#like VERY heavy angst

[ondrug5]

TW: slight mention of sexual intercourse. (Not graphic)

I think MikaLight is a very good ship and honestly I LOVE IT AKSNNS like I’m a very open minded person, even if I don’t understand the ship, I still try.

But with MikaLight, it’s like Light and L except different. It makes sense, and Mikami is fairly intelligent and shares the exact same beliefs as Light, AND OH MA GOD HE IS VERY HOT. So I think that Light would totally go for him, but there’s an AU I am obsessed with. Although it is sad, i love it. So basically it’s an AU where Light and L had a thing going on, and well Light convinced himself that it was purely fake and he was just pretending so he could get his name and kill him. But when L dies, Light can’t help but feel absolutely devastated. Because deep down he knew he truly loved L. But ofc the Light being the prideful little bitch he is, just thinks its cuz he feels lonely since there’s no competition. And Near didn’t count, cuz Light thinks he’s an useless gremlin (oh how wrong he is) anyway, he remembers Mikami as the guy who was like kinda creepy but smart and very passionate about justice, so he like contacts him, everything goes like it does in canon, except that Light and Mikami meet and well have intercourses, yk what I mean. And the whole REASON Light goes out with Mikami is because HE REMINDS HIM OF L, and not only that, whenever he is having sex with Mikami, he always unconsciously refers to him as L. HE IS THINKING ABOUT L THE WHOLE TIME, He loves L, Mikami is just like a replacement. Which is sad because Mikami genuinely loves him, but Light still mourns L. He can’t get over him even though he denies it, he’s like in DEEP denial.

That AU is just wow, I love it. It’s angst mixed with hurt/comfort but like woah I love it. And I love a sad ending.

Anyways this was me rambling YAYYY

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[rynli]

me: I should write the one-shot that lives in my head about Harry applying for a job

brain: you will write a whole casefic about Harry realizing being a cop already killed him once, acab applies even to Kim, and he needs to quit if he wants to get better

[moliathh]

my bbgirls

[t1oui]

fic where evan follows barty and regulus into the death eaters. regulus has been fed propaganda by his family his entire life and barty doesn't really care, but he knows that being a death eater will piss off his dad, and that's all he really wants.

but then evan almost dies, and his whole world view changes.

within seconds, barty is grabbing him and running. he doesn't give a shit about his dad because while his dad has never been there for him, evan always has been.

this doesn't mean that barty doesn't care about voldemort or the war, though. the war almost took his evan away, and the war is voldemort's fault.

the day after evan's almost-death, the two of them show up at pandora's house. she lets evan in without a second thought - he's her brother (or sibling, bc i love genderqueer evan), after all - but she just watches barty for a while. but she sees the haunted look in his eyes, and she knows that he's learned. that he's come back.

she brings both of them to the next order meeting, and chaos breaks loose. people are fighting and screaming and suddenly barty is standing on the table holding a list of all the plans the death eaters have made for the next three months. he's passing it around, letting them all have a look, giving proof and explanations and answers to everyone's questions. and he's not in as quickly as he was with pandora, but he's in.

surprisingly, the person to warm up to him the quickest is lily evans. she's a muggleborn, so she should hate someone so careless, so bigoted, but she doesn't. instead, she seems fascinated by him. he's smart and that's so underappreciated, she thinks, and by his third day with the order she's begging for him to teach her italian.

a month after barty and evan defect from the death eaters pandora is acting weird. pacing, never sleeping, never eating unless evan forces to until finally she bursts into their room in the middle of the night and says that regulus is in danger.

rescue mission time!

i'm thinking horcrux hunt feat. barty of course and also regulus 100% (long distance rosekiller might give some nice angst ok. so evan is not guaranteed as part of the hunt) but i can't decide between lily and pandora as the third?? or maybe dorcas?? or maybe lily and pandora and they end up kissing?? so much can happen, guys. so much. for now:

[somebluemelodies]

since we're probably finally gonna be seeing spiderbit back together in a couple days, here's my personal take on their reunion :> just to be safe: tw for talk/implications of suicidal thoughts (under the cut)

They stay there for God only knows how long, holding on as tight as they can, in fear of what could happen if they let go.

(It could all change in the blink of an eye. Heaven forbid.)

They’d started their embrace standing, but it was short-lived, the weight of everything crashing down on them as their legs gave out, water building behind their eyes.

For now, it’s finally over. For now, it’s finally just them. And that’s enough.

It’s Roier who finally moves first, lifting his head from Cellbit’s shoulder but not pulling back far enough to leave his husband’s arms. No, he’s not ready for that yet.

He holds Cellbit’s face in his hands, brows furrowed as he stares him down. “What the fuck happened?”

“I didn’t—” the investigator pauses, seeming to rethink his words— “I chose to stay there.”

(He can never lie to the spider-hybrid, in any capacity.)

Roier’s brows furrow even more, if possible. “¿Qué—? Hijo de puta, what were you thinking?”

Cellbit glances away from him, eyes flickering down. He looks… guilty. Conflicted. “I… I saw Richas die in front of me. At least, I thought I did. And honestly?” He swallowed. “I wanted it to be over after that. I didn’t care anymore. As long as you made it. And you did. That was the only thing that mattered to me.”

Roier purses his lips, chest heavy. He understands, in a morbid truth - he really does. He thinks of how he felt immediately after Bobby died and the days that followed. The hours spent in the damn pool, hoping, praying for a way out. Falling from the heights of his castle without a care. The pain that still plagues him.

(He understands better than anyone else.)

But it was Cellbit who started to make him feel alive again. Cellbit who made his world even just a little brighter, even with the storm clouds of his own past.

And he’ll be damned if he loses him, too.

(They’re together. For better or for worse.)

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay?

(He feels like, deep down, he already knows at least a small semblance of the investigator’s answer. And it makes him upset. For Cellbit.)

(Why does this happen to any of them?)

But Roier doesn’t even have to ask. He knows Cellbit knows, somehow, by the way his husband studies his expression.

(They’ve become eerily good at reading each other. That’s just how they work now. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The thoughts come pouring out of Cellbit before he can really stop them; the same ones he’d relayed to Baghera. “I knew you would've stayed if I told you. And I didn't want you to do that. I didn’t want to take the chance of you around me when I was… like that. And this isn’t much better. I’m still—” he recoils, retracting his arms from Roier, who nearly grabs for his hands at the loss of contact. “You deserve better than this, guapito; you deserve to be free, not stuck there on that fucking island, stuck with me— you’d be happier without me.”

“¿Qué?”

(Roier feels like someone just submerged him under icy water.)

“I thought you’d be happier without me. I didn’t think you could be happy around me like this. I still don’t— I—”

Cellbit is interrupted by a sudden hand against the back of his neck, pulling him forward as lips crash against his, and he’s nearly overwhelmed by all the emotions behind it, intertwining with his own.

But he kisses back immediately, melting right into it; of course he does. He knows he can talk all he wants about not wanting Roier to be around, but what he wants and what he needs are two separate things.

They're breathless when they pull apart, and Roier's hands settle on Cellbit's shoulders. “You’re an idiot, Cellbo, you know that? So brilliant, yet so stupid sometimes."

He breathes in, out, catching his breath and trying to gather the right words. “I spent so long looking for you. Hours and hours, every single day, trying to find some sign of you. Anything.

Why? Because I was fucking miserable, man! I felt like shit without you! I missed you, I missed you so much.” His voice falters slightly.

“But—”

“Pinche pendejo—” Roier hisses under his breath— “I don’t care what you think I deserve. I want you. Always. We stick together, no? Not because we're stuck and we have to, but because we want to, no?"

Cellbit nods slowly after a moment, remaining quiet. "Exactamente." The spider-hybrid reaches up, cradling his husband's face in his hands and catching a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "I will always help you, no exceptions. Remember? Always here, for anything you may need."

The investigator falls into his arms, muttering tearful apologies, and they're right back to clutching each other tightly, securely.

(They're both crying, now. The tears stream freely, knowing they can be. Together.)

(It's not okay right now, but maybe in time, it will be.)

"Desculpa—" Cellbit chokes out— "te amo..."

They hold on tighter still. Roier's voice is muffled slightly, but Cellbit can make out the words as clear as day as the piece he's been desperately missing for weeks slides back into place.

"You and I against the world, gatinho."

And so it'll be.

