#The weight of the breaking world and universes and he had to fix them while barely existing in less than a second compared to it all

[sastielsfandom]

Do you ever stop and think about how Jack knew he had to take on a form that didn't reflect his actual age because it wasn't safe enough for him to? And that he was immediately proved correct when a gun was pulled on him, angels went to hunt him down so he could be used to power heaven, and Dean promised to find a way to kill him the first day he was born. And he just continued to be proved correct. Even in the form he was in, he still wasn't safe enough. It didn't matter the form, didn't matter how strong he was, he was still a little kid who could be manipulated and was. He was expected to know better and act better than the adults around him.

[mononijikayu]

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin. 

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs. 

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,  

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.  

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?  

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.   

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕,  𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long. 

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life. 

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole. 

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy. 

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope. 

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness. 

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved. 

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay. 

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness. 

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him. 

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that…” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create. 

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind. 

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it. 

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried. 

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear. 

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue 

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—” he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

[agent-cupcake]

Éphémère

I’ve been attempting to fill short kinktober prompts with the Final Fantasy XIV cast to procrastinate the larger project I've been doing. We’ll see where it goes. Most of them are AU's of some kind idk.

Pairing: Aymeric de Borel x f!Reader Kink: Semi-public / Blowjob Tags: Explicit, light D/s dynamic, alternate universe: modern Word Count: 2.7k

“What are you doing here?” Aymeric asked, his blue eyes widening with surprise upon seeing who had been knocking. You hadn’t called, although you should have. You didn’t want to risk being turned away, to be told you couldn’t steal a few precious moments from his busy life. Besides, you had a good cause this time. 

Given that your hands were full, you shut the door with your foot. His office was the same as ever. It was not quite as grand as someone might expect, clearly inhabited by somebody who favored efficiency over aesthetics. The air smelled like him and the corporate scent of floor polish and new upholstery. While the blinds covering the windows facing Ishgard were wide open, those over the windows looking into the main office space were closed. It gave a very strong illusion of isolation and intimacy, like it was just you and him. Emboldened by that thought, you fixed Aymeric with as serious a stare as you could. 

“I heard that you’re working way too hard, and that your staff is worried about you,” you said, having decided upon a cold open approach so he couldn’t wriggle out of your accusations. “I’ve even heard that it’s putting you in a bad mood. The men are losing morale.” You waited a beat for his response, but he just looked at you, completely befuddled. Eventually, you prompted him with a prodding,“So?” 

“So… what?” Aymeric asked.

“Is any of that true?”

“True?” he repeated, his dark eyebrows pinching in the middle. “Ah, no…  No, it is not.” Aymeric finally forced a reassuring smile. He wasn’t very good at faking. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine.” You gave him a doubtful look, slowly meandering over to his cluttered desk. There was nothing to be said, you both knew that you were right. He could try to downplay it all he liked, but even Aymeric had his limits. He sighed. “I cannot afford to take a break yet. I promise to rest once this matter is resolved. Perhaps I’ll take a day off. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere you wish.”

“We won’t be going anywhere after you work yourself into a nervous breakdown,” you told him flatly. 

“Please, don’t say such things. I promise that I will be fine.”

You sighed. “Either way, I brought you something to eat,” you said, setting the bag of takeout on the tiny bit of space left on his desk. “I had a feeling you skipped lunch.” 

“Lunch?” he asked, brow furrowing. “What time is it?”

“Past lunch.”

“I see. I must have lost track of the time, I… Thank you.” He placed a hand over yours and smiled, a real smile, and you felt your chest clench. Even overworked and exhausted, he was beautiful. Far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. “I dare not consider where I might be without you.” 

You smiled, even knowing it was a platitude. He was the most resilient person you had ever met, and one of the most solitary. Aymeric would be just as okay on his own as with you, but you liked the idea that he needed you, if only for a fleeting moment. You liked to think that there was something only you could give him, something of value. 

And, just like that, you came to the conclusion that he didn’t look like he needed a meal. He looked taut as a bow string and ready to snap, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked like he needed a bit more than lunch. 

“Hey, while I’m here, maybe…” you began, faltering with embarrassment as you tried to figure out the best way to phrase it. 

“Is there something else?” 

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make you take a break so I won’t ask. Still, I want to do something to brighten your day and honestly you look like you could use a pick-me-up,” you blurted out, speaking fast to keep your nerve. “I’ve thought about it before and I’m pretty sure I can fit under your desk,” you said, leaning forward to double check. Yeah, there was plenty of room. Three cheers for long legs. “Think of it as stress relief. Like a massage or something but, you know, with my mouth. What do you think?” 

Done with your awkward proposition, you looked back up at Aymeric with as innocent an expression as you could manage, meeting his eyes as if you hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. It was always hard to predict how he might react to any given situation, mostly it was a question of whether or not his Catholic guilt and relentless sense of propriety would win out, but you pretty well expected the way his mouth snapped shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his entire body went taut. 

And then slowly, carefully, “Are you…” 

“Offering to give you head in your office at three in the afternoon on a Thursday?” you finished for him. “Um… Yeah, I guess I am.”  

“I… I don’t think… That is,” he cleared his throat, “obscenity of that sort would be extremely inappropriate for a man in my position.”

“C’mon, are you going to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Doing secret, naughty things is the best part of getting a big, isolated office with a big, roomy desk. Or so I’ve been told.” 

Aymeric swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the door and back. “Even if I were comfortable with such an egregious breach in etiquette, it would be wrong of me to do so while everyone else is working so hard.” 

“You’re looking at it all wrong,” you argued. “If you work while you’re super stressed out, you won’t do as well, and you act all grumpy, and everybody is unhappy. If you take a teensy tiny little break to let me help you relax, you’ll work better, be nicer, and everybody will be happy... If you need an excuse, you can blame it all on me. You can say you got lured in by the irresistible charm of a succubus who would simply not take no for an answer.”  

He let out a single laugh, dry and nervous and humorless. “Is there any truth in that?” 

“I am pretty insatiable when it comes to you.”

Aymeric reached up to take hold of your chin, gently pulling your face towards his so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. And you knew that look. Conflict. Doubt. Desire.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll let it go,” you said. “But if it would make you feel better, I want to. I’d do anything… sir.” 

Aymeric’s expression hardened, his eyes darkening a shade, and it was a stare that demanded your submission. It was the kind of look that was usually followed with orders like remove your clothes or don’t move unless I say or open your legs or-

“Get on your knees.” Even half whispered, even though he always left enough space in his demands for you to deny him if you were truly uncomfortable, that wasn’t the sort of order you turned down. 

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft. His fingers squeezed your jaw a little bit tighter, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “Yes, sir,” you amended. Aymeric released your face and leaned back, watching as you fell to your knees. Although there was enough space under his desk for you to fit, crawling under it was kind of awkward. Good thing your skirt was flared, scrambling around like this in anything tight would have been impossible. 

“Is that okay?” he asked. “Should I move back?”

“No, sir. This is…” You breathed out, steadying yourself. “Perfect.”

Knowing you had a time limit, you undid his belt and the button of his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down. Aymeric was kind enough to shift his hips so you could push his trousers down and out of the way. Wanting to savor things at least a little, you traced the outline of his dick through the dark boxer briefs, feeling him harden beneath your touch. Aymeric’s hips shifted and he cleared his throat, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath the waistband to pull those down too. 

He wasn’t hard yet, but the choked noise Aymeric made and the way his hips jumped forward when you began to stroke his cock made you think that he wanted this at least almost as much as you did. He caught himself quickly afterwards. Always playing the stoic.

You realized early on in the relationship that, power dynamic notwithstanding, Aymeric was not the type of man to demand things of you sexually, at least not for his own pleasure. There was an element of trial and error to figure out what worked. It was all pretty complicated. So was he, for that matter. Pretty and complicated. 

Continuing to stroke the base, you paid your respects, kissing and licking your way across his cock. Every inch of him was perfect, though you could admit a preference for this particular part. Perfect, and, as you liked to think in your wildest moments, yours. Alternating between using just the tip of your tongue and the flat, you traced the veins running the length of his dick, following one along the underside until you reached the head, lavishing extra attention at the point where they met. You knew that got him, one of his hands finally finding its way to the top of your head. Humming happily, you did it again before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the swollen crown. His fingers curled against your scalp, not grabbing or pushing, but very insistently there. 

Now that Aymeric was fully hard, you couldn’t help but think about what he felt like inside of you. How full, how complete you were when he fucked you. The mere thought of it was enough to make you moan shakily, wrapping your lips around his cock and pushing forward, sucking and licking enthusiastically in the hopes that he would be able to feel your arousal. Your appreciation, your affection, your adoration. 

That wasn’t something you ever told him, not with words. You knew better than to distract him with too many of your feelings. He was so busy all the time, distant in a way that often left you cold. Not because he was cruel, or unfeeling, but because he lived in service to others, to lead, there was only so much of himself that he could give. Scraps, moments, little fragments of the most magnificent man you’d ever known. And he had been clear about that from the start. You made peace with it. For such a self-sacrificing man, the very least you could do was live in his service. If it was Aymeric, you didn’t mind so much. 

Finding a pace and rhythm that worked took a moment of experimentation, getting your hand and mouth to work together. Plus, you were trying to be quiet, and clean. That’s how these office affairs went, right? Top secret stuff. Aymeric’s hips pushed forward, throwing you off. 

“You needn’t hold yourself back,” he told you, his voice slightly muffled from above. “The walls are quite thick and-” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I know you can do better.”

You hummed in understanding, although it probably didn’t sound like much with his cock in your mouth. It was one of Aymeric’s many contradictions. No matter how neat and put-together he always was, nights with him often ended with you teary eyed and dripping with sweat, your thighs slick with cum and saliva leaking from your open mouth, blissed out and sloppy. He wanted to know that you were enjoying yourself so much that you’d be reduced to a swooning, helpless mess. And still, he insisted he wasn’t any sort of sadist. Pretty, complicated, and terribly repressed. 

You gave him what he wanted. It sounded obscene, wet slurping and your little choked moans stifled by his cock, the slick back and forth of your hand working the base, the movements smoothed by your saliva. It was already messy enough to be dripping down your chin and onto your skirt. Probably onto his expensive trousers. He had spare suits at the office though, it was fine. 

“If you’re going to hump my leg, move your skirt out of the way,” Aymeric said. Embarrassing, although he said it with a measure of warmth. 

You stopped, pulling off with a slick pop and a shaky laugh. In your haze, you hadn’t even been aware of what your body was doing. “Ss-sorry, sir. I didn’t…”

“That wasn't a request.” You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the imperious set of his sharp features, the way his perfect lips blushed dark pink and parted when he was turned on, how his inky dark eyelashes would flutter open so he could look at you with those gorgeous eyes.

You whimpered, a sound you couldn’t help. A bit awkwardly, you hiked your skirt out of the way, shuffling a little closer so you could better grind against his leg.

“Good girl,” he murmured softly. Sweetly, using the hand on your head to pet your hair. You shuddered hard, raising your chin and opening your mouth. Aymeric met you halfway, his hips pushing forward while you moved down, your saliva-slick hand jerking him off in tandem with each bob of your head. 

Now that you were actively trying, the pressure between your legs was intoxicating. You wondered how much he could feel with the heavy fabric of his trousers in the way, if he was aware of how hot you burned for him, how wet every little catch of his breath or groan he couldn’t hold back left you. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was good. At this point, he was practically hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, and you couldn’t tell who was guiding the pace. It was all you could do to sneak in a breath here and there, to remember to use your tongue, to try and keep your voice down as you well and truly lost yourself in the hazy depths of lust and need, shamelessly grinding against his leg. 

Aymeric clearly wasn’t concerned about volume control at all, the office was filled with wet squishing choking noises and your muffled moans. His breathing had become erratic and you could hear the low groans he tried to fight back. You wanted him to come. Desperately, desperately. You wanted to make him feel good, to make him relax, to narrow down his world until it was only you and him and the pleasure he could derive from you. You wanted him to throw you onto his desk and fuck you until you were screaming, to claim you because, God help you, you were his. Not just for a fleeting moment, a single afternoon, a day off, but always. Every second of every day, his. 

“I… can’t…” was the only hoarse warning you got before his hips stuttered, his hand holding your head in place as he came. You braced yourself to take it. For any other guy you wouldn’t have, but Aymeric... 

Aymeric. Every part of him was perfect, you would take anything he gave to you. 

He moaned so prettily, even if he tried to muffle it, the sounds stuttered and choked. You swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, desperate to prove yourself, to take whatever he saw fit to give you. To be his good girl. 

And then he stilled, his hand relaxing. His cock twitched in your mouth, and you pulled back with an unseemly amount of saliva. Like you thought, most of it was on your skirt. Not to mention your sore knees, stiff legs, and the lingering taste of cum in your mouth that was not nearly as pleasant when the act was finished. You needed to get up, the moment was over. He needed to get back to work. But, selfishly stealing a few more precious seconds, you rested your forehead against Aymeric’s knee, and he petted your head, and you let your eyes close. Just for a moment. 

[decks-writing-blog]

Gordon Swap Chapter Six: Remembered

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

[A/N] I finished writing the fic! Yay! It's 14 chapters and an epilogue. I'm pretty sure this is the longest Gen fic I've ever written. Though there are points in which how much I ship Frenrey probably comes through at least a little bit but it's not a major part of the fic.

~

“Dr. Freeman.” The world froze as the voice echoed oddly around Gordon.

He snapped around to face it, raising his shotgun. It was the man in the suit, the one who’d been following and watching him! His finger tensed on the trigger but… didn’t pull it. Creepy as the man was, he hadn’t done anyone any harm that Gordon knew of. So instead he took his hand off the bottom of the gun to sign a one-handed, “Who are you?”

The guy stared at him in silence for a beat, his face unreadable. “It seems a mix up has occurred while I was occupied. You’re not the one I’d intended to have this little chat with. Fixing this would be… let’s just say, ‘difficult’ for now. I suppose I am curious though. We’ll see what happens, shall we? And as for who I am, that’s not important. We shall met again at some point in the future.”

And with that, just as quickly as he’d appeared, the man was gone again. The world flowed back into motion with his vanishing. Weird. That confirmed something supernatural was up with that guy though. Gordon had suspected as much based off his appearing so often in places not easily accessible.

He glanced around at the group – missing Benrey who’d apparently wondered off for some reason, perhaps to look for this universe’s Gordon – as far as he could tell none of them seemed aware anything had happened. The man had mentioned a ‘mix up’ though. Which meant at seemingly little more than a glance, he’d somehow known that one had occurred. How could he tell so quickly? Did he know the other Gordon that well? Answer likely weren’t coming any time soon.

It did lend more weight to their alternate universe theory though. That was good. Knowing what was going on should make it easier to fix after the more pressing problem was taken care of.

“Why are you just standing there?” Bubby said, snapping Gordon’s attention back onto him frowning at him. “I thought you were from an alternate universe where people never slow down.”

Rolling his shoulders, Gordon turned back towards the exit. There was indeed no time to stand around, wondering about whatever had just happened. Besides, the guy had said he’d be seeing him again later. He could try to get answer then.

Coomer was already at the metal doors as they finished opening. “Look, not-Gordon, a revolving door.” He pointed it at even as he walked into it, his tone similar to what one would use when talking to a small child. The door spun with him for a couple seconds before screeching to a halt, apparently stuck on something or broken somehow. “Help me, not-Gordon.” Perhaps he was claustrophobic.

