left him there on the cool slab of the concrete, the beast that was too far over their heads coming his way. He could’ve handled it, Sukuna was a stubborn bastard, but wouldn’t let him die.

You were and utter fool and he cursed about it to this day.

But it all felt like slow motion, the pounding of your footsteps hitting against the ground, his weak shouts trying to get you to go back. The drop in his stomach as that sickening crack echoed out the domain.

There was so much blood, the walls were splattered with it, the floor painted a sea of red, your body nothing more than crushed remembrance of what it used to be.

He’s never felt such a feeling of rage so strong before. All his actions a blur until late on. When he’s bound by a cursed rope and set aside near the school where the cursed demon was located.

A stretcher hauling, what’s once was your body. Your hand peeking out from under the blood covers. That’s all it took for him to lose it.

The rope keeping his struggling body from moving as he sobbed hysterically.

“S/O! S/O! Answer me please..please! Why would you do that?! You’re such an idiot damnit, don’t you dare leave me...you promised.” He fell over the harsh ground, tears cascading down from his cheek to the floor.

Fushiguro and Nobara gazes lowered to the ground. Effectively trying to hold back their friend as your body was carried off.

His sobs turning into quiet whimpers. It dawned on him, he’s was official alone now. You and his Grampa being taken from him unfairly. He had no one, you would never smiles at him agian

Slap his head whenever he got a little to handsy or tease Him relentless when he slipped up and blurtted out random things

Your sweet laugh would be distance memory of the past, something that made his heart squeeze with hurt.

“That’s no fair...it’s not fair.” He mumbles soflty to himself

Sukuna for once, was eerily silent.

✵𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗺𝗶✵

He still couldn’t believe it. It all happened so quickly. One minute you two were sharing a passionate night, basking under the moonlight as you kiss and bodies dance together.

And the next, he’s cradling your bleeding body, words stuck in his throat and horror swirling on his eyes. Trembling hands trying to stop the blood from gushing out from your neck.

The bastard had got away but he could care less. “S-s/o..just...just stay awake for me okay...c-can you do that for me?” His words trembled off his lips, your eyes shifting over to his. The dullness setting in.

Weakly, your fingers brush over his cheek, his hands reaching up and taking hold of them as he kiss over the knuckle. “You’re....you’re gonna be okay! I promise the others are coming.” He hadn’t realized it but tears had already started falling from his eyes.

He was lying out his ass, the culprit behind this, another cursed user, has been terrorizing this part of town for months now. They weren’t letting him getaway, so you’re mostly his responsibility till the aftermath. He knew you didn’t have that long.

He went to move you but you grunt in pain, more blood pooling out from the wound. He cursed and held you on the bloodstained ground.

“I’m sorry...I-I’m so sorry..” he mumbles into your neck, uncaring if his face was stained with blood as his quiet sobs racked his body.

With as much strength you could muster, you raised your hand to be lazily placed over his head and stroked it over it like you always did.

“I...I l-love you..” you whispered to him, your body becoming slack and your hand falling to your side.

He didn’t need to check, he didn’t need to see whatever expression your face was making to know that you were gone. His grip over your lifeless body tightens, his cries reaching into screams.

This felt all too familiar to him.

He wanted to blame you for breaking his defense, to inching so close to his heart. For making him so happy and attached, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy the moments that came with it.

The memories that’ll forever stay replaying like a broken record in his mind. This is why he didn’t try to make friends, he didn’t try to get close, he hated that he loved you so much.

✵𝗡𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝗞𝘂𝗴𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗸𝗶✵

Maybe she was too mean to you, not caring enough, She mishandled you to many times, to many fights and arguments over tedious things that should have been left as it was.

Was this her punishment? She allowed for such actions to boil and fester, and now what? A dumb argument over a stupid past that no longer connected to you and the exchange was your life. 

Even though you said you sorry’s, I love you’s, there was still tension before you both part. Nobara saving to say all those mushy things she felt for when you were back in her arms

Oh, the deep regret she felt.

The way her teammates came back quieter than usual and more seemly more sluggish then earlier

“What are you idiots standing like that for, that cursed demon shake you that bad. Hmph, simple enough what would you guys be with me?” She teased her sly smile spreading over her lips before it falter

They didn’t even try to agrue much less protest, they just seem distraught, stunned even. Then I dawned on her, they were missing someone...they were missing you.

“Where’s...where’s s/o?” She asked them soflty. A look of guilt overcame Yuji's features as he fished for something out of his pocket.

Confusion ran across Nobara face before it morphed into horror. A single scrap of a school uniform being held out in his hand.

“We...we couldn’t get their body..” Megumi finished his gaze meeting her’s before falling back to his feet. Fist clenched tightly to his side.

She barely heard anything after that, her eyes fixated on the single scrap of clothing. She inched to Yuji taking it and stroking her thumb over the material.

She bites her bottom lip, this was fates cruels joke. She didn’t deserve you from the beginning, it seems like everywhere she went someone had to leave her.

But why did it have to be violent? Why you out of all people. Maybe she should have told her how much you meant to her.

How much of a rock and pillars you were in this crazy life of hers. A beam of reassurance and love that she could always depend on whenever she needed you.

How does she continue now, that beams were gone, taken from her so harshly. The only things she could cling so desperately to have been the last thing she saw you in.

What a cruel world she lived in.

✵𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚✵

There was always some form of a catch when it came to huamsn. No relationship or friendship was formed without a common goal or another interest being taken into play.

The sweet smiles, honey-coated words, and gentle touches were always a facade...wasn’t it?

He could care less about what happened to you, what became of you. After all humans are dirty devilish creatures so even more so then cursed beast.

But he didn’t understand... he didn’t understand why he felt such strong stings of anger, sadness, and a bit of shock bubble in him as you push him out the way.

Did you place some sort of technique over him, that made the king of curses catch such disease as emotions? Laced your words and touches with magic that only you could see and undo....no that’s not it.

Possible it was this damn vessel's fault. Always hanging off your words and embraces like a lovesick fool. Opting to distract himself with your praise and love then rather focus on what’s important at hand.

though denying that he didn't enjoy your persevere, from time to time would make the ping of guilt worsen.

Your body hit the floor with a loud thud, the gaping hole through your chest made the anger and feelings of anguish flow in him.

He didn’t even notice when he had taken over Yuji's body, destroying the very thing that took you away from him. The slaughter more animalistic and erratic as his state of sanity seems to be blown out the window.

He cares not for the look of horror and fear that clouded Yuji's teammate's face. Not concerning much of his attention to them, he came over, plucked your dead body from the ground, and disappear.

Appearing back to that place you talked with Yuji so dearly about..what was it again. He couldn’t recall the name, only knowing about the large wisteria trees that guard the scenery. 

“Dumb human...surely foolish beings you are.” He mumbles you head was press into his chest as he looked out from the Cliffs view.

“Look what you have done, making me feeling things for you..” his voice soft as he pushed back small strands from your face. Yuji memories of this morning playing back

“You two better make it out of here alive or I’m kicking both of your butts.” You proclaimed earning a whine from Yuji and scoff from Sukuna as he appeared on the other’s cheek. “Dare I ask how you’ll be able to deafest me, don’t bite more than what you can chew.” He threatens but only succeeded in making you laugh, “Mhm..yeah you’re right I’m just worried about my two favorite boys.” You had told them, leaning in and kissing a flustered Yuji, “I love you both so be safe.” Okay and no stupid actions.” You scolded Yuji plucking the boy's head.

A weak laugh fell off from his lips, “Looks who’s talking, you’re the one that’s gone and died on us..” he spoke aloud. Moving to crouch by the tree and sit your body against the bark.

He let one finger trail over your lips and down your features letting them be engraved in his memory as he gazes down at you.

That disease having still affecting him, even as you lay dead in front of him. These feeling of sadness and heart ach and most of all loneliness suffocating and clawing at his throat

He dare not shed a tear, Yuji would do enough of that for the both of them. Instead, he let his hand gently cup over your cold and colorless cheek. The warmth he remembers oh so clearly, know felt like something that occurs ages ago.

He leans his forehead against yours and shutting his eyes, and allowing Yuji to take control.

You’d never heard him say, though he wished you are hear so he could that dazzling smile as he did

“I love you... S/o.”

[dumdumsun]

And Dusk

A/N: Just a heads up, the sensitive content in this chapter will be marked "<<<<<<" as the beginning and ">>>>>>" to signify the end. The racial slurs used in this chapter were targeted towards African Americans (and still are) and I chose these because I, myself, am African American and used them as a sort of “default” for any POC readers. ⚠️Please, never use these towards anyone. Whether it be in a “joking” manner or not. They are hurtful and were created to be that way⚠️ I wrote this chapter the way I did to bring awareness. Proceed with caution. Much love ❤️

Warnings: ⚠️racial slurs⚠️, violence, mentions of guns and dying/death

Word Count: 3707

—————————————

Chapter 3: The Frankel Footage

Shaking himself out of his shock, Five stood from his seat and hurried after his brother, grabbing onto his arm and stopping his strides. “The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world’s gonna end in ten days!”

“Yeah, well, you’re always saying that.” Luther nonchalantly spoke before moving away, but Five intervened yet again.

“And so far, I’ve been right.” He hissed as Luther sighed and shook his head.

“Look, you want to go save the world? Knock yourself out, alright? I already got a job.”

“Wait, you work in this shithole?” The boy furrowed his brows.

“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place,” Luther only received a nod from his brother, so he clarified. “I’m his body man.”

But this only made Five even more confused. “What’s that? Like, a masseuse or something?”

“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr Ruby.”

“Wait, Ruby. The Jack Ruby? The gangster who shot Oswald.”

Despite Five’s concern, Luther proudly smiled a smug smile as he glanced over at his boss. “Yeah. The one and only.”

“Well, it finally happened,” Five sighed. “That gorilla DNA has finally taken over your mind-”

“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack’s a good friend-”

“And you’re Number One. Numero Uno. Remember?”

Luther clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There is no Number One. Not anymore. Not in 1963,” When Five stared at him in disbelief, Luther sighed again. “Look, I’ve been stranded here alone for a year. What did you expect?”

Five scoffed. “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I’m sorry, okay? But I’m asking for your help, Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you.”

“It doesn’t need me,” He slowly spoke to draw out his words. “It never did.”

“Luther, honey,” The waitress from earlier approached the two. “Jack’s about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”

“Ah, shit,” He groaned and began walking away. When Five tried yet again to stop him, he whirled on him, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Listen. You’re the genius who said we should jump, right? You’re the one who got us stuck here. And you’re the one who brought Vanya. So, if there is a doomsday coming, she’s probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is not gonna be with you. That’s (Y/N)’s job, being dragged around into your messes-”

“I don’t drag her into anything.” Five swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t stuck as a thirteen-year-old and constantly worrying about her kids until you showed up. I’m surprised she isn’t sick of you yet.” And with that, he stomped away to his boss. This time, Five let him go, his words sending a pang through his chest as he thought back on it. Grabbing his drink, he sighed and shook his head.

“Dad should’ve left him on the moon…” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink before moving to leave his seat. When he felt his jacket snag on something, he looked down to see an object in his pocket. Taking out the tape, he frowned and turned it over.

Date: 11/22/63

Subject: FRANKEL FOOTAGE

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

This world was unfamiliar to (Y/N). She knew she had to have been somewhere in America, but she didn’t know where. The cars, fashion and stores bringing the street she walked to life told her she had to have been in the sixties. But she didn’t want to believe it. Surely Five hadn’t time travelled that far? She had to have been dropped during some type of sixties-theme festival. But the voices suddenly beside her quickly prove her doubts wrong.

“What do we have here?”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lost little colored girl.”

Tensing, (Y/N) continued her way down the sidewalk, slightly speeding up her pace, but the men fell into step beside her with ease, flanking her sides.

“You’re on the wrong side of town, girl.”

“Yeah, we don’t like coons around here.” One of them hissed right in her ear. Her eyes welled up with tears before the other shoved her forward.

“Gon now, get!” He ordered as if she were a dog. She realized that’s how they had seen her. An animal. Nothing more. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she fell to the ground, smacking her face on the concrete. She choked out a sob as the two men cackled. And to make matters even worse, she felt the pitter patter of raindrops start to freeze her skin.

(Y/N) gasped out in shock when the men spit two wads of saliva in her face. She knew she must’ve looked a mess with spit and tears sliding down her cheeks and blood oozing from her nose. She hiccupped on her sobs and began to stand, much too tired from her previous fight with Vanya and literally being dropped from the sky to successfully do so. The men backed her up against a wall and one fisted the front of her vest before a voice called out.

“Take your hands off of my child!” Whipping around, the men were half expecting to find another target, but (Y/N) coughed and sputtered nonsense upon the person her gaze fell upon.

“M-Mom…?”

Before her was Grace, but… she wasn’t robotic in any sense. She could tell by the raw anger etched into her features. She took a brave step forward. “I said. Take your hands. Off my child.”

And that was another thing: her accent. (Y/N) was immediately comforted by the stern southern accent the woman shared with her attackers. It was a voice she never thought she needed. The two looked between Grace and (Y/N) with smirks. “You mean this lil ol’ jigaboo-”

“Is my daughter. Now you let her go before I call the police.”

“Woman, I don’t care if you call the police-”

Grace took it upon herself to step closer and grab the child by her arms, yanking her into her warm embrace. (Y/N) immediately latched onto her, quivering in her hold. The men scoffed and shook their heads, beginning to walk away. “Make sure to keep that thing on a leash if you’re gonna have it out, ma’am.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She growled before turning and walking back in the direction the girl came from. As they walked past the alleyway, Grace took out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s face clean of what the raindrops hadn’t already washed away. “It’s alright, hun, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore.”

“T-Thank you.” (Y/N) sobbed and gently held her nose in pain. Grace crouched in front of her and gently held her face in between her hands.

“Don’t thank me, darlin’, it’s how everyone should be treatin’ you ‘round here… Where are your parents? I could take you to ‘em.”

(Y/N) thought for a long moment, watching as the rain soaked Grace’s hair and clothing. The woman didn’t seem to mind as she watched the girl before her swallowing thickly. (Y/N) skimmed over her current choices. She didn’t have any choice.

“I don’t have parents. I-I don’t remember them…”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“I’m tellin’ you, Reggie, she’s highly intelligent for a child her age.” Grace proudly presented (Y/N) to the man she had grown fond of over their time working together. (Y/N), however, was frozen in her spot. Sir Reginald Hargreeves. The man whose death she had wished upon for years, whose death had finally graced her existence, was back in her life. She flinched at the disapproving look on his face, much too acquainted with it by this point in her life. “And she’s very respectful. Talented, too, this girl can speak several languages.”

“You seem rather fond of this child.” The man observed as Grace squeezed her into her side.

“She’s my pride and joy.”

“And you cannot remember anything of your past, child?”

“N-No,” (Y/N) shook her head and stared down. “Not a lot. J-Just my name and birthday.”

Reginald hummed and stared her down with an unreadable expression. When she met his eyes again, he was crouched down to her level, his monocle clutched in his fist. “(Y/N), was it?”

“Yes.”

“It would be an honor to have your presence within my home, along with your mother.”

“O-Oh, that’s okay-”

“I insist. Besides, you have been living with her for almost half a year, correct? It is highly unlikely that she will share a home without you.”

“He’s right about that, hun,” (Y/N) glanced up at Grace, who was smiling warmly at her. “I’m not leavin’ you.”

(Y/N) could have cried.

And she did.

One year later, (Y/N) had been living quite the comfortable life with Grace and Reginald. She had been introduced to the ape, Pogo, for the second time since Grace first started working with him. As much as she loved being around the chimp, it brought back so many memories. She almost felt silly, looking after him sometimes knowing he had done the same for her in the original timeline.

Her relationship with Reginald was nothing she ever expected. He was gentle, well as gentle as Reginald Hargreeves could get, he cared for her, spoiled her, even. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything half the time. If he were to overhear a conversation between her and Grace about a dress she oh-so wanted, it would suddenly be laid out on her bed the next day. She usually had a say in dinner meals every Thursday and Sunday and Reginald listened intently whenever she would voice any discomfort or concerns with her living conditions. (Y/N) never had a real father, but she assumed this is what it was like to have one. She never wanted to let go of it.

For her birthday in 1963, she was surprised that he had actually gotten her a present. As she entered the parlor, she was met with the tiniest bark and an even tinier golden retriever, bounding up to her. She gasped and stopped low, letting him jump into her arms. She let him lick her face and giggled in the joy it brought her.

“Your mother said you would like it. Though I would never allow dogs in my house, I have come to understand that there are rules I must bend for you, my child.”

(Y/N) turned to her father. Yes, father. Reginald, also growing quite fond of their father-daughter bond formed between them, decided to adopt the girl. As much as his beliefs and his deep distaste for children protested. There was just something about this child. Or perhaps it was Grace’s insisting, reassuring him that he would make a wonderful father. (Y/N) was very hesitant at first for her own reasons she never shared, but eventually came around to the idea of being his daughter again.

This was the same Reginald Hargreeves who locked her in a dark room for five days straight, but also an entirely different man. Perhaps it was her fascination with the differences, or maybe she just wanted a real father for once.

“Thank you, Dad.” She softly smiled, the man nodding in response.

“But this is your pet, (Y/N). It is your responsibility. I will not find it in my study, in my bedroom, you are to train it yourself-”

“Can you-”

“And no, I will not help you pick out its name.”

The girl softly groaned and looked back down at her new puppy. Looking into its eyes, she smiled softly at a distant memory as a small child.

“Welcome to the family, Mr Pennycrumb.”

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

(Y/N) groaned when she felt the sunbeams of the early morning sunrise hit her eyelids, coloring her black vision with the stinging fire of orange. Rolling onto her other side, she stretched her blanket over her head. They were yanked away the next second, causing a whine to leave her lips. “Mom… Five more minutes.”

“I let you sleep in long enough, hun, it’s time to get up. You have a date with Preston this afternoon.” Grace gently pulled her daughter to sit up, giggling quietly at her look of disgust.

“Preston? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, let’s get goin’.” Grace patted her leg and walked to her door, waiting patiently. (Y/N) sighed and rubbed her face, letting her feet slide into her slippers. As they descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Reginald could hear his daughter’s sleepy complaining from his place at the table.

Setting his utensils down, he turned his head in their direction. “My child, how many times throughout each week must we have to repeat this conversation?”

“Until it starts making sense.” (Y/N) stepped into the dining room, now in her robe, and crossed her arms over her chest. Reginald sighed and stood from his chair at the table.

“You are one of my greatest accomplishments,” He began towards her. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would make a fine successor. I do not believe you will need a husband. In fact, you would be better off without another individual holding you back from what you are truly capable of.”

“But?” She raised a brow.

“But… I have grown to know you more than I expected… and I know that you would need someone to help manage your finances you inherit once I am gone. Preston is a fine young man who was born into this life, made into this life. He will take good care of you.”

(Y/N) knew there was only one person in this world who would truly take good care of her. But he wasn’t here, and she needed to play the part as the amnesiac adopted daughter, so she huffed and nodded. “Fine… I’ll go…”

“Thank you-”

“But only if Mr Pennycrumb can go, too.”

“Very well, but you will not be gifted another animal if you lose it.”

The outing wasn’t entirely bad. (Y/N) didn’t mind the picnic or the art museum, it was the company that made her blood boil. Preston is anything she would have expected out of him. This had been their seventh date, tenth of the ones he planned. (Y/N) sought out any opportunity she could to cancel on him to save herself from the unbearable three hours she would have to spend with the kid. He was arrogant, smug, selfish, narcissistic, and overbearing. Of course, this was not the Preston he presented to her parents. No, to them, Preston was ‘a fine man with a bright future ahead of him’, or as Grace would put it, ‘a delight to have around’. He laughed like a drunk, talked like a husband, and smelled like a man. All at the age of fifteen. (Y/N) had to remind herself on several occasions that she was mentally the older out of the two and to not stoop to his level when he got under her skin.

“Don’t you think, (Y/N)?” The voice brought her attention back to the boy beside her. She looked up from the grass they had been strolling through. When she hummed in question, he amusedly scoffed and side-step closer to her. “Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t have been interested in politics.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The girl raised a brow. At her confusion, he laughed and gently tapped the side of his head.

“You’ve always got that head of yours in the clouds. Or turned behind you- like right now.”

(Y/N) turned her head away from where she had been looking over her shoulder. “What? Sorry, Preston, I’m a little preoccupied today.”

“With what, exactly? You don’t seem to be the type of girl to have very many issues. Nothing to worry about.”

“And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.” She sighed as her puppy ran in between her legs, rolling in the grass once he was a few paces in front of them. Preston frowned in distaste and shook his head.

“You should really keep that thing on a leash, sweetheart.”

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she folded her hands behind her back. “Really now?”

“Really. You know, I’m not very fond of dogs, so I’m not sure how it’ll work out once we’re married. I think we should get one after we have kids, you know? Just so the kids could grow up with it.”

(Y/N) quickly turned her head to the left, pointing out across the street. “Preston, would you look at that?”

“Look at what?” He gullibly looked in the direction, (Y/N) quickly checking the area before almost silently singing her tune. From her shadow, her clone formed and robotically walked behind the two. She quickly switched spots with it and ordered the clone to walk with Preston before scooping her puppy into her arms and rushing off in the opposite direction. Once she was behind a diner far away from their date location, she let out a sigh and gently patted her dog on the head.

“Were you sick of it, too?” She chuckled. Resting the back of her head against the brick wall she leaned on, she let out a slow breath and began to relax. The sound of guns cocking had her head snapping up so fast, she swore she could have dislocated it. Just down the end of the line of stores were three white-haired men, one in a milkman uniform, training their guns on her. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second tucking her dog in front of her and spinning around, charging down the opposite direction as bullets whizzed past her. She dodged them the best she could, jumping a few feet in the air at the ones that threatened to take their place in her feet. It was like a dance; the twisting, spinning and jumping, and she was to perform this dance until one of those bullets killed her if she didn’t find a way out soon. Sliding to the side of a clothing store for cover, she gently shushed her pet as she caught her breath.

The three sets of footsteps eventually found their destination and rounded the corner with skilled quickness, shooting at the girl until she was nothing more than a bloodied corpse on the ground, bullet holes lodged in almost every inch of her body. The three men nodded to each other and turned around, making their way out from behind the stores.

(Y/N) had already been down the street from her house by the time her attackers found the clone in her place. She couldn’t have been bothered to check herself for any wounds, too worried about Mr Pennycrumb’s potential bullet wounds. But the pup was perfectly, happily nuzzling into her arms and wagging his tail. This left (Y/N) to ponder.

Who the hell were those men?

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

“Is it on?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? There’s an ‘on’ button. Just- There’s something over- that jigga-ma-thing, whatever.”

“I hit the jigga-ma-thing!”

“Okay, well, just- Give it to me. I know how to do this.”

“Alright, here, here. Hurry up.”

“Okay, alright, let’s see…”

Lila didn’t look up from her task of painting poor Elliott’s toenails, his bindings he received after threatening the trio with a gun preventing him from moving too much. Which was beneficial to her, as it kept her from ruining the paint job. She softly smiled as she listened to the argument between the elderly couple on the film Five and Diego were intently watching. “They’re so cute,” She commented. “I love old couples. I’m always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”

Ignoring her, Diego turned to his brother from his seat on Elliott’s counter. “Why are we watching this?”

“Shush.” Five replied, eyes trained on the film before him, searching for any clue to the approaching apocalypse, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Yeah, I… I’m Dan Frankel. And…”

“I’m Edna Frankel.”

“...Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas, to see the president. Today’s date is November 22, 1963.”

Five nodded as everyone’s attention was brought to the projected screen before them.

“That’s six days from now.” Lila spoke as Elliott thrashed about more against his bindings. Diego sat forward in interest.

“Holy shit. This is it. The grassy knoll. Kennedy’s about to get shot. How do you have this?”

“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five answered. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”

“Hazel…?” Diego frowned, remembering the man he spent hours searching for and planning to kill to avenge the death of Eudora Patch.

“Long story.”

“What’s doomsday?” Lila looked up at the boy.

“Longer story.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego asked as Lila turned her head back to the film.