[paninicupcakke]

Breaking Point🩸🔪

(Blunt trauma one shot series)

Tattoo artist! Scout - Freddie (25)

Mourning! Medic - Conrad (32)🏳️‍⚧️

(CW/TW!: suicidal self harm, blood, knives, guns, slight gore, death, respawn mechanics, angst)

Five excruciating days of aching, throbbing, discomfort. Medicine only did so much and was not a permanent solution. Inevitable suffering came naturally to all humans. Some more than others. Immortality had it’s benefits but countless consequences. Every person has their breaking point. Today was Conrad’s. He had been dreading this day in particular. It was the second day of his menstrual cycle. It landed on the exact same day it was his turn to cook dinner for all of his colleagues. Conrad stood there in the kitchen, quietly chopping up a carrots and celery. He had chose to make a simple chicken soup. Engineer, Demoman and Scout were sat in the living room nearby. They were all captivated by the action thriller on the tv. Luckily, their backs were facing the doctor. They were unable to see the German’s continuous tears trailing down his cheeks. Such a simple task still required exertion. His knees and back ached and it felt as if a knife were dug deep into his pelvis for the past hour. Everything was so loud and irritating. Conrad was absorbed by pain and melancholy all at once. He did not want to be doing this right now. Unable to turn off the split voices ringing throughout his mind.

‘If I stab myself and go to respawn, perhaps I can get out of this?’

‘NEIN! This is such a simple dish! Everyone else is exhausted and hungry too you know!’

‘I-I know that! BUT I REFUSE TO STAND HERE ANY LONGER!’

Conrad froze for a few seconds. Gazing down at the sharp blade in his hand. He glanced back up at the back of his three teammate’s heads. Flinching as Scout suddenly stood up to refill his cup. Freddie walked over to the kitchen, his wide grin soon fading as he saw the doctor’s wet and numb expression.

“Doc…are you alright?” Freddie asked in a concerned tone. He quickly walked over to the counter and grabbed a paper towel. Handing it over to the doctor to wipe away his tears. Conrad did not respond. He silently stood there, eerily staring. He was already painfully shedding, what was another bloody mess? Just another infliction to add with the others. Not to mention the intense grief hung over this head wasn’t helping. He simply wanted to shut down completely.

“I’m sorry for the mess. I’ll clean it up after, I promise.” Conrad casually said before raising the knife up high, aiming for his heart. Freddie rose an eyebrow in confusion at first. His eyes widened tremendously watching the doctor aim the knife to himself. He quickly grabbed onto Conrad’s arm, hoping to stop him.

“Hey! W-what’re you doing?!” Freddie shouted. Engineer had flinched and turned his head to see what the commotion was about. Demoman would’ve done the same if he wasn’t passed out on the couch.

“Everything alright in there?” Engineer worriedly asked. Quickly standing up and heading into the kitchen. He froze at the horrific sight before him. The doctor had pushed Freddie to the side, slapping down his forearm onto the cutting board and passionately dug the sharp blade into his flesh. Blood trickled and gushed all over the counter and down onto the floor. He leaned over the counter in agony, loudly groaning as he pulled the knife out and aimed for his pelvis next. Both of his teammates watched in terror as the man continued to puncture himself. Groaning in complete agony as he began ripping open his pelvis with his free hand. Ripping out his internal organs that was the root cause of his pain.

‘It was no wonder the depraved romanticize and fetishize pain. It feels so pure and natural. Pain feels so inevitable. For their to be life, one must suffer.’

Engineer reacted quickly and reached for his pocket pistol. Aiming directly for the doctor’s head, hoping to put him out of his misery temporarily. The gunshot had caught all of the mercenaries attention. One by one, they all inevitably headed down to the kitchen. All eight of them stood there silently in shock. Looking down at the doctor’s bloody, leftover corpse. Conrad was left lying in fetal position. Freddie quickly ran out of the kitchen and over to the respawn room. Pyro had quickly followed after him. Leaving the rest of the mercenaries to anxiously examine his corpse. Sniper had crouched down, analyzing the man’s entrails and lifeless expression.

“W-what the hell happened?!” Spy asked in utter disbelief and confusion.

“At first, I-I thought he was going after Scout but no. H-he just started stabbin’ himself.” Engineer hesitantly explained. Spy, Soldier, Demoman, Sniper, Heavy and Engineer all silently stood there. Giving each other sad looks of distress and worry. As well as confusion, neither of them aside Scout truly knew what the doctor was going through. They were completely unaware of the fact he was mourning a loss. The doctor had kept several secrets from his other colleague’s. Sniper took in a deep anxious breath.

“I think we’ve all clearly been through enough today. Especially doc, let’s just order somethin’ to eat tonight.” Sniper suggested.

“Good idea.” Engineer replied. Spy, Heavy and Engineer began to clean up the kitchen. Soldier, Sniper and Demoman had picked up and carried the doctor’s old corpse and entrails over to dispose of them. Meanwhile, over in the respawn room Conrad had finally exited the door. Letting out a frustrated sigh as he felt the pain come back instantly. Outside waiting for him were a very worried looking duo. Scout and Pyro immediately ran up and embraced the doctor. Conrad let out a big sigh, patting their backs gently.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble, I-I lost mein temper. It won’t happen again.” Conrad sternly apologized. Nuzzling into Scout, watching him worriedly start to tear up and tremble. A few droplets of his own blood had stained the Scout’s shirt.

“Next time, just kill one of us instead! Please! T-that was really tough to watch doc.” Freddie frantically admitted. Conrad frowned at his words. He never intended to traumatize his colleague’s more than they already all were. They were all so used to seeing blood and gory limbs on the battlefield but rarely ever in their base. The BLU base was the one place they tried their best to not cover in each other’s blood. Conrad began to weep softly and hugged both teammate’s tightly.

“I-I’m very sorry mein friends. I-I’m just so…exhausted.” Conrad apologized while truthfully admitting. Pyro began to sniffle as well.

[aceghosts]

All I Know is a Place Where I Haunted

Summary: After saving President Rosalind Myers and delivering her to Reed, Rooney tries to deal with everything they've seen. But it's all too much to bear. Title comes from Spiritbox's Jaded. Rating: Mature Warnings: References to unnamed character deaths. Survivor's Guilt. Also, references to injuries (mainly cuts and bruises). Lastly, I wanna give a warning that Rooney is not in a good mental space, like 'I clearly don't care whether I live or die' kind of mental space, and thus, may be triggering for readers. Please use discretion. As always, if I need to tag for anything else, please let me know. Words: 4,438 words. Author's Note: This is an AU for what I consider Rooney's canon as I normally don't consider it canon for them to have the Relic in their head. But I had this idea for them and it wouldn't stop bothering me. So, now this fic exists. Also, if you have not played Phantom Liberty, this does contain spoilers for the beginning! Taglist (opt in/out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @voidika, @strangefable, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @theelderhazelnut, @nightbloodbix, @fourlittleseedlings, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @clicheantagonist

AO3

Black Dog in my head, guiding me until the end…

Samurai blares over their radio as Rooney leaves Dogtown in the dust. Their hands grip the handle-bars tightly, knuckles white. Every inch of them hurts. Each movement-no matter how gentle or careful, sends a jolt of pain radiating through their body. Their head aches, a painful stab behind their right eye. Above all, Rooney is tired, so very, very tired. They feel sluggish, their limbs feeling like heavy weights are attached.

Even worse, they haven’t slept in over 24 hours. Last night as they hid in the Kress building with Myers, Rooney couldn’t sleep, no matter how much they wanted to. Every sound, every movement, every sight, no matter how real or imagined, sent adrenaline coursing through their veins. Their heartbeat would race, their body acting on finely tuned instincts to assess and fight. Every time, they would close their eyes, memories would haunt them. The crashing of Space Force One. Dead presidential staffers and Secret Service everywhere. The Chimera, the telltale glow of the red static from an AI beyond the Blackwall, staring Rooney and Myers down. It screams, a cursed, awful sound. Rooney’s throat tightens, a choked sob escaping from them.

The black motorcycle wobbles beneath them, Rooney swearing. They slow down, pulling over to the side of the road. Climbing off the bike, Rooney nearly falls to the ground, catching themself by their hands. Bits of gravel scrape at their palms. They ignore the pain, scrambling onto the sidewalk. Reaching the guard rail of the bridge, Rooney slides down until they’re in a sitting position, back against the rail. Behind them, the setting sun is a burning orange, stark against the faded sky. Sighing deeply, Rooney places their head in their hands. How much longer can they keep doing this? Keep moving along as the end goal is dragged further away? When will they be allowed to rest? Not be haunted by every terrible and awful thing they’ve seen?