Gordon quickly pulled out the crowbar and broke the glass in the door, allowing him to step through and break the glass on the next part of the door too. It was surprisingly easy to clear the whole opening by scraping the crowbar along the edges of the glass to knock it all out. One would think the glass used in such a construct would be sturdier. Oh well. Just for good measure, Gordon broke every pane of glass the door had, doubling back through the door to do so, leaving a crunchy glittering carpet of broken glass on the floor. They were all wearing good shoes though so it was fine… hopefully.

“Wow, not-Gordon, I guess that’s what we’re calling you now,” Bubby said once he was finally done and rejoining them on the other side. “Was all that destruction really necessary?”

Gordon shrugged. Probably not but he liked breaking things. Not a new thing, he’d always enjoyed the sound of shattering glass in particular, but the stress of the situation made the outlet of destruction even more appealing. No time to dwell on that though. He turned away and resumed walking.

~

“I feel bad about our Mr. Freeman.” Tommy spoke softly, not addressing Gordon who lead the way through the tunnel, ears strained for the military – they’d into several already more had to be nearby. “He’s uh… he’s all alone and he probably thinks we abandoned him.”

“And betrayed him.” Coomer didn’t bother lowering his voice. “Which certain members of our group did indeed do.” No obvious bitterness in his voice, seemingly just a statement of fact.

“They lied to me.” Clearly Bubby was among that ‘certain members of our group’. “I didn’t know they were going to do that to him and I certainly didn’t tell them to. So it’s not my fault they cut off his hand.”

So Bubby and at least one other in the group – probably Benrey given the conversation the three of them had had when Gordon met Bubby in the tube – had betrayed their Gordon. A misunderstanding apparently, but still not a great thing to learn about them. They should know better than to pull such a move again though so Gordon was fine. Plus if they did, he could just reset.

Other him was probably going to be pissed if they ever found their way back to him. A future problem though that didn’t really affect Gordon so he wasn’t going to worry about it. Unlike the military encampment up ahead, the sounds of it quickly growing audible as they made their way around the bend in the tunnel. And was that the a… helicopter? Sure sounded like one. Damn it. Things had just got a bit harder. He had companions, some of them super-powered – even if one of which was currently missing – now though so maybe it evened out.

~

“User death imminent. Seek medical attention.”

“Oh no! Don’t die Mr. Freeman or uh… not-Mr. Freeman. Even though you are him, just a… a different him. But uh… don’t die. Dying’s bad.”

Gordon would’ve liked a choice in that matter but even the HEV suit could only take so much fire from a damn attack helicopter.

“For three Play Coinstm I could heal you to full.”

What was a Play Cointm? It was easier to just keep his eyes closed and just die than try to figure it out. Probably he didn’t have any anyway. So he didn’t fight it as his blood filled his suit.

He blinked open his eyes back in the tunnel, just before the bend leading to the dam.

“They lied to me,” Bubby said. “I didn’t know they were going to do that to him and I certainly didn’t tell them to. So it’s not my fault they cut off his hand. Why are we stopping?”

“Uh… uh… Mr. Freeman… or not-Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said as he rushed ahead to stand in front of Gordon, gesturing excitedly with his hands. “It’s you! You’re uh… doing the thing with time. You died and… and… now we’re here. How’d you do that?”

He remembered?! No one else Gordon had encountered had remembered. Trying to explain had gotten him a pitying look; the kind of look one gave someone who’d lost their mind due to stress. But Tommy remembered!

“Watch out for the helicopter, not-Gordon,” Coomer said. “Its gun can shred through the HEV’s power and medi-gel quicker than normal handheld guns.” Did he remember too?

“There’s a helicopter up ahead?” Bubby asked. “And what was that about Gordon dying, Tommy? He didn’t die… did he?”

“I think he might have,” Coomer said. “I’m… not sure though. And I’m not sure why I’m not sure. I don’t remember it happening but… I have a rather odd feeling that it did. So he might’ve died and there might be a helicopter ahead that killed him.”

“He died,” Tommy said with certainty. “And then time went back. It’s uh… been happening occasionally for a little while now. It wasn’t sure what it was but um, I realized just now because I was watching as he died and then time went back right when he did so it’s gotta be him. Right, Mr. Freeman? Or uh… or do you not remember. Time stuff is weird sometimes.”

Gordon lifted a hand to sign, “Yes,” nodding along with it. “I remember. I think it’s because of the Resonance Cascade.”

“I uh… don’t know what the means, Mr. Freeman, other than the ‘yes’ anyway.”

With a sigh, Gordon switched to spelling, slowly so Tommy could read it.

“C. A. S. C. A. D. E.” Tommy read the letters out as Gordon signed them. “That spells uh… ‘cascade’ so you’re saying that um…”

“It’s got something to do with the Resonance Cascade,” Bubby interrupted. “It gave you superpowers or something?”

“Yes.”

“He said, ‘Yes’,” Tommy translated. Though with how simple and obvious ‘yes’ was, was it really needed?

“Congratulations on your superpowers, not-Gordon. You no longer need to fear death.” Coomer gave him a thumbs up. He didn’t sound or look surprised by it at all. That was fine though because he and Tommy still remembered. Or at least, he sort of remembered which was a lot as far as Gordon was concerned. He could just about hug Tommy for remembering entirely.

“Wait, wait,” Bubby lifted his hands as he stepped forward. “If time resets when he dies that basically undoes it, right? So that makes three of our group, if we still counting Benrey as part of the group anyway, that don’t fucking die. What about you two?” He gestured to Tommy and Coomer.

Coomer raised his hand. “I have built in defibrillators. They’ve brought me back three times since the start of this adventure, four times total.”

“Huh? I guess that makes sense.” Bubby turned to Tommy next. “What about you?”

“Um… you know… I don’t know, maybe. I haven’t died so I guess we’ll see if I ever do.”

Bubby gave him a long hard stare. The silence held long enough to be almost uncomfortable before Bubby casually drew his gun and shot Tommy before Gordon could do more than take a step towards him to try to stop him. Tommy flinched a little but it seemed to be more from the sound than the bullet. There wasn’t a mark on him despite the fact that there was no way Bubby could’ve missed when so close. … A bit too close for comfort but good to know.

“That’s what I thought.” Bubby holstered his gun as he stepped back. “You just don’t fucking die.”

“That’s like an advanced form of coming back from the dead.” Coomer still didn’t sound surprised or even upset that Bubby had tried to kill Tommy.

Bubby turned to Gordon. “What is the likelihood of this? None of us stay dead and Tommy can’t die. That kinda thing’s gotta be rare, right? How’d we all end up traveling together like this?”

Gordon shrugged as Tommy said, “Fate… maybe. It is kinda weird though, huh?”

Were either of them going to ask Bubby about him clearly counting himself as part of the ‘didn’t stay dead’ group? … Probably not. They both seemed to accept it as normal. Gordon was the only one who wanted to know more. Not just about Bubby but Tommy too. And Coomer had to have some pretty high tech implants to not just bring him back several times but still be so hale and hearty afterwards.

More than just others knowing, Gordon wasn’t alone in being able to die and come back from it. The question of how and why for himself had grown banal – death hurt, the less he thought about it, the better. Finally though, he had people he could theoretically talk about it with. But he couldn’t easily do so and none of them seemed surprised by it. If there was a whiteboard nearby… but there wasn’t. And they were on a mission that was best completed as soon as possible. Damn it. Later, Gordon would ask them about the how and why of it all later.

First came getting past the helicopter. Fighting it clearly hadn’t been the way to go. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to turn around and resume travel.

~

“Taste it, not-Gordon taste it.” Coomer was an odd man but still what an odd request… demand? No it was a request.

It wasn’t sewer water though, no matter what any of them said or what colour it was. Sewer water didn’t go through dams. So once they reached land, after pulling himself up out the water, Gordon turned back to it to cup some of it into his hands and taste it, as requested. … It was gritty with dirt and tasted like mud. Gross and probably not potable but not sewage.

“Holy fuck, not-Gordon,” Bubby said. “You’re even more of a nasty little sewage boi than our Gordon.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually taste it,” Coomer added.

What an odd bunch. Good traveling companions though. The humor they added made everything feel less bleak.

Bending down again, Gordon got some mud on his finger and wrote on the wall next to them. ‘Mudd’ There wasn’t enough for the ‘y’ but it should still get the point across.

“I think he’s saying it’s just muddy water,” Tommy translated. “Not sewage. Which uh… does make more sense. It doesn’t smell as bad as the residue processing place did.”

Bubby gave the water skeptical look. “I guess so. But that makes you a nasty little mud boi instead.”

Gordon was willing to accept that label. He had just taken a sip of muddy water because Coomer had told him to after all. So with a shrug, he turned and resumed going forward.

~

The sound was enough to make Gordon wish he could turn off his hearing implants but the thing itself was fascinating. Biblically accurate helicopter was the only way to describe it. It was an angel. Oh what Gordon wouldn’t give to be the one in its pilot seat.

“What the hell is that?” was maybe what Bubby shouted. It was hard to tell over the roar of the mechanical angel’s engine. Whatever Coomer responded with was drowned out entirely.

A rocket flew past, getting a direct hit on the flying monstrosity. A glance over confirmed it was Bubby. He’d taken the rocket launcher they’d found in the alcove before Gordon could. Not that he needed it, he had so many guns magnetized to the suit already. And now Bubby was trying to kill the angel helicopter with it.

It wasn’t firing back though. Whatever angelic or perhaps demonic power the military had harnessed to bring this thing into existence clearly couldn’t cover everything. … Unless the noise was it’s whole purpose. A distraction and to drown out other more directly deadly things.

Shifting his hold on the shotgun to a ready stance, Gordon looked all around. Not much to see but a gorgeous view and the angel helicopter. Best not to dawdle though. He got moving, walking as fast as he dared along the thin edge towards the ladder. Reaching it meant he had to put his shotgun back on his shoulder so he climb up, leaving him so, so exposed. He climbed as fast as he possibly could.

Up top, the ledge next to it jutted out further than below, making it a doubly relief to reach. Nothing was up here either.

Looking down gave him a top view of the angel helicopter. How it even steered was a mystery. It went around in a seemingly random pattern, spinning as it did so. Dangerous only in potential hearing damage. That lack of lethalityis part of what made it appealing. Probably it was the only good thing to come out of the US military.

“Let’s get the hell away from that thing,” Bubby said as he reached the top of the ladder.

Alas, Gordon couldn’t make a good argument to stay and find out more about how the odd flying machine functioned instead. So he turned and started marching onwards once more, trusting the others to follow.

Benrey was still missing. How was he going to catch up to them? … Maybe he didn’t intend to. He was off looking for their Gordon. Perhaps Benrey had a special attachment to him or was just the one who happened to volunteer to go back for him in case a swap hadn’t occurred and other-Gordon was instead wondering around alone back there. He’d be okay though, seemingly he couldn’t die after all.

~

Bubby and Tommy in particular had a tendency to be uncomfortably casual with where they pointed their guns. Bad enough that Gordon, unable to properly say anything to them about it, began pushing the barrels of their guns down every time he caught them at it – especially after Bubby causal shooting of Tommy, he felt justified in doing so. If they accidentally pulled the trigger and shot him, it would suck but between the HEV suit and his time reset, he wasn’t too worried about it.

Coomer was decent about it right up until he wasn’t anymore. Gordon didn’t have time to do more than realize that the scientist hiding in the corner looked distinctly like Coomer before he was dead to a shotgun blast to the face. His head exploded, splattering his brain matter across the wall behind him as his body fell life to the floor.

“Another clone down.” Coomer’s voice was cheery as ever, as he pumped the shotgun. He then started to turn as if to continue onward.

Gordon raised an arm to stop him.

He turned to face him, looking up with the same expression as before. “Hello, not-Gordon! I’m getting thirsty.”

Tapping the back of his hand, where the metal of the HEV suit’s gauntlets was against his forearm, drew the others’ attention. “C.L.O.N.E.?” he spelled out, Tommy repeating each letter.

“He wants to know why you killed your clone?” Bubby said. “I think, maybe, I don’t know.”

Gordon gave him a thumbs up because that was exactly what he wanted to know. Also if that had been Coomer’s clone to begin with. It was possible; rumors sourced from Barney’s guard pals said that a Dr. Coomer had once been involved in a failed cloning project. It might not have failed here and thus, it might’ve indeed been a clone. That didn’t warrant killing though, did it?

“When one of my clones die, I grow stronger.”

Did that warrant it though? Gordon gestured at him to continue. He lowered his other hand towards his pistol. Resetting this was still an option. Right in front of them would make it more uncomfortable but did the clones deserve to die merely for being clones and their deaths providing a benefit to presumably the original?

It was Tommy who answered. “Also the clones get scary and violent sometimes. I ran into a bunch of them when I was looking for Mr. Freeman… uh, our Mr. Freeman, not you… not-Mr. Freeman. It was scary.” He had mentioned that before; when he’d first come in. The following conversation had been a distraction from it but it indeed wasn’t news. “So um, killing them one by one as we run into them is probably easier and safer.”

The clone just killed hadn’t seemed violent though. He’d been hiding much like the normal scientists did. But they were without a doubt Black Mesa experiments and this whole disaster was a result of another experiment. Dangerously violent phenomenon that needed to be stopped wasn’t even all that uncommon; working for Black Mesa had a lot upsides but that didn’t make it an ethical company. So perhaps these guys were well justified in killing Coomer’s clones. Meaning Gordon should probably trust them on it, huh?

So with a sigh, he stepped back and turned to resume going forward.

~

“A hole,” Bubby said as he caught up, indicating the hole Gordon had found in the roof.

“Look, not-Gordon, a hole!” Coomer announced as he caught up too.

And of course Tommy wasn’t too far behind. “You found a hole, Mr. Freeman.”

He sure had but he was giving it good thorough look before jumping down lest it be another trap. It seemed fine but it was also dark down there. Though big enough to fit a person, it wasn’t much bigger than that, making seeing much in the room below even with the HEV’s flashlight shining down into it difficult.

“What are we waiting for?” Bubby didn’t wait for an answer before jumping down. Coomer and Tommy quickly followed, basically right on his heels. … No sound of gunfire or violence in general so… Gordon jumped down too.

Boxes lined the small room; a storage closest. On one of the boxes sat a skeleton and on one next to it, Benrey. How he’d gotten ahead of them didn’t matter, it was nice to see him again. Gordon walked up and patted on him lightly on the shoulder in way of welcoming him back.

The look Benrey gave him in return was unreadable. Disappointment perhaps? Gordon wasn’t going to try to guess.

“Hey guys,” he said, addressing the group as he broke eye-contact with Gordon. “I made a friend.” He gestured to the skeleton. “He’s uh… he’s cool. Got his passport and everything, all good to go and stuff.”

“You find our Mr. Freeman?” Tommy asked. “Assuming that’s uh… why you left this time. ‘Cause it was right after we found out this isn’t him and I know you uh… like him or something, I think. You seem to anyway. Maybe you just like bothering him.”

“I found a blood trail, starting ‘bout were they jumped him and stuff. Led to a metal closest, then stopped. Nothing inside. It sparked a bit when I closed the door but that’s it. Boring.” Ah, that machine was for sure busted then.

“That’s might be the machine that swapped him with this Gordon,” Bubby said, gesturing to Gordon.

Gordon lifted a hand to sign a quick, “Yes,” in agreement with that idea since that was his theory too, before turning his full attention onto the skeleton. As he approached it, it looked up at him. Weird but stuff was just weird sometimes.

He was going to have to tell Barney about this later. Apparently that rumor he’d heard about someone in Black Mesa trying to summon a ‘Skeleton King’ that resulted in a bunch of skeletons haunting that part of the facility, might hold some truth after all. Assuming that’s what this skeleton was anyway. It might be something else entirely. Regardless, it didn’t seem inclined towards hostility and thus it could stay if it wanted to.