Five shrugged. “Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”

“This is very exciting.” The old man smiled before the sound of gunshots and screaming could be heard, the camera moving around in blurs due to the shock of the old woman filming.

“Oh, my god!”

“Oswald…” Diego whispered, setting his knife down as Five leaned in closer.

“The president!”

When the camera was steadied to record across the street, Five and Diego both stiffened in their spots at what their eyes caught. “Oh, no…” Five breathed and moved behind the projector, rewinding the film and scooting the cart backwards to zoom in closer. The room was silent as Diego stood to his feet and Five rounded the cart before standing beside his brother, directly in front of the film. “This can’t be…”

“Okay, you gonna fill me in now, boys?” Lila glanced between the two. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”

But she was ignored yet again.

“No, that’s impossible…”

“Clearly, it’s not.”

“What… What is it?” Elliott muffled past the gag in his mouth.

A beat of silence went by before the two Hargreeves whispered in unison,

“Dad.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree

[dabiboy]

Idk if I requested this but hawks x reader where the reader and hawks both grew up in abuse and raised by the commision. ( there backstory ) and while there out on a mission hawks almost gets killed but the reader dwoop in and took the blow instead and that’s when he realises he’s been in love with her all this time idk it’s confusing ( however you want to do but the reader doesn’t die ) fluff ending please angst to fluff ;-; <333

Hi there! Well, the idea I had mixed these two requests, hope you don’t mind 😅

If anyone likes reading with music, I wrote this while listening this songs in the following order ‘Lost boy-Ruth B, When it's All Over by Raign, Call your name by Attack on Titan, Take Me Back to the Night We Met by Lord Huron and Hold on by Chord Overstreet.’ idk if it fits the timing, but yeah 😅

Always

''Shit, careful'' Hawks hissed when the cold compress made contact with his bruised cheekbone.

''If you don't stop moving is hard, you know'' You said, putting some pressure to reduce the pain.

''Fair point'' He remained silence for a while before a nostalgic smile appeared on his face ''This brings me memories'' you knew what he was talking about, and couldn't help but smile in the same way.

''Yeah, me too...''

Years before

Thunders and rain were the scenario for that cold night at the commission, but that didn't stop the training nor the classes during the day. However, the only thing you were waiting for was dinner time, the only moment of the day where you could hang out with all the different kids, but that special one. The kid with red wings, Hawks. The two of you became friends due to sad circumstances, when he had asked you where did you come from. Without even knowing him, he gave you the confidence you never felt, his eyes paying attention to you, nothing else, ready to listen and provide any help. You told him everything about you, about the abusive household, the bad treats and all that comes with it. His wings flopped, his eyebrows went up and his eyes open when he heard your story, and with some sad emotion he had claimed that he went through the same. ''We're not that different! I just have wings'' ''But your wings are really cool'' ''Do you think so?'' And from that conversation on, your dinners were not lonely anymore, nor your lunches or breakfast. Hawks was always there, to tell a joke, to support you, to tell you about his day and ask you about yours. 

That is why you felt weird when he wasn't at the dining room as every night waiting for you. The table the two of you shared was empty, and he was nowhere to be seen. You walked with your tray among the other students, asking them if they had seen Hawks, but none of them did. However, a girl walked towards you and say some words that made you whimper. ''I heard he was training really hard today'' was he ok? After thanking the girl you left the tray on a random empty table, grabbing only the chocolate bar they gave you as a trait on Friday nights. 

Walking through the installations was always confusing, too many hallways and doors that were similar, but you knew the way to his room. Hawks' room. You were being careful, though. Girls' and boys' dorms were separated, and there was no way you could get to his dorm past nine pm. But there you were, walking fast and cautiously until you get to the known door. One knock and no answer. Two and the same happened.

''Hawks? It's me, I... I didn't see you at dinner so I thought...'' 

The door opened on his own, a feather, of course. He was getting better at using them, but that had a cost, a cost you comprehend when you saw the twelve year old boy sitting with legs crossed on his bed. He was lucky he had a dorm for his own, but he didn't seem happy about it. Actually, it was the first time you saw him sad. He was the one that comforted you, the one that made you smile. But now his light was faded. You approached him slowly, sitting next to him. You could notice his raspy knees and cheekbones, forehead, arms. Everywere. He was trying hard to control his sob, holding his Endeavor plushie with one hand against his chest. You were the only one who knew about it, he didn't want other kids to bother him for liking the flame hero. 

''Hawks?'' You whispered ''What happened?'' 

''Training was hard today'' He answered simply, looking down at the mattress.

''I... Can see'' You tried to laugh at your bad joke ''Do they... Hurt?'' The bruises were too evident as to avoid them. ''They should give you something for the pain!''

''They said that it should heal soon, so... Guess I'll be fine'' He hugged his plushie a bit more.

''You need to be ok if you're gonna be a great hero!'' You said standing up, looking through the cabinets in his dorm for a faids kit, and when you found it you sat back next to him. 

''What are you doing?'' He asked, his curious bird-like expression was on his face again. 

''I will heal you. Or try to'' All of your attention was on looking the things you needed.

You used the cold gel compress to put it on his bruised cheekbone, telling him to hold it as you look for something to clean the dry blood off his arms and knees. He looked at you with a confused expression, no one took care of him like that before. Not even mentions his parents. At the commission, the other kids always praised his wings, and they wanted to be friends with him because of that reason, but you were different. There you were, trying your best at healing him, making lame jokes to make him laugh and to cheer him up, telling him he was going to be a great person. 

Once you were done, you sat comfortably again and smiled at him

''Oh, I almost forgot. I got you this!'' You took the chocolate candy out of your pocket ''It melted a bit, but I hope it cheers you up'' His eyes winded in surprise again, and then he leaned in to hug you tight. His arms caging your shoulders. You couldn't help but blush a bit, a boy was hugging you, what else could you do? 

''Thanks, really. You're my best friend'' Hawks said, his eyes still a bit glossy but now they looked a bit happier ''Do you want the half?'' He asked you, opening the candy and splitting it in two. 

The winged kid made your life at the commission a hundred times better.

Present day.

''I can't believe that you're a grown up man and I still have you patch you up'' You joked, leaving the cold compress on his desk. After years of training together, the commission decided that you worked well together, that's how you ended up in his agency, working next to him. 

''And I will never be able to thank you enough'' He said with a teasing smile. 

''Yeah yeah, whatever'' You said, getting away from the chair he was sitting ''Are you gonna go to the date with Hanao?'' Feelings were hard to comprehend, and you didn't know why you felt jealous every time he went on dates with random girls. No, you knew it. You just couldn't confess even to yourself that you were in love with that man.

''Uh, I think so. She's hot but talks too much'' He frowned his nose when he whined. 

''I talk a lot too'' You raised your eyebrows.

''Yeah, but your diffe-'' The door opening dramatically interrupted him.

''Guys! Nomus are attacking the city again, we need back up!'' The man yelled.

The two of you adopted a serious posture immediately, Hawks gave you the look that asked if you were ready, and knowing him as you did you simply nodded.

He held you in his arms so he could fly you near the scene where the chaos was happening, and when was near the floor he let you down, knowing you're fighting area was the ground. 

Hawks went flying so he could rescue some civilians with his feathers and fight nomus with the bigger wings. Things were getting messy, the creatures were destroying everything, and none of you noticed the spilled gasoline of a broken car and the fire nearby. 

You were finishing with a nomu when you saw Hawks again, and thanked internally when you saw he was alright. After a while, his wings got smaller because of the number of feathers used, but he was still trying to help a civilian that was stuck inside her car. 

Everything was happening so fast yet so slow, you could see everything that was happening in slow motion, thinking fast about what your next move should be. Help the scared kid? A cop was running to him. Fight with the white nomu? No, three heroes were fighting against it. And then you saw it.  A big one was walking straight to Hawks, but he was too busy helping the man in the car he didn't notice it. The distance was getting narrower, so you ran, ran as fast as you could towards him. 

''Hawks!'' You could scream.

But it was too late. 

Everything happened within the same second. The gasoline that was spilled made contact with the fire, creating a deafening explosion, the fire blinding everyone's sight at the same time the nomu used his outrageous arm to hit you and send you flying, body crashing against pure concrete. Hawks tried to cover him at the moment of the explosion, but your voice made him turn around and see what was happening. He saw the exact moment when the nomu got rid of you, his senses panicking when he saw you crashing against the hard concrete wall, and then to the floor. 

Another hero started fighting the nomu that attacked you, and other rescue heroes took care of the man trapped. 

Everything was in slow motion again, this time for Hawks. He couldn't fly, he wasn't fast. He ran towards your moveless body, but his steps felt heavier by each second, he was praying you were ok, he wanted to see you getting up, moving. But that didn't happen. You were there, face on the floor, passed out. 

''Y/n!'' He desperately called your name, turning you around to lay you on his lap ''come on kid, wake up!'' Hawks called, but you didn't hear his words. ''Hey, hey look at me. I need you to look at me for fuck's sake!'' Tears were forming in his eyes when he saw you were not responding. Blood was running down a corner of your mouth and your forehead, dust was all over and your eyes still closed. 

He couldn't lose you. Not you. As he called your name, all the memories attacked him. Those nights at the commission when you cured his wounds, when you shared your food, the times he got flustered when you kissed his cheek for the first time, or when he got jealous when a kid two years older asked you out. Or when you were in your twenties and he saw you with a good looking civilian and felt jealous again. The laughs you shared, the sad times. Damn, he even remembered the first conversation you had, when you told him everything about your shitty past and he had offered you his Endeavor plushie for comfort. The nights you spent together till dawn or get caught by someone at the comission. How he felt weird when he went on dates with random girls, He didn't want to be with any of them. He wanted to be with you. Just you. 

And the realization came like a storm. First the lighting in the middle of the night, everything that looked dark and confusing was clear. And then the loud sound of a thunder. It was love. Everything that he felt those years, every weird emotion. He was in love with you, and didn't get the chance to tell you. 

He was on his knees, putting pressure on your wounds as he looked the chaos around him, begging for a doctor, or a fast hero that could take you to the hospital. For the first time ever, he felt helpless. However, a voice took him out his thoughts. A light of hope. 

''Wing hero Hawks! I'm Ingenium from the UA, class 1-A. I can take them to the nearest hospital right now!'' 

He looked at the hero in a white armor, a student? He didn't have another option. He let the young hero take you in his arms. The engines on his calves lighted up and he went running. Damn he was fast, it could be a chance to save you. 

When All Might arrived at the scene, things got calmer. And he used whatever means he had to get to the hospital in which the hero had taken you. 

People looked at Hawks with curious eyes, he was looking desperate, looking for you everywhere and asking about you. He was about to lose his head when the same student arrived, this time no mask on. 

''Hi, this is Tenya Ida from class 1-A, UA student'' He introduced himself again, this time properly ''They take them to surgery and said she should be out in an hour or a bit more'' 

Hawks thanked the kid, and gave an effortless pat on his shoulder beofre moving to the waiting room. One hour pass, then two, and then three. What the hell was taking so long? He was resting his elbows on his thighs and head on his hands. No one gave him information about you, and he could feel the tears dampening his cheeks. He loved you, he had loved you all along and now you might be gone forever. He wanted to hug you, kiss you, never let you go. 

Hours seemed infinite, but then an exhausted doctor appeared in front of him. 'They're sedated' she said, explaining to him that you had lost a lot of blood, but that they were able to stop the bleeding from the different cuts, and organs. 

Hawks felt like walking the long hallways of the commission when he sneaked to your room when you were kids, nervous, wanting to see you. But now? Now he was a man, and he knew that he loved you and craved to see you. To know you were ok. He got to the door, and doubted whether to enter or not, but he took a deep breath and did it.

You were laying on the bed, a machine helping you breathe and lots of needles and cables on your arm. Keigo's chest tightened at the image of you wounded, and even worse. You were in that state for saving him, and he was hating himself because of it.

Quietly, he sat down as he held your hand. His chin was trembling he was trying too hard not to cry. Using his free hand, he caressed your cheek and pulled a strand of your hair away from your face. 

''Hey,'' he whispered ''I need you to wake up, ok? I... Need you here, with me. I'm nothing if I don't have you here'' His voice was broken, and he didn't even notice when the tears were running down his eyes again ''I swear I'll stop stealing your lunch, and I won't whistle or chirp on mornings because I know you get stressed'' Keigo let out a sad laugh ''There's so much I need to tell you, so please.'' He caressed your head again ''I won't go on dates with random girls anymore because I... Just want to be with you'' A sob left his lips, and he rested his forearms and head on the bed next to you ''I can even shave my so-called beard if you want to, but please... Wake up. Come back to me. Please, don't leave me'' His whisper was drowned in tears, Keigo kept sobbing by your side as the memories kept replaying on his head ''I love you, I fucking love you'' He finally let his feelings out among hurtful tears. He wanted nothing more than you to be ok. 

Suddenly, his heart stopped. He felt the weight of a hand on his head, playing with his hair. He got up slowly, looking at you with red puffy eyes, but full of hope. 

''y/n?'' He asked, heart beating fast.

''I like when you whistle in the morning'' You said slowly opening your eyes ''your stubble is cute''  a weak smile was on your lips, and he couldn't believe that your first words after almost dying were about him ''And I always pack up double lunch because I know you eat mine. That's why I get fried chicken every day'' At that day, he couldn't control the amount of tears escaping his eyes. 

''I...'' A sob ''y/n I-'' you interrupted him with your weak raspy voice.

''I know, I heard you'' You nodded, feeling your eyes getting watery too ''I love you too, Kei'' You caressed his cheek. ''I've been in love with you since I was like... Fifteen'' you rolled your eyes and laughed weakly, making him laugh in the same way too.

''Sorry I didn't notice sooner'' He brushed your hair with his hand, and then whipped some tears, but the kee falling '' Don't you dare scare me like that again'' He chuckled lowly.

''Sorry'' You said ''Can I get a kiss for saving your ass once again?'' He couldn't help but laugh again, loving to see you with a good mood. 

He leaned forward, his lips on yours were delicate, soft, and tender. Just his lips against yours, a bit salty because of the tears but none of you cared. You whined a bit because of the lack of air and the pain caused because the cut on your lower lip. 

''Shit, sorry'' He pulled away, and then got closer again to kiss your forehead for long seconds as his hand was still on top of your head holding your hair. ''I love you, so damn much'' 

He sat on the chair next to the bed again, resting his head on his forearms one more time. You used the little amount of strength you had to play with his hair, scratching his scalp with soft fingers. 

''I love you too, bird boy'' Tiredness was taking over you again ''This time you will have to patch me up'' You joked

''Always. I'll always will'' He sobbed one more time, closing his eyes. Loving your hand on his hair, and your voice. God, he could never be tired of listening to you. ''Try to get some sleep, ok?'' He said moving his head up again. 

''Will you be here when I wake up?'' You asked. The same question you did when as kids, when Hawks lent you his bed so you could sleep there as he took care of your sleep from the other bed, not wanting you to get any nightmares. 

''Yes, I'm not leaving you. I will be here'' He smiled at you, and after leaving another kiss on your forehead he rested his head on his forearms on the tiny empty space on the bed by your side.

He was not letting the love of his life alone. Not that night, or never.  

[shadowdianne]

SWAN QUEEN: Daniel died, her mother died, Henry died, Emma died, so why the fuck can't she? Brr.

I don’t do this. Not anymore Xd Yet, you very well know that you are one of the very short list of people who can make me write SQ still Xd

And well, It’s angst so, hey, that’s a bonus

“Save him.”

She had gritted her teeth as Emma had looked at her, pleading eyes breaking through the black and white façade of the Dark One; she had been about to pass from exhaustion, fingers tightening around invisible ropes, her magic being called forth with all of her might as hex after hex pulsed through the air, linking both her body and Emma’s as they both tried to stop the other; concrete and electricity filling the air alongside with the heady scent of ozone.

She hadn’t answered, not vocally at least. She had grabbed the air and asked for the dagger to appear on her extended hand, purple tendrils coiling around her, lighting her skin with sparks that bit into her as Emma lost control over her body once more; her pain being mitigated by anger and repulsion.

They had known everything could eventually lead to where they were; in the middle of a destroyed Storybrooke with nothing but magic that kept being called, being syphoned, by feelings that felt untamed and trembling against their ribcages. Regina had tried, she truly had, back at Camelot, the last bits of her memories diluting like dew under the early sun. She, however, despite everything, despite her being the one who had grabbed the dagger when Emma, a tired, gray-lined Emma, had asked her to hold onto it, despite having promised to be the one who was able to do the unthinkable, had failed.

Maybe it had been her own emotions, her own feelings, the damned bit of hope that had blossomed inside her chest when she had seen Emma walk into the diner, hard edges and pain escaping her sides, like fog spilling over the sea’s surface. Maybe if she had seen the divided mind, the way Emma kept changing back and forth from someone she knew to someone she didn’t, maybe if she hadn’t been so keen on wishing, on wanting. Maybe.

There weren’t any seconds left for that though, the thought hitting her, bolts jumping from her body as she was raised from the air, Emma’s hands pale and stark in front of her, the darkness of her magic twisting the pure dirty white that had been hers and only hers prior to the vortex, prior to her screams, prior to her one and only single request: spare Henry, spare them, please.

The magic had laughed and wrecked everything on its wake, coming forth from every pore of Emma’s body, squashing her mind on the intervals the blonde didn’t fight to get the control of her own body back. For a second, a moment, Regina had thought that she would be able to, would be strong enough.

And then the dam had broken, the restraint Emma had managed to get, the little pieces of herself that had been floating inside her mind had scattered further and further still and the dark magic, the one that fed off chaos and despair, had stepped forward: all claws and fangs and death.

Regina had managed to get others to safety, but she hadn’t accounted for Henry, noble, precious Henry, who had thought the impossible could always be achieved if one fought enough for it. Maybe that had been her fault as well; maybe it was only the byproduct of true love kisses and magic that reeked of a world that wasn’t the reality of the town they were marooned into. Nevertheless, as she had fought and called for Emma, wishing that some of her words hit with enough strength to create a ripple between the two merged consciousness, Henry had appeared, running down what was left of the main street, holding his book atop everything else, asking for powers that were too fickle to listen properly.

She had tried, she had. But the magic had been too strong, too unpredictable. A stray tendril had curled around the boy’s legs, causing him to fall, fall, fall. She had been able to smell the scent of blood before seeing the droplets that grew into a river, the paleness of his cheeks obvious enough amidst the rubble, amidst the screams.

“Save him.” Emma’s words came out hoarse, her voice formed out of a myriad of echoes from moments shared that now ebbed away from them both. It was short lived, glimmering with nothing but the realization she couldn’t keep on fighting.

Regina called the dagger once more, asking for that stubborn part of herself, the one who would never apologize to Pan or any other villain before or after him, the one that was rooted on her own anger and loss, the one that had created and built the Queen persona, the one that had been the base of the reason why the darkness had come for her all those months ago, thinking of her a worthy host. The one that kept the world dark and hungry, the one capable of cursing and hexing if only for the whole purpose of seeing her enemies burn. She fed the black pearl that sat at the very center of her heart, the tendrils of magic that kept her heart from being red. And pulled.

“Regina!”

She struggled to breathe; she could listen to Emma now, pained, and raw and more like herself. When she focused her eyes onto her the dark one was flickering, the vortex she had once seen now above them both, twirling. It was working, in a way. She would only get a chance, one. Feeling her body freed from the tendrils, she jumped towards Henry, opening the book with one hand, chocking on a sob as she felt the lack of breathing on his chest. She had lost too much of herself to know hubris wouldn’t save him. Nor her. She poured the magic onto the pages, his blood marring them, feeding them as they growled into existence.

There was a second, a moment, in where she thought it would fail, in where she thought of the stupid reasons why she had thought herself strong enough to do what she was about to do. Yet she didn’t dare to give reason for the magic to taint her as well, to destroy the opening between the blinking force and Emma’s own body keeping the incarnation with a physical body. She struck the book with her magic, with Henry’s hope, with Emma’s despair. There was a flash, a caress made out of quickly disembodied fingers.

And then, nothing

-.-

They buried them one close to the other, in tombstones that were quickly covered by moss due to the magic present and reinvigorated by the blood of the one who had been called savior by so many it felt ludicrous now. They didn’t rest on the mausoleum, the dark corners of the building far too weighted by other stories that bled ink so thick it felt like tar.

She was told that it hadn’t been her fault. She was told that her magic had reached the book too late. She was told that, by some reason her idea had worked. “Of course” She would answer with vocal cords so fried she felt as if muting herself to the world would be best. “I knew what I was doing.”

She was told that she had saved Storybrooke, the repairs being done under the gloomy knowledge that two more laid at the city’s graveyard. She was called a savior.

She hated it.

Daniel had died, her mother had died, her father had died.

Henry, Emma, had both died: so why the fuck wasn’t she herself resting next to them now? Why the magical blast hadn’t killed her as well, turning her to shreds, to specks of dust unable to feel pain and anguish, why did she keep on walking while they didn’t?

For a second, a stupid, cruel second, once the book had closed on its own volition, the blast so strong it had pierced her eardrums, she had seen Emma stumble and fall but still breathe, eyes as green as ever, hair back to blonde. She had smiled then, her other hand, devoid now of the dagger, the blade bare, not holding a name no more, reaching for Henry’s collar. She had thought then and there that they might survive, that she would see Emma kneel and approach them, with the stubbornness she pretended she hated, with hands warm from magic devoid of the madness from before. She had thought, she had hoped, that she would be able to hug her, to maybe admit that what she had wished to say back at Camelot, at the well, when everything was closing around them, was a simple admission that felt ridiculous now if only for the obviousness of it all.

She had been wrong.

Emma had mouthed words at her from where she had rested, words too close to those same words she had thought she might be able to admit. Her eyes had focused on Henry, blood dripping from her lips and tongue, teeth colored red and black. She had mouthed the same words to him, eyes fluttering, closing.

Regina had screamed then, cursing everything, everyone, cursing her legs as they failed her, as she was unable to reach out the woman who she had vowed to destroy and yet had made her fail and fail again.

She hugged herself while she eyed the tombstones, eyes dark and face covered in still healing scars. She would wave them goodbye, healing the rest of what had been Emma’s magic cursing through her. Yet she refused to. A sick, ill way of keeping a part of her within her reach.

“Bring them back.” She wished, anger, wrath, loss. Asking for the trees to listen to her, for the soil to spit them back, for their souls to return. She had been weak when Daniel had died. She wasn’t weak now; she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Bring them back.”

Because if they were gone and she couldn’t follow them, wasn’t supposed to, she would do her damnest, would curse her soul beyond repair, only to have them back. She would give her everything, every drop of her blood. She would destroy and maim and stood atop a skeleton-made mountain, only so she was able to cheat death.

She was done with honorable causes that did only led to nothingness. She didn’t want to have Snow’s vacant stare, David’s inability to say two words without stammering. She wasn’t weak.

She wasn’t.

She couldn’t.

“BRING THEM BACK.”

[savebatsfromscratch]

@dancinglifeboat I wrote the fanfic finally! :D

(Also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32517502 )

A fic about Ghostbur and c!Solidaritygaming stuck together in limbo after their deaths. :) (It's really fluffy compared to what I usually write,.,,.)

(I put triggers for a few things in the tags but here are the ones I put on Ao3:

Death Downing Loss of a loved one Body Horror Getting shot? )

Please don't copy or repost anywhere!!

JIMMY + GHOSTBUR FIC START NOWWW-

“Ah!” he screamed, stabbing pain shooting through his head. The arrow had hit him right in the face, piercing through the skin easily and passing into his brain.

His knees hit the ground heavily, causing sand getting into the wounds that covered his skin. “Scott,” he hissed, blood filling his mouth as an unbearable pain covered all other senses. He fell forwards, the pressure not only pushing the arrow further into his skull, but also chipping his last life away. It was as if he had been torn from his body and thrown back, the ghostly spirit staying floating for a moment before being dragged down, down, down, until he no longer knew which direction was up.

. . .