Rooney closes their eyes, the Chimera there in their memories. The cable breaks, sliding out of their grasp as they hurtle towards the ground. Slamming on the ground on their back, Rooney gasps as the Chimera refocuses, raising a large paw to squish them like a bug. Rooney rolls out of the way, the Chimera narrowly missing them.  Above them both, the chandelier falls, sparking as it hits the ground. The Chimera and Rooney fall, knocking against each other as they descend into the blackness. They feel weightless, almost like they’re falling with the Chimera again. Rooney’s heart starts to pound loudly in their ears, mouth dry. Their limbs feel numb, adrenaline kicking their senses into overdrive. They’re falling, they’re falling they’refalling!

“ROONEY!” Gasping, their eyes open wide as they jump slightly. Johnny kneels in front of them, sunglasses in hand as he watches them, concerned.  Taking a panicked breath, Rooney’s eyes scan for any threats, for the Chimera. A few seconds later, they realize they’re in Night City with Johnny, and the adrenaline fades, leaving them with a bone-aching weariness. Tears burn in the corner of their eyes as Johnny speaks, “Shepard, you alright? Scared me there for a minute.”

“Yeah,” They force the words out, their throat tight, “Just remembering.”

Johnny softens, knowing a thing or two about reliving awful memories. “We should get you to that Ripperdoc friend of yours.”

Vik. They should; So Mi’s hacking of the Relic could have messed with their implants, especially the experimental Arasaka ones. Rooney’s holo rings, a familiar icon in the upper left corner.  “Don’t fucking answer that,” Johnny commands.

Rooney answers it anyway. They’re not going to ignore his call, and Rooney needs to get it together. No more of this pity party. Reed, So Mi, Dogtown, Night City, Myers, NUSA, and everyone else are counting on them. Roone will rest when they are dead. Wiping the corner of their eyes, Rooney composes themself as they answer, “What’s the situation?”

“Rooney!” Yorinobu’s eyes widen as he takes in their face with a concerned look on his face. “I could not reach you, and I worried you might be injured. Where are you? I will send someone to-.”

“I’m fine.” Rooney needs to be better than fine; they have to be. But fine is an acceptable state of being for now. “What do you need me to do?” They push themself to their feet, stifling a painful groan as their body protests. Johnny shakes his head, exasperated by their stubbornness. A frequent occurrence.

Yorinobu is silent, his gaze scrutinizing them. “Meet me at Konpeki Plaza as soon as possible.”

“Don’t. Get your ass to Vik’s,” Johnny says, flipping a finger toward Yorinobu.

“Understood. I’ll head there now.” Swinging their leg over the motorcycle, it roars to life beneath them.

Johnny shakes his head. “Fucking pathetic. ‘Saka Jr. says fucking jump, and you say how fucking high.” He glitches out of existence, saving Rooney the dignity of having to answer him.

“Rooney,” Yorinobu pauses, still watching them, “Be careful.”

“I will.” It’s a lie; Rooney has never been careful with their own life.

—

The elevator dings, opening up to the Tavernier Suite. The penthouse is gorgeous, offering one of the best views in Night City. Stepping into the suite, Rooney squares their shoulders, pretending they’re anything but exhausted. As they found the corner into the main area, Smasher and Yorinobu stop talking, looking away from the holopad between them. Smasher laughs, grating on Rooney’s nerves as he catches sight of them. Yorinobu’s brow furrows, looking more concerned than he did on the phone. “Fuck, Shepard. You look worse than fucking roadkill,” Smasher teases.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Rooney replies sarcastically, glaring at Smasher.

Smasher rolls his eyes while Yorinobu simply states, “You are limping.”

“I’m not.” Embarrassment floods Rooney as they realize Yorinobu is right. Trying to even out their gait, Rooney places weight on their left leg, pain shooting up from their hip as they stiffen. They bite down on their lip, trying not to whimper in pain. Rooney continues slowly towards Smasher and Yorinobu, purposely not limping. Well, at least, trying not to.

Yorinobu and Smasher exchange glances before Smasher sighs in annoyance. “I’ll get the fucking Doctor,” he grumbles, his loud stomping sending waves of anxiety through them, too reminiscent of the Chimera. As he passes Rooney, the two lock eyes, and Smasher scoffs, clearly thinking them pathetic. And the worst part? He’s right.

Making their way over, Rooney leans against the expensive dining table. “So, what’s happening? What can I-?”

“Where were you? I could not reach your holo.”

They suspected So Mi probably jammed their holo, making it difficult for Hansen and the Barghest to find them. It also probably made it harder for anyone else trying to contact them. “Had a missing person’s case in Dogtown. Needed to go dark for a while.” Not an unbelievable excuse. Rooney occasionally had to go dark on cases, not wanting to alert anyone who might be involved.

“Did Kurt Hansen do this to you?” Yorinobu cuts straight to it, fear and anger in his eyes. He looks like he’s about ready to punch Hansen.

“No.” Even though Hansen sent the Barghest after Rooney and Myers, he hadn’t set the Chimera on them. Wasn’t So Mi’s fault either. Whatever had been in the Chimera was something else, something from beyond the Blackwall. A shudder runs up their spine at the thought of it. “The thing that did this to me is dead.”

His shoulders drop, relaxing slightly as he motions for them to sit in the already pulled-out chair. Rooney sits, trying not to wince as pain radiates through them. “I do not doubt that anyone who intends to harm you would not leave with their life, Rooney. But-,” He emphasizes the word, “I do not think you are telling me the full story.”

Johnny finally makes his presence known again, glitching into a pulled-out chair on the other side of the table. Kicking his legs up onto the table and drumming his fingers, Johnny warns, “You can’t fucking tell, ‘Saka Jr., Shepard. What the fuck do you think ‘Saka is gonna do when they find out about Songbird?”

He has a point. Rooney trusts Yorinobu, baring the vulnerable parts of themself to him that no one else would be allowed to see.  But they can’t trust the rest of Arasaka. And even if Rooney wanted to tell him, which they did, anything they say about Myers and So Mi could put Yorinobu in danger. And they won’t put Yorinobu in harm’s way. “Not much to tell. Just your standard missing person’s case that got a little rough. But I ended up finding the person alive and well. A happy ending.” Might have been a happy ending in Myers’ case. But for everyone else, it was a failure. So Mi was missing and most of the civilian passengers on Space Force One ended up dead. They should have been able to do more.

Yorinobu reaches out, his right hand cupping their face. His thumb lightly traces their cheek as Rooney leans into his hand, nuzzling his palm. In the reflection of his glasses, Rooney notices how awful they look. Their bottom lip is busted, a deep cut running through it. Another long cut runs through their eyebrow, red and inflamed. Dark circles sit underneath their eyes, making Rooney look like they’ve been punched in both eyes. And they look pale, paler than normal, which is a feat in itself. No wonder Yorinobu seemed troubled. “What is the name of your missing person?”

Out of the corner of their eye, Johnny shakes his head, and Rooney wonders if Yorinobu already knows. There is no way Arasaka Intelligence wouldn’t have heard about Space Force One, of all things, crashing into Dogtown under mysterious circumstances. And Yorinobu knows Rooney is drawn to trouble, always willing to put themself in harm’s way.  But they’re still not willing to put him in the middle of this. “Just a local-.”

The elevator opens, cutting Rooney off as Smasher enters first. They wince at his loud footsteps, aggravating their headache. Dr. Katō, one of the few Arasaka employees that Rooney is somewhat friendly with, follows behind Smasher. “Shepard!” Dr. Katō calls, a knowing look on his face. “Found trouble again, I-,” He stops, catching sight of Yorinobu’s dark expression, “Arasaka-sama, I-.”

“Examine them now.” Yorinobu releases their face, stepping back to allow Dr. Katō to do his work.

“Yes.” Dr. Katō bows, now slightly nervous as he approaches Rooney. He starts his examination, his cyberware scanning for any broken bones or internal wounds. Rooney assumes there isn’t anything too serious. Otherwise, they might already be dead. As he finishes scanning, Dr. Katō suggests, “I would suggest that you have one of my colleagues run diagnostics on your implants for issues. I also wish you would allow me to run medical diagnostics on you.”

“No!” Rooney and Johnny both say at the same time, the same panicked look on both faces. The last thing Rooney needs to happen today is for Arasaka to find out they have the Relic in their head. And they really don’t want to have that conversation with Yorinobu. Rooney swallows as Yorinobu looks at them suspiciously. “You know how I feel about Arasaka doctors. No offense, Dr. Katō. I’ll have my local ripper check them later.”