Turning away, Gordon scanned the room until he found the door behind one of the boxes. He had to move another box to make room to move that box – how had the boxes even ended up in this configuration? Benrey must’ve moved them once in here for some odd reason – before he could go over to the other side to actually push it though…

“This is a good place to rest, don’t you think, not-Gordon,” Coomer said.

It was probably a good place to rest. A box in front of the door would mean anything that got in would wake them before accomplishing that task. The hole in the roof was a bit more of a problem but it had been nestled between the air ducts; Gordon had almost missed it and he’d been looking specifically for a way into this building.

But tired as he was, stopping always grated on his senses. He’d caused this he had to fix it and the sooner he could do so, the less people would ultimately die because of it. And stopping to rest for too long always made it so hard to continue. He could go a little bit longer before he collapsed with exhaustion and so… normally he would. He had companions now though and if they wanted to stop then maybe they should. Someone could keep watch. That should make rest a bit easier to bear.

With a sigh, he rejoined them back in the center of the room and sat down, leaning back against one of the boxes. Lying down felt wrong. So since this all started, the few times he’d slept, he’d done so sitting up, leaning back against something, holding his shotgun to his chest. With someone keeping watch, such wasn’t necessary but he had no intention of not doing so anyway.

He’d have volunteered to keep the first watch but didn’t have the means to do so. Meaning whatever the others decided on, he’d go with. Instead of bringing up that discussion though…

“Good night, not-Gordon,” Coomer said before flopping down onto the floor.

Bubby and Tommy followed suit with their own variations of ‘good night’. Neither Benrey nor the skeleton did though. They just continued sitting there. Benrey was watching Gordon but didn’t seem inclined to start a conversation.

Perhaps the group had a set schedule for who kept watch. Benrey was first maybe? He’d wake whoever was next and so the chain would continue until it was Gordon’s turn. … And so he should get rest while he could. Easier said then done but he closed his eyes anyway.

~

Next Chapter

[eldest-sibling-tournament]

As much as I love Nani and understand what she wentthrough (I had her back in each poll🫡), Ed has a weird situation. Nani is forced into being a parent and sibling to Lilo because their parents died but Ed is forced to take care of himself and Al because their dad LEFT and their mom pretty much died from a broken heart and her sickness.

Granted, Ed is definitely not a parent to Al, which gives them a stronger sibling relationship. However, Ed still takes the brunt of the suffering the world to protect Al. Nani is up against CPS (🤢), neocolonialism, and aliens while Ed is up against the entire government alongside these weird ass monsters.

As the oldest sibling, Ed took on the responsibility to make tough choices and decisions, so Al would never have to. Which is harder to me because Ed is like 1-2 years older than Al. It's expected of Nani, as a sibling much older than Lilo, to take care of her (which is another can of worms that I dont have time to get into).

I feel like Ed feeling that responsibility, even with that small ass age gap, is the true representation of older sibling energy. It's looking at your sibling, who you held as a newborn when you were 2, and going "I need to take care of that baby", even though you're still a baby too.

And, because you're still a baby, people from the outside will look and go "why is this 15 year old boy employed by the military which has a history of committing war crimes and psychologically breaking their soldiers?". But you KNOW you have to do these things because if you don't and if you don't suffer, then your younger sibling will.

The last thing I'll say in my propaganda is that the enemies Nani and Ed are up against are real asf. CPS and neocolonialism ravage communities of color in the US under the guise of protecting children. Amestris (where FMA takes place) is an imperialist country that committed genocide and used/sacrificed anyone it could to commit genocide again.

In their respective universes, Nani and Ed were up against some of the most insidious governments and political tools/lies. But, Ed had more to lose. When CPS comes to take children away, families are given "chances" to "fix" what is wrong (which is why in the end Lilo wasn't taken away) (even though CPS is so shitty that this often isn't the case for families of color).

Ed didn't have that safety net. If he didn't do what he did, if he hadn't taken up the role as the older sibling, if he hadn't stepped up and done everything he could to do better for and protect Al, everyone would be gone. And even then, Ed's main focus was always ever on Al, not on saving everyone in these the countries.

*Also, there's something about the way Ed carries their father leaving and their mother dying differently from Al. Al doesn't hate or resent their father, but Ed does. And that's because Ed understands that, if their father had not left, the weight of the world would not be on their shoulders. Ed has shielded Al, not only from the world but also, from the hole their father left in their lives.

NOTHING says older sibling more than having to see your younger sibling(s) love and believe the same parent(s) that put y'all in the fucked up place y'all are in. And then, your younger sibling(s) doesn't understand your reticence or anger. BECAUSE they didn't have to pick up what y'all parent(s) left behind and then understand that y'all parent(s) had a CHOICE to not leave and they only came back when it suited them. NOT because they realized that them leaving fucked everyone up, especially you.

[atirosnor]

Summary: The dynamic was fixed with his Tim—they couldn't seem to break out of the cycle of banter and spite—but maybe with this new Tim—they'd be willing—to try? He's … trying … b

[some batfamily members across some very close universes have been switched. No way of knowing if they'll manage to get back, but it seems only Jason and Tim were swapped here. Little do they know, they're from the same universe.]

This is getting to be a problem.

"Dick, Babs, could you—" Babs gave him a considering look, nodded, and wheeled her chair around while Dick's face softened, he nodded in understanding, and followed her out of the room.

Jason turned to see Tim standing stock still, staring after them. Shoot. He tucked his arms in tried to look more relaxed and small, and moved so Tim could block the door instead, if he wanted. "Sorry, I—" He paused, unsure whether that was the right move. He steeled his shoulders. "Why do you hate me?"

:readmore:

That got Tim stammering, "I—I don't hate you!" he shouted, eyes wide. "I—" he looked away and winced. "I'm sorry. It's fine. I—"

"Then why are you scared of me?"

Tim's eyes widened. "I—I'm not scared." He said vehemently, glaring, then looked away again. "I'm—" Jason moved his hand to bring Tim's face back towards him—he flinched violently and stumbled a couple steps away from him, then winced at his misstep.

Jason raised an eyebrow. You sure?

"Really, I—it's my problem. You shouldn't have to deal with it. My Jason—"

This time it was Jason's turn to stumble away, as a rotten pit of dread began to form in his gut. He winced. "S---.

"Kid, I'm—" So. Sorry. "I'm an idiotic jerk. Feel free to punch me sometime. I—" he'd been thinking because this wasn't his universe he could have a second chance with Tim—no unprovoked torchure to get between brothers, yeah? Now he realized what an idiot he'd been. Of course the Jason in (t)his world had caused Tim trauma too. Of course he hadn't even realized. Of frickin' course he'd been causing him more trauma with his dumb 'trying to connect with him' shtick. He turned and pinched [yes, pinched, that typo's hilarious] the wall behind him. On the stud, so there wouldn't be any damage—then leaned against it on his forearm and hung his head. "I'm so sorry, R—kid. I should never have assumed I could—" his voice cracked. "I should've never assumed."

He looked up at Tim and he had a calculating look on his face. "You hurt your Tim." It was a statement, and a question.

Abruptly Jason felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the ground. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." He slumped. "I thought i could start over, maybe, with you—" As if you could pretend nothing ever happened— "Try at being a brother, again—" such an idiot, "I'm sorry." didn't even think of the trauma this Tim could have—"I—" didn't even check to see what kind of Jason he'd replaced, "I'll stay away from now on." he straightened, then turned to go. He'd move out of the Manor; he couldn't force this kid to have the object of his nightmares live with him; make him see him every flippin' day.

"No! Wait, I—it's working. We can—it's working. We can … try … to be brothers." Tim awkwardly shuffled forward and visibly steeled himself, though he tried to hide it, before leaning into him. "Stay." Jason hesitantly draped his arms around him, and when he didn't flinch, tightened his arms around him. Tim melted.

Suddenly Tim pulled back. "I mean, only if you want to. There's no reason you should want to be my brother," he rushed out, "but I know Dick and Alfred and Bruce and all would really want you to stay—but only stay if that's what you want to do, not because of any kind of obligation or—"

Jason stopped him by pulling him onto the couch with him in a hug, shushing his protests.  "Hey, baby bird, shut up. We're brothers. I love you.

"And do you think I've been staying here from obligation? 'Cause if that's true, I've gotta nip that thought right in the bud. I don't stay with Bruce from obligation. If I feel coerced into anything I've gotta reject on sheer principle—"

"Wait—you—you love me?"

"Well I sure as Gotham don't ha—" Tim was looking up at him with wonder in those wide, blue, watering eyes. S---. "Sure, kid. Always have." Always since he knew who he was. Since he let himself realize he was just a kid, a Robin, sure, but a kid in the colors just trying to live up to them, trying to help in the only way he knew he could. A kid like he'd been. Family.

And Jason loved those who were his.

[wc:750]

@flufftober

[naoa-ao3]

Thena's Moment

Australia is good. Gil and Thena have a home and most of the time Thena knows where she is.

Most of the time she knows who he is and so most of the time things are good. They stay away from people, they have each other and Gil is very kind and loving, even when things aren't good.

She loves him dearly, even when she doesn't recognize him, even in the moments when she has no control, when Mahd Wy'ry takes over and every living creature near her is in danger.

In those moments she doesn't really know where she is and she doesn't really care. In those moments everything in her mind is on fire and fighting is the only thing that makes sense. Fighting and killing something.

Gil is strong and so he can hold her and bring her back but each time she returns it's with a kind of shattering devastation.

Confusion and pain and fear come back to her. Horrid feelings she can't put words to. Everything breaking in her mind and a million Earth's, little blue planets all alike dying. . .

She doesn't understand it.

It's worse each time and yet each time Gil is there for her, holding her and whispering kindnesses, his hands on her skin and in her hair, his words in her ear gently pulling her back from the brink of something wretched and frightening.

After these times she draws away, shame and the weight of her madness making her isolate herself, even from the man she loves.

She who was once a goddess. . . protector of the city of Athens. . . Name sake for the god of wisdom and warrior too. . .

Yet there are other things that get through the cracks. Things she doesn't understand and yet which fit somehow.

She tries to stay in control, tries to stay Thena whom they all know, whom Gil loves but it doesn't come as easily as it once did.

Even Ajak can't fix her and she knows in some ways that this can't go on forever. She and Gil have had their lives together, they've shared all this. Mahd Wy'ry is going to take her from him completely one day and her biggest fear is that she'll kill him first before it does.

She doesn't want that.

She wants this time with Gil, his beer and his baking, the creations he makes in his ovens and the home they have made together.

She wants to see her family again and fight along side them. She wants to continue being Thena of her family and to see each new sunrise with Gil next to her.

She doesn't want these nightmares of exploding planets and death. . . These dreams that remind her in her most troubled states of imminent doom and something worse she doesn't have a name for.

She forgets as soon as she returns.

All she can feel is the pain, the horror and the fear.

They leave her shaking until they fade and then it's just her and her fractured mind.

Maybe it's selfish to risk so much but Gil tells her it isn't and he takes care of her when she can't take care of herself. He's there for her each day and every night with a smile and a warm hand. . . With a good heart and she loves him for all of their centuries together and the millennia that came before. For everything and the way he smiles.

In their little corner of the world they're safe and the world is safe from her. Here it's just the two of them and while not everything makes sense she's glad they're here.

She's glad she has Gil and perhaps the universe will forget them and let them live just like this a while longer.

Thena can only hope because she knows she won't get better. There is no cure and so all there is is time and the feelings between them.

She can't ask for any more and sometimes she forgets to try.

Sometimes the flat edges of the earth at the corners of her vision are all there are and she knows right where she is. In those moments she knows she 's with Gil and everything is good for at least a while longer.

[sprnklersplashes]

two worlds make a universe (ao3)

Jesper hadn't fully understood what Ohval said until now; when a group of Barrel rats try to break into his home, while Wylan sleeps peacefully in their bed. In Shu Han, she had been protecting her universe. Now, decades later, Jesper is doing the same.

Waking up happens quickly. Just one ring beside him has Jesper bursting into consciousness, nervous sweat trickling down his back and his nerves sparking like livewires through his body. His head is a scramble of half-baked thoughts, still momentarily caught between sleep and reality. But then the bell rings a second time and his head clears. 

It’s the sound he never wanted to hear, and the one he’s prepared himself for a million times over.

“Jesper?” Beside him, Wylan blinks heavily and raises his head. His voice is softer than Jesper’s would be, worn out and weighted with sleep. Slowly, he lifts his head from the pillow and attempts to hold himself upright 

Jesper has prepared for this too. He gives him his best approximation of a comforting smile and uses one hand to stroke his cheek. The other pulls a gun from beneath the mattress.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he whispers. “Everything’s okay. Just go back to sleep.” He repeats himself once, twice more, his hand stroking Wylan’s papery cheek. His eyes drop closed and Jesper waits for his breathing to deepen before getting out of bed. More than anything, he wants to press a parting kiss to his temple or run his fingers through his hair.

But that would cost him precious seconds, and time is one of the many advantages on his side.

He creeps steadily down the hall, so agile and silent that the Wraith herself would be proud. The tinkling of bells draws him further into the house and down the stairs; he silences each one as he passes. It was a system Wylan designed years ago; a series of long, thin wires attached to various bells around the house. The bells used to be louder, larger, made of brass and copper instead of silver. They might have been more useful that way. But at some point, Wylan got older and began sleeping longer. So Jesper switched out the bells and got used to listening harder instead. 

(How his father would have loved to see that, he thinks).

The ringing ceases when he places his hand over the fifth bell on the first floor. The silence echoes back at him, startling now that he has nothing to listen for. The smallest of sounds sharpen; the clock at the end ticks the seconds away in time with his heart. He stands there, his blood buzzing, his ears straining, and then he hears it. The main window overlooking the courtyards; something metal scraping against the stone and two, three muffled voices. They’re loud, cocky. They don’t know he’s there. They think they’re untouchable.

(The glass was their project; his and Wylan’s. Dark and obscured from the outside, clear on the inside).

He wedges himself against the corner and watches out the window. In the light of the garden lamps, he sees the grappling hook dug into the windowsill. When he cranes his neck, he sees the thick rope attached to it, pulled taunt as its owners start their climb. It’s catching on the roes they planted along the window box.

A surge of anger runs through him, smoking like a freshly fired bullet. He won’t be self-pitying or pretend they’ve lived in peace and never harmed anyone. His ledger runs longer and is stained with more red than he wants to admit. And, much as he loves him, so is Wylan’s. There may well be justice to be dealt for them. But these kids are not agents of justice. They're like he was; Barrel rats with big scores to settle, searching for the nearest thrill as if it will fix them.

He can relate. He empathises with them. Unfortunately for them though, they came to his house looking for their thrills. His empathy only goes so far.

He fires two shots. The screams shoot up like fireworks, erupting above his head. The hook shifts, and on the second shot, the wire snaps. They scream again, louder this time, fuelled by shock and the feeling of nothingness beneath their hands. Their groans are weak when they hit the ground, and Jesper isn’t sure whether to roll his eyes, offer help, or just since. Good thing they aimed for the first floor and nothing higher; otherwise he’d have to consider calling for a medik.

“That was a warning shot,” he calls from the window. “Get off my property or the next one won’t be.”

He holds his nerve, lingering in the shadows of his house. His finger wants to tighten on the trigger, but he forces himself to be still. Patience may have been the Barrel’s toughest lesson, but it’s a worthy one. It pays off when he sees a gang of four kids legging it to the west gate and scaling the wall. He’s glad to see the back of them, although he’s also a little insulted. The west entrance is by far the easiest one to break into, and the easiest to get caught at. It feels like they didn’t even try. 

At least, back in his day, they put effort into breaking and entering. 