Darkness filled his vision, the drowned’s glowing blue eyes burning with tears as he spun through the void. His lungs seemed to be filled with water, the drowning constant and inescapable. Occasionally, he would think he would spot a star, but every time it would be swiftly snuffed out before he got a good look at it, so it wasn’t much of a comfort. He would try to scream, in pain or for help it didn’t matter, his mouth would be filled with some inky substance that choked the words away. Ears rang and buzzed as he tried to focus on any sound at all. There was so much but it was all so far away…

He missed his husband. That man would have been able to help him, he would have pulled him out of the darkness and chided him, “Be more careful around the lake Jimmy, you don’t want to drown do you?” and then he would have pulled him into a hug and run his fingers through his hair, gently asking if he was alright. ...and he would be. Everything would be good and he would be fine.

Light would filter through clouds and illuminate the flowers around the lake. The border to their side would have meant nothing, they could just hug and finally be together. Scott could teach him how to build better, slowly helping sculpt his house into slightly less of a mess. He would teach him how to play Chick-Chance and purposely pick eggs to let Scott win. Both of them would pet Daisy, pretending she was still the original. Maybe they could even have won that twisted story. Maybe, in this fantasy, Jimmy wouldn’t have been the first to die.

Dragged back into reality, he let out a pained sob, the inky blackness instantly gagging him, filling his lungs with even more unbearable sludge. It hurt so much. Why couldn’t Scott just be here with him? Why must he suffer alone? Was this what he had experienced on his first “last death”? Was that why he couldn’t remember it or much of what came before? So many questions plagued his mind, but even more pain prevented any of them from being thought about. It was blinding as the stars of night, and as smothering as the smoke from a bad memory. God it was awful.

Until it wasn’t.

He didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, the pain of the void had gone away. He had lost the memory of any cycle of time, and the only memory of “sleep” was too hard to think about. It reminded him of better times, which in turn made him think about why he was here. It was a sort of limbo, and it felt like the end of the world was already here.

But he still told himself it was alright.

-- - - - -

Sometime later something interesting happened. There was a loud sound and a huge puff of smoke. Jimmy had tried to swim away from it at first, but his eyes had caught on what was left in that smoke. A man had been left sitting there, shaking and crying, and trying desperately to leave. He seemed to be stuck on some sort of concrete square, while Jimmy could float and swim as he pleased. (However, he couldn’t really breathe, while the man on the platform seemed to be hyperventilating just fine. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous of this or not.)

Eventually, he had worked up the courage to move towards the man, but, as he did, odd things happened. He would be thrown through the blackness at random intervals, always crashing into a wall he knew was not there. He would feel an awful pain in his chest as if he was stabbed through with a sword. He would imagine odd scenes, TNT blowing up over a nation he did not know, a blue sheep walking softly through a nether portal. It had to mean something... but what? That he did not know. Of course, things he did know were shown to him as well. Memories would work their way to the surface, and as expected, they were always things he wished to forget. Bubbles rising slowly to the surface of a loser’s lagon, a church in flames, fire spreading across a cobblestone floor, a definingly loud explosion, an arrow through his skull. . . There seemed to be a sort of pattern here, but he refused to see it.

Even so, he pushed on.

The distance between the two shrank slower than he had thought possible. He would struggle through the darkness as if it was some sort of sticky slime in need of cleaning, but eventually, his squirming paid off.

His feet touched down on the island of concrete, and instantly he felt gravity fall back onto him. But that wasn’t the only thing that was back. He fell to his knees, coughing and retching, trying to get the sludge out of his lungs. He suddenly felt the need to breathe burning through him, and honestly, the scared voice asking if he was alright was the least of his worries right now. He hacked and choked, until, with a loud and wet splattering sound, a hunk of black-ish purple goo hit the ground in front of him.

He stayed that way for a moment, trembling and relishing the air. Even if it was sort of the opposite of fresh, he hadn’t taken a breath in so long that it could have been a newly discovered continent, it felt so good. However, as he stared into the purple-ish goo that he had expelled from his lungs, he became increasingly aware of eyes on his back. After a few moments of frozen fear, he remembered why he was here in the first place. A man, on the edge of a train station floating in the void. He looked up.

There he stood, cowering slightly, pure white eyes staring into his own muted ones. He had on an oversized sweater stained with something blue, and hands covered with a similar shade. The man was a curious fellow, that’s for sure, but Jimmy had already known that. All that struggling through limbo to get to him had pretty much cemented the image in his mind. (Not to mention all of the other curious fellows he had known in his… life.)

After a minute of staring at each other, the man finally spoke, “Who are you?” he asked, his voice was airy and slightly echoey, which would have been weird if Jimmy wasn’t dead.

He thought for a moment, wondering which of his many names would be the best introduction in this inky world. Not Jimmy, no, that might remind him of Scott. (Just the thought of his husband tore an aching hole in his heart.) And not Timmy either, that brought back memories of Grian…

“I’m Ghostbur by the way,” Jimmy looked up, eyes widening slightly at the abrupt speaking. The man didn’t seem to mind though, “In case you didn’t want to go first,”

Jimmy smiled at this, Ghostbur seemed to be a wonderful man, even if he did find it a little odd that he didn’t seem at all disturbed by his entrance to the room. It had been rather odd.

“I’m Solidarity,” He finally said, his voice sounding stronger compared to Ghostbur’s, despite the slight croak in it from not speaking for so long. (Not to mention the drowning.)

“Solidarity? That’s a nice name,” The man smiled slightly at him, his voice and movements seeming to blur around the edges as he walked to a different tile. How strange. It reminded him of how he had been back on his last server, how, instead of having bloodlust, he had begun to crumble away. It wasn’t a memory he liked to think about.

“Thank you,” Jimmy finally said, pausing for a moment before quickly adding, “I find your name quite nice as well,” He felt awkward in the conversation. It had been so long since he had talked to someone.

“Thank you!” Ghostbur replied, happily spinning around once, a drop of the blue stuff falling off his hand onto the floor as he did, “It’s ‘Wilbur’ bur with ‘Ghost’ instead of ‘Will’,” here he suddenly became serious, though the same airly tone was kept, “But please don’t call me Wilbur, I am not him,”

Solidarity nodded, not quite understanding the request but knowing that it was important to follow such things. Who knows? Maybe this ‘Wilbur’ guy had done some really bad things that Ghostbur had gotten blamed for. It didn’t seem very likely, but who’s to say that it wasn’t true?

They stood there for a moment longer, Ghostbur humming to himself quietly, eyes closed as if he was imagining that he was someplace else. Jimmy cocked his head to the side, trying to get up the courage to ask something. What that ‘something’ was was still a work in progress though. Maybe he could ask about the weird visions he had gotten as he tried to get here, maybe ask about the blue stuff that occasionally dripped onto the floor. Maybe Jimmy could even ask if this man knew where they were, or about the train that had dropped him off. It was worth trying.

But before he got too, Ghostbur spoke again. His voice rang across the concrete floor, almost as if there was a large room that surrounded only him. “You have very nice eyes Mr. Solidarity,” he said, “They are a very pretty blue,”

Jimmy smiled weakly at that, “They used to be more so, but... something happened,” of course, he wasn’t going to share what that something was, drowning wasn’t a very fun topic for small talk.

Luckily for him though, the man didn’t press, “I find them very nice,” he said matter-a-factly, “Much better than all of this red,” he shuddered and shut his eyes, the light from them extinguished like a communicator band being shut off. But that disappearance of the whiteness wasn’t that important, especially when held up to what Ghostbur had just said. Red? What red? Solidarity looked around and saw none. Only the blackness of the void and the flat grey of the tiles beneath their feet.

“But you are here!” Ghostbur suddenly said, looking up very quickly as he did, "And you wear blue clothes, and have blue eyes, and slightly blue skin!” The man laughed softly at his luck. Jimmy however, cringed back, yes his skin was slightly blue now, but that was because of his… deaths. (Drowneds tended to have at least slightly blue skin.)

...But what Ghostbur was saying hadn’t been meant to be rude, so Jimmy just ignored the slight pain in his lungs at the memories and laughed along with the other man. (Who, by the way, seemed delighted to finally be distracted by whatever he saw around them. By now Solidarity had guessed it was much different than his own view. Though what that entailed was entirely up for debate.)

“It’s great to have another person here!” The man’s voice cracked at the end of his sentence, but instead of sounding funny or endearing, it sounded like he was trying to keep Jimmy here. Like a small animal searching for a parent. Something that Jimmy could wholeheartedly relate to, despite how sad it may be.

But he wasn’t longing for a parent or friend, he was crying for Scott, and he had a feeling that this Ghostbur wasn’t looking for a family member either. . . . Though he had never been great at interpreting things so he could be wrong.

“It is great to have another person here. I was floating in that void for so long you wouldn’t believe,” Solidarity grimaced, the thought of it reminding him of the icky slime choking him. Painful and disgusting, two of the things you hoped you wouldn’t run into after death.

“Void?” Ghostbur innocently asked, prompting Solidarity to look up at the other man in confusion. He had guessed that he had been seeing things differently than Ghostbur, but he had been thinking like… a shift in color. Not a whole different place.

He nodded slowly, eyes locked on Ghostbur’s. The glowing white of them was unyielding of any emotion, “Yeah the void,” he turned and gestured vaguely towards the inky blackness behind him, “Where I came from?” he looked back to see that Ghostbur had cocked his head to the side. Confusion now painted on his face.

“Mr. Solidarity, that's a wall,” he said softly, “A wall that opened into a door that you climbed out of,” his voice shook a bit more than it had previously, Jimmy frowned at this, the motion only deepening when Ghostbur continued, “The door is gone now, but you definitely did come out of one,”

Solidarity shook his head slowly, eyes kept on Ghostbur’s the whole time, “Ghostbur I swear that I’m seeing blank blackness out there,” he turned to look at the ‘blank blackness’ and stared into it. Yep, that was definitely not a wall. He looked back at Ghostbur in time for the man to speak.

“I see a concrete wall,” he spoke quietly and uncertainly, as if he was suddenly not so sure of it himself, “A concrete wall with windows filled with red,” his voice broke upon mentioning the color, and Jimmy suddenly realised what the man had meant by the, ‘much better than all this red,’ earlier.

“Ah well, maybe one of us is wrong,” Jimmy quickly said, taking a step forward and attempting to set his hand on Ghostbur’s shoulder, but to his surprise, it went right through him. It wasn’t like there was nothing there really, more like a really warm summer day, one where you could have sworn that you were underwater.

They both stared at each other for a moment, but the slightly shocked silence was broken when Ghostbur continued their conversation. “I hope that I’m wrong,” he whispered, taking a step back and causing another drop of the blue stuff to hit the ground. It landed in the crack between two tiles, and spread out accordingly, but Solidarity saw none of this, only thinking about his hand going right through the man. Ghostbur, that was his name, but could he really be… well, a ghost? Jimmy was dead, so maybe this guy was as well?

Jimmy turned and stared at the void behind him, the blackness causing strange patterns in his vision the more he stared at it. He wondered if that was his eyes being bad again or just a trick of the light, either way, it did nothing to comfort the growing worry in his stomach. If this ghost had pulled into this place, could it be possible to get out? Maybe Jimmy could see Scott again.

He looked back at Ghostbur, not at all surprised to see the man standing right where he had been left, shaking slightly and looking about the platform. His eyes reflected a reddish color that Jimmy could not see coming from anywhere else. This saddened him, maybe the color that seemed to scare him so much was really all around him. It was comparable to his swim through the darkness, the sludge filling his lungs and drowning out both his own sounds and everything else's. (Not to mention drowning him.)

“Hey-” he started, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Ghostbur, why is it that you are… here?” he tried, cringing inwardly at the question he had asked, a feeling only magnified by the ghost’s reaction to it. He looked directly into Jimmy’s eyes, sadness visible in the glowing white things even without an iris or pupil to help them.

“I was… killed by someone,” he sniffled angrily, voice shaking violently the longer the sentence went on, “I thought it was going to be oka-y,” he cried, voice echoing around the area while still sounding as non-threatening as it had from the start.

“It’s alright-” Solidarity started, stepping forwards and just barely stopping himself from putting his hand on the other’s shoulder, “I was, um, murdered as well,” he scratched the back of his head, “... so I understand what your going through,”

Ghostbur nodded and inhaled shakily (yet ever so bravely), “Thank you Mr. Solidarity,” he looked to the ground, glowing eyes half-closed and full of tears, “It means a lot that you are here,” he paused for a moment, as if trying to think of what to say, “Thank you for being my friend,” he finally finished, looking up to look at the drowned man.

Jimmy simply nodded, glad to see that the crying seemed to be over, “Thank you for being my friend too,” He smiled, “It’s been so long since I had someone to talk to,”

Ghostbur nodded back at him, his airy laugh filling the void with a warmth that wouldn’t normally be expected of such a place. It was calming, and Jimmy was truly glad he was here. A ghost and a drowned, an unlikely, but hopefully long-lasting friendship.

-- - - - -

It had been many uncountable days sitting there, oncationaly comforting his new ghost friend (or the other way around), staring into the blackness and discussing what was seen there (a wall apparently), or even sharing past stories. Ghostbur talked fondly of a blue sheep he had known while he was alive, and Jimmy was happily able to discuss fun stories from X-Life. (Because the wounds were less fresh than 3rd Life.) Ghostbur took delight in the tales of Jeremyism and the Coven, and always had something cryptic to add about his own past. It was nice, but it sure wasn’t comfortable, for, whenever you think about happy memories, painful ones pop up.

That was how they had ended up in this position. Ghostbur leaned on Jimmy’s shoulder (Because he couldn’t lean on him) while both of them thought about sad things. Ghostbur would occasionally sniffle and wipe his face with his arms. But the rising steam off his tears didn’t shock Solidarity anymore, it had become normal. He supposed that was what happened when you were dead and didn’t have anything to do.

Jimmy leaned back, shifting a bit more weight to his arms, and sighed. He felt Ghostbur adjust his potion slightly to follow the movement, the Ghost’s arms were wrapped around him and occasionally clipping just a centimeter or two into his sides.

“What is it?” Asked Ghostbur, his friend’s voice was shaky and brave, as if he was struggling to hold back his tears, which, of course, he was.

Jimmy sighed again before speaking, not really caring that the sound was getting repetitive, there were only the two of them here anyway. “I was just thinking about someone that I miss,” He turned to look at Ghostbur, the man’s white eyes blurring around the edges with burning tears, “I’m sure you have people like that,”

For a moment Ghostbur didn’t move and Solidarity regretted his phrasing, but before he could apologize, his friend spoke. “I do miss many people,” he whispered, “Tommy, Ranboo, Friend,” he sighed, the sound a direct contrast to the recent two Jimmy had just made. Instead of being loud and sudden, it seemed to blend in with the nothingness around the two. Though both seemed just as hopeless as the other. (Maybe that’s just what happened when you were stuck in limbo without your loved ones.)

It was a moment before either continued the conversation, instead choosing to rest in each other’s company. Sure they may not have their traditional loved-ones, but at least they had a friend.

“You’ve talked about them right?” Jimmy whispered, staring off into the blank space that surrounded the platform. (Even if he appeared to be staring at a wall from Ghostbur’s perspective.)

“I have,” the man replied simply. He sounded slightly hopeful, but Jimmy really didn’t know why.

“Were they good friends?” he tried

Ghostbur smiled and clipped a little further into his ribs, “Yes they were good friends,” he paused for a moment before finishing off his statement, “For the most part anyway,”

Jimmy nodded and tried his best to not attempt to hug Ghostbur back. You see, the ghost could touch him, but he could not do the same if that makes sense. It was the intent of the movements. If Ghostbur wanted to shake his hand, they could, as long as Jimmy didn’t shake his hand back. (Because if he did his hand would go right through the other’s.) But he did really want to hug Ghostbur sometimes, as a lot of friends do.

“Not all of my friends were always nice to me,” he comforted Ghostbur, hoping that the words would work in place of a hug. As Ghostbur lessened his grip and smiled at him however, Jimmy’s thoughts were plunged into darkness. Memories of two of the nations he had lived in in the past, X Life and 3rd Life, filled his brain. Scott, Tango, Skizz, even Joel. How could any of them have done that stuff? He forgave Scott of course, as the poor man was his husband after all, but all the others? He wasn’t so sure about them.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Ghostbur speaking, the ghost’s airy voice blowing away the negative emotions he had been feeling a moment before. “You are very kind Mr. Solidarity,” he said, “And, I know I say this a lot, but I am glad to have you,” The words were so genuine that Solidarity couldn’t help but smile.

“That's great to hear man,” he whispered, “I love you too,” and, when Ghostbur looked at him oddly, Jimmy simply laughed. “As a friend! As a friend,” here he looked at the aforementioned friend and paused for a moment, “Do friends ever say where you are from?”

Ghostbur thought about this for a moment, really pondering the fact apparently, because it was a full 10 seconds before he spoke. (Jimmy counted.) “Yes they did, but,” here the ghost blushed a blue that would have calmed him down if he could see it, “Not many people really said it to me,”

Jimmy sighed and wished for the second time that conversation to just be a ghost, and not a drowned, so he could hug the poor man. “You deserve people saying they love you, don’t ever let anyone say otherwise,”

Ghostbur smiled that soft smile of his and laughed, the sound echoing around the train station that Jimmy could not see. “Don’t worry Mr. Solidarity, I don’t think there is anyone else here to tell me that,” and, though it was a joke, the words made the drowned sad, he laughed along with Ghostbur (because it truly was a funny joke) but inside he was worried. Why were they the only ones here? If this was an afterlife, why weren’t the other people on 3rd life here? He knew he was the first to die in that nation, but surely others had died by now . . . right? Suddenly his heart sank, unless everyone had been released from the spell when he had died.

If that was truly the case, why had the rules of the land been worded that way? And, as an even worse thought, if it wasn’t the case, where was everyone? He scanned the void around for any signs of life, hoping the whole time that Ghostbur didn’t notice his worry. The last thing he wanted was for his only friend here to see him upset. (Sure it had happened many times before, but it was so awful every time.) But no, no more chunks of land in the sky were found. Maybe they were still spiraling through it, possibly with the sense of burning or being struck with arrows? How was he to know their deaths, he had gone first.

Unfortunately for him, Ghostbur’s innocent voice interrupted his thinking, “Are you alright?” he asked, sounding very concerned and decently curious. Both good things if you are looking for comfort, but not so good if you want to bury the emotions and never have them be found.

He looked at the other man, eyes taking just a moment to focus on his friend’s face. Friendly void like eyes with grey-ish hair, he couldn’t name a better duo. (Well he could, but thinking about himself and Scott made him sad.)

“Uh yeah, I’m fine,” he said, hoping to Prime, Jeremy, or any other god out there (maybe even Kristen) that Ghostbur couldn’t tell he was lying. However, they must not have heard him, because a moment later his friend shook his head and frowned at him.

“I can tell when you are lying about something,” the friendly ghost chided him, “and after all that cheering up you keep making me do, I want to help you!”

That was a sweet gesture, but oh it came at such a bad time.

“No really! I’m doing good-” Jimmy started, but he was put to a stop by the other man standing up and grabbing his hand. He could have just pulled away, but he was rather curious now.

“Come,” Ghostbur said simply, leading him away from their spot. As he was dragged forwards, Jimmy smiled slightly at the blue stain spreading to his own fingers, that wasn’t going to come out any time soon. It would eventually fade (As the two had discovered by the puddles of blue about the station disappearing.) but it would take a while. It never seemed to fade from Ghostbur though, he wondered why that was…

“Here!” Ghostbur said happily, pushing Jimmy forwards and what he guessed was some sort of wall. (He couldn’t see it though.)

He looked at his friend in confusion, gesturing to the space in front of him and shrugging. When Ghostbur looked at him with the same expression that Jimmy had, the drowned explained. “I can’t see what’s here, it’s all just void to me,”

Ghostbur frowned at this, eyes narrowing in thought as he did. “He must be thinking about how to show whatever it is to me,” Jimmy thought, “It must be really important then,”

After just a moment Ghostbur seemed to come to a conclusion, carefully stepping up to the edge on the platform and standing on his tiptoes. Jimmy bit his lip, even though he knew that Ghostbur saw a wall there (And for him there really was one, Jimmy had seen him climb it before.) he was still worried. He didn’t want his friend to fall into the void.

He looked away as Ghostbur seemed to teeter on the edge, arms reached up as if to grab something. He was too afraid to check what was going on. RIP! Solidarity looked up, suddenly extremely confused what that sound had been. What he saw however, shocked him.

Ghostbur was standing in the same place as before, but in his hands was some sort of poster style advertisement. It was missing the very top corner of it, and Jimmy guessed that that was what had made the ripping noise. However, he had never been so happy to see such a damaged piece of art.

“Do you like it?” Asked Ghostbur expectantly, handing him the poster with his blue-stained hands. All Jimmy could do was nod, taking the picture and holding it close to him. Sure, it was monochromatic red, and stained with blue from the hands of his friend, but it was a picture of someone he loved dearly. Scott.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Jimmy managed to get a word out, hugging the advertisement to his chest as he spoke, he said, “How do you have this?” His voice sounded weak even to him, it was in stark contrast to his normal tone, which opted to sound strong and confident. But, neither was bad.

Ghostbur laughed, hugging his friend in what could only be described as a pounce. “It was on the wall! Along with several other advertisements for other things that I know. El Rapids, the Egg, things like that,” the ghost pulled back out of the hug, giving Jimmy more room to look at his new favorite thing, “MCC fits in right with them,” he finished. He sounded truly proud of himself, though his voice still echoed around the edges, it was a nice change.

“Thank you so much, how can I-?” Jimmy stared, looking up from the photo of his husband and back into his friend’s face as he was shushed.

“You don’t have to do anything! I just wanted to cheer you up,” the ghost grinned, hands still strongly held on Solidarity’s arms. It was a friendly gesture, and since it only slightly hindered his ability to see the paper, he didn’t ask his friend to stop.

After a moment of happy silence, Jimmy spoke, and, though his voice shook as he did, it was purely joyful. “You certainly cheered me up,” he smiled, turning to his friend with eyes full of newfound appreciation.

Ghostbur only laughed.

-- - - - -

Since that last memory, Ghostbur had become more vocal about the train station around them. (Or just him? Jimmy couldn’t really tell.) He explained the staircase that was closed and unclimbable, and was impressed when Jimmy guessed that it was that way because it was off the platform he could see. Ghostbur expressed his distaste for the lights above, apparently, they were a very bright and uncomfortable red. Solidarity expressed his pity for his friend and was sure to try to comfort him. The ghost thanked him profusely and explained that it was starting to hurt less now that they had been here for more than two months. This confused Jimmy, both because he couldn’t believe it had been that long and because he couldn’t believe it hadn’t been longer (not even mentioning how he didn’t have a guess how Ghostbur knew that), but he didn’t say anything.

Or at least, for a while the lights were getting better.

Ghostbur consistently complained about cracks in his vision, in a normal situation, Jimmy would have found this to be nothing to worry about. Sunlight causes vision to wig out, that’s just a known fact, but that didn’t quite explain what was happening with his friend. Probably because, well, there wasn’t really any sun here, and though darkness would also cause sight to mess with itself, Ghostbur wasn’t exactly surrounded by the same void that JImmy was.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, putting a stop to his friend’s frantic rambling in a way that he hoped wasn’t too harsh. He knew it wasn’t always a good idea to interpret someone while they talked about something important to them. (This was known for many reasons, but a big one for Jimmy was how when, back on Evo of course, Grian was excitedly explaining the best ways to prank people and was rudely interrupted. It wouldn’t normally be a problem to make someone shut up if they were talking about the best way to kill you, but Grian was a different breed. His whole house had been full of traps the next time he had stepped into it. Oh what a time.) But, back in the present, he did know that he deserved to be worried if his only accessible friend was having health problems.

Ghostbur sighed, burying his head in his knees and nodding into them. “I’m fine Mr. Solidarity,” he finally said, “My eyes just hurt a little bit,” (In the last few words his voice escalated in an octave and gained some echo, both of which made Jimmy think that maybe he wasn’t so fine.)

“Are you sure-?” he started, cutting himself off when he accidentally sent his hand through his friend’s shoulder trying to pat him on it.