Yorinobu sighs, shaking his head. “Would you like to give us the number of-?”

“No.” No way in hell they’re giving Vik’s number to Yorinobu. Rooney is pretty sure Vik would have an aneurysm if a bunch of Arasaka Corpos showed up on the front doorstep of his clinic.  Plus, Rooney doesn’t want to burden him with any more than they already have. He’s done so much for them. “My implants are okay. I have not noticed anything off about them.”

“I still highly recommend you have one of my colleagues examine you, but I’ll respect your decision,” Dr. Katō states as he begins to work on the cut on their eyebrow, “Any specific places bothering you, Shepard?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Yorinobu and Smasher both answer. Yorinobu clarifies, “Rooney is favoring their left side; they were limping when they arrived.”

Dr. Katō nods. “I’ll take a look after I finish with their face.” He tends to the other cut on their lip, silence permeating the room. Rooney glances toward Johnny, nervous energy radiating off him like a trapped wild animal. He’s never liked it here, and he especially doesn’t like it when Yorinobu or Smasher is around. Johnny’s learned to deal with Yorinobu, but Smasher still brings up a swirl of complicated feelings. Fear. Anger. Pain. All of it flows through them, leaving a nervous pit in Rooney’s stomach. “Do you mind taking off your shirt, Shepard? I’d like to take a look,” glancing nervously between Smasher and Yorinobu, Dr Katō gently suggests, “Perhaps you two should leave-.”

“I’m going,” Smasher grumbles, while Yorinobu stays. As soon as Smasher is gone, Dr. Katō looks toward Rooney.

“Yorinobu can stay.” They’re okay with Yorinobu here; Rooney doubts he would leave anyway.

Dr. Katō nods, gently helping Rooney out of their black and blue trenchcoat. He helps them pull off the turtleneck next as Rooney tries not to wince in pain. Yorinobu gasps, and Rooney looks down. A large, nasty, purplish-blue bruise covers the left side of their torso disappearing below the waist of their pants and farther down. Several other bruises cover them, leaving Rooney’s freckled skin a splatter painting of bruises. “How did this happen?” Dr. Katō asks as Yorinobu crosses his arms, looking even more troubled.  

“I fell.”

“Fell? How far did you fall, Shepard?”

They shrug, ignoring the pain that jolts through them. “Not sure. Might have been a few flights.”

Dr. Katō pales as Yorinobu shakes his head. “You’re very lucky to have escaped with no major injuries.” Rooney knows how lucky they are. Most would have died in their position. Most would have died going through some of the shit they went through. Rooney even already died once. But death was a luxury they would not be afforded. They had already been snatched from Death’s jaws once by Arasaka. What would stop it from happening again? “I am recommending bed rest, Shepard. At least, for a few days. I’ll also have some pain medication delivered to you.”

“No.” Dr. Katō looks shocked at their cold tone while Yorinobu narrows his eyes. “I’ll take the pain pills, but I need to be back on my feet.”

“Shepard,” Dr. Katō starts very gently, placing a hand on their shoulder, “You need to rest. Your body needs to rest. Otherwise, you risk injuring yourself further.”

Johnny shakes his head in the corner of their eye. “Can’t believe I’m ‘bout to agree with a fucking ‘Saka employee, but he’s right, Shepard. You look like you’re almost fucking dead.”

Even Yorinobu gets in on it. “Rooney, Dr. Katō is correct. You must rest. You are welcome to stay here, or I can drive you back to your apart-.”

“STOP!” Frustration overwhelms them. Why won’t anyone listen? So Mi and Reed are counting on Rooney; so many people are counting on Rooney. Rest is a luxury afforded to others, but never to Rooney. They need to keep moving; They have to keep moving. Shrugging off Dr. Katō’s hand, Rooney stands, biting back a groan as they get up, unsteady on their feet. “I don’t need to rest; I’ll be fine.”

“Fine? Fine?!” Yorinobu exclaims in disbelief, Rooney clenching their fist. “You can barely stand! If you were ‘fine’, you would not limp. You need to rest, please.”

“The limp will go away in a little bit. It’s not that big-.”

“Do not finish your sentence.” He softens a little, allowing Rooney to glimpse how exhausted and fearful he was for them. “Take this seriously. Please.”

“I am,” Rooney insists, knowing they are taking this deeply seriously. Why can’t everyone else see that?

“Are you?” Rooney’s armor starts to crack a little as they stare into Yorinobu’s eyes. Weariness comes over them, and Rooney pushes it away, trying to stay focused. “If you are, listen to Dr. Katō.”

“I am, I promise,” Rooney feels their throat tighten like they’re about to cry, “But I can’t rest. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t tell him a fucking thing, Shepard,” Johnny cuts in again. “Just get the fuck out of here and get to Vik.”

“I-,” Rooney struggles for a second, trying not to make sure they don’t reveal too much, “People depend on me, Yorinobu. I cannot let them down. If I stop, I fail them. And if I fail them, then what use am I to anyone?” Rooney has already failed people before, the ghosts of the past holding onto them, dragging Rooney down. They won’t fail anyone, not again. “I’ll rest when this is all over.”

Yorinobu takes their face in his hands, wiping away the tears from their eyes, the ones they didn’t know were already starting to fall. “Rooney, you will not fail anyone, especially if you rest for a few days. And your value is not determined on how useful you are to others.”

Fuck, they’re gonna cry. Swallowing down the lump in their throat, Rooney takes a deep breath. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.” He sounds so sure, his arrogance bleeding over.

“And how would you know that?” Anger tinges their voice as they answer sharply.

“I would not think that of you. And anyone who does, simply would have never think you succeeded in the first place.” Rooney’s walls break. The tears start slipping out faster, as they shake, taking in a weepy breath. Yorinobu lets go of their face, pulling Rooney into his arms as they let out a small whimper. They bury their face in the expensive silk fabric of his shirt, unable to compose themself any longer. Rooney sobs into his chest, fingers gripping the back of his shirt tightly.  Yorinobu rubs comforting circles on their back, holding Rooney up as they cry. God, they’re tired. Just so exhausted.

After a while, their sobbing starts to soften, their grip less tight on Yorinobu. “Come. You should rest.” Rooney nods, allowing Yorinobu to shepherd them to the bedroom. As they walk towards his bed, they realize Johnny and Dr. Katō are gone. Johnny probably left because it was getting too emotionally intense for him. But at the thought of Dr. Katō, shame washes over them. Rooney should have been more com-. “He does not think less of you,” Yorinobu comforts, already knowing where their thoughts are headed, “Dr. Katō is worried about you as we all are.”

“Thank you.”

“No need,” Yorinobu shakes his head, bringing them to the bedroom, “Do you need help changing into something more comfortable?” Rooney nods, too tired to even pick out clothes for themself. He pulls out a pair of pajama pants and one of his t-shirts for them. He is so gentle with them, nearly sending them into tears again. Rooney feels so loved yet unworthy. Yorinobu shouldn’t have to do this for them. Rooney should be capable of something as simple as this.

Drawing the covers back, Yorinobu ushers Rooney into bed. They climb into bed, heading over to the other side. A part of Rooney wants to ask him to stay, to hold them as they fall asleep. But that would be selfish, and he’s already done so much for them. Instead, they turn away, trying not to want more than they are given. Like they always have. The bed dips on the other side, Yorinobu sitting on it. They hear him take off his shoes before getting underneath the covers with them. He pulls Rooney close to him, his chest against their back as he wraps an arm around their waist. He feels so warm and comforting pressed against Rooney as they allow themself to relax. Placing a kiss on the bare skin of their shoulder where his t-shirt has slipped away, he softly speaks, “Sleep, Rooney. Please rest.”

“I love you.” The words slip out of their mouth. Rooney does, they really fucking do. If Yorinobu asked the world of them, Rooney would gladly give it to him. Again and again.

He places another kiss on their shoulder, replying, “I love you too.” Those words ring in Rooney’s head as they fall asleep, Yorinobu nuzzling into their neck.

—

When Rooney awakes, they are alone in bed, muscles and joints aching. Even blinking feels like a herculean effort as they push the sleep out of their eyes. The dying rays of sunlight stream into the bedroom, infusing it with a golden glow. It makes the room look heavenly; it already feels heavenly. Grunting, Rooney pushes themself up, ignoring the protest from their muscles. By the time they’re sitting up, Rooney is out of breath, panting from the exertion. “Did you sleep well?” They look over, finding Yorinobu leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Rooney hadn’t heard him come in.