He huffs, the muzzle of his gun pointed at the open window. The kids scramble up the wall. It’s likely their only grappling hook is still wedged in his window box. Impatience strikes like a match inside his chest because it’s late and he wants to be in bed and they’re taking too fucking long. He toys with his revolver as he watches them begin to disappear and pictures himself sending another warning shot their way.

He may have done it too, were it not for the hand wrapping around his bicep.

“Jes?” His voice floats softly through the dark, a stray lantern floating through the night sky in his mind. “Jesper, is everything all right?”

And that’s when it shatters. The focus, the anger, it all breaks like brittle glass. He lets his shoulders sag, lets himself exhale, and lets his touch be gentle as his hand covers his.

He turns and puts his gun down.

“You should be in bed, love.”

“So should you.” Wylan’s eyes are steely as they move to the window, worry creasing his wrinkled face. “Did something happen?”

He cups his face too quickly and turns him away from the glass.

“No, nothing’s happened.” He slides his gun into his waistband and hides it with his jacket. Then, he offers Wylan his arm. “Come, darling, let’s get to bed.” 

Wylan frowns and sends another, sceptical glance at the window. He isn’t convinced, and there’s an argument held in his blue eyes. But it’s late. His shoulders dip, and he takes his arm.

The trip up the stairs is slow. Once upon a time, they traipsed up and down them with ease, giggles flooding the hall. Sometimes hand in hand, sometimes pulling at each other’s clothes. The stairs seemed to move for them beneath their feet, and neither of them gave it another thought. Jesper still can’t remember when precisely that stopped. It was more of a slow process, laboured breathing one day, a twinge in his knee the next. Until Jesper found himself one day at the top of the stairs, waiting for Wylan to catch up with him.

Wylan refuses to have a railing installed. Or to move their bedroom to the first floor. He faces the stairs the same way he faces the Ice Court; unflinching, unafraid, unwilling to back down. It made Jesper fall in love a little more.

The bedroom door is still open Wylan didn’t bother closing it before he followed him. Jesper clicks it shut behind them before helping him out of his dressing gown. He makes sure to dust it off before he hangs it up; the dust clings to velvet so easily. Then he rushes over to Wylan’s side as he eases down on the bed, a sharp exhale escaping him as he does so.

Wylan had scoffed at Jesper’s fussing once. Rolled his eyes and told him “I know I’m not young any more, but I’m not that old yet.”

Jesper doesn’t know if Wylan is “that old” yet. What he does know is that he took a nasty fall a few months ago and that the arm has only just come out of the sling. He knows that a new kind of worry has taken over since then; one that steals his sleep and works its way into his dreams. 

“Did you get them?” he asks as he toes off his slippers. Jesper freezes. He blinks and notices that he’s wandered over to the window. His hand is on the lock, solid and secure beneath his fingers. His heart slows, just a little.

He pulls away and sits on the bed beside him.

“There was no one to get, dearest,” he says gently. He reaches up and runs a hand through Wylan’s hair. It’s thin and combed back now, the beautiful ruddy gold now faded to grey. Not by a Tailor, but by time.

Wylan frowns, his eyes clouded by sleep.

“I could’ve helped,” is all he says. Jesper forces himself to breathe, to keep his hands steady as he pulls the covers around him.

Truth is, Wylan could have helped. The years might have made him move a little slower, and made his bones more breakable, but he’s still Wylan Van Eck. The boy who broke into the Ice Court, who outsmarted the Merchant Council. He tinkers in his workshop more than Jesper is comfortable with, telling him about his newest inventions as they drink tea in the sunroom. One of his creations could have sent those skivs scurrying back to the Barrel with their clothes singed. 

But it isn’t about whether Wylan could have helped. It’s about how he knows, and they know, that Wylan might not have long left. And damn it, he deserves to spend these last years in comfort. After so much of his childhood was taken from him, his last years should be peaceful, safe, happy. Peace isn’t something a person earns, but if it was, Wylan is owed decades of it.

“I know, love.” He presses a kiss to Wylan’s temple and hears forgiveness in the way Wylan hums. 

He settles himself in bed beside him and as he does, a calloused hand wraps around his. He hadn’t realised how cold he was until then. Carefully, he lowers himself against the pillows. They rest their joint hands between them, and then Wylan smiles. Almost everything about him has changed, but that smile has remained the same. Like hot cider on the coldest autumn day, the first sunny evening of spring. His Wylan. His maddening, perfect merchling.

Jesper runs his finger down Wylan’s cheek and whispers “I love you” into the air. 

He waits for Wylan’s breathing to even out before he lets the tears come. Wylan’s grip loosens as he sleeps, but Jesper’s remains tight.

He won’t sleep tonight. Instead, he’ll wait with a twitching trigger finger, listening for a signal that their home has once again been breached. Tomorrow, he’ll make a show of waking up beside Wylan. Perhaps they’ll go for a walk along the canal and Jesper will press his face to his shoulder. He’ll breathe in the scent of paint and ink and gunpowder. And tomorrow night, he’ll lie awake once more, thinking about that moment by the canal, and have his gun waiting beneath the mattress.

This peace is theirs. They fought for it on the streets of Ketterdam, in the Slat, at the Ice Court. They fought against Pekka Rollins and Jan Van Eck and they fought for it every day after. It’s hard-won and built from ashes and rubble and if he must fight the world to protect it, he will. Guns blazing, knives drawn, his fists bloody. 

What’s one measly world, compared to the universe of a man he married?

[sunnylands-world]

When your away

Pairing: Bucky barnes x fem reader

Summary: after Bucky let's work consume him turning him into some else entirely it causes some issues between your marriage…

Word count: 724

Warning: it's kinda poetry like so I'm sorry, Bucky brings it out of me

Universe: marvel

A/n: wrote this when while I was bored in the hospital so it may not be my best but if you want to leave kind feedback I'd appreciate it very much ALSO HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY MY LOVE! I love bucky so much

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑����𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚒𝚝 𝙸𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙.

He hung his coat, kissed your head and went to bed. It had been that way for a while. in the beginning your marriage was the rainbow a child beamed to see, the perfect story you'd fall asleep reading but you guessed you'd fallen into an easy lullaby assuming life had granted you a fairytale; but as Monday turned to Sunday you fell back into reality, one where a man had become so hung up on his work that his life at home consistenced of short words, quiet meals and heads against pillows sleeping till tomorrow brought the start of the loop again.

This was what was needed in this cruel world: a good paying job for food on the table and sleep in warm beds. you only wished your husband wasn't taken away from you in the process. He was still there, telling you he loved you, praising your cooking. The difference was it all seemed so shallow.

Sadness is like a disease passed around till the world is standing in a circle easing the pain in the worst of ways. you've got this, breathe, everything will be okay, whispered by one another to heal for the hour. The people in a circle will move but there is always something hanging in a man's closet that he cannot throw out no matter how many new suits he hangs on the rack to hide it.

You had no way of knowing if bucky felt as empty as you; he never said and you were sure he stood in the mirror, bags under his eyes, forced smile repeating the words he hoped would heal you. he felt that weight on his shoulders from his father saying he had to keep you happy for life to flow steady but he'd never taken into account that you, the women he'd married was not searching for someone to hold her afloat but someone who was half. half pain like any human and half healed like someone who was trying.

You didn't care if he had the whole basket of troubles because you were willing to help him wash them clean no matter how many cycles it took. That was what marriage was about, was it not? But of course he was stubborn. Didn't want to burden you with the nightmares or his torturous past. You were just as broken now. both of you walking in a house with a bubble. One that held everything unsaid.

"I'm not going to break away if you tell me what is bothering you, bucky." you muttered and his eyes met yours with exhaustion.

"but if I tell you what is going on you may not be able to handle it." he states, forking at his plate, giving your ear a sharp ache.

"But we can not live like this! What have we become?" You snapped, fist hitting the table in frustration, the glasses levitating for a moment before they came back down expressing just how much this had bothered you.

"Do you want me to tell you about the battles me and Steve fought or about the memories of people dying with fear in their eyes at the mercy of my hand as I killed them without a thought of hesitation!" He raged.

"I just want my husband to not be a brooding wall of lies. I am aware you only say the things you say to keep me from feeling hurt but you have done that by being so shallow and empty!" You shout, tears of loneliness falling down your cheeks.

He's silent. He's trying to figure out how to fix it. How to reverse the time before your tears fell or your voice raised but be can't so he stands walking your way to Envelope you in the warmth of his skin and the cold of the metal arm that scares his memories. Your cries grow low as you let it all go.

"I didn't mean for it to get this way," he sighs with his hand resting on your head.

"We can fix it. we always can, just don't leave me in the dark Again." You mumbled against his hard chest.

𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍…

[stitchthesewords]

Hi hello that new story is rotating at rapid speeds. For once Grian is the one who doesn’t remember? I ADORE that. Scar being Fate is so so cool. Of course he would be the one holding them together while watching them fall apart. It just works.

And Mumbo knows? Did you specify how he knows? I was too in shock about Scar trying not to let their strings break and being literal Fate. How many times has Scar had to explain this to Grian? How many times has he not remembered? What made this time different for him to WANT to be reminded?? So few words have sparked so many questions. I am so here for this au.

Yeeeees I really wanted to play on the idea of Grian Knowing about the Life Games and change the rules - Like. He's still a Watcher - but I'm thinking in this au, if it weren't for SCAR huh, huh, he WOULD only be Watching the Life Games. Scar [And, Mumbo] have an incompatible set of....idk. Godliness???????? Magic????/ And it overrides Grian's Watcher abilities methinks. I'm still ironing that one out. Also poor Scar, someone get this man a cookie, he's desperately holding everyone together [Well - him and Cub, I imagine the Vex thing also being a cover up for disappearing for long stretches of time to Fix Strings{which, btw, I think they only mend them for a certain amount of time or for a number of tears EXCEPT for Grian and Scar and Mumbo bc the man can be a little be selfish and desperately cling onto his soulmates if he wants to}]

So here's what I'm thinking with Mumbo [And Xisuma and Etho] - they are a trio called colloquially as the Brothers of the Void - they themselves don't have a name, but if Scar upkeeps the strings of fate, they upkeep all forms of the Void - The End, the Overworld, the Nether, and this sort of between lives that Scar maintains, along with the afterlife. Mumbo specifically is the Overworld and the realm Fate occupies [which is how and why redscape is already A Thing.]. Xisuma is the End and Etho is the Nether I think, and I think one controls the afterlife and maybe one controls the like. Before??? Life???? idk man I'm spinning them in a salad spinner rn.

Scar and Grian don't have this convo EVERY time Grian dies, I imagine most deaths are pretty mundane because like, hermitcraft as a server [Which, this world is sort of The Game Minecraft but not. Like, they respawn? But its not like a game. Its like they just die and wake back up usually, even Scar or Mumbo. Different servers and worlds are just different universe bubbles people can travel between,,,somehow?] but Grian's participation in the Life Games as the Creator of them is...maybe in direct defiance of Fate itself thanks to Scar. Grian made them to feed his Watcher powers maybe?? and like yes he KNOWS that its Bad to kill/watch his friends die but he has to do something or he'll....idk fade out of existence???? And Scar, being mildly grumpy at having to participate maybe dragged Grian into it himself and so I think every death in the Life Games holds this sort of weight to it. Where Grian wakes up in this place he doesn't belong and won't remember and then flickers back to respawning like he's supposed to. Except - he never remembers, and Scar isn't usually there at the same time, so it's only maybe...once or twice? They've crossed each other's paths. Maybe the last death in every life game. Like maybe Scar waited for him in 3rd life and uhhh im ngl i do not remember the order in which they died in last life it's been a minute B U T regardless.

The thing that's different, I think, is watch Scar literally for their bond back fron the brink, watching him mend it, weave the fibers back together, force them to hold strong, refuse to lose Grian like this. Because, idk, I don't know about you but if I watched the dude who I definitely have a deep and profound love for I was just soulbonded to fight to keep our REAL soulbond together I would absolutely be like "find me and tell me".

[scribblestatic]

More Twitter crossposting. Found the very first instance of this gay hogboy. Edited some of it to fit the current rendition.

-- -- --

*makes an AU where Sonic was abandoned as a baby cause he had NIDS and Metal found him, bringing him back to Eggman, who, in the face of an incurable disease, laughed at the idea he couldn't fix anything and everything*

So Sonic grows up in Eggman's care, gets a rad choker that injects him with medicine if it goes red so he can mitigate his flair-ups, and, for as much trouble as he gives Eggman, he genuinely loves him like a dad.

And Eggman, who's more interested in renewing the Robotnik legacy than just taking over the world ("What a...how do they say it...*mid* goal. Think higher. Broader."), is annoyed by the blue rodent. Ugh, why did he ever decide to make company with something organic?

...He also made him a containment tube to rest in when his NIDS flair ups are really bad (Sonic calls it Syndrome Jail). 

 And he monitors the medicine levels in Sonic's choker.

 And he made him heavy leg weights to build his leg strength for running while he’s walking cause some days, he’s low energy but Sonic still wants to exercise...

And he still keeps those old kiddie doodles Sonic used to draw of himself holding Eggman's and Metal's hands with a big smile, surrounded by happy robots. 

 He won't say it with words, but he does appreciate Sonic's presence and is angry at himself for not solving NIDS yet.

Of course, solving NIDS isn't his only goal. He wants the Robotnik name to spread across universes. Taking over one measly planet by force won't do that for him. No, he has to think even bigger. Besides, trying to do that is working harder, not smarter.

He'd rather let the current rulers become so dependent on his tech that, if he ever does decide to take over the world, all he has to do is snap his fingers. He's not a “megalomaniac”. He's practical. And he knows his own power and exactly how unmatched he truly is. (”Sure, Jan,” Sonic huffs affectionately.) He also knows that, if he can solve NIDS, Sonic will be unmatched right beside himself and Metal. 

 His speed is already second to none. Had he died of NIDS, no one would've ever known the actual power Sonic holds. 

He also recognizes that Sonic can channel and sense chaos energy.

Their story really kicks off when GUN decides against working with Eggman any longer. They had a business relationship while hiding what *really* happened to Gerald Robotnik from him. They want his tech, but not the actual mind behind it.

Of course, Eggman takes *great* offense to that, so he lets his robots go haywire at the GUN facility as an eloquent 'fuck you' and keeps his funding via his other contracts and investments. He also copies some secret files and keeps them for himself.

But some sections of GUN decided they wanted to take Eggman down like they had Dr. Gerald Robotnik. So, with the Eggman tech they do have, they start releasing them to cause mayhem and blame the attacks on him.

Eggman takes offense, but he thinks it's all small-minded behavior anyway. He really doesn't care who hates him. He already barely tolerates other organic beings (Sonic being a special exception). 

The Eggman name is popularized as a terrorist despite his lack of involvement.

Those who work with him aren't really fooled by this. He's an asshole, yes, but not a terrorist. Not yet. 

If he was, the world wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. 

What actually gets Eggman to act against GUN is what he finds after breaking the encryption on the files he stole.

He just so happened to grab the ones telling the truth about Gerald Robotnik and how he died. Rather, how he was killed. He also learns about Project Shadow and Maria.

It seemed his grandfather had been stopped before he could conquer NIDS.

He was right on the cusp of the truth with Project Shadow before it was abruptly discontinued. So now, Eggman is furious that those idiots would try to pull the wool over his eyes, and Sonic, who already didn't like the government, is angry for both himself and Eggman.

Cue Eggman's retaliation, starting to take over different parts of the planet and set up more grounds and bases. He usually buys out occupied areas, giving the people there what they want in exchange for everything they have. Unethical, perhaps, but he's never really cared.

Sonic does disagree with some of his methods, but overall, he's never leaving Eggman's side. Not just because he needs the meds, but cause Egg's his dad. He needs someone who understands him to stick by him.