Ghostbur stifled a laugh and pushed his hand away, “I’ll be fine, things are just feeling a bit bright again,” Jimmy would have accepted that answer had it not been for the slight shaking in the other man’s voice, as it was, the only person he could talk to was this guy, and if he got hurt, well, Jimmy would be plagued with non-ending worry.

He didn’t act on his thoughts though, opting instead to stare into the void with a concerned look in his eyes. It was easier to think if you had the right emotion for the job that was for sure.

But instead of instantly knowing what to do, he was instead plagued with thoughts of all the things that could be going wrong. Was Ghostbur melting away? It seemed unlikely, but he supposed that since he didn’t know how this limbo thing worked, it could work like that. Or maybe Ghostbur was going blind? That wasn’t necessarily a bad option, because he knew that people could still live wonderful fulfilling lives while being blind, but it did take some getting used to. Or- no wait, why was he doing this? Ghostbur could have simply strained his eye for all he knew, he didn’t have access to every emotion he felt. . . .but something in the back of his mind still told him to help.

-and that’s when he got it. The perfect plan.

“What are you doing?” Ghostbur asked, his voice a rather well mixed mash of curiosity, confusion and pain. But Jimmy couldn’t really argue with them, as they all fit the situation perfectly.

“I’m just tearing a bit of fabric off my sleeve,” he answered casually, doing just as he said.

He felt Ghostbur stare at him for a few moments, those pure white eyes boring right through his body the whole time. “But…” He could almost hear Ghostbur blushing as he paused, “Isn't that going to be permanent…? We don’t have a needle or any thread,”

Now it was Jimmy’s turn to flush as his friend’s confused and echoey voice told him things he already knew. “Well I thought that maybe if your eyes hurt it was a good idea to rest them,” he admitted, finishing off the strip of fabric with a satisfying ripping noise as he finished speaking, “So I’m making you an eye mask,”

Ghostbur emited a sound that could have been either one of appreciation or worry. Jimmy hoped it was the earlier option.

“That is very nice of you,” the ghost whispered, and, as Jimmy saw when he looked back at him, closed his eyes and stuffed his head into his sweatshirt. Probably hoping to get some of that ‘rest’ that Jimmy had mentioned earlier.

But he continued to work, checking the fabric for gross looking sections as he went. (Being undead, he had some rotting patches of skin and truth be told, he didn’t really want any of that getting into Ghostbur’s already hurting eyes.) Once that task was done, Solidarity sighed and leaned back on the concrete floor, searching the empty platform for things to make the eye mask look better. Of course he found nothing.

Was the gift done? He wanted to be absolutely sure that this was what his friend deserved. (Which was the best of course.) He didn’t think it was done, but there wasn’t much more he could really do with it. He could probably pull one of the flowers out of his hair to decorate it with, but the two dead men had already figured out that flowers followed in their footsteps when unattached from Jimmy. It was a blessing and a curse really. Having such nice plants right there but not being able to remove them (even to see them) for fear they would be gone forever.

He supposed that the gift must be done if he couldn’t do anything more with it. He looked sadly down at the new torn patch in his sleeve, hopefully Ghostbur would like this eye mask, blindfold thing, because if he didn’t Jimmy would have just torn away part of his sleeve for no reason.

He waited as long as he could, listening to the soft breathing of his sleeping friend the whole time. (Apparently it was effective to sleep with your head shoved into your sweatshirt, who knew.) But after a few minutes of fidgeting, he decided he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Ghostbur?” he asked, tapping the concrete floor as loudly as he dared, “I think I’m done with the thing,”

Instead of waking up however, Ghostbur simply rolled over, his face slipping out of his sweatshirt and coming to meet the floor instead. His nose came to a rest right over the edge of the border between two tiles. It was almost as if it was made for exactly this situation, that made Jimmy laugh, maybe he should let him rest a bit longer.

He laid back down, though he was unsure of when he had sat back up really, must have happened while he was thinking. The floor was just as uncomfortable and cold as it always was, but as he flattened against it he realised how tired he was, and, closing his eyes, he dipped into sleep.

He dreamed.

He dreamed that he was back in life, but it was a strange sort of life. Many friends he had known were there, and though not all of them made sense to be in that same place (Netty and Lizzy for example,) one stood out past any others. Among all the evolutionists, X lifers, and 3rd lifers there stood one ghost. One ghost among the undead and unknown.

“Hello Mr. Solidarity!” his friend happily called, “I’m so happy to meet all your friends!” Jimmy noticed that his voice was unnaturally strong for him, but he didn’t mind it, instead choosing to indulge in this fantasy of a dream.

“Hey Ghostbur,” he smiled, reaching out to shake hands with his friend, and not questioning when he was able to initiate the touch, “What’s going on over on the Dream SMP?”

Ghostbur pouted and shook his head, “The trains keep pulling into the station,”

If Solidarity had heard such a thing in normal life, he would have questioned why it had been said, however, because this was a dream, he didn’t think twice, instead shaking his head understandingly. “That really stinks man,” he closed his eyes and threw his head back to the sky, “Who’s driving them this time?” It was nonsensical words, but a small bit of logic in the back of his head told him that maybe it was important.

Reacting as if his subconscious was correct, Ghostbur looked from side to side, almost as if he was trying to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation, before he continued. “It’s been Dream most times, but the other day I saw a bunch of blue lambs in the driver's seat instead,”

Jimmy laughed as Ghostbur did, the former serious state of the conversation evaporating as his knowledge of his dreaming state did. Now it was just a fun little brain story, as a lot of things are.

“Say, Ghostbur,” he started, a giddy smile plastered on his face as he spoke, “Have you seen Scott around here?” (If Jimmy was still even a little awake he would have remembered that the dream had placed his husband right beside him, but he was fully asleep by now.)

Ghostbur shook his head, shrugging even as his smile refused to waver, “I have not seen him,” Suddenly, a cold feeling filled the air. Solidarity looked up in fear as Ghostbur put a hand on his chest. “Why don’t you go see him?” The smile twisted as his hand pushed right through him, and pain shot through his body as blankness filled his vision.

Jimmy woke in a cold sweat, sitting up faster than was really necessary as he did. What the heck was that?! A weird dream that’s what. He looked down at his hand, breathing slowing to a more normal pace as he stared at the object there. Ghostbur was absolutely correct, blue could calm a person down. He stared for a moment, evening his breaths and trying to figure out what in the world he had been thinking about a moment before. But, as all dreams do, it was gone in seconds.

He turned to Ghostbur and was happy to see his friend laying half asleep next to him, eyes open halfway and reflecting the red they always did. He looked so tired and Solidarity found it funny, he usually woke up rather fast, but it had already been proven many times that Ghostbur was not like him in that regard. Sure, they may both be dead, but they sure as heck don’t wake up at the same speed.

They stayed that way for a few moments, only stopping when Ghostbur turned to him and yawned, which was so funny that Jimmy simply had to laugh. Ghostbur’s sleepy blinking as he tried to figure out what was so funny acted only as fuel to the fire that was Jimmy’s amusement.

Eventually however, he managed to calm down, taking the chance to hand Ghostbur the piece of fabric and explain what it was for, “This is supposed to be an eye mask,” he started, gesturing at the object now clutched in his friend’s grasp, “You put it over your eyes to block out light. I thought that you might like having something blue to hide all that red,”

It took a moment for Ghostbur to react, but once he did, he was very thankful. Instantly tying the thing around his head and gasping with joy.

“It works!” he yelped, his voice sounding even more echoey than it normally did. (Thanks to his tiredness Jimmy guessed.) “Thank you so much!” He smiled an eyeless smile at his friend, “I am glad that I have this,”

“You’re welcome,” Solidarity grinned, “I’m glad it does,” They sat that way for a moment, Ghostbur happily humming to himself as he stared into the blue fabric. However, Solidarity instantly found it in him to speak again, “But do you want to uh.. See anything?” he gestured around himself before remembering that Ghostbur probably couldn’t tell he was doing it, “There’s the void right over there,”

Ghostbur laughed an echoey laugh and shook his head, “I can’t fall into it remember? Plus, there isn't really that much around to look at,”

He couldn’t argue with that.

-- - - - -

Jimmy had grown to like this new home, and (with the help of his fabric piece) Ghostbur had too. They had figured out how to make it comfortable, however, there was no way to deny that it was still limbo. It had been so long since Jimmy had been in the void that he hardly remembered what it felt like, so sometimes he longed for that feeling again, but every time those sorts of thoughts appeared, the happiness in that empty station brought him back. It was so nice, him and a good friend, two people able to bond over shared experiences despite not knowing each other in life. The causal energy of that sort of thing was nothing less than a breeding ground for laziness, and he was glad for it.

But it was in the moments lazing around the platform (staring at his MCC advertisement and being hugged by Ghostbur that is) that he noticed something. Something… new.

He sat up, causing Ghostbur’s arms to pass right through his chest and his shoes to make an awful squeaking noise against the concrete floor, and stared into the void. What he saw there was nothing short of a shock.

There, nestled against the blanketing blackness of nothingness, sat a place he knew. A welcomingly sunny valley with a beautifully built home and a lake that spilled into nothing. But most importantly, he could see movement. Specifically flowers wavering in the wind and a blurry person making their way across the clearing. Could it be?

“What is it?” Ghostbur asked curiously, standing slowly as he removed the makeshift blindfold to get a better look at whatever it was. But instead of cocking his head to the side and complaining about the walls and red lights, he blinked a few times before gasping.

“Can you see it?” Solidarity asked, breathlessly making his way to the edge of the platform. When no response came, he wondered if his friend had responded with a nod or a shake of his head, and he was tempted to look back, but only for a moment. His eyes were too glued to the island to worry about such a thing. (Not that Ghostbur’s input was unimportant, there were just a few more important things happening. Not even including the speeding beating of his heart and the hope spreading through his soul.)

But as Jimmy stood on his tiptoes on the edge of the station, Ghostbur’s response came. “Is this what you’ve been seeing all this time?” He whispered, “It’s beautiful…”

Jimmy turned to his friend, “I don’t know what you are seeing, but if it’s blackness with no stars, then yes,” (He found that paying attention to the person you have spent nearly three months with was sort of important, you don’t want them to leave do you?)

Ghostbur slowly shook his head, happy looking tears spilling down his face and causing wisps of smoke to float off into nothingness. “No,” he choked, “There's something out there,” he gestured to the void, “Out there in all that darkness, there is something bright and blue,”

Solidarity turned back to what he was talking about, happy to see that it was still there. “Well,” he smiled, “That’s a new addition,”

They stood there for a moment, poster and chunk of fabric forgotten on the floor behind them, there was simply something better now. It was a nice moment, a drowned and his ghost friend standing on the edge of everything they could ever want, but it was so far away, how would they get to it? He started at the thought, was that what he wanted to do? Abandon the life he had found here in favor of chasing what might be a lie? It only took a few moments of thinking for him to determine that if he were to leave this station, he would be bringing Ghostbur with him, like it or not. …but how would he do that?

“What are you thinking about?” Ghostbur asked, his voice still full of disbelief and joy, despite the genuine question he had just asked.

“Home,” Jimmy said breathlessly, despite not turning back around to Ghostbur (He could not tear his eyes away this time.), he could hear his friend respond to the word. He didn’t speak or anything, but only gasped, probably recognising the far away island from the stories he had been told.

They stood there a bit longer, but this time was cut short when a loud sound rocked the station. Instantly, both men looked at each other and then the floor around them. Terror filled Jimmy’s heart as he snatched up his picture of Scott, Ghostbur instantly following in his footsteps and picking up his fabric piece. They had talked about what would happen if bad things happened to their land, but of course, with a loud noise, there were two main options they had thought up. One, a train pulling up to take them out of the station (or someone else in), or, worse really, the land itself crumbling, and well, judging by quickly spreading cracks in the floor, it was the latter.

“Ghostbur!” Jimmy shouted, his heart beating a million miles per hour, “Grab my hand!” His friend quickly reached out and did so. They locked eyes, fear coursing through both of them.

“I really hope this works,” Ghostbur whispered, and, as cracks formed below their feet, Jimmy nodded. He braced himself for just a moment, and only when a bit of the floor fell away did he jump back, back into the suffocating void of nothingness.

They floated in place for a moment, Ghostbur looking relieved when they didn’t instantly fall, but the hopeful expression was quickly gone when he realised that he couldn’t get air in. He looked at Jimmy panic spreading across his face as he clawed at his throat, the bit of blue fabric still clutched in between his fingers. Jimmy simply nodded, himself feeling the effect of the air deprivation, but he was so shocked with the feeling of being there, in true limbo, that he forgot to get them out.

Ghostbur seemed to realise that Jimmy was frozen but after a few moments of struggling against the inky darkness he realised he could not move them. Terror was on his face as the blue stuff began to soak his chest, he clawed at Jimmy, shaking him as best he could in the antigravity, which of course wasn’t that great. ...which didn’t matter all that much, because Solidarity thankfully remembered what was happening and began to struggle against the current of the void.

It was like he was drowning again, burning pain filling his body as he did everything in his power to keep his mouth shut. (Because if he didn’t it would just hurt more.) It had been… so long, since he had been here, that he had nearly forgotten how to maneuver in it, and thanks to Ghostbur’s extra weight, and the poster in his hands, it was even more difficult than it needed to be.

But still he struggled, fought against the weight, kicking his legs and hard as he could, willing himself to move, really anything that would work, and, eventually, they began to move. He hugged Ghostbur to his chest, trying to tell the poor ghost that they would get there soon, just to please, please hold on. They began to really move now, and he was hurtling through space again, the familiar feeling of panic amplified now that he had a friend to worry about, as far as he knew Ghostbur might not be able to survive this.

They moved along, Ghostbur’s body shaking as he lost every last bit of oxygen, trying to hold on just a bit longer-

They were almost there, one kick…

Two kicks.

Three kicks. Ghostbur fell limp.

Four kicks-

Solidarity tumbled to the ground, rolling through the grass and staying there. He inhaled so shakily and violently, one could have thought he was actually dying… erm, again. But after just a few seconds of regaining sensation in his limbs, he forced himself to sit up, turning to Ghostbur’s body lying still in the flowers.

“What-!” he heard a familiar voice from behind him, and then running footsteps, but he couldn’t turn to Scott and tell him how much he missed him yet, no, he had to save his friend.

“Ghostbur!” He yelled, his voice gravely and broken, and he gasped as a bit of the dark sludge dripped out of it, splashing pathetically next to the poor ghost. He shook him, not paying attention to Scott’s fraintic gasp and questions as Solidarity tried to wake his friend up.

“Please just… just be alive!” he inhaled sharply and pressed onto Ghostbur’s chest, hoping that the movement would dislodge some of the ink.

Ghostbur coughed and sat up, narrowly avoiding Jimmy’s forehead on the way. He was shaking violently, shivering and gasping for air as blackness poured from his mouth only resting as it mixed with the blue soaking his body.

“Oh my go-” Scott cut himself off, running forwards and pushing Jimmy out of the way to properly reach the injured ghost. As his husband lay in the grass, Scott began to ask Ghostbur questions. Things like, “How are you here?!”, “What happened to your sweatshirt?”, and most importantly, “Are you okay?”

He wanted to ask Scott why he wasn’t asking him if he was okay, but Jimmy knew this was important, so he stayed right where he was, staring at the sky, which was somehow blue again.

Any worry he had evaporated when Ghostbur spoke, his voice still as echoey as ever, despite the clear lack of a station around them. “I’m okay,” he said shakily, before turning to look at Jimmy, and obviously worried, he asked, “Mr. Solidarity, are you okay?”

Jimmy nodded, feeling tears drip down the sides of his face as he did, “Yeah I’m okay Ghostbur,” he slowly sat up, and, looking at his husband and his friend, he realised he never wanted this moment to end, “I’m just alright,”

-- - - - -

It had been a few weeks since they had arrived here, and Jimmy had no way to explain to himself quite how much he had missed the sun and the real stars. It was really home, beautifully decorated and exactly what they had always wanted it to be, with the uh, small addition of a little ghost friend. Apparently, Scott and WIlbur had known each other (who Wilbur was Jimmy didn’t know) and because of that bond, Scott and Ghostbur got along quite well. And of course Ghostbur and Jimmy had become great friends over the course of their existence at the train station.

Another thing Jimmy hadn’t known he would miss was real water, and the ability to get out of it when it felt icky. The first time he had gone swimming he was hesitant to get in the lake, explaining that he just didn’t trust himself in it, he would find a way to forget where he was and drown he was sure. And so Scott had gone swimming without him. (Ghostbur stating rather plainly that water burned him, and then heading off to go pick some of the flowers that scattered the grass.) But after a bit of watching Scott splash around, still in his full normal outfit, Jimmy decided that it would be fun.

When Ghostbur returned he found the two flower husbands happily sitting in the water and talking to each other. He had waited there for a moment apparently, unseen and listening to his two friends talk about random things, but had soon grown bored and told them he was there. (Which jumpscared Scott so hard he nearly flew out of the pool.) Jimmy and Ghostbur found this very funny, and decided that it was a point in any future prank war that would start.

...and start it did.

In just a month back in his home, Jimmy had decided to initiate a proper prank war, telling Ghostbur before he told Scott of course, they had gotten a lot of ideas back when it was just the two of them. … So of course they had to be a team against Scott. Everyone found it funny, and everyone found it especially funny when Scott managed to win despite being outnumbered by 50% or something.

Of course, like in all things, it was not perfect, (Every relationship, whether it be friendly or something more, argues from time to time.) but it was pretty darn close. Ghostbur had come up with the idea that when someone wanted to apologize, they would go and get the pufferfish of peace and bring it to whoever they had been arguing with. (It was working shockingly well so far, and made a use for an item that would have otherwise brought bad memories.)

Once, Ghostbur fell into the lake, but he was so quickly saved that he promised them it didn’t hurt at all. Of course they still made sure he stayed far away from the water for a long while after that. (Not because they didn’t trust him, but because they were worried for him.) After they became more relaxed on it however, Ghostbur told them, through laughter’s tears, that he had really quite liked the rule because, “Sometimes the side of things are slippery,”

And that was how they were brought to this moment, two months into being out of that awful void, sitting next to each other and watching the sunset, pure blue flower crowns rested upon their heads (Ghostbur made them.) and a pretty roof built over them… (Scott made it.) It was them that Jimmy realized, he was glad to be on the edge of the universe with these two.

[soulmate-game]

It had been a trip to Metropolis. Why would Francois-Dupoint go to Gotham, a crime-ridden city crawling with danger and supervillains, vigilantes that toed the line of being bad influences, and a really high chance of lawsuit, when they could go to the city of Superman himself?

Exactly. No good reason.

At least, that was what they all thought. Marinette’s parents even volunteered to chaperone, deciding that they could survive shutting the bakery down for one week. Marinette had helped raise enough money for the trip that the school could compensate them a bit for their time, and their food, hotel, and plane were all paid for. It was supposed to be a great trip. One to remember. And yeah, Marinette would never forget that vacation.

Because she stood with the rest of her class, watching smoke and dust rise off of the pile of rubble that just dropped on top of her parents. The fight was over. Marinette couldn’t even remember who it was. But even with his son by his side, Superman and Superboy couldn’t save everyone. Nobody could. It was asking too much, to expect any one or two heroes to save everyone when an entire city was being attacked and buildings reduced to rubble.

But that wouldn’t soothe the sight of blood creeping out of the rocks.

That wouldn’t soothe the scrapes on Marinette’s knees when she dropped to the ground.

It wouldn’t smother the sound of her agonized cries.

It wouldn’t heal the burns and scrapes and bruises, the chipped fingernails and bleeding fingertips that Marinette gave herself as she tried desperately, sight blurry through tears, to lift each and every piece of still-hot concrete off, shove it to the side, in an attempt to unearth them. They could still be alive, right? Right?

The fact that she was shoveling what amounted to pebbles off of a hill of rubble argued with her. No. No, they weren’t.

It wasn’t until gentle, but unyieldingly strong hands clasped hers, making them still.

“You’re hurting yourself,” that soft, deep voice came from whoever owned the foreign hands, but she didn’t have the mental strength to look up and identify them. Instead, she resorted to kicking rubble away. The voice sighed. “Back up. I can help. Okay? Will you let me help?”

It had been so long, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. When was the last time someone had actually asked her that question? When was the last time someone ever offered her help? Legitimate help, not just something superficial.

She couldn’t remember. How should she respond?

Marinette’s tongue darted out, wetting her dusty lips. Her deep breath came in with a disconcerting rattle. Somehow, she managed to nod. The foreign hands loosened slightly.

“Okay. Good—“

“I can’t stop,” Marinette finally managed to choke out. “I can’t— I need to—“

“I know,” the voice said again, endlessly patient. Endlessly understanding. “But you’re hurting yourself, so put these on first. Then you can keep digging.”

With his help—yes, him. She vaguely managed to pin down that the voice was male— she was able to slip on thick gloves. They were several sizes too big, probably belonged to one of the firefighters nearby, her mind numbly supplied. She didn’t care. As soon as they were on, she dropped down and began to dig again. The man who had offered to help did just that, moving just a foot or two away and lifting up impossibly large chunks of concrete before placing them down gently in an open area.

With his help, they were uncovered. They were carried away, under blankets, as best as they could be. Marinette saw none of it. Hands covered her eyes, younger than the voice-man’s hands but almost as strong. The only thing she saw was whatever was left once most of them was taken away. Later, she would thank him. But in the moment she was furious.

“I’m not a baby!” She growled at him, her voice lower and scratchier than usual because of all the smoke and dust clogging her throat. “I need to look at them! I need to remember!”

“Not like this,” the new voice said. When he removed his hands, Marinette saw Superboy. He was probably just about her age, but that offered little comfort for her. At least his eyes were understanding, calm, and empathetic. “You don’t need to see them like this. Remember them like they were, not how they ended,” the young hero advised gently, keeping a respectable distance between them now that he was no longer covering her eyes. He wasn’t even floating, staying on solid ground to stay closer to her eye level. “Today will be hard enough on your mind as it is. You don’t need to make this more painful than it is.”

Marinette could only bite her lip at that, her shoulders trembling. Is this what it took to have someone worry about her? To have people realize that she wasn’t superhuman, that she wasn’t infallible or mentally indestructible? Is this what it took, to finally have people try to help and care for her?

Because if it was, she would gladly deal with Lila Rossi and be held to far too high a standard for the rest of her life. She would rather suffer quietly for decades with that much more gentle pain than deal with this agony right now.

She finally let the tears fall, but they were mostly silent. Only hiccups and gasps for air added sound to her sobs. Superboy gently removed her hands from her arms before she could draw blood on herself, and when she lunged into the touch he drew her into the hug she clearly needed. When she pretty much collapsed into his hold, getting snot and tears over the symbol on his chest, he said nothing. He just held her and shared a glance over her shoulder with his father.

—*—*—*—*—*

Lois Lane was an investigative reporter. And when her husband and son asked her to make sure the girl they had sat with for hours after the latest attack on their city would be taken care of, she did not cut corners in her research. What she came up with was less than reassuring.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. With her parents gone, she didn’t have much in the way of possible guardians. Her paternal grandfather was dead, just a few months earlier of old age. Her paternal grandmother Gina was consumed with wanderlust, not very responsible and not likely to be able to win custody. Even if she did, Lois doubted Marinette would do well in such an unstable, constantly moving lifestyle. Some people would, but Marinette was much like her son from what she gathered from her investigation. She would need stability before anything else. There was her Uncle from her mom’s side of the family, but he only spoke Mandarin so the language barrier was not promising either. The last thing Marinette needed was pressure to learn a new language. If she hyper focused on anything to deal with her grief, it should at least be something she chose on her own. Lastly there was her maternal grandmother, but she had gotten in an accident and passed away almost two years prior.

Luckily, Lois Lane was also a woman of extreme, if mostly secret, political power. She knew several billionaires with political sway, international superheroes, and politicians. Also, not that she would ever tell her husband, but she might have squared away some blackmail and favors that she might cash in with some folks in the legal system if it decided to fight her on her new personal mission.

Nobody got in the way of Lois Lane and lasted long.

But first, she ran her idea past her family. It wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t agree with her, after all. Luckily enough, her offer seemed to be exactly what they had hoped for. Apparently Marinette was the type that was easy to get attached to.