“Yeah,” their voice sounds rough from sleep, “How long was I out?”

“Over 24 hours,” Yorinobu answers, pushing himself off the wall and taking his hands out of his pockets. He walks over to the bed, sitting down beside Rooney. Yorinobu brushes a stray strand of dark red hair from their face, his fingers featherlight on their skin. “You needed it. You still need more.”

Rooney blanches, pulling up their holo. No missed calls or texts from Reed, but that doesn’t mean Rooney can stay in bed any longer. Reed could call at any moment. "I have to-.” As they try to get out of bed, Yorinobu places a hand on their shoulder, pulling them back gently. Rooney doesn’t fight back, too exhausted. Every movement feels like they’re making a trek up Mount Everest. “I have a case to work on.”

“Would that have anything to do with Space Force One?” Their eyes widen, swallowing nervously. Yorinobu looks triumphant. “I knew it.”

“How?”

“It is all over the news, and you were very…,” He pauses for a moment, perhaps trying to find better wording than ‘fucking stubborn’, “persistent about this case.” Fair enough. This one had more stakes, more chances for other people to get caught in the middle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rooney shakes their head. “I can’t discuss this one with you. Trust me, the more you know puts you in danger.”

“And it is acceptable for you to put yourself in danger?”

“I’ve fought the NUSA and worked with them after the Unification War. I know what they’re capable of.” They let out a sigh. “Thanks for the sleep, but-.”

“No,” Yorinobu shakes his head, his hand gripping their shoulder firmly, “If you plan to put yourself in danger on our behalf, promise me you will rest for one more night.”

“Yorinobu, I-,” Rooney falters, the genuinely concerned look on his face getting to them, “One more night, but tomorrow, I’m up and back at it.”

“I would never expect anything less,” Releasing their shoulder, he takes their hand in his, “Do you really think you have let anyone down?”

Rooney looks down at their hand tightly intertwined in his. “I do. I let everyone down who didn’t make it off Space Force One. I refuse to let anyone else get hurt. Not as long as I breathe.”

“You worry me when you say that, Rooney.” They know they do. Even if Yorinobu doesn’t say it, Rooney knows that there is always the possibility that the next case might be their last, and they think it scares Yorinobu that he might be powerless to stop it. Rooney looks up at him as Yorinobu reaches out, gently tracing the edge of their face. “You did not fail anyone, Rooney. The person who shot down Space Force One is responsible, not you.”

“I know, but if I was faster, I might have-.”

“Rooney, you cannot blame yourself. You cannot save everyone.”  They know. Rooney knows they can’t save everyone, but they have to try. They can’t just give up. Sighing, Yorinobu decides to let the matter go. “Would you like a cup of tea? I even have your favorite.”

“That sounds nice,” They say, thinking a cup of tea sounds wonderful, “Maybe a shower afterwards too. I feel a little gross.”   

“Good, I can even help you with the shower too,” He teases as Rooney rolls their eyes, before placing a soft kiss on their lips, “I will make your cup now.”

As Yorinobu leaves the bedroom, a familiar figure glitches onto the edge of the bed to their right. “Ask ‘Saka Jr for some vodka instead. I need to block out the mental image of you two eying each other like a bunch of horny teenagers.”

Oh Johnny, truly a wordsmith. They shake their head, a faint smile on their lips. ‘Glad to see you too, Silverhand’, Rooney thinks. A moment later and perhaps a touch more fondly, they add, ‘I mean it. I really thought I might have lost you, and it terrified me’.

Johnny sighs, but he looks away, clearly touched by their words. “Stop being so sentimental,” He grumbles, with no real bark or bite. He adds a moment later. “Missed you too, Shepard.”

‘We’re going to get So Mi back. I promise.’

“You think she’s telling the truth?”

‘No,’ Rooney thinks, and Johnny looks a little surprised, ‘I know when people are hiding things from me, Johnny, and she is hiding something. But I really think she needs our help. Besides, I have a feeling Myers is up to something worse, and we’ll stop her.’

He gives them a real grin. “Now, you’re speaking my language, Shepard. Just wish you had some of that when it came to ‘Saka Jr.”

They roll their eyes as Johnny lets out a laugh. For now, they were here safe with Yorinobu and Johnny, but tomorrow, the real challenge would begin. 

[snowthornes]

➸ Avriel | @uroboros-if

✦ Moment of Creation 🍂

In the all-encompassing cradle of the universe, Avriel came into existence within the embrace of light. They first felt pain. The universe wracked every thread of their existence with the agony of every being, all at once — then soothed the fractures left behind with the love of all that ever was and ever will be. Upon his first time laying eyes on another being, he attempted to replicate her smile. The first... emotion he ever felt in the waking world was curiosity.

✦ Pieces of a Soul 🍂

➸ Avriel stands at 5'9. He sits with his knees curled against his chest whenever he can get away with it, making him appear to be smaller than he actually is. 🍂

➸ He can be quite contradictory in the sense that while he approaches the world with an unrelenting — sometimes reckless — optimism, he’s always very surprised whenever someone seems to enjoy or even want his company. Years of subtle, minor, rejections have trailed him since his creation, as if the waking world was determined to wear him down little by little. As a result, he has a severely low view of himself when it comes to his worth as a friend or as company.

Despite that, he persists with dogged optimism and continues to seek out the company of other beings. He keeps trying, keeps hoping, but he never really… expects to actually get anything back. 🍂

➸ Rarely holds grudges. He could be called forgiving at best, and overly passive at worst. 🍂

➸ Not one to hide his emotions, he often speaks without thinking. Fortunately, for what he lacks in tact, he makes up for in intuition. He’s quick to sense the emotions of others, including discomfort or distress, and will immediately back off and apologize if he feels he was the cause. He’ll attempt to make amends, but whether he's successful or not is a different matter. 🍂

➸ Avriel loves to dance! He started learning when he was young and picked up different styles by observing other mortals and deities, though Rafaele was also a very willing (and delighted) teacher. Would be all for dipping his dance partner in a dance! In fact, it's at the top of his bucket list! 🍂

➸ Has a sword he often uses in his dances. Avriel picked up sword dancing when he was young. Years of diligently honing his skills in the art have made him skilled in the dance of the sword, able to move his body and blade with the lightness of a swallow. 🍂

➸ Like most beings, Avriel has his personal preferences. He particularly likes eating meat. His favorite flower is the Krio firosafa. Delicate and enduring, they are often overlooked because they are always there, as if there would never come a day when the streets would truly lay bare of them — Avriel thinks there is much worth treasuring in that. 🍂

➸ Extremely affectionate. He makes it incredibly obvious when he's happy to see someone, whether platonic or romantic, and will perk up with sparkling eyes upon seeing them approach. Loves pestering friends once they've gotten close enough — a befriended (or romanced!) Ciocana may find that a happy and secure Avriel can be even more of a menace than they are. Although he would settle down somewhat when with a more reticient friend, content to accompany them in quieter activities. As long as he's given a sense of security and acceptance, Avriel is happy to follow their lead.

It's uncertain what the ettiquette is in Galaio in regards to skinship, but if Avriel were a being in the modern world he would be the type to affectionately link arms with his friends or drape himself over their shoulders. 🍂

➸ Becomes quiet and subdued when upset. It is rare that something affects him to this extent, but when it does, he shuts down like a flower withered in winter. There is an off-putting silence in his expression, in his downcast eyes. It is best not to leave him alone when in this state. 🍂

➸ Is very active, and prefers to take the longer, more creative route rather than simply using the streets. He often climbs, leaps, and bounds his way around Lucidio in an effort to add some fun to his hectic yet rather repetitive schedule. It works, most times! He appears to be drawn to high places, and can often be seen crouching on a pillar or making himself at home on a roof. 🍂

➸ Is actually quite content with his current life. While he’d probably definitely fall over from shock and joy if he got even a single offering from a mortal, his lack of power or recognition isn't something that weighs on his mind, not anymore. He’s long come to terms with his status and makes the best of it — though the mockery occasionally thrown at him still affects him.