Besides, it's not like the the world ever stuck by him anyway.

Sonic insists on helping with some things, and Eggman agrees under the condition he's constantly monitored, hence the bracers, trackers, and so forth.

He also has to listen if Eggman tells him to fall back and can only be active for so long during the day.

Eggman, Sonic, and Metal are expanding the Eggman Empire. Not really to rule the world, but to spread the Robotnik name and get back at GUN.

Amy Rose, leader of the Mobian Defense Force, alongside Jewel, Tails, and Tangle, are dedicated to stopping terrorism. Including Eggman.

Team Dark, comprised of leader Rouge, a GUN-reprogrammed Omega, and an unfrozen, brainwashed Shadow, are agents for GUN and their own purposes. The latter two don't know they are working against their own benefit, and Rouge doesn't know the whole history behind Shadow's creation.

Also, ever since GUN has become aware of a naturally fast hedgehog who can channel chaos energy, GUN has also started setting their sights on Sonic.

Over Sonic's dead body, of course!

And silently, over Eggman's.

That's how this story starts.

[hotsforharlow]

Could we get a pt 2 to the one where she’s pregnant and jacks cheating?

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Part 1 is here.

It took Jack two long months before he found that fated shoebox and his world crashed for a second time in recent times. He felt awful. God, more than awful. He couldn’t breath most days and was just going through the motions with his career. The news of his break-up hadn’t been damaging in the business side of it all but his fans still thought he wasn’t a good man. And his mother raised him better than that. Not that she had spoken to him lately and it was only just recently she’d begun calling him again. But he deserved that and worse. And apparently the universe agreed with him as he looked down at the test. You must have been so excited, he thought to himself whilst reaching for a scarf you had left behind. 

He had tried to contact you from day one but now there was more urgency. Not that he had any luck as you had blocked his number and socials. As well as his friends. “Fuck.” He grabbed his phone and threw it down; nearly smashing it to pieces as his anger flared. His head was soon in his hands as he looked down and hated how silent the house was. It could never be a home now. Not without you. God, he was pathetic. But he needed to fix things, he had to. He had to find you.

~

The two months had been the worst of your life, even worse than the day everything changed. You hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy and thankfully, you had been able to hide. You were exhausted and grief stricken in many respects. You had to take some time from work, which of course wasn’t paid. Everything was going downhill. The hot shower had done you good and you could feel yourself relaxing some more as you sipped at the water. You hardly had an appetite anymore and you’d lost a bit of weight. Not too much but your doctor had mentioned it so you had decided on doing some shopping. The first time you were going out in a while; surely, the fresh air would do wonders on you.

The soft, cotton dress felt incredibly against you but the bump was subtly showing now and you just hoped nobody saw. It took you longer than you’d admit to gain the courage to leave the house. You ducked your head almost instantly and moved into your car.

~

“Thanks for the invite, mama.” Jack ducked his head in shame as he followed his mother around the store. He had jumped at the chance to spend time with her. “Yeah, well I unfortunately can’t be mad at you forever.” She hummed, randomly picking up the food that caught her eye. “Poor girl.” She muttered mostly to herself but Jack heard and a lump in his throat appeared.

He hadn’t even told his mother what he had found and couldn’t find it in him to tell her now. She already hated him. “Yeah..” Jack looked down and the silence spread across the pair as they continued to shop. He would have completely missed seeing you if his mother hadn’t gasped. “What?” Jack hummed in confusion before his bright blues found your body. You hadn’t noticed them yet, and for that he was thankful as he could get a good look at you. He nearly flinched at what he saw. You were still so beautiful and all that he didn’t deserve but he could tell it had been rough for you. His eyes instantly moved to your stomach and a smile came across his face without realising it as he noted you had kept the baby.

“Oh..hi Mrs Harlow..” You began to babble as you turned down an aisle of the store and saw your worst nightmare. You quickly found Jack’s eyes that were staring at you before you quickly looked away and moved to the side, hoping they would just pass by. “It’s nice to see you, love.” His mother wrapped her arms around you and you tried not to fall apart. You had missed her and the rest of his family immensely. But it didn’t matter now, nothing did. “You too.” You hummed and fought against holding the hug for longer as you leaned away and a forced smile moved across your face. “I should get going.” You began to babble and moved to get through them both with your head back down again.

“You let her go again, and I’ll never forgive you.” His mother whispered into his ear as they both watched you move to another aisle in a hurry. Jack hated this whole mess that he had created and his feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he moved around to catch you. “Y/N…”He softly shouted for you as he moved through the aisle and thankfully it wasn’t a busy time. Your eyes flashed to him and he noticed your hold tightening on the trolley. “What do you want Jack?” You finally spoke to him. “I just..wanted to speak to you.” He couldn’t find the right words as he slowly moved closer to you.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You snapped back and tried to move away. The hurt and betrayal bubbling under the surface once more as you finally turned away. “Not even our baby.” Your heart nearly stopped and you tried to bluff your way out of this. “You are losing it Jack.” You mumbled but he gently caught your hip and kept you close. The touch used to send you shivers and make you feel so safe; but all you could think was him doing it to another. “No, you don’t get to do that.” You furiously moved from his hold and his face turned heartbroken but it wasn’t your job to fix it. You were having enough trouble fixing yourself. “But it’s my baby too.” Jack whispered.

“I know…I know.” You muttered mostly to yourself with your head down. “And that’s all you’ll ever be. Her father.” You finally turned around to him. “Her?” Jack asked; love and hurt swirling in his eyes as he realised your words.

[bi-bard]

We’re Two Worlds Apart - Tenth Doctor Imagine (Doctor Who)

Title: We’re Two Worlds Apart

Pairing: Tenth Doctor X Reader

Based On: Astronomy

Word Count: 1,067 words

Warning(s): argument, yelling, pretty sure attempted kidnapping is the right warning here

Summary: After all that he’s lost, the Doctor was hoping that (Y/n) would stay with him. When they decide that’s not the best decision for them, the Doctor ends up scrambling to hold onto them.

Author's Note: Yeah... I'm sorry.

SUPERACHE - CONAN GRAY WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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

I felt like I was ready to throw up as I walked into the console room.

"Ahh, you're awake," the Doctor said once he spotted me. "I swear, you lot sleep for ages."

"8 hours is recommended," I muttered, trying to ignore the weight in my stomach. I forced a chuckle. "I don't usually get that much."

"I'll have to fix that," he grinned at me. I grinned back at him. "You're upset."

I hummed, eyebrows furrowing.

"I can see it," he explained. "We've been traveling together for a while now. You think I can't tell?"

Another chuckle was forced out.

"(Y/n)... what's wrong?"

I let out a sigh and looked down. I heard the Doctor walking over to me. I didn't look at him until I saw the tips of his shoes. He had his eyebrows drawn up as he frowned at me.

"Talk to me."

I took a deep breath. "I... I think I should go home."

"For a visit," he asked. A smile started breaking out. "That's fine. You've just gotta ask."

He walked to the console.

"I'll take us there right now and you can have a nice visit-"

"I meant forever," I cut him off. He looked up from the controls. "I... I wanna go home."

He stared at me for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows and looking down. He was trying to avoid showing any kind of extreme reaction. I had been with him long enough to know that.

"Why," he asked after a few moments of silence.

I bit my tongue.

"(Y/n)?"

"I... I'm scared," I said. I felt pathetic saying it out loud, but it was true. "I can't do this anymore. I need to stop running. I need to feel safe."

"I can keep you safe."

"I can keep myself safe on Earth," I replied. "But here... I can't do this anymore, Doctor. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"But the adventures," he stepped toward me again. "The planets and the history and the amazing sights-"

"Don't outweigh my fear," I stopped him. "I walk out of those doors and my heart drops. I... I can't commit to helping and being with you if I can barely handle being outside of the TARDIS."

He didn't speak. He just looked at me.

"I'm sorry-"

I was cut off by him reaching over and flipping a switch. I jumped to grab the console.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm reminding you why you decided to go with me," the Doctor said, pointing at me. "I... I can't let you leave."

"Doctor, no!"

"Here."

The TARDIS landed harshly.

"Come on."

"No."

"It's a planet where there are cliffs made of pure crystal. The sun catches it just right and creates this gorgeous-"

"Doctor, stop," I said as he tried to grab my arm.

"You're right," he nodded, stepping back. "I have a much better idea."

"You aren't listening to me-"

I latched onto the console again. I closed my eyes as the TARDIS landed. The Doctor was ignoring me. He was so focused on this that he was ignoring what I was actually saying.

"Planet that is basically one giant garden. Beautiful flowers from every corner of the universe; all of them sitting here to make sure none of them go extinct."

He grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the TARDIS. I hissed a little. It hurt. He had never hurt me before.

He started pointing at plants as he dragged me away from the TARDIS. He was moving quickly. He was barely keeping himself from just running. He was trying to make sure that there was a considerable distance between me and my only ride home.

"This one genuinely smells like a campfire, which isn't great, but you can understand why it looks like flames."

"Doctor-"

"This one produces almost four times the oxygen as the average tree on Earth."

"Doctor-"

"This one is actually edible-"

"Doctor, stop!"

I finally managed to pull my arm away from his and stopped running. He stared back at me with wide eyes. I felt my heart breaking all over again.

It was silent. Tense. For the first time, he was the thing that scared me. And he knew that.

"I... I wanna go home, Doctor," I said as tears filled my eyes. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. I know what I want. No more running, no more convincing. I want to go home. Please. Let me go home."

He blinked a few times before looking around. It was like he was suddenly realizing what he had done today. I looked down, blinking away the tears.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered. "(Y/n). I'm so, so sorry."

I stepped back when he reached for me. He froze and stepped back again.

"I'll take you home now," he promised. "I... I'm sorry."

I just nodded.

It was silent on the trip home. The only noise was the engine as we landed. I stood up and walked toward the door.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I... I just wanted to get you to stay. I thought if I convinced you, then I wouldn't have to be alone."

I stopped with my hand on the door. I walked back over to him. He was looking down as I pulled him into a tight hug. He slowly hugged me back.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I'm not leaving because I'm angry or because I hate you," I mumbled before stepping back. "I'm leaving because this world isn't meant for me. But I know that it's perfect for you. You are always going to be that man running around with his police box that saves everyone he can. And I have had an amazing time traveling with you. I'm not trying to make you lonely, but we are on two different worlds... figuratively."

"I know," he nodded. I closed my eyes as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I stepped back, walking backward toward the door. "Goodbye, Doctor. And thank you... for everything."

"You're welcome," he grinned. "And goodbye, (Y/n).

As the TARDIS door closed behind me, I felt a pressure roll off my back. As much as I knew I would miss the Doctor, I knew this was for the best.

For a moment, just for a moment, I was able to feel safe.

Even if that meant that the Doctor and I no longer saw eye-to-eye.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[lovelybarnes]

stood up- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, anderson x reader (?) warnings: angst, getting stood up, language, unrequited feelings about: prompts (DA29) “i got stood up.” + (DF30) “i think you’re my soulmate.” +(DF41) “are you going to cry? please don’t cry. a/n: i love to hurt but dw it’s a happy ending, i actually like this fjsk, a the time i finished this, i just posted another imagine, so i can’t wait for you guys to read this one in a couple days

every passing second makes you hyperaware of all the sympathetic stares that are currently directed at you. the feeling of pity is enveloping you whole, wrapping you in a thin layer of shame that you think must be related to the careful makeup you caked on your face for this date. your recently manicured nails scratch at the tablecloth, trying to avoid your new expensive dress, deep midnight color clinging to your nervous self. teeth stress your dark wine bottom lip, anxious eyes darting across the restaurant.

with each face that enters the place, none of them being his, the presumption that he isn’t coming solidifies. with it, comes the embarrassment. you can feel the warnings of tears, already threatening to ruin the mascara you had applied so carefully, not bothering to choose the waterproof one because why would you be crying on your date?

you suppose it’s your own fault- how dare you attempt to get over bucky? how dare you trust the words of a shield agent? you pick at your nails, gathering up the courage to stand up and leave. your waitress, however, beats you to it, a faux apologetic look on her face. “oh, so you’ve been here for, like, half an hour and it seems no one is coming, and we kind of need the table, so…”

you hold back an uncomfortable cringe, nodding stiffly as you stand. “right. i’m sorry. i don’t need to… pay for the water, right?” you ask dumbly, ducking your head when she shakes her head condescendingly.

pushing the door open, you step into the brisk air of the night, clouded over with an uneasy disappointment that you’re sure is because of you. you stand for a second to look at the stars, realizing how pretty of a night this would be if you weren’t so damn frustrated. the upset hasn’t passed yet, although the beginnings of anger are peeking up in your stomach.

while you stare up at the moon, the universe decides your getting stood up wasn’t enough, choosing to gift you with cold droplets of water that make your mascara run. it’s unbelievable, you nearly scoff tearily.

you walk to your car then, the moonlight that should have been romantic when you walked out of the restaurant now only making you feel lonely. you don’t let the tears come yet, having enough pride to not let the smitten couples appreciating the romance of the rain see you cry, deciding to put that off until you’re in the quietness of your room.

you drive in the sound of the pattering rain, concentrated on keeping your breathing even so as to push back the tears, not wanting to have an accident on the way back home because your vision was clouded over with sadness.

-

the relief you feel when you arrive at the compound is immeasurable; the knowledge that all you have to do is walk quietly to your room, and you can release the pent up emotions that eat you whole is unbelievably satisfying. the horrible itching feeling that comes with the tears arrives again when you notice your reflection in the impressively clean windows of the stark compound. through the stains of your ruined makeup, you can see the remnants of how dolled up you were, how much time was spent with the intricate details that made you smile when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you swallow back the painful lump in your throat, opening the doors and sniffling at the dimly-lit room. your heels click tiredly on the floor, precious bracelet lightly jangling when you move. you can’t find it in yourself to care when you realize you’re dragging water inside, resigning to letting stark lecture you in the morning.

as you stand in the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor, the emotions you’ve pushed so far down decide to spring back up in the form of an overwhelming dejected exhaustion that makes you physically slump. you lean against the cool of the metal railing, shutting your eyes hard to avoid looking at yourself. you only pry your eyes open when you hear the soft ding of the elevator, surprised and once again embarrassed to see bucky standing between the open doors.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. his demeanor immediately changes when he takes you in, body softer in the way it always is when you’re with him. his reaction makes you fall deeper, which reminds you exactly why you were going on your failed date. you straighten, clearing your throat, “um- i have to get to my room.”

your voice is thin, heightening his worries and stopping you with a gentle hand to your arm before you step off the elevator, “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay?” he asks, and you nod blindly at all of his questions, realizing that the longer you stay with him- with his warm hand that you can’t help but lean into pressed against your cold arm- the more you really want to cry and scream because it’s not fair that he’s been given to you, yet you can’t have him, even if he has you.

“i’m fine,” you lie obviously, forcing your eyes again from his. “y/n, what happened? you’re clearly not fine,” bucky pushes, the hand on your arm beginning to rub stressed circles into your skin. you give up then, looking back at him. “i got stood up,” you say finally, words cracked. you shake your head, “and i just spent so much time on everything and-”

“that’s stupid. who would stand you up?” bucky interrupts, eyes genuinely confused while you scoff. “apparently anderson from security,” you respond bitterly, looking away. “he’s stupid, y/n. he has to be to not go to a date with you.”

you exhale frustratedly, “maybe not. maybe there’s something wrong with me and i’m the stupid one for even thinking someone would want to go out with me,” you countered. “hey, no, you are- you are amazing, y/n. amazing and stunning and intelligent and he missed his chance to be the luckiest guy in the world,” he insisted, gently pulling your attention back to him with a gentle hand on your cheek. you give him a watery laugh through the loud, unfair questions in your head: why don’t you love me like i love you, then?

you don’t realize the tears that run down the streaks of already ruined mascara until bucky points them out, wiping them away with his fingers, “no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he begs. you can’t help it, though, biting your lip to hold back your unrequited confessions of love.