And that was how, after twelve hours of intense phone-call sessions and very, very many in depth discussions, arguments, debates, bargains, and subtle manipulation, Marinette Dupain-Cheng ended up in the temporary custody of the Kent family.

The process itself was extremely complicated and in normal circumstances would have taken anywhere from days to months to complete, but as mentioned before Lois Lane is a secret political superpower in and of herself.

Officially, Marinette’s grandmother Gina assumed custody. Unofficially, her grandmother had plans to enroll her in school abroad in, you guessed it, Metropolis, so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the melancholy memories that Paris would supply her. In doing so, she contacted the Kent’s who were apparently old family friends and asked them to take her granddaughter in for the time being. She was oh so busy traveling the world, after all. And that’s no life for a teenager recovering from grief.

After two weeks to allow Marinette to go back to Paris for the funeral, pack up her things and say goodbye to her friends, she ended up on the Kents’ doorstep with her grandmother by her side. Any attempts to get more information out of the old woman were futile, she refused to say a word on why nobody had mentioned these “family friends” before.

(Lois figured out fairly quickly that Gina Dupain was not somebody to take lightly. The fact that Gina answered the phone thinking that Red Hood was calling was a giant tip off. Lois was pretty sure that Gina knew damn well who her son and husband were, but wasn’t saying anything about it. It really was a shame that she wasn’t exactly prime parenting material at the moment.)

Lois and Clark opened the door together, having been double and triple checking that everything was set up and ready for their new addition. Sure, Marinette wasn’t being adopted or even officially fostered by them, but they would still treat her like a Kent.

“Marinette, hi,” Clark greeted, smiling warmly down at the short girl. “I’m Clark, and this is my wife Lois. If you need absolutely anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Okay?”

The small girl nodded, her hair flopping behind her a bit. Normally she would have it held back in pigtails, but she just didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Maybe she would regain it one day. With that, Gina and Marinette said their goodbyes and she started her life with the Kents.

—*—*—*—*—*

It took a while. Luckily the trip to metropolis had already been in the early summer, so Marinette could be excused for the last few weeks of the school term and relax over summer before being forced back into society. Her grades at Francois-Dupoint were finalized, Marinette doing all the extra work during her two weeks in France for the funeral. She had been told it wasn’t necessary and that she could take her time with it but, as the Kents soon learned, Marinette hated being idle.

But even though Marinette was nowhere near healed, it only took a week for her to warm up to the youngest Kent. Jon was a very much welcome presence in her new life. Just about her age, he was always patient with her and never pried for information or asked about why she occasionally couldn’t bring herself to talk. Words just failed her sometimes, she couldn’t get her throat to work. Something would remind her of her parents, or that day, and she would just feel the dust in her throat again and the blisters on her palms and she just couldn’t say a word.

All three of the Kents helped her through these episodes as best as they could, but Jon always stayed close by so she could tug him into a hug when she was ready. As a very tactile person, she really appreciated that.

And somehow he and Clark, despite being very awkward and physically unsure of themselves on the surface, gave the best hugs.

But, even though Jon and Clark had resigned themselves to being slightly more on-guard about their identities than they usually would be at home, they hadn’t quite anticipated just how hard it would be to keep a secret identity. Not necessarily from Marinette, since the girl spent most of her time out in their backyard or in her room, or occasionally going out for short visits to the city with Jon. No, it was the other way around.

Because of course Marinette couldn’t just give up being Ladybug and the Grand Guardian. Fu wasn’t there to take over for her anymore, so she took it upon herself to watch over Paris twice as vigorously. Mostly through keeping an eye on news channels and texts with her friends, general media stuff. She didn’t want to tire Kaalki out.

And this was how, two months after Marinette started living with the Kents, she walked through a portal into her room and was met with Clark and Jon staring right at her. The elder Kent had his arms crossed, posture oddly confident for the man she had come to know, and one eyebrow raised. Jon looked like his smile was about to rip his face in half, and he was bouncing a bit on his heels. Even then, though, Marinette could pick out the slight worry in his blue eyes. In both of theirs.

She immediately jumped backwards and closed the portal. Trapping herself back in Paris.

And instantly crumpling down to moan in despair on top of a random Parisian rooftop.

She was sitting on the very top of the Eiffel Tower when Superman and Superboy found her, and it didn’t take much for her to guess that they had flown straight over from metropolis. Stupid super-speed flight. She drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees as they floated to her side of her patiently. She had long since separated Kaalki, and sat in just her Ladybug costume.

“I knew Lois could contact you guys, but this is a bit too quick even for you don’t you think?” Ladybug drawled monotonously, looking over at both of the heroes dryly. Now that she was mostly of sound mind and not in the middle of a traumatic situation, she was able to make connections she couldn’t before. She was able to actually observe their faces, whereas before she hadn’t really been in the right mind frame to really commit anything about them to memory. But now?

Ohhh, she knew those faces.

Marinette’s eyebrow twitched as she did a double-take, followed closely by a deep breath. Maybe the glasses and, for Jon, baseball cap, would be a good enough disguise for most people. Especially when combined with the frankly impressive body acting they both pulled off on an apparently daily basis, they felt like totally different people in and out of the suits even if they looked the same.

But Marinette was not a normal person. She was a designer, she had a very critical eye, and she had just spent the better part of the last two months living in the same house as these two. And now she realized that they severely toned down the body acting and general “disguise” of their civilian selves when they were at home rather than outside. She had shrugged it off as them simply relaxing at home and, while she was right, it wasn’t until this moment that she put everything together.

“No masks, seriously? Some day, someone with eyes as good as mine is gonna figure you guys out,” she told them blandly, earning shocked blinks followed quickly by soft grins.

“I would normally sit down next to you at this point, but you haven’t exactly left us any space,” Superman— Clark, Marinette reminded herself— joked lightly. Marinette looked down to the small tip of the Eiffel Tower and back up to him, pointedly raising both eyebrows. Jon giggled.

Rolling her eyes and fighting a smile, Ladybug stood up without any apparently care about her footing. Somehow, balance seemed to just come naturally to her. It was so different from the usual Marinette that Clark and Jon had seen literally walk into a wall on multiple occasions that they had to grin. Seems like she fit right in on their acts-clumsy-and-awkward-but-isn’t trope.

(No, they later realized, that was completely Marinette. Ladybug just brought out a different side of her, but the awkwardness was still there. Just better hidden.)

“I was kinda trying to stay somewhere that nobody else could join me on purpose. You know, I was a little busy catastrophizing about you guys wanting to get rid of me now.”

“What?!” Jon asked, horrified. “No way! Even if we were normal, we wouldn’t just toss you away because we found out you’re a hero. That just— do you honestly think we would do that?”

“No,” she admitted softly, crossing her arms and sighing as she looked down over Paris. Over her city. It was a bittersweet view nowadays. “No, but I always freak out over things like that pretty easily. I’ve had people leave me over less. Sometimes it’s hard to convince myself that anyone else will be different.”

“Marinette—“

“Ladybug, actually,” she corrected with a small smile. “Don’t wanna slip up here. You never know who’s listening.”

Clark blinked, needing a moment to let that sink in before forcing himself to continue. “Ladybug, then,” he paused to gently lay a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his gaze. As always it was soft. Patient. Just like his voice had been that fateful day. And, oh, there were the memories. They had both been there, helped her, and they stuck with her. Even though it hadn’t been their fault, even though they could have easily stepped back and let her deal with own problems and who had her custody on her own, they didn’t. She would have blamed them if they did, who was she to expect heroes to care about her like she was their child? That would be horrendously selfish of her. They saved hundreds of people every week.

And yet here they were, treating her like family.

And there was the phantom dust, clogging her throat. Strangling her words. She opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. Clark understood, he always understood, and his grip just tightened slightly. It tethered her.

“Ladybug,” he repeated even more softly. “We are not going to toss you out. Not for something like this, not for anything. You’re family now. You might not have the Kent name, you might not be kryptonian, but you’re one of us. Lois understands. Heaven knows she’s put up with both of us long enough, one more hero in the family is probably not that surprising. I just hope that… that you knowing doesn’t—“

“I don’t blame you,” there we go, her voice finally decided to work again. It came out a little hoarse, so she cleared her throat and started again. “I don’t blame you. I never did. It’s stupid, blaming a hero for things that never would have happened if the villain hadn’t attacked in the first place,” she told them, ripping her gaze away from his to trace over Paris again. “Maybe it’s because I understand that not everyone can be saved. I get it. But I never blamed you. I was actually grateful from the very beginning. You helped me dig them out even though you very well could have just carried me to the sidelines and stopped me from digging at all. And you, Jon, you didn’t complain once when I pretty much tackled you in a hug. You both sat with me as the paramedics looked me over. You didn’t leave until you were sure I was back in my hotel and in good hands. You never got impatient with me. That’s more than I could have asked for,” suddenly her mask was wet, and she roughly swiped away the tears that had leaked from her eyes. “You guys being Superman and Superboy isn’t going to make me treat you differently. It’s… actually nice. Not having to hide anymore, I mean.”

Jon grinned and flew over, enveloping her in a tight hug. Ladybug only chuckled and returned it, never once faltering in her balance. “I know exactly what you mean!” He said happily, making Ladybug laugh even more. It quickly devolved into Jon having to compensate for Ladybug’s balance, since she was suddenly leaning all her weight on him as she laughed her little heart out and no longer seemed to care about her balance at all. Not that it mattered much, Jon was more than capable of keeping her safe at close range like this, but it was cute to see. And for Clark? It was really relieving to see the girl he had come to think of as a daughter laughing so genuinely for the first time. Not a chuckle, or a soft huff of amusement, a full blown belly laugh.

It was amazing.

“Come on. I think you have some explaining to do, if you are comfortable with it anyway. Do you want to fly back, or portal back?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. He wouldn’t force Marinette to use her powers, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about them. Marinette straightened up, easily regaining her balance on the pointed tip of the tower beneath her, and slipping on a pair of glasses that she pulled… out of her yo-yo?

Wait, why was a yo-yo on her hip her only weapon? Maybe Clark should look into the Paris situation a bit more in-depth. He was clearly missing a lot, and none of what he was seeing was necessarily filling him with joy and confidence. Maybe Marinette could help soothe his worries later, if she decided to explain her abilities to them.

One transformation and a portal later, and all three of them stepped back into Marinette’s room. And when the portal closed and Marinette let down all her transformations, she took a deep breath and looked around. At both men in the room with her. At her bed and all her belongings. At the way this space has become her own. It felt nice. Warm. Welcoming, familiar.

Home.

It felt like home.

And Marinette’s smile hadn’t been quite so wide since before that infamous Metropolis trip.

Part 2

Yes, Lois kept her last name when she married Clark. I just like alliteration, okay? Besides, my story my rules lol :P