Although it would be nice if the world wouldn’t look upon him so harshly, Avriel’s dearest wish is to have meaningful relationships with other beings — bonds where he can safely go to them and know that they want him there. If he were able to have such relationships one day… well. Who could ask for anything more? 🍂

➸ His fathers are his anchors. Avriel is a being who thrives off love and attention; his fathers have always given him the steadfast, unwavering love and acceptance that the world so often withheld from him. Even now, he actively seeks out them out when the endless streams of errands in Lucidio start to make him feel a bit too lonely, a bit too isolated. He adores their frequent visits very much, and is always noticeably livelier than usual for a few days afterwards. Avriel loves them dearly. 🍂

✦ Height Chart

✦ Afterword from Distant Lands

You’ve reached the end of this monstrously long post. Congratulations! You survived 😌✨ I really appreciate the time you’ve taken to see this little person that I made, so. Thank you. Thank you very much. Ahead is an afterword elaborating a little more on the background of Avriel’s relationship with the others. I tried to make it short, but… it appears I’m not very good at this short and sweet thing. 🫡

When I started forming Avriel, I wanted to make it clear that he had imperfections of his own. He has qualities that will make him clash with the other characters of Uroboros — at the beginning, anyway. 

(In case you missed the link at the top of the post, Avriel is my MC for Uroboros by @uroboros-if !)

Due to his passive tendencies and his subconscious wish to preserve the “peace” that he has carved out for himself, Avriel will initially be extremely wary of Alessi and everything they stand for. The fall of the reign of the gods? He really doesn’t like the sound of that. But passive he may be, Avriel carries a heart that stubbornly longs to love the world and all its beings. The things Alessi will show him may just break Avriel out of the passive shell he's unknowingly created 🫡 I’m looking forward to seeing how they will clash and develop together in the future.

Avriel will have to look past the lens of his hero worship for Luciel in order to truly understand the person they are — imperfections and all. Though come what may, you can rest assured that Avriel will always be Luciel’s number one supporter! But to close that distance between them, Avriel will have to do his part and understand that putting the other person on a pedestal will only do more harm than good to a relationship.

His relationship with Luciel is inspired by the ‘looking’ scene with them. I imagine Avriel halting in place and staring Very Starry-eyed at Luciel during the times he meets them as the text from the Looking scene skitters through his head at the speed of light, a scenario I find extremely funny and will hold onto till the day I die. The MC talks about Luciel’s eyes and kindness a lot, and I took that fact and ran with it.

Salvatore… Avriel's relationship with him is quite complex. I’ll wait to see how future chapters develop before I write more about their relationship. However, I will say that I pounced on these paragraphs from the game to use as a foundation:

He opens and closes his mouth, tasting the words on his tongue before deciding. "Please, let's speak another time! I wish to hear more from you." You see a glimpse of his younger self—Salvatore from a bygone era, when things seemed less complicated, less troubling. You think time has robbed him a part of his spirit. He has become busy. So very busy.

I suppose I felt a faint sense of regret from that last paragraph. The regret of standing before a person once so very close to you, and now so changed. For the better, most people would say, but Avriel secretly wishes that Salvatore could have stayed as happy and carefree as in the past. Though Avriel doesn’t really know that. He’s not one for introspection. He just feels very complicated whenever he meets Salvatore, though he still does his best to regale the deity with comedic retellings of his errands in Lucidio. Just to make Salvatore laugh.

As for Ciocana, I’ll also wait to see how future chapters develop before further shaping his relationship with Avriel. I feel that Ciocana has a lot of hidden depth that we have yet to see. But going off of initial impressions alone, I can say that Avriel definitely had a very good first impression of the other deity. It was an instant squish, if you will. Avriel’s boundless energy syncs quite well with Ciocana’s mischief, and if given enough time to develop, I feel their dynamic has the potential to become the “ride or die (enthusiastic)” kind. 🫡✨

Aaand, that’s all. Thank you for reading this far (again). If you've somehow managed to read this far, then 💐🥺💍hand in marriage pls. Avriel was a joy to create, and I’m really looking forward to seeing how he develops in the future. The world within Uroboros is so wonderfully crafted, its characters so vividly alive; Avriel would not have existed without it. I’m very grateful to the author for sharing their world with us. Thank you. Have a very good day, and may you all have as much fun writing and creating your characters as I did!

➸ Picrew:

[givemaycoffee]

I am curious about the ST fic but I'm gonna slap my face into attention and focus instead on what catches my eye the most (and in no way is my guess of your super top secret smutty fic): Please tell me about Pre-Bond and how your Howl's Moving Castle AU is going!

WIP Game

Pre-Bond

The idea here was a play on the idea of mating bonds, but combine omegaverse bonds with some ideas stolen from Vulcan mating bonds - namely, the titular pre-bond. Omegaverse bonds typically happen on the neck, but I was thinking a pre-bond could happen via the scent glands on the wrist.

You know the scene at the end of The Taste of You where Percy does not bite Vex? This fic was What if he did bite her but wisely created a pre-bond (which can be dissolved) rather than a full bond? So they can both reevaluate when they aren't in heat/rut. But then shit goes sideways a bit because of essentially soulmate stuff (true mates are a whole omegaverse thing also and it’s literally just soulmates). Here’s a tiiiny snippet:

She found the skin of his wrist and bit down. It was exquisite. It was all of him, his scent on her tongue and his very being rushing into her own.

Howl’s Moving Castle AU

As for HMC AU… 🥲 it’s completely still stalled. But I don’t think I’ve ever shared a snippet with you??? Apologies if I’m just forgetting, but here’s their first meeting:

She was reaching for the knife when a finely gloved hand landed on her shoulder from behind. “There you are darling, I was looking for you.” She startled at the smooth voice, looking up at the stranger who had somehow managed to sneak up on all of them. Clear blue eyes behind gold rimmed glasses met her gaze, and he smiled fondly at her. She felt a warm rush of familiarity. Except - no. She had never met this man in her life. And she would remember him if she had. 

He was far too richly dressed for anyone in her circles - ornately patterned silk waistcoat and carefully knotted cravat and shining gold buttons. His nose was handsomely hooked under dark eyebrows, and he had the pale skin of a northerner. Most striking though were his shock of white hair and his midnight colored coat that seemed to glimmer with starlight as he shifted his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. He was oddly hot to the touch and looked much too young for that hair. He leaned in as he pulled her closer, and quickly murmured in her ear, “My lady, please play along. I admit, I have been itching to ruin these men’s days for ages, and catching them in such a compromising situation gives me the perfect excuse.” She had been about to shove him off, nobility as he surely must be or not, but stopped short at that. She did not need to be rescued, but also could understand the scope of the situation well enough  - no one would believe her story were she to report this herself. “Mr. Dassur and Mr. Shede, I believe?” the white haired man turned back to the two guards, who were suddenly standing straight-backed and looking rather pale. “I believe Captain Howarth will want to hear what transpired here.” With a wave of his hand, a curl of black smoke seemed to swirl around the two guards for a moment, and then they relaxed slightly, eyes glassy.  “You will tell him, in detail, what happened, won’t you?” “Yes,” they said in unison.  Vex’s heart rate picked up. Out of the frying pot and into the fire. Gods damnit. This man was far more dangerous than the guards. “Excellent. Please, be on your way. Tell him I send my regards.” They nodded, turned, and marched off, still in unsettling unison. Vex was trying to determine her best avenue of escape when she felt him pull away quickly. She looked up to find him blushing, of all things, and he executed a rather flustered bow. “Excuse my forwardness, my lady. It was completely inappropriate,” he straightened to his full, rather tall height, fixing his cloak - and it must be magical with the way she swore she just saw a little shooting star near the bottom, “but I could not let them continue getting away with such harassment. There had been prior reports, but nothing concrete enough to actually land them in trouble.”  He wrung his hands for a moment, staring off, then jerked his head back toward her.  “Are you alright?” “Ah - uhm.” She paused. Took in the concerned look in his wide, blue eyes and the polite amount of space he had created between them. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

[h-didanart]

Tw selfharm

I blurred it

Didn’t appear blurred to me, but let’s hope it works!

Oh. Oh, Bloodmoon. I’m sorry.

This is a very sad piece, the gradient all around the drawing gives a somber atmosphere, Blood seemingly hugging himself reminds us of what exactly he’s dealing with, the scars reveal just how badly he’s taking it, and having his expression shadowed by his hood was just the perfect way to convey his misery.

I also feel the need to point out that the way you drew the tears is very good, they look like actual tears and not just chicken scratch (which the ones I draw usually look like)

Very good drawing, it’s heartbreaking, sad, and perfectly communicates the character’s feelings.

Btw, are those ears under his hood?