“nobody wants me. i don’t even think i want me anymore,” you weep, oblivious to the breaking of bucky’s heart when he hears your words, pulling you flush against his chest. “don’t say that, doll. that’s not true-”

“it is. what other reasons can you think of that explain why i’m the only one that’s shown up to the rare dates i’ve been on? why have i had to go on those stupid dates just to forget how pathetic i am that i can’t get over you?”

you’re too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to realize what you’ve said, too little light available in the dark to let you realize the hints you have and will undoubtedly let out if you continue blubbering into bucky’s shoulder like the mess you are. your feelings are scattered, words so disorganized that any way you piece them together will be a mistake. “why else does the one person who i actually want to love me back not want me?”

bucky can make sense of the words you’re saying, the heavy weight they carry when he realizes exactly what they mean, and what you imply. he’s frozen, heart simultaneously fluttering at the mere thought of his feelings being returned and breaking at the cries you’re letting out because of him.

he’s refused to ever be the source of your pain, restricting his own poems of confessions because he didn’t want to hurt you, never wanting to be the reason you cried. he supposes now it was the wrong choice, one he needs to fix.

the bead of insecurity buried stubbornly in his mind shrieks, however, because he’s as clueless as you are and can’t possibly imagine someone like you- so kind and pure and good- loving him back. so he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it in your voice.

“what?” you let out a watery scoff, full of embarrassment rather than annoyance at him, “don’t make me say it, bucky, please-”

“please say it- i- i need you to say it.”

a beat of silence passes before you sniffle, pulling away from the man you’ve called your best friend and wanted nothing but to be able to call him more. “i love you, bucky. in a way that makes me pretty sure you’re my soulmate because i don’t even believe in that but you make me feel like i should.”

bucky’s storm clouds lighten, doubts dissolving when he listens to what you said, tasting your words and examining each one just to remember it. he pulls your lips to his when they’ve barely processed. “you should,” he says when he pulls away for a second, only to make you lose your breath again when he aches for you immediately, kissing you again, “believe in soulmates.”

“why is that?” you ask breathlessly, letting him pull you back in because you both have been waiting- dreaming about this for so damn long, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to keep away from you now that he has you. he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, so perfectly imperfect when your teeth clash and you both laugh gently, noses nudging each other when he leans his forehead on yours, “because we’re meant to be, y/n. in that way that soulmates are.”

[drowningbydegrees-fanworks]

In This Life or Any Other - Chapter 11

FIC RATING: E WORD COUNT: 74,623 (current) RELATIONSHIPS: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence TAGS: Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Trauma, Politics, Intrigue, BAMF Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Angst and Humor, Additional warnings/tags in chapters as needed

SUMMARY: When his reconnaissance mission makes it clear that the Qishan army is marching on Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian knows they don’t stand a chance on their own. He reports in requesting military support, but instead of the backup he hoped for, all Wei Wuxian gets is an order to return home. He doesn’t actually know anyone from Gusu, really, but they’re still people. With destruction inevitable and every kingdom turning a blind eye, Wei Wuxian makes a choice. The only choice, as far as he’s concerned. If no help is coming, Wei Wuxian will just have to save them himself. Fooling Wen Ruohan’s soldiers into arresting him so he can stage a prison break? That’s definitely on purpose. Setting events in motion that could reshape the world as they know it? That… might have been an accident.

Read on AO3

Somehow, peace is the cruelest thing the Burial Mounds can give him. Whatever lurks here waits at the periphery, ready to ambush Wei Wuxian the moment he lets his guard down. They’re toying with him, he suspects - knows really - making the most of what might be the first entertainment they’ve had in years. After all, nothing comes out of the Burial Mounds, but nothing goes in either. Nothing, that is, except that which is unfathomably evil if the stories are to be believed. 

Something cold slithers down Wei Wuxian’s spine like melting snow. He yelps at the sensation, and then at the pain movement causes when he jerks around to look, but there’s nothing there. 

“Ghosts and monsters indeed,” Wei Wuxian mutters, trying, not for the first time, to stand up. Honestly, it’s remarkable that he’s even upright (that he’s alive at all is nothing short of a miracle), but what lurks out there probably won’t let him sit here on the cracked earth and tufts of dead grass indefinitely. 

So once again he tries, and fails, to get to his feet. Whatever healed him didn’t exactly do a bang up job of it, so while he’s not bleeding out, and the remaining damage looks like it’ll mostly mend, Wei Wuxian feels like he’s mostly being held together by thread and good intentions. What he can see of his body is more bruise than bare skin, but as alarming as the mottled purple marks are, they don’t hold a candle to the all consuming ache of trying to move in a body that is in no condition to do anything of the sort. 

Humiliating a predicament as it is, there's no one but the echoes of people long gone to witness him crawl his way over to the saddest excuse for a tree he's ever seen. It's hardly a tree at all, just a withered, spindly trunk that creaks dangerously when Wei Wuxian puts any weight against it. That it mostly stays put as he drags himself to his feet is an unexpected relief, but stay put it does despite all its threats otherwise. 

Getting up off the ground is one thing. Staying there is another entirely. Wei Wuxian takes one stumbling step and then another before hesitantly letting go of the tree. He huffs out a breath, darkly amused by how much he must look like one more dead thing in this graveyard, but even that small sound claws at his chest from the inside until he hunches in on himself, bracing against the pain. 

“No laughing, then. Got it,” Wei Wuxian says quietly when he can breathe again. There are worse things. After all, restraining his sense of humor isn’t really all that much of a restriction given the… well, everything. 

Whoever or whatever tried to fix him may have been awful at it, but they did at least manage to clear his head. What he briefly thinks is his vision gone blurry is only a dense fog distorting everything around him. If he’s absolutely got to choose, Wei Wuxian will take being unable to see over being unable to think any day. 

He’d like to think he’s proven himself good in a crisis, tactical enough when the situation calls for it. This definitely calls for it. Water is the most important thing. Dehydration will kill him, probably even before whatever else is lurking down here, either on its own, or by making him too out of sorts to protect himself. So, water first. The rest - food, shelter, an escape route - are more flexible. 

There are noises when Wei Wuxian listens, but none that sound like running water. In the mist, there’s no telling which way might lead him somewhere useful, so Wei Wuxian picks his direction mostly because he’s already facing that way and doesn’t have to fight his body into turning around. It’s not scientific and there’s no guarantee he isn’t making things worse for himself, but it’s what he’s got. 

If the shadows drawing in closer, blurry dark spots in the mist, Wei Wuxian stubbornly ignores them.

---

Hours might have passed. He thinks. The perpetual grayness of the sky overhead defies any effort to tell what time of day it is and his perception may admittedly be colored by the miserable state he’s in, but it feels like hours. On top of it, there’s a horribly distinct possibility that Wei Wuxian has been walking in circles because he has yet to find a boundary, and that just makes it worse. 

It takes a really very unfair amount of focus to stay upright, and the sound is muffled by whatever barrier keeps the humans out and the monsters in, so Wei Wuxian could probably be forgiven for missing it at first. There’s something though, a departure from the whispers and scuffing noises of whatever waits in the mist. 

“Hello?” He calls out when he recognizes that the sound is a voice. It’s a stupid thing, maybe, speaking up in a place like this. Wei Wuxian hasn’t exactly been subtle about his movements though, so at this point, it probably doesn’t matter. 

It comes again, still stifled but closer than before. His sense of direction is shot, but he tries to follow it, taking one painful step after another. If he’s lucky, it’ll be someone coming to help, and if not? Well, it’s not like this place can do any worse to him than he’s already managed. 

“Wei Ying!” And just like that, everything changes, because he knows that voice. This plan wasn’t for nothing then, if pushing Jiang Cheng through that portal made sure that his brother was the message Wei Wuxian couldn’t send. He has no idea how Lan Zhan puzzled out that he was here in particular, but a rescue is a rescue. For the first time since he watched his home crumble before his eyes, Wei Wuxian feels like he can breathe. 

“Lan Zhan! I’m-” Wei Wuxian pauses, wheezing as his lungs protest his attempts to yell. “-over here.”

“I can not see you,” Lan Zhan calls back. He’s still just a voice in the fog, but it’s a noticably closer voice, so progress! 

Wei Ying smiles even though his body threatens to revolt with every step. “Well, if you keep talking and I keep talking, we’re bound to run into each other eventually, right?”

When Lan Zhan doesn’t immediately reply, Wei Ying fills up the empty spaces. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Well, hear you, I guess. You know what I mean. Turns out getting tossed off a cliff isn’t actually the most fun I’ve ever had. Maybe don’t tell Jiang Cheng about that part, though. He’s gonna be pissed enough as it is that I tricked him into leaving, but no one is dead and you’re here, so at this point I think we should all agree I have the best ideas…” Uncertainty begins to creep in around the edges as Wei Wuxian realizes he hasn’t gotten an answer. “Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s voice is closer than ever, soothing Wei Wuxian’s frazzled nerves. At first. “Wei Ying. Where are you?”

Wei Wuxian slowly moves towards Lan Zhan… probably. It’s hard to tell when his friend speaks so sparingly. “Can’t you hear me?”

In the confusion, Wei Wuxian stumbles backwards, yelping in alarm when he bumps into something and that something moves. Only a firm grip around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders keeps him from falling. The fingers Wei Wuxian sees when he looks down are decidedly human, much to his relief, and they withdraw once he’s steady on his feet again. They’re so close, Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Zhan’s breath where his shirt has ripped over his shoulder blade. “Wei Ying.”                    

“You’re going to have to tell me pretty much right now if you don’t want a hug because otherwise, you’re definitely getting one. But see? What did I tell you? We were bound to find each other eventually. We make a good team.” Wei Wuxian turns, already grinning as he turns to face Lan Zhan. The expression dies on his lips when he finally gets close enough to look.

For too long, Wei Wuxian stands frozen. The warm, golden eyes he’d expected to meet his are closed, but it does nothing to hide the leaking, bright red rivulets emerging from beneath Lan Zhan’s lashes to slide down his face. 

“Wei Ying.” It doesn’t sound like his friend any longer, it doesn’t even sound human. But it’s Lan Zhan’s mouth opening, Lan Zhan’s lips that blood spills over, Lan Zhan’s pristine white robe that’s becoming hopelessly stained as he bleeds from every hole in his head. It’s all red, red, red. So much more than any one person can afford to lose.

An anguished sound wrenches its way free of Wei Wuxian and he stumbles in his desperation to get out of the way as Definitely Not Lan Zhan reaches for him. His shaky legs refuse to hold him up any longer, so he scrambles backward, uncaring of the rocks digging cruelly into the palms of his hands as he does. 

“You’re not real!” Wei Wuxian shouts as the creature wearing his friend’s face continues to advance. It opens his mouth as if to reply, but he doesn’t listen. He cannot bear to. “Go away! You’re not real!” 

If the apparition even hears him, it gives no indication. It moves with all Lan Wangji’s grace, unhurried as it follows Wei Wuxian’s disjointed scooting along the floor of the Burial mounds. There’s no weapon at his disposal should it get bored of toying with him and attack, so he can only flee in a body that refuses, even now, staring a nightmare in the face, to cooperate. 

For one miserable moment he considers just giving up, lost and broken as he is. It’s in that moment though, that the heel of his hand finds empty air instead of the dried up earth he’d been expecting. Everything after that happens too quickly for him to be anything other than along for the ride. The lack of support makes Wei Wuxian teeter at an angle, sliding right off the flat ground onto an incline he couldn’t see. Momentum carries him none too gently downward, unable to do more than curl in on himself enough to try to ward off the worst of it. Not that it helps. The violent jostling aggravates injuries that have only barely begun to heal, and by the time he comes to a stop, slamming into a rock face, there’s blood on his palms where he’d had them tucked against the stab wound. 

The rock juts out overhead, not quite a cave, but at least offering some cover from the ledge above. He’s not optimistic enough to believe it will save him, but survival instinct makes Wei Wuxian bite down on the pained whimper that bubbles up as he tucks himself tightly against the rockface. 

With nowhere to run and nothing left to defend himself with, Wei Wuxian squeezes his eyes shut and waits for whatever monster is waiting out there to take him. Seconds pass, a minute, more than that until he’s lost track. When nothing happens, Wei Wuxian cautiously opens his eyes, peering as far as he can from where he’s hiding. 

He sees… nothing. The horrifying approximation of Lan Zhan is gone, but not only that. Wei Wuxian had skidded down quite a hill now that he’s looking at it, which he didn’t expect to see, but the fog is gone as well. Was it real? Was any of this real?

“What the hell?” Wei Wuxian mutters, slowly beginning to crawl out from under the rock ledge when he can’t identify any specific danger. 

It’s only because he’s being so careful not to make noise himself that he hears the quiet trickle of water somewhere nearby. Assuming it’s more real than Lan Zhan was, it’s the first good thing that’s happened since he was thrown down here. Braced for disappointment, Wei Wuxian crawls closer to investigate. 

Like every other sign of life in the Burial Mounds, what he finds is anemic at best. Runoff from somewhere further up the mountains spills across the ground in a sluggish trickle before coming to a stop in a tiny pool scarcely larger than Wei Wuxian’s spread palms. 

More mud than water, Wei Wuxian’s stomach turns just contemplating consuming it. But he plans to get out of here, and there won’t be any accomplishing that if his body shuts down first. That no one is there to witness him barely hold himself up on his elbows, dipping his head to drink, is hardly a comfort. Neither is knowing it’s probably not the worst thing he’ll have to do to get out of here alive.

---

Everything around him has been brought to ruin, like an entire city has been torn to pieces under his feet. Wei Wuxian knows this place like a memory, though he’s never seen it in his life. An inevitable end, something whispers from the shadows, a catastrophe with him at the epicenter. 

It’s as much a massacre as anything, he realizes, revulsion sinking like ice into his veins. Something horrific happened here for so many bodies to be littered among the rubble. They look… they look almost peaceful if one can ignore the blood still sluggishly dripping from the holes in their head. It’s like they all just… went to sleep. 

The mage. The monster who did this had to be the mage, he thinks.

“Hello?” Wei Wuxian calls out as he walks among the dead. It feels all wrong though, like shouting in a library. The only reply is a distant cawing of crows anyway. “Anybody?”

There are faces he recognizes among the dead. Wen Chao. When Zhuliu. Good riddance to both of them. They set up the makings of their own demise, after all. 

But not every face is a foe, and it’s not until he sees Wen Ning that he realizes he’s trapped in the scaffolding of a nightmare. Wei Wuxian tries to stop beside his friend, taken by some mad impulse to shake life back into the motionless figure, but his feet keep moving of their own accord, slow and inexorable. He reaches, or tries to, but his hands never leave his sides. Wei Wuxian can only look, grasping the depth of this calamity a little more with every turn of his head. 

All he hates has been reduced to nothing at his feet, but all he loves has crumbled with it. For every Qishan soldier, there’s someone that matters balancing the equation, and Wei Wuxian is helpless to do more than watch. This is the aftermath, after all. The damage has already been done. 

Even his body refuses to heed his demands. It moves when every fiber of his being wants to turn back. It stops when he wishes to flee this place entirely. He stands at the ridge of a hill, overlooking the graveyard he’d walked through. Only then do his hands move, reaching for his face. 

Wei Wuxian knows. He’s certain down to the the marrow of his bones even before he sees it. Knowing does nothing to quell the scream his body refuses to let out as his fingers pry something loose from his face. Knowing does nothing to soothe the horror, a punch to the gut as he finds himself staring at the inside of a golden mask. 