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 10 of 16

Wow, I updated. What a shockerrrrr

~~~~~~~~~~

You bounced on the heels of your feet, anxious and excited, waiting behind the front door of your shared apartment with Teresa.

She somehow convinced Ava Paige to let you roam around the city for a few hours, saying that it would be helpful for you. You had no idea if that would be true, but you were grateful anyway. Although, you were going to be guarded the entire time. 

You understood why, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. 

“You ready?” Teresa smiled at you.

You nodded. “Yeah, ready to leave this place for once.”

“Just be careful, okay? Listen to the guard, and don’t try and escape. I won’t be able to do anything for you if you misbehave.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right...”

There was a loud knock on the front door, opening it to reveal your guard for the afternoon, dressed in casual attire so he wouldn’t draw too much attention to himself.

“Love you...”

You looked back at Teresa, slightly scowling. You tried not to scoff as you exited the apartment.

As soon as you left the building, you went wide eyed at how different the Last City looked from the ground. You had only seen it from that window, but now you were actually experiencing it for yourself.

Mostly everybody walking around were wearing masks, probably paranoid about getting the Flare. But you frowned when you saw how many children were walking with their parents, and infants in strollers.

You couldn’t help but almost tear up at the thought of all those kids dying from the Flare. You thought of your baby sister, how you would’ve done anything to save her and your parents if you had the chance.

But you forced yourself to think back to Minho, to all the kids that W.C.K.D. were torturing. You could never condone what they did, what they’re still doing. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw something that almost made your heart skip a beat. But you just decided it was your imagination. It had to be, right?

You looked to your left, and you realized it couldn’t be your mind playing tricks on you.

Thomas?

You went wide eyed when you saw him, in the middle of the street, no less. He gave you a smile, his eyes telling you to follow him. But with the soldier that was assigned to guard you, you knew it wouldn’t be so easy.

You wished you could tell him you needed to come up with a plan first.

It took so much convincing and begging from Teresa just for you to leave your cell. Trying to convince Ava to allow you to walk around the city, even for your mental health, was damn near impossible.

So how the hell were you going to ditch your guard?

You quickly surveyed the area, seeing different types of shops, company buildings, and restaurants of that sort.

Then suddenly, the idea hit you. You could almost feel the metaphorical lightbulb going off above your head. You turned back to look at your guard. “I literally have to take the biggest shit right now.”

You guard cringed in disgust. “Can’t you wait?”

“Do you want me to shit my pants, dude? The tower is so far away, I won’t be able to make it. Please.” You begged, trying to pull the best puppy dog eyes you never thought you’d ever do in your life.

The guard sighed. “Alright, fine.” He led you into some clothing store, going to the very back where the bathrooms were. “Try to hurry.”

You quickly entered the bathroom, grinning to yourself as you immediately noticed the window at the back of the room. It wasn’t too small. Thankfully, you weren’t too large. It would be a squeeze, but you’d make do.

You locked the door, pushing the trashcan in front just in case. Hopping up on the toilet seat as quietly as possible, reaching up to open the window. You jumped, thrusting yourself into the opening, trying not to groan in pain as the edge put pressure on your stomach.

You looked down to see the window was in the middle of an alleyway, away from the busy street. Huh, how lucky...

You fell very ungracefully out of the window, landing on the concrete with a thud, the impact knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“That definitely could’ve been executed better.”

You jumped at the voice, hopping to your feet, but slowly relaxing when you saw Thomas smiling softly at you. And just like that, all the pain you endured from Teresa, all the hopelessness you felt while trapped in that tower, it all seemed to fade away, just from that one smile.

You ran to him, quickly enthralling him in a tight hug. You heard Thomas chuckle breathlessly from the force of your embrace, but he held you back just as tightly.

Memories of laughing together played over and over again in your mind as you held onto him. You already cared for Thomas, but having the memories back...you couldn’t explain it. He felt more and more like a true brother as the seconds passed.

Reuniting with him just felt like a breath of the cleanest air in the world, almost like how it felt after it rained in the Glade.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked once you pulled away.

“I am now.” You tried to smile, but it only came out forced.

Thomas frowned when he looked you over. Your eyes were dull, almost sunken in, like you hadn’t slept in years. You were well fed, but you still looked malnourished due to how pale you looked.

“What happened to you?” His voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid to ask.

“It’s a long story...a story we don’t have time for, I’m afraid. My guard is waiting. So, whatever you have to say, make it quick.”

Thomas smirked, making you confused. “You underestimate me, Y/N. You don’t have to worry, I’ve taken care of it.”

You cringed. “Should I even ask?”

“Come on.” Thomas grabbed your hand, leading you out of the alleyway and to a van. You stopped, looking to him with hesitance. “It’s okay.” He smiled reassuringly.

You sighed. “I’m trusting you, Thomas.”

You hopped into the back of the van with Thomas, and it quickly took off. During the whole ride, he had a content look on his face. It couldn’t help but make you feel uneasy. Where were you even going?

The van soon came to a halt, and Thomas turned to you. “We have to walk from here. For our safety and yours, you’ll have to be blindfolded until we get there.”

You shook your head. “Wait, no, Thomas-”

“I’ll be with you the entire time, okay? You’re gonna be safe, I promise. You said you trusted me, right?” You nodded reluctantly, and with that, Thomas gently put a cloth bag over your head, completely obscuring your vision.

You both exited the van, Thomas holding your hand as he led you through wherever you were. You were almost sure you were cutting off his blood circulation with how hard you were squeezing his hand, but he kept telling you that you were okay.

“Okay, we’re here.” Thomas removed the bag and you could finally see.

You looked around to see that you were in some sort of abandoned church. Why here?

“Y/N...”

You froze, heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears...you knew that voice, that voice was in your dreams every single night. But, no, it couldn’t be possible...he was dead.

You slowly looked up to see who the voice belonged to. You felt a sudden chill go down your spine as you couldn’t believe your eyes. Was this a dream? A nightmare? No, it couldn’t be real. You were still at W.C.K.D. You must be. They must be trying to trick you into believing that you escaped.

But still, knowing that it wasn’t real didn’t stop you from shedding tears. “This is so sick...even for them.” You cried.

Thomas took a step forward, but you immediately recoiled. “Y/N, what’re you talking about?”

You quickly shut your eyes tightly, placing your hands to your ears to try and block out the booming thuds in your head. “This isn’t real. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.” You kept telling yourself. “Please, stop this. Wake up...”

“Y/N, stop. You’re okay. You’re not dreaming.” Thomas tried to console you.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like a whole Griever was sitting on your chest, putting intense pressure on your lungs. You couldn’t control the sobs that rattled in your chest, making you tremble.

“One, two, seven, five, three...three, five, seven, two, one...”

You soon felt a pair of arms wrap around you. Thomas tried to calm you down, but it wasn’t working. You heard him order everyone out of the room.

This is such an elaborate simulation...

“Y/N...” Thomas whispered. “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re not at W.C.K.D. This is real. I’m real. Me, Thomas.”

You looked up at Thomas, almost expecting him to turn into some horrid monster from the twisted imaginations of the people that experimented on you. But he didn’t. He just stared at you with the utmost concern in his golden brown eyes. You were so afraid to speak, you wanted this to be real so bad.

“You’re real?” Your voice broke.

Thomas nodded, smiling through the pain of seeing you in such a state. “Yes. Yes, I’m real.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, keeping your hold on Thomas. “Wait...but that means...”

Gally was alive?

After a few more minutes of trying to pull yourself together again, Thomas thought it was finally safe to bring everyone back in one by one. First, Newt entered the room.

“Newt.” You walked to him, quickly engulfing him in a hug.

“You’ve looked better, love.” He joked, well, it sounded like a joke to you, but he was really concerned.

“So have you.” You replied. “You need a haircut.” You tried to tease, but it didn’t make him smile.

Frypan couldn’t wait that much longer and entered the room and ran to you, giving you a huge bear hug that startled you, but you didn’t expect anything less when it came to your friend.

Then, Brenda and Jorge came out. “You’re still alive?” You asked her, shocked that she hasn’t turned into a Crank by now.

“Disappointed?” She smirked, pushing you softly before wrapping her arms around you while Jorge gave you a friendly smile.

And last but not least.

He walked in slowly, so slowly that it almost looked like slow motion. He didn’t want to scare you, certainly didn’t want to give you another panic attack. He wasn’t expecting that reaction. But he guessed it was reasonable, considering that seeing a person you thought was dead was suddenly not dead, but very much alive.

You felt more tears brimming your eyes again. The feelings of being in a simulation coming back, but this was real. He was real, and he was here. He was alive somehow.

“Gally?” You whimpered pitifully.

“Hey, Y/N...” Gally said, tears of his own brimming his eyes.

“You’re alive...”

Gally wanted to run to you, hug you and never let you go. But he knew how sensitive you were right now. So, he stayed where he was. “Yeah...I am.” He chuckled softly.

Almost like something clicked in your brain, you finally one hundred percent believed that this was all real. You didn’t wait one more second, you went to him. You ran to Gally and threw yourself on to him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “You’re really here...” You cried, squeezing even more tightly than you already were.

Gally wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his face to your neck to breathe you in, making sure you were really there with him as he almost didn’t believe it himself.

The both of you stayed that way, almost four whole minutes of keeping in each other’s embrace. The only reason you pulled away was to look at him. He had a buzzcut, and he felt even stronger than he was in the Glade. He had a couple tears rolling down his face as he looked at you.

“How?” You stuttered. “How are you alive?”

Gally smiled. “Long story.”

His voice. You missed hearing his voice so much. You missed everything about him. His eyes, they were just as blue as the day you left him. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, Gally. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you.” You declared, the tears not even slowing down.

Gally reached up and caressed your face, and you leaned into his gentle touch. “I never stopped thinking about you. The thought that I might see you again was the only reason I could wake up in the morning.”

Gally pulled you back into his chest, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas starting to walk over to the two of you. One glare from Gally was all it took for him to back off. He was not going to let that Greenie ruin this moment.

“I never thought I’d see you again...” You hiccupped.

“I’m here...I’m here.” Gally cooed. “And I’m never leaving you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

 bruh finalllyyyy 😭 

[moonlightchildz]

Knocking on heaven’s door

warning: spoilers for season one of aot!!!

credit: tiktok - @ bogm.cax

so this is my take in season 1, after mikasa finds out eren is dead. i saw this beautiful edit of it and was deeply inspired and this is what flowed out. now to endure more pain for season 4 :(

also listen to can’t handle change - roar (slowed)

the day death catches up to eren jaeger, is the day mikasa ackerman starts knocking on heaven’s door.

At first, she doesn’t realize this feeling at first. This gnawing feeling of hysteria and desperation slipping off her fingertips. All she knows is that eren, her eren, is no longer breathing anymore. Time seems to have slowed down to the point where she could only watch Armin deliver the blowing news. She counted just how many times he tried to form a coherent sentence as his eyes welled up in tears. His sobs were heart wrenching to watch but to feel?

She couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Eren...is gone.

Those cerulean eyes that she loves so dearly won’t be brimming with such defiance and fervor to keep on fighting no matter what anymore. Correction, loved. She doesn’t feel it as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, or even as her burning throat clogs up to the point she keeps swallowing back her pleads of ignoring the truth.

she doesn’t dare to acknowledge it, not even when her chest heaves drastically and she’s gasping to breathe. not even as her trembling fingers struggle to grasp her sword, or as her knees buckle beneath her to the point she can no longer stand still. her shaking hands tug at her hair as words, cries, or something trapped inside of her tries to desperately rip out of her.

all she can think is just how much it hurts to breathe at the moment. her mind is telling her to slow down, but her heart is racing against time, trying to beat past it so she won’t have to deal with a world without eren jaeger. but it hurts so fucking much. It hurts to still be alive and be incapable of rewinding time to just hear his voice one last time. To say everything she had kept inside her silenced body. To reach out to his fingers and grasp his hand, and never let go.

to demonstrate just how much love she was capable of giving to the boy with the world within his eyes. the boy who saved her when she lifelessly stared at death with no hope to her name. he had given her the will to fight so now what can she do? what’s there to do? carla first, and now eren too. a small whimper emits from her quivering lips, her chest tightening as she recalls what carla had asked her to do. to protect eren no matter what and look at where she is now.

she’s alive physically, that she can say with utmost confidence. the numbing in her brain says otherwise though. it’s already starting to shut her down and she’s thinking why? just why?

“WHY?” she roars out in desperation, slamming her fist into the brick wall. tears are clogging her throat and she swears she can’t feel her hand slam full fist repeatedly against the wall. as if she’s trying to convince herself if she’s human right now. blood splatters on her clothes and she curls her fingers into her palm, digging her nails until she’s blinking rapidly.

She has charged to her death. Sending everyone to their pending doom and now she’s cornered, lost, and not able to comprehend just how everything had turned to shit in an instant. There’s blood in her hands and she’s lifelessly staring at what’s in front of her, thinking about a few moments ago. After all, she was just listening to sasha enthusiastically blabber on about sharing the meat she had stolen with everyone, claiming that they’ll be more once they step foot outside the walls. Spirits had been lifted automatically and it was all smiles and laughter.

And then, and then, they dared turn right into death’s door. she swore it was just her imagination, but the moment eren charged forward she knew it wasn’t. she watched as eren threw himself forward, leaving everyone in mere horror and shock as they faced what seemed to be the colossal titan. her heart had lurched forward, clawing at her, as it mocked them right in their own home again.

she didn’t even have time to process it all as her dark gaze spots the titan heading her way now. great, is this is where I die now? watching the enemy advance it’s way towards me and I just stare at it?

she’s all burnt out.

is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Devoting and losing yourself entirely for the purpose of love? Of giving yourself fully to someone who took everything in its wake and is now dead? a sob emits from her quivering lips. all she can remember is the way eren so gently had wrapped the red scarf around her neck. those ocean blue eyes had promised to keep her safe, to keep coming back to wrap the scarf around her neck as many times because he would fight until the ends of the earth.

If she had known she would be last seeing his smile, she would have done everything in her to prevent just that. she would have stood in front of him and armin, to devote herself to the people she loved the most in the world. because those two souls had kept her steady from floating away into the depths of hell that were awaiting for her. she remembers their faces, how these two would animatedly talk to each other for hours and she would be content in just listening to them.

in those moments she had felt so alive.

“if we don’t fight, we can’t win, mikasa.”

but despite as her gaze landed at death itself, the love within her that he had ingrained into her managed to be restored enough to wince once she clenched her remaining sword. blood dripped on the ground, following her as she straightened her back. all she could see was eren telling her to stop being a pussy and to do something about it. even if she died, she would not stand to go without fighting for the people that she has lost and will keep losing.

her duty as a soldier, as a friend, and as family was to restore their memories before she soon joined them.

Fight.

fight, mikasa.

FIGHT.

Give it your all and it will be enough.

And as she launched forward, roaring in defiance, something from behind her sends her flying from the impact. The concrete she lands on causes her to sprawl uncomfortably, her head banging against it to the point she seems to be imagining the following events.

“fuck,” she groaned out, trying to blink away the dark spots that had clouded her vision. her steady hands were trying to find her sword, or anything really at this point. she grasps it, starts getting on her knees with all her might, and then life itself blooms within her.

A large foot slams against the concrete, splitting it in half as she watches in astoundment. Her wide eyes glimmer as her quivering lips remain opened. Is that...a titan? There’s a loud roar echoing of it and she can feel the intense pain and vile hatred radiating from it as it pounds on to the incoming titan that was about to end her life right there. Glowing electric green eyes stare her down and all she can do is stare back with a dumbstruck expression.

why...why wasn’t it going towards her? and why did it ignore her? but more importantly just why in the fuck was it fighting back? She watched as it angrily stomped on their face over and over and over again, blood splattering everywhere. It’s running towards another one and she swears she doesn’t feel a pair of hands grab her, shaking her out of her trance. why was it pulling her towards that thing? why couldn’t she keep her eyes off it? The resilience within her flares up like a flame, spreading throughout her body and engulfing her to the point she feels fire within her fingertips.

she’s burning once again.

The next form of events blur by but she’s fighting now. She’s fighting for her freedom, for her life, for everyone, and for the boy she will have to bid goodbye to once this was all over. However, she wonders if she could just follow alongside. If her time could come and she’d be happy to let go and stop breathing. her heart and mind are set in dying. she knew this life was not promised. that it wasn’t going to be always and forever, but beside him? life had felt eternal, endless, and full of promise.

However she’s keen on watching the abnormal titan fight against each titan coming their way. She’s acting on impulse at some point, trying to prove to herself that she wasn’t going crazy because she felt as if there was someone controlling that thing. there’s no way the hatred it spilled of it could be mindless.

And then, and then, she notices something strange. there’s something ripping out of the back of its nape. is that a figure? her body reacts before her mind can recollect her thoughts because she knows that silhouette anywhere. her finger could trace every inch and curve without a doubt and she’d pinpoint those eyes anywhere. those ocean blue eyes that open briefly, but that is more than enough for her to act on her own will.

she’s there in time to catch him in her arms as he is being ejected from the nape of the titan that she watched save her from death. she’s there to wrap her arms around him, and feel his heart beat against his chest. and then she feels the tears spill down her cheeks, her blurry eyesight hindering the military armed men who are all pointing their weapons at the two, no three of them. tears are covering eren’s face but they’re not his and armin is there to prove that she’s not dreaming anything.

in that moment mikasa notices two things. one, is that not everything is as it seems and two, even if they were all born to die these two heartbeats, these two souls, would become one to fight and bite back against knocking on heaven’s door now. she figured she was meant to die, but not by the hands of her own people. no, she was going to die when she decides that herself. when she believes it’s suitable enough to leave this world with her memories of eren jaeger, armin alert, and mikasa ackerman.

but as her and armin acknowledge each other with eren in her arms, she knows it’s not time yet.

That’s how it had started and that’s how it would end.

[redstainedsocks]

What’s in a name

Warnings: Torture, sensory deprivation, solitary confinement, electrocution/electroshock therapy, punishments, sadistic whumper, institutionalozed whump, memory loss, identity erasure, noncon drugging, drugs that cause memory loss, hallucinations, brutal treatment, brief beating and manhandling, box boy universe, dehumanization, denial of food

Set during Kit’s training period. I originally wrote this for escape!week and the prompt “relapse” but it didn’t seem right for the tone of that week, so I wrote something else for that and decided to post this on it’s own! Thanks especially to @castielamigos-whump-side-blog for being so enthusiastic about seeing more of Kit’s early time, gives me confidence that this is, hopefully, wanted :D. 

This one is particularly brutal, so heed the warnings, and if you don’t feel up to reading it I’m happy to give a quick rundown of the content to anyone who DMs me. But as it’s set in the past, nothing particularly plot relevant happens, so it can be skipped altogether.

This is the knock-off version of what WRU would do during training, if anyone is curious. The made up drugs for this universe that alter memory (among other things) still exist, and I’ve made use of them. Thanks and credit to the other writers in the box boy universe--especially @ashintheairlikesnow and @moose-teeth--for giving me lots of context for their procedures so I could learn the process and turn it into this non-WRU method. 

Tag List: @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter @slaintetowhump @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi​

Word Count: 1.9k

He woke up one day and he just knew.

Maybe they’d let him sleep for too long. Maybe he hadn’t been on the right dose of the drugs. Maybe it had been too many days since his last round of the shocks and beatings that forced his mind to retreat into numb obedience.

Whatever the reason he knew, he remembered.

He used to have a name.

He didn't used to spend his days cowering in corners and obeying orders, looking up at the world from his knees, or on his back, or with eyes ringed with bruises. He didn’t used to be scared and exhausted all the time, just hoping to make it through the day without crying in front of a stranger.

He used to be a person.

And if he knew that, he could fight back. He knew the routines, the layouts, which guards were a softer touch. He just needed an opening, and he’d take it.

When the guard came down the row of cells and knocked their baton on the concrete wall dividing his cell from the next, called him pet and told him to get up—he refused. He curled tighter into the corner and balled his fists and ducked his head.

“I said up, trainee.”

“Not my name,” he growled out.

“What was that?”

“I said: that’s not my name, I have a name.”

“Do you now? Want to share with the class?”

He grit his teeth and glared. Just because he wanted to hold on to it and not tell this violently dangerous man, didn’t make it any less true.

The guard grinned.”That’s what I thought.” A radio crackled and the guard spoke into it. “Yeah, we’ve got a back-slider in row 4, yeah, being defiant again.”

A muffled voice spoke back.

“Will do, I’ll wait right here.”

He frowned, leant forward a little. No, this wasn’t right, when he disrespected them they’d come in and give him a beating, right there and then. And he’d decided he wasn’t going to cower, he was going to use it as an opportunity to get the upper hand. Shit, no, shit, he’d played his card too early.

Three more black-glad guards arrived, one man, and a woman. A trainer too, the mean one who had steel toed boots and a grey streak in his hair. They surveyed him and checked the chart hanging by his cell. He watched them all through the chain link as they talked about training methods, the pros and cons of every course of treatment while he got more nervous by the second.

“What is that you want, trainee?” The trainer asked eventually. “What were you hoping to achieve with this outburst? A little one on one time? Hoping to get more food, jonesing for the drugs we put in there? Come on, talk to me pet, what did that pea-sized brain think was going to happen here?”

“Nothing,” he snarled. “I don’t want anything from you, you can’t do this to me, to anyone! I want to… I want to go home, you have to let me leave.” He breathed hard through his nose and tried to quell the quiet voice that told him he didn’t remember where home was, that he had nowhere else to go. That was them talking; there had to be somewhere better than here.

“That doesn’t sound like something a good pet would say. And you’ve been such a good pet lately, you’re ruining your well behaved streak.”

“I’m not your pet, I’m not anybody's pet!”

The trainer smiled and it radiated such calculated hatred that it froze the blood in his veins. “Now we’re getting to the root of it.” The man gestured at him and turned to his colleagues. “He’s starting to think he gets to be a person.”

They all laughed, and he flinched. They sounded like hyenas, jackals, crows… all out for a piece of him, waiting to pick him apart and peck out his innards piece by piece by piece until there was nothing left but empty space.

“Right, okay. This has gone on long enough, throw him in the hole. We’ll see if that destroys these little illusions.”

His defiance wavered and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees as panic surged through him. The gate unlocked and they surrounded him, hands on his shoulders and in his hair, and batons swinging down on his back and legs. He fought, he fought with everything he had.

Like always, like every time before, it wasn’t enough.

“No! No, wait, please, please. Anything else, just, please, anything else.”

Maybe he was a person, but he wasn’t above begging. Not if it got him out of this.The hole was every trainee pet’s worst nightmare. He wouldn’t go there, he wouldn’t. He clawed at the walls, the metal doorframe, wrapped his fingers around the chain link at the front of his cell and clung until the wire fencing cut into his fingers. His blood made it slippery but he wouldn’t let go. One of them brought a baton down on his hands and he wailed. When they threatened to do it again, and break both his forearms, he finally let go.

****

The hole was nothing but a pitch black metal room. A storage container of some sort, or maybe just a large dumpster repurposed for the use. They would throw you in, slam the door shut, and then it was nothing but you and a black so deep you couldn’t see your own hands.

He slammed his body against the walls until his ears rang from the metallic clangs that reverberated around the room. He couldn’t do this again, the last time… he’d gone half mad.

He wouldn’t cry, the fear was too big to cry. It was larger than his tear ducts and it couldn’t get out that way. He couldn’t risk the loss of the moisture in any case. He had two bottles of water to last him for… however long they planned to leave him.

He paced for a while, one hand on the wall to keep himself steady in the dark. Four steps, five steps, four steps, two steps—cross the door—two more steps. Around and around.

The worst thing about the Hole was the conductive metal. It heated up so much during the day that by the afternoon it hurt to touch the walls and floor. It became so overheated that it felt like the air was sizzling, too thick to enter his lungs properly, pressing on his head until he felt like he’d burst. He laid on his back, tried to keep his bare legs and arms off the floor, so the barrier of his shirt and shorts was between him and the metal. The black swam around him in dizzying eddies as he sweltered and sweated.

Sebastian. Seb. Bas. Sebastian Rogers. That’s me, that’s me, that’s who I am. They’re punishing me just for remembering.

The dark and the heat made his angry behaviour seem even more pitiful. He could have just kept his name to himself, and done what they asked, and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Relapse, they’d called it as they talked to each other. So he just had to get better again and then they’d let him out.

Getting better probably meant forgetting, letting it go. He wouldn’t let it go, he’d just tuck it safely away where no-one else could touch it. He’d just pretend, and they’d let him go back to his cell.

The day passed and he waited in trepidation for the night. For the temperature to drop until the walls felt like ice, instead of fire. In the few hours in between too hot and too cold he drank some water, and chose a corner to piss in, and then curled up and tried to conserve body heat.

There wouldn’t be much chance to sleep except in the dusk and early morning, when it was neither too hot, nor too cold. He tried, but it wouldn’t come, there was a buzzing below his skin that wouldn’t quit.

Probably something in the water.

He did cry then, a few dry-heaving sobs that turned to yelling, and more pounding on the door. The silence and stillness were deafening. He tap-tap-tapped on the floor just to hear something. Tapped the syllables of his name until it started to sound annoying and repetitive and he stopped.

He drummed out random beats and whimpered and groaned as he started to see white and colourful spots appear in the dark. They’d coalesce into other things before long, and he didn’t want to see; he pressed his hands over his eyes so that he wouldn’t.

Two cycles of day and night—blistering heat followed by icy cold— passed before they came for him, and he was delirious and grateful. Ready to lie and say he didn’t want a name at all, they could take it, he wouldn’t fight. He was willing to do whatever it took. But they didn't give him chance. They strapped him down in the treatment room and attached little nodes to his head and his body and forced round after round of shocks through his system. Pumped electricity into his brain and his nerves in concentrated shocks that made him disoriented and forgetful, stole his memory of where he was and why, for long minutes at a time.

After that he realised that they weren’t giving him a choice, they would take his unruly behaviour from him, not offer him the chance to give it up—they would make him good.

They dumped him back in the Hole, with fresh water, two packets of insubstantial food-paste, and the urine cleaned out. Still trembling from the aftershocks he crawled into a corner and clung to his meager rations. The water tasted funny, and he sipped it knowing it would mix with the shocks and do more strange things to his memories.

Mind warped and body aching, he curled up and tried to remember what had got him in so much trouble in the first place. Something about a name…a person with a name that he wasn't supposed to know.

It barely mattered whose it was, he wished he'd never thought of it all.

Sebastian wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this.

Twice more he went through the same routine—two days—shocks—two days. Memories obliterated until he was empty headed and dizzy and so very, very sorry.

When they finally dragged him limp and mostly unresponsive from the darkness, he waved weakly to the hallucinations that he left behind.

He was better, he would be better. They asked and he grovelled for the chance to prove it. He’d messed up so badly, but he’d do better. His mouth wouldn’t form real words, just mumbles and groans from a parched throat and numb, swollen lips that he’d bitten to keep from screaming in the void of the Hole.

It didn’t seem to bother them that he was incoherent, that he tried was enough. He cried onto their boots, clinging with fingertips to the concrete so he wouldn’t slip away.

He left more than hallucinations in the dark. He left his defiance, his angry stubborn will. He left his identity, buried under hot stale air, where it would never be seen again. Left it to rot in the dark, where it never served him any good. Abandoned his old self, and knew he was better off for it.

He was a pet, would always be, had always been; he was nothing else, remembered nothing else. The darkness up ate his name so thoroughly, so completely, that he never even knew he’d offered it up to be devoured.

[circumstellars]

Hello there! Can I have a ficlet with dialogue prompt, 'What's making him scream like that?' for Five and Diego, or any siblings you like ;)

[Ok so this turned out slightly longer than intended, but I was able to blend it together with another idea I had for a follow up to this ficlet.

The context is that this is canon compliant in that it happens somewhere near the end of S1EP4, when passed out drunk Five is recovering in Diego’s bed.

Basically Five has an PTSD episode, or a night terror if that’s easier, and the line you prompted I rearranged and altered a bit to fit the scene, so I hope that’s okay?

In this addition to the canon, when they were little Ben begins to have trouble controlling the otherworldly monster he uses, and Five has made a promise he won’t let things get out of hand. Fast forward to S1, where Luther and Diego are taking care of him, but before Al comes to deliver Eudora’s message, and it is sandwiched between two Five apocalypse flashbacks.

So so so many thanks to @michlle, or @/kkie on TUA Adult Fan Discord server. She’s an amazing beta that helped me in a pinch! So the only reason my grammar is so much better than usual is entirely thanks to her.

Very angsty. Blood, just a snippet a violence. Brotherly pain all around, emotional suffering. Enjoy! I hope you like it.]

================================================

⟨p⟩=md⟨x⟩/dt=mddt∫∞−∞x|ψ|2dx=m∫∞−∞x∂|ψ|2∂tdx.­­­ 'It's a simple fucking equation, what is wrong?' His shaky fingers struggled with the chalk, accidentally snapping off one end against the concrete wall. Five swore, making a face at the broken piece of chalk like it spoke ill of his mother.

Oh god. Mom.  His face crumpled. 'The expectation values of displacement and momentum... obey time evolution equations analogous with,' a wet cough interrupted his deflated musing. He spun around and rested against the concrete he had been writing on moments before, before turning an eye to Dolores. '... the mechanics of Schrödinger’s equation.'  Dolores gave him a weary look. Five avoided her gaze. She didn't know. It's not like she had been forced to pick up quantum physics at age ten, and really, he had to forgive her for that.  The sun was powerful today, as it had been at least seventeen of the twenty-six days he'd been stuck in the apocalyptic ruins of his former city. It should have only been the end of April, if that newspaper clipping he held close was in fact the last thing to have been printed, but it felt hotter than middle July easily. The aggressive winds of mid-afternoon whipped all sorts of debris into his frail body and any exposed skin, and Five simply couldn't risk any injuries that could deplete his energy. He was on the cusp of fixing this, he could feel it in his exhausted bones.

He swallowed down the start of a painful sob, careful to steel over his expression. 'I know you said something about the farthest right term Dolores, but I'm not neglecting it,' Five chided, breathing into the dirty scarf around his face.

He turned around and scooped up the chalk he had rejected moments ago. 'The spatial extent of the particle wavefunction isn't smaller than the variation length-scale of the potential. You're clever, and pretty, but not that clever.' 

Five snorted at his own banter, smiling into the trails of chalk spilling from his hand as it ran across the rubble. 'Now, listen carefully this time...' --- Diego unceremoniously dropped Dolores on a nearby chair.  The fuck is this for?  He gave the mannequin an odd look. A few steps away Luther lowered their brother carefully into Diego's roomy, luxurious twin cot, rolling the sleepy, drunken Five so that he was resting comfortably on his side. 

Diego sidled next to Luther, joining him in looking over their tiny brother. Small, frozen in time for them both in memory and now, awkwardly, in reality too. The baby fat still very much clung to his still rounded features and made him look impossibly younger in a way that brought nostalgia roaring up the esophagus like heartburn. He was supposedly twice their age now? Diego scrunched his nose; to think this child, for all intents and purposes, laid here so serenely- so sweetly, dare he say it, looked like a boy who'd just tired himself out at school that day. Yet he knew, the moment Five sobered up, the illusion would crumble swiftly and without mercy. 'Funny, if I didn't know he was such a prick, I'd say he looks almost adorable in his sleep.' 

Luther snorted. 'Well, don't worry. He'll sober up eventually... and be back to his normal, unpleasant self.'

That's not good enough. 'Yeah - I can't wait that long.' Diego spun on his heel, intending to grab provisions. Five had about ten minutes of rest before Diego would be ready to forcibly pull him into consciousness with soda crackers and ginger-ale. 'I need to find out what connections he has to these lunatics before someone else dies.'

Luther didn't respond right away, eyes flickering to Five and back. He looked pensive, uncomfortable. Diego still hadn’t gotten used to the subtle changes in Luther's personality; it was disquieting the way he looks so much bigger than he used to, and yet now he seems so much smaller to Diego than he ever physically was. The big man had an air of constant uncertainty around him.

'That stuff he was saying before...' Luther began after a moment, 'what do you think he meant by that?' Diego glanced over his shoulder at Five's sleeping figure, curled up tightly in foetal position. His expression darkened in his sleep, and Diego frowned. 'I don't know...' The words came slowly, his focus narrowing in on his littlest brother. He turned quickly again, box of soda crackers forgotten on his dingy counter.

Five began to fuss, still unconscious, but his body began to shake some, and his entire expression was pinched in discomfort. Luther was watching Diego, puzzled, and followed his eyes back to Five on the cot behind him.

Then came the screaming.

Both Luther and Diego jumped back in alarm as the most harrowing, stomach-churning scream came from Five. He was folded into himself, clutching at his own biceps so hard his knuckles were bone-white. The screams that were coming from him sounded so raw Diego was sure he was damaging his vocal cords in some way.

Luther came down from his initial shock quicker than Diego and was at the cot in an instant. Diego held his breath, jaw fighting to unhinge. He was always quick in his reflexes, but something held Diego down and glued his feet to the floor. His body was alarmingly stiff with inaction.

Luther was gripping at Five, holding him as he jerked back and forth, scream after scream tearing through his rattled body. Over and over Luther tried to talk over Five, wake him up, continuously asking him what is wrong and 'what is happening Five? Can't you hear me?'

'W-ww-why is h-h-h-he screaming like t-that?'

Diego’s broken voice was swallowed up in the cacophony of Five's agonising wailing and Luther's panicked mantra of Five, Five, Please Five, Five!

Five's painful screams were tearing bloody wounds into Diego’s eardrums, and the sound of his little brother in such convincingly raw misery pulled terrifying tremors up from deep within his belly.

Go.

What happened?

Iego.

Five?

'-Iego. Diego! Diego!' Luther's voice hit him like an anvil. 'Hey?'

Why is he screaming like that?

All at once life moved forward with a start. Air sucked its way back into Diego's lungs and his attention snapped to his brothers. Five was no longer on the bed, but crumpled over on their large brother's lap, clutching not his own arms anymore but instead had all ten, trembling fingers gripped into Luther's jacket for absolute, dear life. Luther had a pained expression etched into his normally hard visage, and his arms came up to hold Five in place as gently as Diego had ever seen his giant brother move. It only dawned on him then, that Five wasn't screaming anymore.

Diego moved quietly, setting himself on the bed next to his brothers as silently as he could, almost as if he were afraid to spook an already terrified deer pinned between a rocky ledge and an oncoming truck. 

Mindlessly Diego laid his gloved hand to his little brother's head, cupping the back of it gingerly. Something heavy threatened to pull his heart into his guts, and the struggle disguised itself in the shadows of his expression.

For a while everything was deadly quiet. The pipes in the old building gurgled apropos nothing, the boxing business outside long closed for the evening with only Al's occasional footsteps any sure sign life still existed outside this hole he called home.

Diego couldn't hear much else, aside from the ragged breaths shaking Five's small chest. His eyes were still closed, creased with concern, delicate fans of black eyelashes twitching as his brain worked through whatever dark secrets Five hadn’t dared to yet share with any of his siblings. 

'Five...' but Diego’s voice aborted the words in his throat, and he met Luther's eyes. He found no answers.

What did you see, Five?

--- Day 42.

A rat scampered past Five’s feet and jumped into a pile of debris outside the remains of a nearby fast-food joint. He shaded his eyes with his left hand and looked over the large expanse of the now lifeless tundra he used to call home. The details of everything in the distance dissolved into the intensely hot horizon.

‘Today is as good a day as any,’ he said, exhaling loudly. Dolores agreed from where she was perched in her wagon. I’m ready.

Five ripped off his weighty, layered scarf and tossed it to the ground.  Today is the day. He was going to get back to his family.

He took another deep breath and ran over some calculations a final time in his head, his eyebrows pinching together with determination. Focus.

First, just a hum. Then, a moment later a spark. Five growled and redoubled his efforts, tightening his fists as hard as they would go, until the jagged half-moons of his nails cut right into the flesh of his palms. 

‘Come on!’  And then it appeared. Small, at first, but definitely, absolutely, positively the start of the vortex, undeniable as it began flickering into existence. It was immediately apparent Five couldn’t do this for a second longer than he had to; every muscle in his body was desperately working to help him rip a hole right into the material of the space-time continuum, and pain blossomed in every limb, one after another.

‘COME ON!’  The air around the wormhole became unstable, trying to escape the vacuum and whipping everything around Five into a frenzy. Dolores tipped over in her wagon, and Five nearly lost his grip on the material of time. He willed himself into ignoring her momentarily, letting out a howl as he pulled open the vortex as far as it would go. Five inhaled shakily, and let go.

I did it. There it was. He was finally going home.  Five’s knees nearly buckled underneath him as he was hit with a heady wave of excitement and relief. Luther. Vanya. Ben! Diego-- all of them. He was going to see them all again, today. Now. Tears spilt from his eyes, but he didn’t take any notice. There were flickers of life beyond the vortex, and then faces, and bodies, and Allison and Klaus, unmistakable as they filtered in and out of focus like the signal was dying on an old television set.  Five was animated in an instant and turned to grab Dolores. They had to go. Now.  He scooped up her feather-light body. ‘Leave it, Dolores! We don’t have time!’ He’d find her a new sweater once they were home. Hell, he’d buy her a whole rack of her own sweaters, anything Dolores wants, if only they got home right now.

And then the screaming came.

Five whipped around. 

Again. First one voice, then two. Many more joined them, and Five ran toward the wormhole. 

‘BEN!’

Ben? Five braced himself against the pull of the vortex, the air thin and difficult to pull into his lungs. It whipped around him with a force he’d never felt before, and his hat and goggles were snatched from his head and thrown well into the distance. The shrieking was getting louder, closer, and the images from the other side pieced together the closer Five inched into its grip. The voices were blood-curdling, and his whole body went cold with terror.

‘Diego, don’t!’

‘Ben! Klaus, get out of the way!’

‘BEEEEEEEEEEEENNN!’

‘BEN! WHATS HAPPENING!?’

‘BEN!’

No.

No, no.

He was going back, it was going to be okay. Five was going back, it was going to be okay.

It all happened within the span of three seconds.

The fuzzy images of his siblings running, screaming, blood soaked into their clothes, painted across their young faces – dripping from their feet as they scrambled away. 

Ben. 

Ben’s body dangling nearly fifteen feet off the ground, monstrous appendages thrashing wildly and destroying the surroundings with savage flings. 

Two grotesque limbs held his bloodied and mangled brother skywards, uninhibited by his terrified screams.

No. 

No. no. no. no.

No. no. no. no. no. nonononono-

‘Someone stop him!’

‘Klaus you can’t! KLAUS-‘

It felt like his skin was being flayed from his muscle. Five thought he might have been screaming too but couldn’t hear anything. All he knew for sure was the feeling of his molecules being pulled apart.

Everything was silent.  Like the deadness of space itself, for a fraction of a second, a microscopic fragment of time - absolutely nothing existed. Crunch.