*takes a deep sigh*

Okay, I’m sorry, I could not stop myself from rambling about my aus here. This drawing reminded me of some stuff from my aus and, y’know, I thought I’d share, just some quick explanations and then nothing more. But then I started writing and then I had a paragraph and then I started writing from the character’s own feelings and… *sighs* I’m sorry.

You don’t have to read this if you don’t wanna, it’s really just my writer brain having been activated and immediately lore dumping everything I had that reminded me of what you’ve shown me. Again, ya don’t need to read this, it’ll probably make you uncomfortable or upset or both. But if you do, uh, thanks? Don’t hate me?

Below is discussion of these topics: self harm and suicidal ideation

(Do not force yourself to read what’s next, read safely)

You know, I too have kinda thought of Bloodmoon doing this, not the canon one, but the ones from at least two of my main aus. I don’t know if it’ll be canon to the aus, but they’re at least interesting things to think through from a psychological and angst writer standpoint.

Both twins in ‘Get in losers’ post separation, for different reasons.

Harvest because without their other half she genuinely cannot feel anything, so she resorts to the one thing they know they’ll feel, that being pain, all of it focused on her unusable arm, her missing half’s. She gets better when they get reunited, tho they’re afraid of relapsing whenever she’s away from Hunter for an extended period of time.

Hunter because his body is wrong. Jigsaw did not care to explain to them that his body was made to suit a female AI, and when they realize this they try to hide it as much as possible, hiding his chest using whatever he can find, usually to the detriment of his internal fan system, and picking at the casing on their hips hoping to one day be able to take a whole chunk off. They don’t get better when they are reunited, actually Harvest probably catches him about to pass out from overheating due to a broken fan, from there I could see Harvest asking Solar for help with this and Hunter accepting the help after resisting it due to the embarrassment//shame//humiliation from it.

And then there’s Harvest… from ‘Quiet Throes’.

They’ve both taken their situation as badly as one can take that situation, there’s just too many feelings for them to process, so naturally some got ignored. Harvest wasn’t too keen on talking about his own feelings of worthlessness to begin with, and with them insisting on focusing on Bloody they kinda just kept it all in. The twins take turns sleeping at some point, it doesn’t stop the exhaustion they feel, nor does it stop the images flashing in their eyes every time they blink, but they still try to lighten the load for one another. That’s what it was supposed to be, at least. He didn’t know how he started, they just know they were tired of seeing all that over and over and over and over. The pain was a relief, something their mind could focus on that wasn’t the screams echoing in his hearing, but it didn’t last long, so they did it again. And again, and again, and again. Bloody woke up. And then he realized what he had been doing. It wasn’t permanent damage, Solar had been very careful and effective in stopping the oil and sealing their wounds, but it still left a pretty big impact on them all. Harvest was focused on more since then, with him reluctantly starting to talk about some of his issues, but they could never shake off the guilt. Bloody didn’t deserve to deal with his issues. Bloody didn’t deserve to deal with their stupid decisions… Maybe it would all be better if he hadn’t survived.

I

AM

SO

SORRY

YOU

HAD

TO

READ

THAT

.m.

I’m sorry

[radama-zard]

Dungeons & Drabbles 2023

Day 7 - Disappear

(Warning in advance that this one gets kinda angsty~)

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

FCG Centric Angst + FCG & Ashton

What… What had happened?

One moment, Fresh Cut Grass had been beside their friends, fighting Ludinus and kicking his sorry ass! The next, there had been a flash, a pain that felt beyond the realms of all comprehension, and then… then silence. Darkness.

And now this.

There was a blurry sight before him. His friends? Yeah! His friends! And they were seemingly rejoicing? Had they won? Was this all finally over?

Fresh Cut Grass couldn't help but give a hollar of joy, wheeling over to join the rest of the Hells. They were battered, bleeding and bruised, but the smiles they held were unmistakable. There was a joy there that couldn't be touched, a laughter that rang joyously through the smoldering battlefield.

“We did it! I can't believe we actually fuckin’ DID IT!” Ashton damn near shouted, pumping a fist into the air as Fearne threw her arms around him as she dissolved into relieved, almost euphoric laughter.

“And we all made it through!”

“Not a heartbeat lost!” Imogen added, playfully ribbing Laudna in the side, who simply beamed down at her girlfriend, pulling her in for a breathtaking kiss.

“We were impeccably lucky, my dear~ Imagine if that blast had hit anyone else but them?”

Fresh Cut Grass paused in their excited rocking at that comment, a dash of hurt smacking them over the head, in what had otherwise been a sea of celebration.

“That blast still hurt real bad!” They interjected, huffing just a tad. And yet… there was no response. Heck, no one even so much as looked his way! Why… why were they ignoring him? Had he done something wrong?

“That would have been a grim tragedy,” Orym said, with a deeply heavy sigh. “I don't know if I could have taken another loved one dying…”

“Buck up, soldier boy!” Chetney barked out with a grin, his words punctuated by a playful smack upside Orym’s head. “We only lost the pile of scrap metal. Nothing important. That was some bitchin’ luck we had going for us! Figured all our asses would be ash by now!”

What… What were they saying?

This had to be some kind of cruel joke, right? Yeah! That’s right! This was a joke! It wasn't a funny one by any stretch of the imagination, and Fresh Cut Grass hadn't felt so- so hurt like this since… Dancer. B-But hey! Maybe it was the stress of the fight messing with their judgment and humor? Wasn't dark humor a typical coping strategy for heart beat folk?

“Al- Alright, you guys have had your fun! This joke ain’t funny though. That blast really did hurt and so did your words!”

“Fuuuck…” Ashton muttered, a look of realization flashing before their eyes. At that, Fresh Cut Grass felt their core calm down, only realizing now just what an awful buzzing mess it had been. This whole things must have really been stressin’ them out!

“I just realized… I’ll never have to hear them harpin’ on about that fuckin’ Changebringer and her bitch ass brigade of gods ever again! Thank FUCK!"

Ice.

Everything suddenly felt as cold as ice.

They… They hadn't even known they could feel cold until right this very second.

“Ughhhh! That was always so annoying!” Fearne whined, her eyes rolling dramatically as she dropped a hand upon her popped hip. “I was always real tempted to melt his yappy little head, along with that stupid coin of his!”

“I really should have finished the job when they first snapped and tried to murder us all…”

“I should have let ya, Laud. Sorry I stopped you…”

“It’s alright, Imogen~ What’s done is done, hm~? And he’s rather dead now, so what does it matter?”

“At least that pompous fuck was good for something!”

“Despite all the deaths and suffering he caused… I have to agree,” Orym responded, sheathing his blood slicked sword. “Of all the lives he snuffed out… I’m glad that Fresh Cut Grass was one of them. He died with at least one good deed to his soul.”

Was it possible for aeormatons to feel sick?

It absolutely shouldn't have been, and yet… yet sick was what they felt. A deep, twisting nausea they’d only ever heard about swirled through them, leaving their hands quivering and something… thick and slick trailing down his face plate.

Tears?

No, they couldn't be tears. He couldn't cry.

… Right?

There was nothing to be made sense of right now though.

Not as their friends laughed, so bright and free in their cruelty, in their relief at his…

His death.

Was he really dead?

A flick of a hand, so unsure and unsteady, sliding right through Ashton’s rumbling chest, was all the confirmation they needed.

Dead.

They were dead.

They were dead and everyone was glad.

And here he was, left to watch his friends gleefully express their joy, to state just how <b>happy</b> they were that they’d never once have to see him again.

And all FCG could do was watch.

Was… Was this what true despair tasted like?

The bitterness sunk deep into their soul, seeping into the cracks as it ever so slowly shattered.

Deeper and deeper, into the darkness they sank, wishing for nothing more than for themself to vanish, to disappear permanently.

Then, a hand, firm and heavy.

Shaking.

A shout, desperate and concerned,

Light.

Ashton's deeply worried face crept into focus, their hand gripped tight upon his shoulder from where he’d been shaking them.

“Thank fuck…” he whispered, a heavy breath falling from their lips as Ashton pulled Fresh Cut Grass in for a rare and wonderfully crushing hug. “You started whimpering and wincing in your sleep, then there was oil leakin’ from your lenses and you started crying out and… and you wouldn't wake up, Letters. Scared the shit outta me.”

“A-Ashton?” Fresh Cut Grass croaked on out, their whole chassis quivering every bit as much as it had been… before. What had just happened? Wasn't he dead? Why could he touch Ashton now and why did they seem so worried about them?