The monster is him. 

Wei Wuxian wakes up screaming after all, barely cobbling together the wherewithal to shove his knuckles against his lips to stifle it. Not that there’s been much of a point. There’s no hiding when half the time Wei Wuxian isn’t even sure what’s real in this place. 

The ghosts seem content enough to haunt him, letting him wither by inches. It’s hard to keep track of the days when the light barely changes, when it’s been so many that each one becomes indistinct. He had the right of it, he thinks, when he first woke up, deciding that living wasn’t the miracle it looked like. 

He’s not dead, but he’s certainly marching towards it. Through the ripped fabric of his ruined shirt, he can see his ribs and all the spaces between them, protruding under his skin. He hobbles along in a body still struggling to mend. That he only sleeps in fragments probably isn’t helping, but there’s nothing for it. 

With a shaky sigh, Wei Wuxian pushes himself to his feet, stumbling from the shallow cave he’d taken refuge in. Thumbing at the spear he’s whittled himself, he takes in his surroundings and breathes a sigh of relief that it’s no longer the burning image of Lotus Pier he’d fled from perhaps a few hours ago. Maybe the night will be kind to him for once. 

Of course, the night does no such thing. Wei Wuxian only sees the one at first, a glimmer in the air that would be pretty if not for the threat of it. He shakes his head and huffs irritably at it. “Finally sick of waiting for me to die, huh?”

It does nothing, but Wei Wuxian brandishes his spear at it anyway. Not that the weapon will hold up under any usage. If he’s very, very lucky, he might get one good strike in before the brittle, dead wood snaps under the pressure. 

He’s so busy watching the one spirit that keeps prowling closer that he doesn’t notice the others until he’s nearly surrounded. Over the course of his imprisonment here, Wei Wuxian has wished it were over more times than he can count. Somehow, actually faced with the prospect of his own demise, suddenly he has no interest in dying after all.

There’s no fighting all of them off with a stick better fit for kindling than self-defense. In all honesty, there’s probably no fighting off even one of them with it, so Wei Wuxian does the only thing he can. He runs. 

At least, hea means to be running. It’s still hard to walk for long distances, aching and wobbly, so it’s more of a fast, clumsy jog than anything. It’s an attempt at an escape is the point, as fast as he can currently manage. 

The ghosts are faster. 

Every turn he makes, Wei Wuxian finds himself hemmed in, flanked by the thing that was probably always going to get him in the end. He tries anyway, scrambling towards what might have been woods once, like he might lose them among the scraggly, dead trees. The escape is cut off, forcing him to pivot, and that’s finally a bridge too far. Twisting his ankle, Wei Wuxian stumbles to his knees with a pained yelp. He scrambles to face the creature, spear held in front of his face like the flimsiest shield. All he can do is brace himself as the ghost swoops in. 

He doesn’t really know how ghosts work. There are no teeth, no claws. Lacking any real corporeal form, perhaps a spirit can’t strike at a person physically at all, because only the terrible things they make him think he sees have ever touched him here. Maybe that’s how they get you, taking you apart from the inside out instead. What it comes down to is that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what it’s supposed to be like when the ghost finally goes in for the kill. He just knows it isn’t this. 

A bright light erupts between them, forcing Wei Wuxian to squeeze his eyes shut, so he can’t see what it is that’s happening. He can hear it though, an agonized wail in his head that doesn’t sound like it’s his. Something touches him, but it’s nearly intangible, more like a gust of wind than a physical thing. There isn’t pain so much as a strange, fizzy sort of feeling. It’s not a state of being that Wei Wuxian gets much time to puzzle over though, not the way memory floods back in, like the breaking of a dam.

-

“Are you really going to just stop on the off-chance that Wei Ying gets caught in the middle?” 

Wei Ying sits in the grass, picking wildflowers along the side of the road while they take a break in their travels. 

“It’s the only way. It’s not a spell, love. It’s a barrier, and it’s fragile.” His mother sounds insistent, but Wei Ying doesn’t really know what it is she’s swearing off of. “Besides, what did I marry you for if not to let you do all the… magicky stuff?”

“Is that why?” For a second, whatever tension has descended upon them dissipates as his father laughs. They’re like this, most of the time, fond and teasing even when they disagree. “And here I thought you loved me.”

As Wei Ying’s father scoops him up, his mother volleys back. “Ehhh, I guess you’ve grown on me. Mostly, it’s just very convenient not to have to do laundry.”

Just like that, whatever they were arguing over is forgotten. Autumn paints the world around Wei Ying in brilliant shades of red and orange, a burst of color before everything fades away for the winter. The road passes under their feet, one of his parents on either side of the donkey Wei Ying is sitting on. He doesn’t know that he ought to appreciate these moments, not yet. At this age, he can only assume all families love each other this much.

“Would it be so terrible if I were just… just ordinary?” It’s been long enough that the sun is shining on Wei Ying’s back instead of his face when his mother breaks the comfortable silence that’s fallen over them. 

Wei Ying’s father laughs, but his mother must not mind it because she’s smiling over the donkey’s head at him. “You haven’t been ordinary a day in your life.”

-

“Do I have to go to the school now?” Wei Ying scowls at the palms of his hands like the traitors they are.

“For mages?” It doesn’t seem like a question that merits a hug, but no sooner has Wei Ying nodded than his mother wraps her arms around him. “No. No, honey. You stay as far away from them as you can. Do you hear me?”

Wei Ying usually wants to know why, even about small things, but something in her voice makes him take his mother at her word. “Okay.” 

She kisses his forehead, her grip loosening a little. “They couldn’t help you anyway. They’re not like you.” 

Wei Ying nods very seriously, not that he quite understands what he’s agreeing with. “Are you like me?”

The quiet agreement she hums against his temple soothes the worry away. She is all the help he needs. Maybe she can teach him how to reach out and hold onto the world without tearing it apart. 

To his dismay, she pulls back after a moment, making Wei Ying meet her eye.

“I need you to listen to me, Wei Ying.” She’s so serious now, cradling Wei Ying’s face in her palms. “You can’t trust anyone that recognizes what you are. Not ever. They’ll only ever want something from you.” 

-

“Do you think he’s going to thank you for taking it away?” Wei Ying is supposed to be sleeping, so he doesn’t get up to look, but his father’s voice carries from the other room. 

“I’m not taking anything. I couldn’t if I wanted to.” His mother rarely sounds anything other than happy, but her voice is strained and quiet now. “I didn’t get a choice, but I can give him one.” 

-

She whispers as she tucks Wei Ying away in the corner of the closet. “You stay here, no matter what. Do you hear me?”

He jumps at the banging outside, loud against the door. The only thing he wants to do is run from it, but she’ll make things alright. She always does, so he whispers back, “Okay.”

“I mean it. You don’t come out until it’s morning or until I come back for you. No matter what you hear, you stay and you don’t make a sound.” If he wasn’t terrified before, Wei Ying certainly is now. Anything that could make his mother look afraid must be bad. He doesn’t move from his spot, but he holds his arms out until she hugs him. “It’ll be alright. I love you.”

She leaves him there, tucked in clean clothes and shadows. It comes so naturally, it almost looks like an afterthought when she slaps a paper on the bedroom wall, fingers touching a glowing circle in the center of it. The open doorway disappears, hiding the other room from view entirely. Even still, there’s a muffled commotion on the other side, like a battle under water. Wei Ying wants nothing more than to crawl out of his hiding space to help, but he does what he’s told and he waits. 

He waits all night, even when the house grows silent. He stays long past the moment the paper dims and then sputters out, falling to the floor, revealing the rest of the house once more. The sun is rising when Wei Ying finally shoves the clothes aside, cautiously peeking out into the bedroom.

Only silence greets him, so Wei Ying pads out to the room his mother had gone into. The peace the bedroom had offered is gone here. Even in the quiet, there’s chaos in the shape of overturned furniture and broken porcelain on the floor. 

His breath comes more quickly with each awful detail Wei Ying takes in, unsure what caused the mess, but understanding that it’s nothing good. The child crumples entirely when, somewhere amidst the scattered papers and spilled ink, he realizes the very worst detail of them all. 

Wei Ying is alone. 

-

He can’t stop thinking about the disaster he created, even as he’s being put to bed. “You told them you did it.”

“Yes.” Wei Ying’s mother smooths his hair back from his face, a faint smile creasing her lips like it’s something to be proud of.“I did.”

Given he always gets scolded when he lies, Wei Ying doesn’t think it’s something to be proud of at all. “But… it was me. It’s not good to lie.” 

He doesn’t understand what’s funny about that, but his mother laughs, as warm as she’s ever been. “Oh, darling. One day, you’re going to love someone so much that… that maybe they’re important enough to bend the rules for. You’ll see.”

He doesn’t see. Not yet. 

In the moonlight that filters through the window coverings, he stares at his hands, trying to make sense of them. Even now, hours later, Wei Ying can feel the echo of a sensation that was too big to contain. It built and built until it exploded, his palms serving as a focal point. They should be singed or something, but they just look like hands.

-

There are still tears in his eyes when Wei Ying’s mother sits him down, still cradling the injured rabbit in his arms. “It’s alright. We can fix it.”

The words are all garbled, even to his own ears, but he frantically reminds her that it was in a trap and it’s bleeding, and probably dying. At first, the fact that she’s smiling at him feels like an act of cruelty, but that doesn’t sound right because she’s the very, very kindest person he knows. 

“It sounds like he’s had a pretty rough day,” she soothes, holding her palms out toward the rabbit. “So, let’s make it a little better, hmm?”

She carries no bandages, and she doesn’t even touch the creature, so Wei Ying isn’t sure how she could possibly help, but he agrees anyway, clutching the little animal closer to his chest. 

“Careful. It might hurt him if you hold on too tightly.” As Wei Ying relaxes his grip on the rabbit, a soft light floods from her fingertips, like it’s bathing the rabbit specifically in a ray of sunshine. He’s only seen it a couple of times, but his mother is the most beautiful like this, aglow with something Wei Ying doesn’t quite understand, her hair and close fluttering in a wind he can’t feel. 

He’s afraid it won’t work, but sure enough, it’s only a moment before the rabbit’s leg looks as good as new. It wriggles out of his arms, hopping back off into the woods as soon as it’s mended, to Wei Ying’s delight. 

“Is it magic?” he asks as his mother stands and smooths out the dress she’s wearing. “Like a spell?”

“It’s not a spell.” She holds her hands out, pulling Wei Ying to his feet. “But it is magic.”

The answer satisfies Wei Ying, too young to recognize the contradiction. 

Only later, following his mother out of the clearing, does Wei Ying turn back to look into the forest after the rabbit. Where the first days of summer had made everything lush and green before, now brown leaves are beginning to fall around the dry, peeling trunks of the nearest trees. It’s all wrong, and Wei Ying can’t explain why it makes him so sad to look at it, but he can’t draw his eyes away.

Realizing that Wei Ying isn’t following any longer, his mother scoops him up, resting his weight against her hip. “Not very pretty, is it?”

It’s not, but it’s more than that. It feels like losing something important, something bigger than he has a word for. Frustrated that he doesn’t know how to ask, Wei Ying shakes his head.

“There’s always a price with magic. Even when you’re doing something good.” She tilts her head, affectionately bumping it against Wei Ying’s cheek despite how serious she sounds. “You have to remember that.”

-

Wei Ying likes these places best, the inns where the rooms keep them close together, where when he wakes up anxious in the night, he can see their silhouettes tangled up in the sheets and each other just a few feet away. The lamp is low now, and since the three of them don’t really fit on the bed, his father sits close enough that even Wei Ying’s short, childish limbs can reach far enough to touch. 

“Tell me a story?” He asks as much because he doesn’t want the night to be over as because he wants one. 

“A story, hmm?” his mother asks from her seat at the edge of his bed. “I think I can manage that.”

Stories are one thing Wei Ying knows both his parents are good at. It’s the most fun when they do it together, interrupting with funny voices and teasing each other with forgotten details. When he marries someone, Wei Wuxian hopes that they’ll tell silly stories with him like that. 

It’s just his mother tonight, but that’s fun too. “It’s a spooky graveyard now, but once, long, long, long ago, there was a village in the mountains near Yiling. And in that village, there was a girl.”

“Oh! I know this one!” Wei Ying immediately sits back up from the pillow, all but vibrating with excitement because he likes this story. The stories where the heroes win are the best ones, after all. “She wanted to help the village, so she made herself magic.”

His mother is nearly always smiling, so the fact that it drops away makes Wei Ying shrink back a little, even though she doesn’t seem angry. “Darling, who told you that?”

Wei Ying thinks about this, ticking his stubby fingers off one by one though he’s not really counting anything. Everyone knows how Aphetto Tower began, and why they’re heroes. It’s such a common story, he’s not really sure anymore whether it came from the children in the last town over, or the granny who watched him while his parents helped in town, or… “Lots of people.” 

“I see. And what else did they say?” 

“That she made herself… all wrong, and it took a whole army to save the world from her.” His mother’s mouth presses in a thin line, and she closes her eyes like it hurts, so Wei Ying pipes up, worried he’s hurt her feelings by interrupting. “But you could tell me again!”

All at once, she’s smiling once more, but the expression is strange. His mother’s eyes don’t crinkle at the corners the way they’re supposed to. She brushes her knuckles against Wei Ying’s temple though, dipping down to kiss his forehead, so all must be forgiven. “I will, but first, I’m going to tell you a secret. Are you listening?”

Wei Ying doesn’t know if he’s ever been given a secret before, but he beams up at her. His father always says you give secrets only to people you trust, so maybe he’s done something really, really good. “I’m listening.” 

“Most of the time, people hear a story the way the winner tells it, and they’ll always tell you they’re the hero.” The blankets are already pulled up around Wei Ying, but she adjusts them anyway. “But that doesn’t mean it’s true.” 

-

Wei Wuxian sucks in one gulping breath after another as time he hadn’t even realized he was missing rushes back in. It’s all out of order, a cacophonous deluge that leaves his head pounding, but it’s there. As young as he had been, even what he’s recovered is in fragments, leaving Wei Wuxian almost as many questions as answers, but there are answers.

He’s always thought himself resilient, and he is, he supposes. The thing about resiliency though, is that when you hold up more and more and more, the tipping point rarely makes much sense from the outside. For Wei Wuxian, it’s his knuckles of all things. His body has been remembering what his mind couldn’t since the first time Wen Chao attacked him with stolen magic, but he barely even notices the shield instinct had conjured up around him and his sad excuse for a weapon. He takes only the most cursory note of the way that the spirits here have all shrunk back in a way they’ve never done before. But his hands are still clutched around a glorified stick. Where he’d scraped them up earlier in the day, the skin is unbroken now, and Wei Wuxian stares and stares like he’s going to discover something new. Only when he gives up, putting them down to sit up, does Wei Wuxian notice that the ghost pursuing him is no longer there. Not retreating. Not watching. Just gone.

There’s always a price, his mother had warned, but she didn’t say he’d be the one to pay it. This was never a death sentence, he realizes with a sudden shocked laugh. It was salvation. Trapped as he realizes she must be to do the things she’s done, she still found a way to save him.

He’s not sure when he lets himself fall back in the dirt or when his hands come up to cover his face. He has even less of an idea of when the nearly hysterical laughter finally cracks and bleeds out into sharp, ugly sobs. Even grown up, it’s all so much, relief and sorrow and rage all hopelessly tangled. 

There’s no one alive to see, and so, in the lonely wasteland of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian embraces all of it and lets himself fall apart. 