The blood that hit his face hurt. And then someone pressed play.

Everything moved again and it knocked the wind out of his lungs. Five was violently thrown from the throes of the wormhole, sucked back into his own point in time and tossed several feet backwards into strewn debris. 

‘NO!’ 

The vortex he’d spent forty-two days working on was gone, just like that. Absorbed into the material of space, the deep wound he’d used every ounce of energy to create was now healed over in a matter of seconds, lost to some other dimension and out of his grasp. Ben. He’d promised him. He had promised his brother he would be there, that he would figure it out.

That Ben wouldn’t die. But Five let him. He watched the brutal final seconds of his brother’s life, his body torn into pieces by the beast he tried so hard to contain. Five wasn’t there.

He didn’t make it.  He had told Ben he wouldn’t let him die, but he did, and Five just watched it happen, unable to do absolutely fucking shit. The sun was merciless. It baked Ben’s blood on every part that had briefly touched the other side. It settled into the cracks of the tattered skin on his right hand, pulled at the skin under his eyes and on his cheeks – crusted where it had dripped into his mouth and over his tongue. When the trance that numbed Five finally broke, it was nightfall. 

He still sat on his haunches, a few fingers on his left hand barely curled around Dolores’ shirt.  And when it did, and his throat finally moved to swallow, his limbs twitching with overwhelming pain, and his chest trembling violently, the only thing Five could feel was the fiery strain of the unending wailing that tore ceaselessly from his lungs.

[benevolentspidey]

“I’m Scared.”

Here is some mediocre TodoBaku angst for you on this fine day. I wrote this while watching the first Captain America movie at like 3AM and now my eyes are swimming. Enjoy!

Warning: Mentions of blood and heavy injury. Major Character Death. Some strong language.

It was their last trip as a class. Just a simple drive to one of the off-campus arenas to have some fun. They’d somehow, as a class, convinced Aizawa to let them have a day of friendly team battles, to let off some steam and release the stress of the last few weeks. After cramming for exams and getting everything ready for graduation that coming Saturday, they could use some time to be kids, one last time. And really, after everything they’d gone through the last few years, they all craved for a chance to feel like kids again.

And yet, as small of a request it was to have one normal day, the universe looked at them and denied their wishes. They should’ve known better, they shouldn’t have been naive enough to think that one day without incident was likely to happen, but they were hopeful and wishful and all thinking they deserved this one. Thing.

Katsuki and Todoroki were paired together to fight against Deku and Momo in their first round. The day itself had been set up as a bracketed elimination, lose one fight and you’re out, and Katsuki was more than ready to take home first place, especially with Todoroki by his side. It was exhilarating, fighting against the pair with Todoroki, he can’t deny that fact. 

After he’d finally worked through all the shit going on in his head, Katsuki had become more… approachable, easier to get on with. He was able to create steady and healthy friendships without it feeling like an attack on his strength, his character. And looking at Todoroki, he is more than thankful he sorted himself out. The growing friendship they started had kept him grounded more than once and the budding feelings both the pair shared showed Katsuki that Todoroki wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. Sure, they were both focused on their future careers as pro heroes, and sure, neither of them quite understood how to handle the emotions they felt growing between them, but they were happy with how things were now and more than happy to take things slow. Just as long as they were there, waiting for each other at the end of the day. As long as they were there for the other person to rely on when they needed them most.

And with all of this on his mind for the last couple of weeks, being paired with Todoroki and fighting alongside him only showed him even more how important it was to have, and keep, the beautiful, dual-colored hero in his life. And he had every intention of outing this to Todoroki himself, instead of keeping it in like the pair had done previously in their relationship. He was going to pull him aside and lay it all out on the table, bare and exposed for him to see. But then it happened.

Katsuki had managed to pin Deku to the ground, the pair of them laughing like idiots when they heard the rumbling of an explosion, the vibration reaching them in seconds. The pair looked at each other, knowing they were in for a fight. Katsuki pulled Deku to his feet, as they gave each other a nod before shooting off in the direction of the soon to be bloodied battleground, determination coursing through Katsuki’s veins. Determined to fight until the battle was won.

And fight he did. The chaos around Katsuki did not distract him in the slightest as he took down the villains in front of him, only noting, with relief, each time a streak of red and white came in view of his peripherals. It kept him only the slightest bit calmer as he continued to fight, losing track of time and ignoring the searing pain in his hands as he pushed himself to his limits. And just as the end was in sight, just as Katsuki took down the last villain with a triumphant smirk on his face, Deku overpowering Shigiraki in the background, he turned to find Todoroki and give him a wide smile.

He didn’t quite understand the sudden fear in the other's eyes until it was far too late. He followed Todoroki’s eyesight to the building behind him as it started to collapse around him before a body crashed into him and everything went black.

When he finally came to, there was dust and debris all around him, his leg crushed underneath a concrete pillar. He groaned at the pain, trying his best to move the debris off himself. He looked around him, the small pocket of space he was in not giving much light, but giving enough that he caught dirty mussed red and white hair. His heart sunk as his blood turned to ice.

“Todoroki, hey, wake up.” He began to frantically use all the energy and strength he had left in him to push the pillar off his leg. “Icyhot, I need you to wake up, I need you to let me know you’re okay.”

He yelled out in pain as the pillar finally gave way, freeing him to crawl towards the unconscious hero. The sound of coughing filled his ears, easing his panic ever so slightly.

“Bakugou?” Todoroki’s voice was hoarse and laced in pain.

“Hey, Icyhot, I’m coming towards you right now.” He made an effort to be quick with his movements, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. “Are you hurt in any massive way? Are you able to move? I need you to talk to me.”

Todoroki let out a choked cough, moaning something incoherent. Katsuki squeezed through the last hole between the pair of them, “Todoroki I need you to use your wo-”

He felt all the air leave his lungs.

“I’d say this is a pretty massive injury.” He locked eyes with a softly smiling Todoroki. Katsuki felt numb looking at the giant metal pole protruding out of his body from beneath his lungs, blood staining the fabric around it at a terrifying rate.

“This isn’t funny,” Katsuki whispered, hands shaking, his mind in a million different places on what he should do, what is the best option, how does he get them out of here?

“I know it’s not,” Todoroki said, the smile slipping.

“Don’t joke about this okay,” Katsuki’s hands were shaking, unsure of where to start.

“Bakugou,” the voice was quiet, almost like he was a child, but fuck, weren’t they just that? Children? Hadn’t they been children every time this happened, their innocence and joy ripped from their unrelenting grip every time this happened, them begging, pleading for it to stop before… before...

“I’m scared.” 

Katsuki locked eyes with him and saw how small, how young Todoroki looked, suddenly reminding him of the first time they’d met. Had it really only been three years since that first meeting? Had he not known him a lifetime by now?

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here.”

How many times had he said that in a training exercise, how many times had he said that to children when they'd been practicing rescue plans. Every time he said it he was looking into unfamiliar eyes, eyes holding pretend fear. He never imagined saying those words to a pair of mismatched eyes he’d grown so fond of.

“I don’t think I’ll be making it out of this one, Katsuki,” Todoroki managed before coughing blood out onto his chest. Katsuki wiped it from his chin, fury filling him in an instant.

“Don’t say that dumbass, of course you’re going to make it out of here. What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t get you out of this? Are you seriously doubting my capabilities after everything we’ve been through?” Katsuki ignored the crack in his voice in favor of giving Todoroki a fierce look as he began to assess the damage and plan for the best course of action.

He stopped when a hand, an oh so painfully pale hand, stopped his movements. “We can’t save everyone.”

Katsuki’s eyes snapped up to meet Todoroki’s tired ones, hating how dull they looked. He knew, looking into Todoroki’s eyes, that he was right. There was too much blood, too much damage, too much hurt. He could feel it in his chest that he was the only one that was going to make it back home and that thought alone broke him.

He carefully grabbed hold of the hand bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly, as to not break the boy below him even more, not bothering to wipe the tears as they began flowing down his face.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, we’re supposed to graduate on Saturday. You and I are supposed to start at the same agency this summer. We were going to move in together,” He didn’t bother holding in the sobs, the pain of it all too much to be kept composed. He looked at the hero laying in front of him, his eyes struggling to stay open, his grip barely holding onto his own.

Katsuki leaned forward, pressing his lips to the bloody and dirty pale forehead. “You were supposed to give me more time to fall in love with you. I was somehow supposed to get you to love me back.”

An airy chuckle filled his ears, and he held onto it, wrapped himself in the pureness of it, imprinting it to his memory.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katsuki,” Todoroki wheezed a big breath before continuing, pushing his head against Katsuki to get him to look at him, their eyes locking and catching his breath, Todoroki’s gaze far more intense and eyes alight than he had ever seen them. “I fell in love with you a long time ago, all on my own.”

The confession, unexpected, heartbreaking, and full of truth and fierce passion, hits Katsuki in his chest and knocks all the resolve he has left out of him. He surges forward, his lips crashing with Todoroki’s. The kiss itself was short and messy, their tears mixing together and smearing with blood, but it filled and shattered his heart, his soul, and tore him to shreds and he wouldn’t take it back for the world.

He pulled back, cupping Todoroki’s face in his shaking hand, looking at him fondly with tears in his eyes, “Took you long enough, Icyhot.”

Todoroki chuckled, his eyes drooping and breathing becoming more sparse, “Says… you.” He takes a deep breath, his lungs rattling, and in that same second, all the air rushes out of his lungs, the light leaving his eyes and face relaxing.

And just like that, Katsuki’s world shatters.

[bitchin-beskar]

Hi! Could you do prompts 12 and 22 for Pedro? I love your writing, and as as long as you are willing I will keep requesting more. Your writing makes me happy and allows me to escape from everything for a little bit which is really nice! Thank you!!!

Anon, you’re going to make me cry this is so sweet, I’m so happy you like my writing! As long as you send in requests, I will happily write for you! That being said, I will be writing a second part to this story. It was originally just going to be a one-shot, but the more I wrote, the more I wanted to split this into two chapters. I’m not sure when I will be able to have the second chapter out, as I have other requests and my own stories I need to focus on, but I promise you will get a second chapter!! The beginning ended up being darker than I originally planned, but I hope you still like it!!

Close Call

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This story is rated M just to be safe, there are mentions of kidnapping and threats of forced prostitution (but not descriptive), so if that is triggering to you at all, please be aware. 

Requested: #12: “I don’t know if I can exist in this world without you.” and #24: “I don’t know where I am. Help me.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

God, you were an idiot. Why, why didn’t you listen? 

Your friends had offered to get you a ride, why had you turned them down?

Cause you were an idiot. That was the only explanation. You’d been sure you knew the way back to your Airbnb, you swore to them that you’d be fine to walk home from the bar. You had pepper spray, you had basic martial arts training, you knew all the little tricks in case you were jumped. 

You should have known better, dammit. How many times has it been drilled into your head that you don’t walk unfamiliar streets at night. You blame the alcohol. You weren’t drunk, but clearly tipsy enough that your judgement was impaired. 

The longer the walked, the more you sobered up, and the more worried you became. You rubbed your cold fingers together to try and warm them. You didn’t recognize any of the street signs, and of course, you didn’t have the address of the Airbnb saved. Your friend had made the reservations, and you hadn’t thought to write the address down, and of course tonight was the night she was out with her boyfriend at the theatre.

You cursed your bad luck as you stopped under a streetlamp, digging through your purse for your phone. It takes way longer than it should to find it, considering the size of your purse. As you’re fishing your phone out, you hear… something. 

Pausing, you listen intently. It had sounded like… someone talking? It had been faint, and you looked around suspiciously. It’s dark, and the streets around you appear empty. Sighing, you figure it must have been your overactive imagination combined with the paranoia that came with walking strange streets at night.

You begin walking again, opening up your phone to check and see if you could find any texts that gave you an inkling of where you were staying when you heard it again. There was definitely someone talking. You tried not to panic, but you could feel your hands beginning to shake, and not from the cold. Maybe it was someone else who was out at night, walking home, just like you were. There was no reason to panic. You turned a corner, and discreetly glanced behind you. 

Okay, now you should panic. Three men, each at least six feet tall if not taller, and built like offensive linemen were walking not even twenty paces behind you. You tried to stay calm, and picked up the pace, walking faster, but not quite at a jog. You listened intently as they rounded the corner, and your heart stopped as you heard them start to move quicker as well. You held your phone protectively in front of you, hiding it from the men stalking you. 

Shakily, you dialed 911, holding it carefully to your ear so that you could avoid tipping the men following you off. You continued to walk quickly, praying for someone to just pick up the damn ph–

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?” 

You could have sobbed with relief, but instead you answered, your voice as low a whisper as you could get while still being audible. “Please, I need help. I’m walking down the street and there are three large men following me,” you paused for a quick breath, and to check the street signs. “I’m walking by the corner of Maple and Edgewood, please help me.” 

The woman on the other end responded quickly. “I’ll send a cruiser immediately, I need you to stay on the line for as long as possible.” You wanted to feel relieved, but in that moment, one of the men behind you must have realized that you were calling for help, because you could hear their pace speed up into a fast jog. “Oh god,” you breathed, immediately beginning to sprint. “They’re running now, please, please help,” you spoke louder, your breaths coming in pants as you ran. You weren’t worried about staying quiet, not now. Now you were just trying to run faster than the men chasing you.

You could hear the woman on the other end speaking, but there was blood rushing in your ears, too loud to hear her. As your feet pounded into the pavement, you were so grateful you’d chosen pants and flats to go drinking in, as they certainly would have caught you had you been in heels. 

Despite your sprint, you could hear the men behind you catching up. There were tears streaming down your cheeks as you ran, but you ignored them, trying desperately to hold out until the police cruiser got to your location. There was a sudden weight on your back, rough hands snatching your waist in a bruising grip as you went tumbling to the ground. Your head smacked on the concrete, and your vision went black. 

When you opened your eyes, it took you a while to realize you weren’t in bed. For one, you couldn’t see a thing. You blinked a couple of times, and it took you longer than it should have to realize there was something over your eyes, and in your mouth,

Confused, you tried to touch your face, only for you to realize your hands were restricted, bound. Shit. 

Suddenly, the memories came flooding back, the walk back to the Airbnb, the dark streets, the men chasing you, running, running, falling– 

You squeezed your eyes shut, even though you couldn’t see anything, whimpering quietly around the fabric shoved past your lips and between your teeth. God, where were you? There was a sharp clang somewhere to your left, and your whole body jerked, flinching back away from the noise. You listened intently, and realized there were faint voices coming from… underneath you? 

Maybe you were on a second story, or even higher, and you slumped in disappointment. Even if you managed to get your hands free, and the blindfold and gag off, the chances of you being able to escape were slim to none. You curled into a ball as best you could, and tried to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want your captors to see you cry.

You heard the scrape of something against the floor, and as heavy footsteps began to move, getting louder and moving upwards, you realized someone was coming up to check on you. You couldn’t control the flinch your body gave, and the dark, raspy laugh that followed sent shivers down your spine. 

“Ah, our little guest is awake,” the voice crooned, and you faintly noticed that his voice would have been almost handsome, if not for the dark, twisted way his tongue wrapped around his words. “You’ve been out for quite some time, little girl.”

A hand snatched your chin, and you couldn’t help the desperate whimper that left your mouth. “Aw, are you scared, little girl?” His voice was heavy with a dark amusement as he jerked your chin from side to side, likely examining your face. “There’s no need to be frightened. I’m sure the company we sell you to will treat you well.” 

You could feel the blood draining from your cheeks, and another dark chuckle rang out from in front of you. “Well, so long as you please their customers of course!” His thumb ran over your bottom lip, and you shuddered. “Some of them can get kind of… violent.” His voice lowered, as though sharing a secret with you. “But you look like you could take it. Oh I wish I got to watch them break you little girl,” he leaned in, and you felt something wet and slimy run across your cheek. Oh god, was that his tongue??

His grip tightened on your aching jaw. “You don’t have much longer to wait, little girl. They’ll be here within a couple hours to pick you up.” He patted your cheek sharply, more like a slap. There was a rustling, and you heard his footsteps begin to move away and back down the stairs. 

You wanted to sob, but you held back, knowing that if you broke down now, you were never going to have a chance at getting out of there. You heard the door open and slam shut a couple of times, and you realized they must have left. Listening for god knows how long, you waited to see if there was any indication that there was anyone else in the building.

After what seemed to be an eternity, you began to move, experimenting with how much leeway your hands had. After a couple experimental tugs, you realized your hands had to be tied to something in front of you. Leaning forward was awkward, and your fingernails scratched your skin a couple of times before they were able to grab the blindfold. Yanking it off, you sat back, blinking rapidly to adjust your vision.

It looked like you were in some kind of warehouse, clearly old and abandoned going off of the graffiti lining the walls. You focused on the ground in front of you, and saw this metal ring soldered to the ground, with your hands bound in rope to it. You wanted desperately to rip your gag off, but it was tied too tightly, and you wouldn’t be able to undo it without being able to move your hands behind your head. 

You twisted your hands back and forth, struggling to see the knots in the dim lighting of the warehouse. The rope used to bind your wrists looked old, and the metal ring soldered in the ground had a couple of screws sticking out of it, so you began to rub the rope back and forth across the screws as fast as the rope would allow you to.

Back and forth, back and forth, you weren’t sure how long you’d been rubbing the rope when you heard a snap. The rope loosened, and with a few quick, sharp tugs, the rope completely unraveled, and your hands were free. 

Your fingers flew to the rag between your teeth, clawing at the fabric until it finally came loose, and you pulled it from between your lips with a gasp. You sat there for a moment, hands shaking now that they were no longer bound to the ground. You slowly stood, your legs numb from sitting in an awkward position for so long. 

Once you’d finally regained feeling in your legs, you slowly crept towards the stairs. You had to get out of this warehouse, and as far away as possible before they came back. You’d been on the phone with 911 when they’d attacked, but you had no idea how long you’d been asleep.

At the top of the stairs, you paused, listening once more for any signs of life downstairs. After a few tense moments, you crept downstairs, eyes roving all around you as you descended. The bottom floor of the warehouse seemed to hold some kind of kitchenette and living area. You didn’t do much more than look for the guys who’d taken you, too scared to take in the décor. 

Thankfully, the first floor of the warehouse was empty, and you could have jumped for joy when you saw your purse and cell phone resting on the rickety table in the middle of the kitchen. You grabbed them quickly, before making your way to the door, grasping the handle and opening it quietly. 

As you peered out, you saw it was still night, and you were relieved that it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours. Slipping out the door, you crept towards the bushes lining the warehouse, trying to stay out of sight. You still didn’t see any signs of people but that didn’t mean you wanted to risk it. 

As you reached the back of the building, you realized you had two options. You could either take the road, and risk running into your captors whenever they returned, or you could take your chances in the woods, and hope that you could get far enough away before they got back and found you missing.

Making up your mind, you headed for the dense woods, plunging into the foliage. You couldn’t run through the woods, the undergrowth was too dense, and it was dark, but you moved as fast as you could. You tripped and stumbled over hidden roots and jagged rocks, your pants catching on thorny vines, but still you pushed on. 

You had no idea how long you’d been stumbling through the woods, but you were hopelessly lost. There were no signs of civilization anywhere around you, and it was getting colder. Your head had started throbbing, and when you reached up to rub at the pain, you felt a large lump on your forehead, likely from when you’d been tackled. 

The only comfort was the fact that you couldn’t hear anyone chasing after you. You had no sense of direction or time, the only thought running through your head was getting as far away as possible. It was only when your knees began to give out underneath you that began to look for somewhere to hide. 

You tripped over yet another root, falling to your knees on the forest floor, hands slamming into the soft dirt as you fell. You knelt in the dirt, arms shaking as you tried to stay upright, waves of nausea crashing over you. Black spots swam in your vision, and you fought to stay conscious. 

Once your vision cleared somewhat, you were able to crawl to a small, covered spot underneath a large tree. Curling up underneath the overhang, you made yourself as small as possible, both to try and stay warm, and to make sure you stayed out of sight. 

You were drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain in your head flaring sharply and then dulling over and over. You heard a ringing, and at first you ignored it, thinking that it was just another part of the massive headache. But as it continued, you realized that it was your phone ringing, not your head. 

Fumbling with your purse, you finally turned it upside down in frustration to get at your phone. You couldn’t read the name on the screen, your vision too blurry to make out much more than the answer button. 

You clumsily answered the phone, your cold, shaking fingers missing the button multiple times before you got it right, bringing it to your ear. “H–H–Hello?” Your voice was a whisper, you weren’t sure you could speak any louder, as it suddenly registered just how much your throat hurt. 

“Hermosa, oh dios mío. Sweetheart, where are you? Are you okay?” The frantic voice on the other end of the line confused you for a moment. You knew that voice, but you couldn’t remember where–

“Por favor, sweet girl, please answer me!”

It hits you suddenly. “P–Pedro?”

You hear a gasp on the other end. “Oh dios, sí hermosa, yes, it’s me. Where are you? Your roommate called, she told me you were missing, what happened?” Tears jump to your eyes at the sound of his voice, and you can’t help the sob that escapes your lips. 

“T–They grabbed me, I–I was w–walking back and they came out of nowhere, t–they grabbed me, o–oh god, h–he said they w–were gonna s–sell me, an–and I r–ran, but–” 

You have to stop, your voice is shaking so much you’re not sure your words even make any sense, and your head hurts and your throat hurts and oh god you just wanna go home.

There’s a strange sort of hissing noise that you slowly realize is Pedro shushing you over the phone. “Shh, shh sweetheart, it’s ok, just tell me where you are, we’ll come and find you darling, lo prometo.” His words are confident but his voice is unsteady, and you realize you must be scaring him, but you can’t muster up the words to apologize. 

Suddenly his words hit you, and you feel your lungs seize up. Your breathing picks up, and suddenly your hyperventilating. “I–I don’t know!” You gasp out, your vision swimming as you start to lose consciousness. “I–I don’t know w–where I am. H–Help me.”

The first time you wake up, you don’t even open your eyes. The first thing you’re aware of is that your whole body hurts. Your arms and legs feel weighed down, and your chest feels as though it’s filled with cotton. Your head is throbbing, and your eyelids seem sewn together for all that you’re able to move them. You try to take a deep breath, and you feel... something in your throat blocking you from taking in a lungful of air. 

You hear a beeping from somewhere next to you, speeding up quickly the more you struggle to breathe. You try to move your arms, and panic fills you when you realize you can’t. There’s a sudden, warm weight on your hand, as though someone’s touching you, and that's the last thing you remember. 

The second time you wake up, you’re still unable to open your eyes. You’re still paralyzed, and there’s still something in your throat. But before you can panic, you hear a soft voice somewhere next to you. It takes you a minute to recognize that the voice is singing, and it takes another couple of minutes for you to realize the song is in spanish. 

You’re unable to decipher the words in your drugged state–for that’s what it has to be, you think, there’s no way you’d be this out of it naturally–but the voice is soothing, and you fall asleep once more.

The third time you wake, you’re able to open your eyes. It takes a herculean effort, but you force them open, despite the pain. You look up blearily at the ceiling, and for a minute, that’s all the effort you can muster. 

Once you feel up to it, you try to look around the room. The walls are white, and the sheets of the bed you’re on are white, the floor is white, the door is white, everything except for the figure in the recliner is white. 

Your eyes snap back to the recliner, and it takes you a minute to recognize just who is sleeping there. Pedro has one leg tucked underneath him, his glasses halfway down his nose and a book in his lap as he snores softly. You realize he must have fallen asleep reading, and your heartbeat quickens as you watch him. 

There had been a few moments where you thought you were never going to see him again, when you’d been delirious with pain and fear and likely a mild case of hypothermia. Seeing him sitting here, in the flesh, makes you want to cry.

As tears begin to roll down your cheeks, the sore skin around your eyes flares up in pain, and there’s a sudden increase in the beeping next to you. You can’t do anything but watch as Pedro startles awake at the noise, and his eyes sweep the room in a mild panic before they land on you. 

You watch as his eyes widen, and he drops the book from his lap onto the floor in his haste to get to you. He’s by your side in an instant, hand coming up to gently brush away your tears. You see tears of his own well in his eyes, and you try to move your hand, only to feel a sharp pain as you do so, and a broken whimper tears out of your throat.

Pedro gently covers your hand with his own, careful not to jostle the IV in your hand, his other hand resting on your cheek. “It’s alright, it’s okay, sweetheart, just relax,” he croons, voice quiet and soft. “You’re safe, hermosa, you’re in the hospital.” He must see the questioning look in your eyes, but he shakes his head. “I’ll explain everything later, you need to rest. Please, please rest sweetheart, you need to get better.”

You stare pleadingly at him for a moment before giving in. You’ve never been able to fight him, not when he looks at you like that, and to be honest, you don’t really have the strength to fight him at the moment. As you allow your eyes to drift shut, you see him leaning down, and you feel his lips brush against your forehead, and you hear him say one last thing, his voice breaking a little.

“I don’t know if I can exist in this world without you.”

[neon-caskets]

Onwards and upwards

A Billy/Four x reader from the film 6 Underground. 

After your boyfriend’s death, you try to move on, try to cope. Such a big change in your life left you in a bad place, but there’s another change one night when you receive a very unexpected visit. 

TW// Blood/injuries, cursing, mentions of death, angst, depression/grieving process

(Y/n = Your Name)

2,939 words

The funeral was, in a word, bleak. Six people showed up, including you. Two of them left before the end, not because they couldn’t face it, but because a nearby pub was showing the football on television and the pair didn’t want to miss it. His mother sobbed hysterically. The only one comforting her was you, but she was broken in a different way; she lost a son, you lost your lover. Two men dressed in black, hidden behind sunglasses, ducked beneath umbrellas, watched from a distance. You thought it odd that they’d wear sunglasses on a cloudy day, but your mind was too busy elsewhere to care all that much. It rained too. Nonstop. Yes, bleak was the word.

You were well into the grieving process too. The denial came first. You were at work when you got the call. It was from his crew, the other skywalkers, parkour lovers, thieves, people you’d grown close to over the years. They had been on a job in Kyiv, looking for a diamond necklace, the Kalahari, worth fifty million dollars. And he didn’t make it. Police showed up and shot at the team, taking down a few. Your boyfriend fell seven stories onto solid concrete and his body was never found. At first, you didn’t believe it. You got the call at work, teaching languages at a local high school. And of all the twenty languages you had dedicated your life to learning, not one had the words to express what you felt. You didn’t believe them. He was talented, skilled, thieving his whole life. He was your skywalker. But his friends were serious. Billy was dead. 

That took you to anger as they told you what happened. The members of the team who weren’t shot on sight ran, leaping across rooftops, racing over scaffolding, jumping through windows. Billy lost his footing. He had the Kalahari between his teeth and the ledge of a rooftop under his fingertips. Instead of helping him, a girl in the group grabbed the necklace, and Billy fell seven stories to his death as the others escaped. She left him. She took the necklace instead of his hand. With a fifty million dollar necklace, it’s easy to disappear and protect yourself, which was lucky for this girl, because if you knew where she was and had the means of doing so, you’d hurt her in ways she never knew possible. Because she left him to die.

But you didn’t know where she was, didn’t have the means of getting your revenge and releasing your anger. So you bargained. Your mind was polluted with ‘what if’ and ‘if only’. ‘If’ became the one word you couldn’t get out of your head. What if he hadn’t lost his footing on the roof? What if the cops shot the girl who left him, instead of shooting someone else? What if he never found the necklace? What if he never went to Kyiv in the first place? But none of that mattered now. Did anything matter now?

The numbness was depression. It crept in somewhere around the first ‘what if’. It didn’t leave for a very long time. The days spent lying motionless on the sofa melted into months. You hadn’t been at work since his death. You just lay here from sunrise to sunset. Immobile. When the TV in what was once your poky shared flat wasn’t off, it was on the news. You didn’t care about the car chase and gunfight in Florence when it was reported. Didn’t move to watch Turgistan’s evil dictator being overthrown a couple of months ago. Everything felt heavy to you.

It was almost one year since his death, but step five of grief, acceptance, wasn’t coming to you. His birthday was tomorrow. You had a cake, a tiny thing, but Billy was never one for massive shows. It was barely the size of your hand, fit one candle comfortably, and was sitting in your kitchen, serving as a reminder than the man you loved was gone and was never coming back. You’d been trying to move on, really, you had. But everything was sore, like part of you was gone. His pictures were still on the wall. The Polaroid of the two of you that you treasured was still in your purse. His clothes still in their drawers. You were very careful with how often you wore his jumpers and hoodies because you feared that if you washed them too much and too often, the scent of cologne, London’s sky, and Billy would disappear forever. The only thing you changed was the lock on the door to the flat. Something about the only other key to your home that existed being lost in the world unsettled you. Maybe it was the stress and lack of sleep controlling your train of thought. 

Lack of sleep... You needed rest. You retired to your bedroom, bare feet cold on the hard wooden floors. The room was not the tidiest. The bed was unmade, but that wasn’t a concern. You trudged past your dresser, the dust gathering on the photo of the pair of you atop a skyscraper when Billy persuaded you to let him try to teach you parkour. Only a few grazes and bruises were sustained that night. He kissed each one tenderly in apology when you got home. He was wholly sorry, forest green eyes glazed with concern when you limped home after the trip. Eyes as pure green as spring evolving into a warm summer. Eyes you’d never get to see flutter open again in the lazy morning when he’d just lay with you, sunlight peeking through your curtains.

You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight, but your bed was still welcoming when you fell back onto it and closed your eyes. You could still see the last smile he gave you, like a memory seared into your eyelids. You couldn’t tell if that comforted you or killed you inside.

“I can’t believe you persuaded me to let you come to London on this job,” One, the genius billionaire leader of the ghosts, complained to Four. Their mission went badly when Four got distracted by thinking he saw you, and when bad guys started shooting and instead of shooting back, Four ran to protect the girl who he mistook for you. A bullet nicked his cheek, but frankly, he’d have taken all the bullets in the world directly to the chest if it meant protecting you. “We have rules for a reason, Four, and this fuck up proves it. If you’ve been to the city before, you don’t get to go. Two didn’t get to go to Paris on a job-”

“Which is why I see this as a little unfair,” Five added, trying to stop the bleeding of a slash wound to Two’s bicep sustained during the fight in London. 

The sound of police sirens wailing stopped the group in their tracks. One and Seven were propping an injured Three between them. Five was trying to help Two, who was mumbling disoriented French to herself after being hit in the head and losing blood through her arm. Four was leading them through alleys and backstreets that he knew like the back of his hand. 

“We need to get off the streets. After that little incident back there, we’ve got every cop in London looking for us,” Seven stated, exhausted after the mission gone wrong. “Four, anywhere nearby? We need to get Two and Three patched up quick.”

He recognized where he was. This was the street he used to live in. The street that housed the love of his life and so many thousands of memories with her. The street he left and hadn’t returned to in nearly a year. He didn’t even know if you still lived here.

Four turned to the group and told One, “I’ve got a place, but you won’t like who owns it.”

Police sirens and urgent voices in the distance prompted One to answer faster. “I’m past caring, just get us there.”

He took them to the block of flats that he used to call home, to the flat that at one point was his paradise. He never let go of the key; it was the last tangible thing tying him to you.

The image of Billy’s smile disappeared as you opened your eyes. You heard something scrabbling at your door, muffled curses, frustrated voices. Slowly, your only armor being the last baby blue jumper that Billy wore, legs bare and chilled as you padded barefoot to the door, fear and uncertainty crept in. Billy was always the one to reassure you. He had a confidence about him, a comforting warmth that he exuded. You were just cold now. 

There was silence for a moment outside your door. You were barely a few inches from it, head hung back as you prayed the people would leave. It was the middle of the night, for goodness sake.

They knocked. Three brief raps. 

The fact that they knocked struck you as odd. You certainly weren’t expecting anyone. Your hand clasped around the door handle, and you opened the door a crack, then all the way. 

It was like the day you found out he died. No words in any of the twenty languages you knew could explain what you felt. Only this time, it wasn’t because he was dead, it was because he was standing in front of you. 

“Hi, love.”

You staggered back. You couldn’t help it. How? How was this possible? But then it started falling shakily into place. His body wasn’t found. The scrabbling noise? You changed the lock, he still had his old key. He wasn’t able to open the door.

“Y/n, I know,” Billy told you, hushed yet filled with concern and sympathy, and immeasurable guilt. “I know... but can we come in?”

You were silent and stepped aside, eyes not leaving the green of Billy’s, despite the strange sight of the people Billy was with just strolling inside your flat and setting about healing themselves, finding food and water, resting. At least they were polite enough to close the door behind them.

“You’re dead,” Your voice was a painfully quiet stammer. “They told me you died. You fell... you fell seven stories onto concrete... I went to your funeral!”

“I know, Y/n, please listen-”

“How could you do this to me?” 

Your words were barely audible, but Billy heard them. He felt absolutely guilt-ridden, heart breaking for what he did. But you didn’t know that in exchange for faking his death and joining a vigilante group, he made sure you were safe and looked after. Those months that you were off work, Billy asked One to make sure your boss kept paying you, since he always remembered how you would complain about your boss, Billy listening intently. When you fell hard into your depression, Billy made sure one made sure the bills were paid. He thought it would mean your safety was guaranteed; something he’d never been able to do before. He watched the funeral too. You did think the two men with sunglasses on in the rain was strange, but looking back, how you didn’t recognize Billy was what was truly strange. The other man who was with him? You turned your head and found One patting Three vigorously on the face back into consciousness. One and Billy were there. 

“William. Why?” 

William. That’s how he knew he was in trouble. It was always ‘Billy,’ ‘baby,’ or an affectionate ‘sweetheart’. It was never William. 

“That,” He pointed to One, “Is a billionaire arsehole named One. He faked his death and started a group of vigilantes trying to make the world a better place. That woman over there, the blonde arguing with your telly in French? That’s Two, but her name is Camille. The dude on your sofa is Javier, or Three. Five is the doctor with the first aid kit, helping Two.”

“Call me Amelia,” Five added as she bandaged Two.

“Seven, Blaine, is the only one with common sense, clearly,” Billy stated as Seven checked all the blinds and windows were closed so that they wouldn’t be spotted by the helicopter that watched London after the ghosts’ incident. “I’m Four.”

You, as much as you were absolutely baffled by the scenario you found yourself in, figured that this little explanation was better than nothing. “Where’s Six?”

“He died on our Florence job,” One chimed in, finding a beer in your fridge and cracking it open.

You didn’t put two and two together, so Billy explained, “Did you watch the news about Florence? Massive car chase? Gunfight?”

It hit you like a ton of bricks. There was news helicopter footage of a man running down the Duomo. You never watched but knew it happened. “That was you?”

“Yeah. We also did Turgistan. Evil dictator was overthrown ‘cause of us.” Billy had a hint of pride in his voice.  

You waved your hands slowly, flippantly, to stop him. “Hold on... you let me believe that you died horribly a thousand miles away, so you could join a group of vigilantes?”

“Well when you put it that way it sounds pretty shit-”

Your arms locked around him and you buried your head in the crook of his neck, hands trailing through the curls of blond hair on his head, breathing him in, savoring the feeling of him being back in your arms. “You’re back. You’re back...” You mumbled it like a prayer into his skin, clutching him as sobs wracked your body. The others of the team were too tired to care; they were busying themselves in your kitchen, living room, exploring the flat; they took no notice of you two whatsoever. Billy, however, Billy wrapped you in a tight embrace and held you there, grounding the two of you to the spot. Almost a year of wondering if he made the right decision. Almost a year of wishing he could apologize to you. Almost a year of wanting to feel you in his arms like this again. Almost a year without you, and it drove him mad. 

His voice trembled as he whispered so only you’d hear, “I’m so sorry, Y/n. So fucking sorry for what I did to you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Your voice was quieter than his but just as shaky, “I know, sweetheart, I know... But you’re here now, and that’s all I wanted. The chance to tell you I love you, just once more.”

His arms held you tighter, “I love you too.”

You and Billy sat on the end of your bed as time ticked onwards towards the morning. You patched up his cheek where the bullet grazed him earlier, just about burst into tears when he told you why the mission went bad in the first place, and made small talk about what you’ve both been up to in the last few months. Your stories weren’t quite as action-packed as his. 

When the two of you returned to the kitchen to be with the others, you found Camille still slightly dazed, talking to Amelia in French, and Amelia nodded along with not a clue as to what Camille was saying. Being fluent in French, and nineteen other languages, you were happy to translate. This seemed to impress One. He had heard a lot about you, not just from Billy, but from the research he had done. If Billy had been taking the team anywhere else but here to rest up, One would have said no. But it was useful being here. He wanted to have a conversation with you at some point. 

Blaine had picked up on the cake with the sad single candle and Billy’s name iced on and was counting down the minutes to morning. You noticed this and grinned, overjoyed, and joined him. Three... Two... One... You lit the candle and brought the cake to Billy, who couldn’t stop grinning. He blew out the candle and the room filled with ‘happy birthdays’ from everyone. 

“What’d you wish for, Cuatro?” Javier asked, raising his brows curiously. 

Billy smiled at you. The same smile that haunted and comforted you when you closed your eyes when you still thought he was dead. “I got part one of my wish already,” He squeezed your hand across the kitchen counter. “Part two... maybe Y/n would be able to take me back after fucking up in the worst way you can fuck a relationship up?”

Everyone looked at you in anticipation. You nodded, too choked up to speak, and framed Billy’s face gently with your hands, kissing him tenderly. It always felt like the first kiss with him, excited and loving, but this one was more serious, as if every ounce of love for you he possessed was being projected through the action. 

When you pulled back, One nodded slowly and finally asked, “Y/n, I’ve been doing some research on you. Fluent in twenty languages, graduated early, got your degree in teaching after a brief stint working as an analyst for, who was it, MI6? Translating in the big leagues looks great on any resume. I’ve got a job opening. We’re always on the move, ghosts don’t tend to stay in one place for very long, but we need someone who can make sure we say the right thing.”

All eyes fell on you. Billy’s hand held yours a little tighter. If you said yes, he’d be over the moon. If you said no, he’d likely quit with the ghosts to be here again; leaving you felt like part of him was across the world and lost.

One continued. “I’ve got a job opening for a number Eight.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