“I’m here, Grass. I’m here…”

“I- I don't… I don't un- understand…”

“Pretty sure you were havin’ a nightmare, buddy. A real shit one, from how you were reacting. I don't know what you saw in there, but whatever it was, it was bullshit, okay?”

Was it though? It… It had all felt so real.

“You don't… don't…” Fresh Cut Grass tried to get out, failing over and over as sobs wracked through them, staining Ashton’s chest with their dark, oily tears. “You don't hate me, r-right? Don't wa- want me dead, d-do ya?”

Ashton’s arms tightened around them, so firm and heavy that Fresh Cut Grass couldn't help but sink into the embrace.

It felt so… safe. Welcoming.

Like he was home.

“Never. You could stab me in the fuckin’ head and I still wouldn't hate you. You could cut my whole damn arm off and you’d still be stuck with me! Not that you ever would on purpose,” Ashton quickly assured them, not wanting to send their very best friend spiraling. Especially right now. They seemed so frightened, so genuinely hurt and distraught.

It was fucking heartbreaking.

“You’re crew, Letters. You know what that means? It means that I’ll fuckin’ OBLITERATE this shitty ass world before I’ll ever let it harm ya, you hear me? The only reason I’d ever want ya dead is if this world gets too fucked up to live on, and that's only cause it’d be crueler to let anyone live then. You… You’re important, Fresh Cut Grass. You're important to me.”

Metallic arms threw themselves around Ashton, clinging to him for dear life as Fresh Cut Grass’ sobs grew louder, shaking violently in safety of the earth Genasi’s embrace,

“... Fuck it. I hope you’re listening, cause I’m only saying this shit once, okay?” Ashton muttered against the cerulean blue wires that mimicked hair on their robotic friend. “... I love you. A fuck ton. I dunno what dream me said, but whatever that fucker spat out, I’m sorry as hell for it. I’d punch that assfuck if I could, you know I would! I… I just hope you can believe the shit I’m sayin’ now.”

For a good few minutes, that confession hung in the air, only sobs and cries filling the cool night air of their inn room. Yet as the time passed, so too did that nightmare, it’s ghoulish whisperings melting away into the candlelit room, leaving only the sounds of their core whirling and Ashton’s steady breaths above him.

“... I- I love you too, Ashton…” Fresh Cut Grass hoarsely whispered, as the final oily tear fell from their face plate, dripping to the now stained floor below. “I- Thank ya… Thank ya so dang much…”

“Don't mention it, Grass. Shit’s what you do for your crew.”

A flash of a grin, warm and wide and so familiarly rough.

It warmed him, right down to their soul.

And as Ashton ushered them over to the side of his bed, making sure they were right by their side as he laid down to sleep once more, their hands gripped tightly together, even as they slipped back into slumber's sweet embrace…

Fresh Cut Grass thought that, perhaps, love really was something they truly understood.

[fullsunstrawberry]

kind of disappointed in nice guy :/

[jeanmoreaux]

Hi, I know this is extremely difficult, but I would love it if you could answer the 43. question of the bookish ask game:

I like This is How You Lose the Time War, recommend me a book to read, please

(I love it for the extreme sapphic yearning, not necessarily the sci-fi)

goddd i have been thinking about this and i honestly cannot give you a book that hits the exact spot tihylttw does. there is really no book i have read that compares. but here are some book i have enjoyed that have some distant echos of what you're maybe looking for: our wives under the sea (sapphic with a speculative element), briefly a delicious life (some sapphic yearning also with a speculative twist), masters of death (for the yearning in the doomed love kinda way), if we were villain (just because idk it popped into my mind? it's very different but they fall into the same space of favourite books in my head i can't explain why tho), deathless (mainly for the flowery writing, not so much theme wise)

[evilpenguinrika]

Guess who finally got around to working on their Hosie Omegaverse fic Terra

Yeah that's right. Finally got in the mood to work on it after months of motivation for that fic going stagnant lol doesn't mean I'll be updating it anytime soon though since I've been working on it bit by bit. Not sure when that fic will have a new chapter but hey, it's the little stuff that counts right?

[aria0fgold]

In this world, the storm will pass

Alec sat atop the railing of the balcony, looking up at the sky as it slowly dims to reveal the countless stars awaiting the night to be seen, to twinkle at the life below the vast sky. A cigarette placed between his lips, smoke rising up to the stars that he can only dream of reaching someday.

His eyes were vacant, what was once a vibrant blue, like the sky in a cloudless sunny day, is now merely as dull as the sky in the fog, in the stormy weather that never left. But it's getting better now. Slowly, slowly… Like clouds drifting in a windless day, moving an inch, yet moving still. Slowly… The storm will pass. But for now, he'll stay in the eye of it.

Standing beneath the stars surrounded by a quiet storm all kept inside. In this world, everything is the same, yet different. In this world, everyone is alive, safe from a greater danger than life itself. In this world, Alec is supposed to be dead, yet here he is… Someone else. In this world, his family lost Alec, yet in his world, he lost everything.

So what is he doing here then? Intruding in a world that didn't need someone like him. An Alec that was doomed to have nothing, living in a world that has moved on from Alec's death. He doesn't know, doesn't understand. He gave up understanding the world ever since that day, the day where it collapsed, leaving him with nothing but ruin. He always thought that, it would be better for him to have lost himself to the forest instead than be brought here by whatever force, whatever power, whatever God, who thought it entertaining to put him here, in this world. Is it fun? His life… to be toyed with by fate, by the world itself, is it fun? He gave up wondering about it, gave up on an answer he didn't need to hear.

Alec took a drag on his cigarette, frankly, he isn't one to smoke, he isn't one to drink, he isn't one to do any such things. But what does it matter anyway? His body… won't sustain any damage from it anymore. It's different. Everything is. Nothing was ever the same ever since his world started collapsing. Nothing was. So it didn't matter, whatever damage he does to his body didn't matter, it'll just heal it all anyway. Leaving not even scars on his skin, what a picture perfect body, devoid of scars. One would wonder if he ever went through such things, when there's nothing for him to show for it.

Alec glanced down, it was pretty high. This house, this balcony on the third floor. He gave up on that thought long ago though, it was the only constant he has left, his will to live, even after everything. Foolish, isn't it? To continue wanting to live even after all that, for what reason really? He doesn't know anymore, his memory isn't as good as it was before. So much so, that he's guilty of forgetting what his family looked like. Had he not been living in this world, he would've forgotten their names too.

Alec looked up again, to the pitch black sky, the stars brightly twinkling at him. Back in his world, he found solace in the night, in the stars above. He thought of them as his family watching over him, was it a myth he read back then? The souls of your loved ones becoming stars in the night sky. What of it now, however? In a world where everything is okay, is his family's souls still amongst the sea of stars, watching over him like they did before? What would they think of him now? Would they be happy? Glad? Relieved? Or would they be mad? Upset? Betrayed? To see Alec be happy with someone that's them yet aren't at the same time?

He doesn't want to think about it.

Just as Alec brought the cigarette to his lips to take another drag, the hand of another reached out to take it from his own, he didn't need to turn around to know who it belonged to. He knows it already, by heart.

“You okay?” Ray stood beside him, leaning on the railing as he threw the cigarette to the ground. Putting the fire out with his slippers.

“You're going to ruin that pair soon if you keep that up…”

“Well, that's fine. I forgot to grab the ashtray on the way.” Ray hummed, “You dodged my question again though.” His voice had a slight teasing tone, mouth formed into a small grin as he glanced at Alec.

“It's always the same answer, anyway.” I'm fine. That's the answer he always gives to that question, every single time. He knows it's a lie, they know it's a lie, but what else can he say when words aren't enough to convey whatever he's been feeling ever since then?

“I don't mind that. Maybe, once a lie is repeated enough times, it'd come true someday.” Ray chuckled, “Though that sounds a bit dangerous, now that I think about it.”

Silence fell between the both of them, it isn't heavy nor is it tense. It was comfortable, like the breeze of the night. Ray looked to the sky, and Alec… he looked to Ray's eyes. It was as dark as the night sky, reflecting the countless stars twinkling high above with a light all too familiar yet not at the same time. This is Ray, yet not his Ray. That is Ray, one who've turned into light, amongst the sea of many others, high above the sky, a bright twinkling star. In a way, he did become a ray of light, just not that of sunshine as he would always say.

Alec moved his eyes towards the sky once more, and the two stayed there, in the silence, below the night sky, underneath the stars, they bathed in the light of a hundred promises, a thousand wishes and a million hopes for a future gentler than their present.