[thatbritishactor]

Together we stand (part 11)

Together we stand (part 11)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Together We Stand explores the relationship between Billy Russo and Reader (You), over the course of twenty years. You meet as children, and you two are best friends until life tears you apart. You always find your way to each other over the years, although you witness him becoming someone you barely recognize. Billy is your weakness, the one person you cannot resist, and as he grows into a selfish, cold, manipulative man, you can’t let go of the Billy you once knew.

Warning: Mature (SMUT), 18+, language (cursing), abuse (psychological), toxic relationship dynamics.

Words: 3,600

The * indicates steamy/ mature content

My Masterlist 

Together we stand playlist

Part 1   Part 2*   Part 3   Part 4*   Part 5   Part 6* Part 7*  Part 8   Part 9*  Part 10

You cried every day for four months. You felt like your tears would never dry, that you’d never be able to feel joy again. After the party, you had found the strength to go home to your family. You had celebrated Christmas with your parents, your sister, and her girlfriend, and saying that you were a mess was an understatement. You cried in your parents’ arms, and they figured something had gone wrong with Billy. They tried to ask you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain what had happened.

The feelings of grief, loss and abandon were unfathomable, you had never felt such pain before. You had no idea how to deal with them. So, you curled into a ball and cried. You obsessively checked your phone, sure that Billy would come to his senses and reach out to you. He didn’t.

After the holidays, you went back to campus and took some time to grieve. You gave yourself another week of crying in the dark before you went back to class. Studying helped you think about something else; it helped a bit.

You didn’t sleep well: you were haunted by the last vision you had of Billy. His cold, impassive black eyes when he’d said that he would hurt you, the darkness that had surrounded you then, your whole world crumbling to the ground.

You thought that Billy loved you as much as you loved him; that he was your person, and nothing - no one - could break you apart. It destroyed you, finding out that you were wrong. That he could turn his back on you, abandon you without looking back. Nothing made sense anymore, your life had no meaning, you felt lost and empty.

You wanted nothing but to reach out to him and make everything better. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy. You felt helpless to fix it, and it slowly drove you insane.

You had apologized to Joe, who reassured you and told you that it wasn’t your fault. You saw in his eyes that he understood that there was more than friendship between you and Billy, and you confided in him. He offered you a shoulder to cry on and tried to make you feel better. But after a while, you couldn’t see him without thinking about that night and the exact moment you lost Billy. You took your distance from him, and Joe seemed to understand; he didn’t pressure you and gave you some time.

You leapt into your studies again because it was your way to cope. After four months of feeling absolutely miserable, crying every day, barely eating, suffering from insomnia and a deep sadness you thought would swallow you whole; your roommate suggested the university psychotherapist. She was worried about you, and she had every right to be. You had lost weight, you barely slept, you didn’t go out anymore. You did nothing but cry and study. You dismissed her suggestion at first, before you decided that she might be right. You could feel that you were throwing your life away, and all for what?

You made an appointment with the therapist and went. She was a middle-aged lady with kind eyes, and you felt like could confide in her. You cried during the first two sessions, barely able to form words. She remained patient, and after a while, you calmed down enough to explain why you came.

You opened-up about your relationship with Billy, told her everything: your childhood, your bond as kids, the language you had invented. That something had happened to him at the group home that had permanently changed him, the struggle with your feelings for him during your teenage years.

She didn’t emit a judgement, but with time, she made you question your relationship with him. She helped you understand that the relationship wasn’t healthy (although deep down, you already knew), that it wasn’t your job to save him, and the feelings of guilt eased a little.

After four months of crying, and two months of weekly therapy sessions, a new emotion rose: fury. You allowed yourself to feel angry with Billy, and stopped crying. You progressively took some emotional distance from what had happened and understood that it wasn’t your fault. Billy’s reaction wasn’t normal; disproportionate was an understatement. You understood that the way he had reacted showed that he had deep emotional issues that weren’t your responsibility, and you felt somewhat relieved.

Your therapist advised you to put your pain into your writing, and it helped greatly. June came, and you passed finals with excellent grades. You could move to the next year of your bachelor’s degree, and decided to come home for the summer.

* * * * * *

It’s a hot summer July night, and you’re lying on your parent’s couch, reading a book. You’ve got a summer job at the nearest library, working four days a week. You’re taking some time off studying, indulging in recreational reading and creative writing. You’re getting more and more interested in the idea of becoming an author. You’ve rekindled some friendships with high school friends. You sometimes meet up after work for drinks, and you’re slowly recovering from what happened with Billy six months ago.

You still think about him daily: he’s your first thought in the morning, and your last before you fall asleep. Sadness has turned into a sweet melancholy, less painfully sharp than before.

Your sister has suggested that you spend the last two weeks of august with her in California, and you’ve accepted, eager to spend some time by the beach.

Your parents are watching a movie next to you, and you sometimes glance up from your book to watch it with them. You jump when the phone rings, and watch your father pick up the phone.

“Hello?” His face quickly changes. “Hi, Billy” he states, and he seems uneasy. Your heart drops in your chest as a cold feeling spreads through your body. You can’t feel your fingers anymore and feel the urge to scream, cry, and tear the phone from his hand to talk to Billy.

“Yeah… Yeah sure, son. No, it’ll be fine. No trouble at all. Of course.”

You stare at your father who’s avoiding your gaze, and you can see your mother looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“All right, son. I’ll see you soon then. Take care.” He hangs up the phone.

You can’t tear your eyes from him, your heart beating fast in your chest.

“What did he say?” your mother asks, and you’re grateful, because your mind can’t form sentences at the moment.

“He’s finished his training” your father answers “He’ll be deployed for the first time in a week, and they gave him some time off to sort his affairs. He wants to come home”.

The cold feeling in your chest transforms into a painful sting, and you can hardly breathe.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Your father looks at you, worried. You stare at him blankly and think that you must look like a ghost.

“When is he coming?” Your voice sounds disembodied.

“He said he’d be here in a few days.”

Your mother reaches for your hand to hold you gently. “Are you going to be alright?” she asks, and you blink a few times, your mind blank.

“Of course,” you reply, still in a voice you don’t recognize. You find the strength to get on your feet. “I’m going to bed.”

You leave the room, hearing them say something, but you can’t hear anything besides the beating of your heart in your ears. You climb up the stairs, your legs wobbling, rush into your bedroom and collapse on the bed, headfirst into your pillow.

You’re submerged by conflicting emotions: hope, sadness, anger, fear. Tears fill your eyes, and you let them flow, finding relief in them. You’re torn apart, because part of you craves to see Billy, the other dreading a reunion.

Will he be cold and distant? Or loving and tender? Based on your last interaction, you bitterly think to yourself that the first option might be more probable. You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling. You have a few days to decide if you want to see him or not. You could always quit your job at the library and go early to your sister’s to avoid him. But it’d mean that you wouldn’t see him for a year; you don’t know if you’ll be able to stand it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’re coming home from your shift at the library, deciding to take a walk. The sun’s caressing your skin, there’s a hot breeze blowing in your hair, and you’re wearing a light summer dress. You enjoy working there, it’s nice sorting books and making recommendations when people ask you. It’s a mindless job that allows you to dwell in your reveries. You know that Billy’s return is imminent, and you’ve made your peace with that. You try and not hope for too much, preparing yourself to Billy’s cold and distant behavior. You know that it’ll break your heart, but you can handle it now. You’ve worked on your feelings of guilt towards Billy, and you mustn’t let them destroy you.

You open the front door, slightly humming, and are welcomed by a comforting smell: your mother’s Bolognese. Billy’s favorite food. Your stomach clenches.

He’s here, of course your mother made his favorite dish. You turn around the corner towards the living room and there he is, sitting in your parent’s couch, with Peter and Mary. The three of them stare at you as you enter the room, and your stomach flutters.

“Hi sweetie, Billy’s arrived” your mother says. You force a smile on your lips.

“I can see that.” You lock eyes with Billy, and your heart instantly feels constricted as his dark irises capture yours. The rest of the room disappears as you detail his face. His hair’s grown a bit since the last time you’ve seen him. He’s got a light stubble on his cheeks, and he looks healthy. The intensity in his eyes makes you feel weak in the knees as you try to decipher what he’s feeling. Your breathing catches in your throat as you look away from him and address your parents:

“I don’t think I’ll join you for dinner tonight. I’m gonna meet some friends.”

“All right” your mother concedes before she glances at Billy. “Have fun.”

You smile to her, not looking at Billy again and simply head towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. Dinner with Billy and your parents might be too much for you to handle. You’re not actually meeting with friends, but you’re going to spend the evening out. You need some time to think because you want to talk to him. You want to address what’s happened six months ago, and get closure, so you can move on with your life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’re coming home from your night out. You’ve texted your high school friends to figure if one of them was available tonight, and Christy, a girl you’ve known since you were in eighth grade, responded that she was free tonight. You’ve gone out for drinks and the air is less heavy than during the day, a soft wind blowing.

Feeling nostalgic, you wish that things had been easier, that your parents never moved to Colorado. Maybe, just maybe, you could be with Billy today, without the struggles and the difficulties you’ve met so far.

You enter the house and are greeted by darkness, it’s pretty late and everyone must be asleep. You think back to your first date with Matt and the night you came home, and Billy had confronted you. The memory’s bittersweet as you remember the confusing emotions you felt that night: the need to move on from Billy and your inability to do so, no matter how hard you tried.

You cross the dark hallway and climb the stairs to your bedroom, stopping in the hallway. You can see that there’s light underneath Billy’s bedroom door, and decide to try and talk to him. If not now, when?

You approach his door and lightly knock on it. You wait for a few seconds before Billy opens, and stiffen when you see him.

Being in his close proximity always makes you feel intense sensations: your stomach flutters, your heart beats faster, your head feels lighter. It’s almost like being drunk. He says nothing as he stares at you, and you ask him, without uttering the words, if you can come in. Billy’s expression is unreadable, a new and disappointing feature that emerged recently.

His eyes don’t betray any emotion as he looks at you, and he steps aside to let you come in. You enter his room, and smell his sweet fragrance, feeling like you’re home again. He shuts the door behind you and stands next to it. His posture has changed: he stands upright, seeming assured and confident. He always looked poised; it was part of his natural charisma. But something about the way he holds himself is more intimidating than before.

The two of you look at each other without uttering a word. Your self-confidence slowly melting under his intense, dark gaze. You try and find your Billy in there, surveying him. Is the sweet little boy in there? Your best friend, your soulmate, the love of your life? Or is he just a stranger?

Billy seems conflicted as he looks at you, detailing your face. You seem to have gained some access to his emotions again as you can decipher doubt and longing in his stare. Maybe it’s just your imagination.

During the evening and the walk back home, you had practiced what you were going to say to him. You had an opener, a rehearsed speech for this specific moment. Standing in front of him, intoxicated by his familiar presence, your mind is now blank, empty, shut down.

Before you can muster a word, Billy closes the distance between you in one step, grabs your face with both hands, and crushes his lips against yours.

Everything disappears, including yourself. Nothing else exists except for his lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hands fisting your hair, his breath on your skin. You kiss him back, desperately, all your will vanishing into the void. You throw your arms around his neck, and he pushes both of your bodies towards his bed. Your knees meet the edge of the bed, and you lie down, his body on top of yours.

Billy breaks the kiss to lift your dress and slide your panties off, and you moan at the absence of his lips against yours. He complies and kisses you again, a kiss that’s all want and need and tongue. Your body starts shuddering against him, and you hold him close against you, your nails digging into the exposed skin of his arms. You’re desperate to feel him close to you, part of you believing that if you cling to him hard enough, he’ll never leave again. Your shaking hands reach for his fly, and you undo it, sliding your hands in his boxers to grab his hard length.

You haven’t slept with anyone for the past six months, too busy feeling miserable to miss sex, and Billy’s presence unleashes your desires, stronger than before.

Billy pushes your hand away from his cock, his lips still on yours, and he grabs it, positioning himself at your wet entrance. He slides inside of you in one swift, hard move, and you whimper loudly when he enters you, closing your eyes, biting your lower lip. Billy puts a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, while his hips meet yours in harsh, needy moves.

You’re both still dressed, losing yourselves in each other, too wasted in want and lust to even wonder about protection. Billy pounds into you, and your nails dig deeper into the skin of his arms. He bites your neck, breathing harshly, groaning, and you roll your head backwards, lost in the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you. Your orgasm starts to build inside of you, and you clench around him, your moans turning into needy whimpers. Billy’s hand leaves your mouth to firmly grab your face, and you open your eyes, meeting his black gaze. You’re met with anger, despair, and something sweet, and you come – hard - while he leans his forehead against yours, joining you as he empties himself inside of you.

Both of you lie still for a while, your foreheads joined, your breathing entwined. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, and you feel a single tear streaming down your cheek. Billy’s panting as he starts placing soft kisses on your face: he kisses your forehead, your temple, your eyelids, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips. You open your mouth against his, caressing his tongue with yours, tasting him. He leans back to look at you, and he wipes the tears off your face gently, with the tip for his fingers. You finally notice that you’ve been crying, and you blink a few times. Billy slides off you, lying next to you, staring at the ceiling, and you’re met with the cold air of the bedroom, a soft wind blowing through the open window.

A few minutes pass as you’re catching your breath when he finally utters his first words:

“I’m gonna be away for a year. They’re sending me to Iraq.”

You can distinctly feel a hole forming in your chest as tears fill your eyes again, and you have no idea what to reply. Billy slides his head to the side to look at your face, and stays silent for a few seconds.

“I think it’d be better if you try to move on”.

You look at him, meeting his eyes.

“You know I can’t, right?” you ask, your voice weak and broken.

He puts a hand on your face, slowly stroking your cheek.

“You will. With time.”

You close your eyes, unable to understand why he’s trying to push you away, as reality creeps up on you. Billy’s come home because he’ll be deployed. You just had unprotected sex with him. He’s leaving for a year.

Your mind struggles to wrap itself around these thoughts, and you stare at the ceiling. Billy sits up and discards his pants and shirt before he turns to you to take your dress off. You comply, finding yourselves naked on his bed, and he lies back next to you, sliding his arms around you, holding you close. You lie on your side, and he sets behind you. He places soft kisses in your hair, on the back of your neck and bare shoulders, sending shivers through your whole body.

“Did you mean it?” you ask.

Billy hums behind you. “What?”

“When you said you’d hurt me.”

You’re met with a few seconds of silence.

“I don’t know” he replies, and your heart breaks in your chest. “I’m not good for you.” His voice sounds like it comes from very far away.  You nod in agreement, unable to speak, crushed with bottomless sadness.

“The marines… it’s the only thing that makes sense to me… aside from you”. You stay silent. “I need to… I need to give this a chance. To have something to live for. Maybe… Maybe after the Marines, in like… four years, when my contract’s over, we can give this a try. In the meantime, you should try and forget about me.”

You bury your face in the pillow, tears overwhelming you, and sob quietly. He’s right. He’s bad for you, your relationship is doomed, and you must move on. You simply don’t know if you have the strength to do so.

“You’ll always be important to me” he speaks again “But we should try and put some distance between us, remain friends”.

You laugh, humorlessly. “We’ve just had sex, and you wanna be friends?”

Billy chuckles behind you. “I’m simply giving you permission to move on. I’m tryna be the bigger person here”.

You stop laughing and stare in front of you. “Fine, Billy.” You close your eyes, exhausted.

He kisses your neck again, tenderly, and you drift away to sleep, the emotions too strong for you to handle.

When you awake the next morning in Billy’s bed, you’re alone. You sit on his bed, looking around you.

He’s taken his bags and there’s no sign of his things in the room. Your eyes find a note on the desk, and you get up to grab it.

“Write to me while I’m away? I’m going to miss you.

Billy”.

.

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Part 12

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I hope that you’ll like this chapter!! Tell me your thoughts and feelings please??? And give your girl reblogs to support my work?

Thank you guys <3

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