~~~~Want a part 2 to this? let me know!!!~~~~

[talesofthemindscape-moved]

✂, ✖and the paranormal one I can't find the emoji for for spy or snippy pls

Why not both! :)

WARNING, these are a little more angsty than the other memories I've written, and do mention death, torture and abuse. Reader discretion is advised!

Spy

✂ - a vivid memory

He's not sure what time it is. The room has no windows, and he's certain that he had blacked out for a while. His hands and wrists are raw from pulling and twisting at the ropes binding them behind his back, trying to find some way to break them to escape while the people who caught him weren't in the room. Of course they had to strip him of everything but his underclothes to ensure that he had no hidden tricks, how humiliating. He'd almost resorted to trying to dislocate his hands in some way to pull them free before the door unlocks and opens, the ringleader stepping in with low-tier guards falling in behind. René merely rolls his eyes as the man starts rattling off on a monologue of "how does it feel to be caught" and "you're going to tell us everything you know". Like hell he was going to. He didn't know a lot, but what he did know, he had sworn to secrecy, knowing that the consequences for spilling this sort of information would be far worse than a little torture. He sits back in the chair he had been tied to, a bored expression on his face as the ringleader demands to be answered. "Go fuck yourself", René says in smooth Italian, having placed the man's accent easily. He almost wanting to enjoy the look of rage that fills the ringleader's face. But then he barks at his underlings to bring him his tools, and for two of them to hold their captive's mouth open. "If you're not going to tell us anything, we'll just make sure you can't tell anyone anything," he growls with a dark look in his eyes and a grin stretching across his mouth. It's the last thing René hears before a crude set of tools is brought into his vision and the sound of a drill rings in his ears.

✖ - a repressed memory

His face stings, though he knows better than to cower away and defend himself from further punishment. He glares up at the tall figure of his father, wanting to be defiant and yell back and stand up for himself, and yet he stays silent. He yells and yells, and René's ears ring as he goes on, berating him for things he couldn't hope to control. Eventually, he's released, and he simply dips his head and thanks his father for his criticism before heading straight for his room. As soon as his door is closed, his defensive walls come crashing down, barely making a few steps towards his bed before tears begin to roll down his face. Why can't he do anything right?! He's supposed to be GOOD, he's supposed to be better than this. His frustration swings through into rage, his fists balling as he takes wild swings at the air, wishing that it was his father that he was hitting instead. Not too long into his attempt to dispell his frustrated energy, there's a gentle knock at the door. Turning his rage onto whoever's behind the door, he roughly rubs the tears from his face and throws the door open, a growl of "Who the hell?!" already on his lips — though when he sees who it is, his expression fall and his anget dissolves, taking a slight step away and holding his hand up. "No, w- wait. Annabelle, I'm sorry, please. . . Come in." His voice is immediately gentler upon seeing his disguised sibling. They enter cautiously, and with good reason too, he knows they see just how much he's becoming like their father, and he hates it. He doesn't want to be like him. They ask if he's alright, to which he shakes his head. Tentatively, they open their arms, and he takes the offer, latching his own arms around their middle and burying his face in their shoulder. He doesn't remember the last time he was hugged, the last time they were allowed to be siblings, and for that, he cries. One day, they'll both get out of here, and then they'll be okay.

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

René doesn't enjoy going to funerals. Or cemeteries in general, for that matter. But he had to, just this once. The news had taken it's time to reach him, which he was thankful for of course, and he planned a trip back home for next ceasefire. He never thought he'd hear the day that the old man had kicked it, and to hear that he'd been alive this whole time either. If he'd known, he would've taken matters into his own hands, make him pay for what he did to them. But, it's all in the past now, all he needed was to see is gravestone, and then he'd truly be free. The journey to France was largely uneventful, and it felt good to be on home soil again. Though he couldn't enjoy it yet. He knew where to go and how to get there, taking only a slight detour to a florist to pick up a bouquet that would suit the old man — yellow carnations, orange lilies, petunias, and a single black rose. The poor employee who handed over his order looked so worried, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he left the store. Eventually, his journey came to a close. In all honesty, he would have hoped that the old man would be buried in an unmarked grave, or have no body to bury at all, but he supposes that can't be changed now. Not unless he wanted to get his hands dirty. He entertains the idea of gifting his team's Medic the bones of an international crime lord only in jest as he finds the location of the family grave site. An indescribable emotion comes over him as he stares at the graves, scanning them for the name of his father. There's a pang in his heart as he skips over Rei's - there's no body in there, he knows that, but he can't bear the thought of losing his sibling again, even just for a moment. He shakes his head, finding his resolve and locating the bastard's name. René has no words for him any more, so he says nothing. He simply glares at the engraved stone as he kneels to put the bouquet down, repeating to himself over and over that he's gone, he's really gone, he's free now. Weights are being lifted from his shoulders, but his blood suddenly runs ice cold as he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turns to look, heart beating fast in his chest, expecting to see someone, but. . . there's nothing. No one in sight. He scrambles for an answer, immediately standing and shouting out "Who's there?", knowing his own ability to be completely invisible could be shared by other people, but there's simply nothing. René takes a glance at his father's headstone, feeling sick. No. No! He's dead now, and he is free. Nothing will change that. He refuses to acknowledge what just happened, swallowing past the lump in his throat and walking away as fast as he can, before he can be caught again. As soon as he passes the gates of the cemetery, he believes that he's succeeded at getting away. But that's not necessarily true when all it takes is a mere thought for his mind to be haunted by every little unnatural movement seen out of the corner of his eyes.

Snippy

✂ - a vivid memory

He can hear the monster behind him as he runs, as fast as his feet can carry him. Cancer, the Biomatrix, whatever the hell it called itself, is gaining on him. Red tendrils tangle his feet together, his rifle flying out of his hands as he hits the ground. He doesn't realise it at the time, but it wants his memories, it wants to search them, take them, see how to defeat Captain in them. Good luck with that, he thinks, there's barely any memory left in there. But it wants them anyway. No sooner had a questioning "Huh?" left his lips does a tendril stab through his back and out through his chest, shock overwhelming the pain for only a few seconds. Blood chokes his throat and fills his mouth and mask as he's pulled from the ground, his final thoughts panicked and in disarray. Does he regret nothing? He doesn't know. The fact those were supposed to be his final words haunt him, just like how the memory of that day haunts his nightmares frequently. It's not like the others, he doesn't wake up screaming, but he swears that there's a sharp pain in his sternum right where that circular scar lays. His red scarf made of viruses casually curls around his neck, as if it didn't feel like it was choking him in his sleep.

✖ - a repressed memory

He remembers the cold concrete and gravel ground beneath him. He remembers curling up as tight as he could, hiding his head under his arms to protect himself as best he can. He remembers the feeling of so many people, so many, kicking his downed body as if he were just a sack of sand on the ground. He doesn't remember what they said or who they were, but he knows what they said was horrible. He knows there were a few of his so called friends in that crowd, though they certainly weren't friends now. Why is it taking so long for a teacher to see what's happening? Aren't they supposed to break up fights? Maybe they don't care. Maybe no one cares. He doesn't remember blacking out, but he must have, as all he remembers next is his mother's blurred face as she hugs him close, sobbing and yelling. He's on a stretcher, he's pretty sure. Everything hurts. His vision is in and out, not that he could remember much anyway. He wants to go home.

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

It was definitely paranormal, it had to be. No matter how tired he is, he would notice someone on the street beside him as he walked to the train station, heading home after a long day. He wasn't oblivious, or at the very least he hoped he wasn't. But, he supposed that he did prove himself wrong. It was raining, after all, and he had tried to step out into the road to cross, unknowingly in the path of a bus that had come careening around the corner at a speed that was definitely illegal. He hadn't heard it, and he didn't have time to react, he knew that he would have no time to. And so, he had resigned to his fate of getting turned to street paste by one of the very modes of transport he relies on. However, he's once again proven wrong. A hand grabs the back of his jacket and pulls him back to the sidewalk, the force making him trip and fall on his back. His heart thuds out of his chest as he regains control of his body, scrambling to get up and look around at whoever pulled him back and saved his life, but. . . no one was there. As he looks around, he spots a bouquet of flowers resting against the bus stop, the laminated placard tied to it too blurred by rain to read the purple printed words. Did someone die here? He shudders at the thought that he could have joined them, and even moreso at the idea that they saved him by pulling him back. Snippy pauses, then shakes his head at himself. No, ghosts don't exist. It all had to be a coincidence, right? He was probably just stuck perceiving everything in slow motion and managed to back away from the barrelling bus, then tripped over the curb and landed on his ass. Even though he's come to the conclusion that no one is around, he can't shake the feeling of being watched, even as he safely crosses the road and heads to the train station.