#maybe we did and my memories are just foggy... i really want to replay the game though. later this summer i suppose...

[mxdotpng]

i think stocke not having any like anime memory headaches is probably the funniest and best decision the writers made in regards to his identity. throughout the game they didnt even really hint at whether or not stocke was ernst-- they just downright said it multiple times. in fact, the amount of times they said it and HOW they said it are so blaringly obvious in a second playthrough that its very hard to take stocke even a little bit seriously. in a funny way! eruca straight up tells him he looks exactly like her dead brother. multiple people mistakingly call him ernst. HE calls himself ernst, and he does it so well nobody questions it even once. however while these moments make it so frustratingly obvious in hindsight i found it actually hard to believe it during my first playthrough, because ... stocke himself does not care? he never once agonizes over the loss of his own memories, because he doesnt miss them. he believes what heiss has told him without question. he doesnt get flashes of memory when he meets eruca, either because hes too dense for anything to register in his brain or because he, again, doesnt care. or, rather, maybe "doesnt care" is too cruel to say -- its very evident at the end of the game that he cherishes the people around him. rather, hes on such a one track mind that he likely thinks anything that isnt about saving the world is secondary to him... much like how he is very, very good at ignoring his own injuries. its just... so funny? i really feel like his superiors need to hire a therapist or two...

[enhyupn]

take this love letter! boyfriend (sixteen)

word count: 834

with his hands slightly shaking at the thought of you only being a few seconds away from him, he couldn’t think of the endless outcomes this confession could make. jay could feel the back of his neck sweating, his nerves never ending and only multiplying at the sound of you steps being more and more audible. he could even hear your slight giggle, the giddiness being more noticeable as you teasingly called his name out from your hallway.

jay had always been weak whenever it came to you, this not being an exception. his mind only replayed his previous messages with sunghoon, with the group chat adding in some advice to help make this confession to you a little more memorable. to give some context, sunghoon’s (actually) good idea was to write you another love letter, one that wouldn’t hit your head aggressively. he feel his hands growing clammy, his hands gripping tighter on the small envelope in his hands. he had written every thought, emotion and feeling into that letter, he wanted it to be something you held onto and treasured, even with the years to come. he hadn’t noticed his hands tightening his grip on his bouquet of flowers too, something he had forgotten was even in his hands.

it was an arrangement specifically made with you in mind. he had looked up every flower and it’s meaning just for you. dahlia’s to symbolise long lasting bond and commitment, red tulips to signify true love and amaryllis, meaning when you gave this flower to someone, you find them incredibly beautiful. jay had found all those meanings in you, he saw you as someone that he truly cared for, someone he could put all his trust and love into.

he’s in love with you. that’s what he wants to get across to you through his letter and these flowers.

his heart almost stopped beating when you finally made your way into the room. the way your face lit up with pure adoration at the sight of him only made his heart melt, even making him quite tearful. “for me?” your eyes head straight towards the bouquet, a small giggle lacing your words as jay’s ears tinted a deep shade of red. “what did i do to deserve you?”.

“i should be asking that” jay rolled his eyes in response, only to receive a slight slap to the chest. he grins cheekily before tilting the flowers towards you, your heart beats a hundred times in that second, unable to keep up with this foreign emotion in your chest. taking it, you smile happily with your eyes training his. “i also have something else” his playful voice only caused you to grow curious, looking down at his hands in hopes to find what he was referring to.

“a letter?” you thought out loud, a wave of nostalgia hitting you as you laughed loudly at the old memory. you feel your hands moving by itself, taking it from his hands as he held it out eagerly. “am i allowed to read this now?” you look up at him. jay’s nod caused you to grin happily, almost instantly opening up the envelope (carefully) excitedly.

ʚ ♥︎ ɞ

dear yn,

this is my second time writing this version of my love letter because the first one was terrible but moving on. i remember the first time you had spoken to me, in the 1st grade and you asked sunghoon and i if we wanted to play with you. obviously, we did, that’s how i first became attracted to you. my memory as a child is a little foggy but i vaguely remember writing in some ripped up diary about you, i wrote and wrote for hours about you. a little creepy, but all i wrote about was how i liked talking to you and how cool you were.

everything still applies, i still look up to you and i love talking to you. i’ve had a crush on you for a majority of my life, the reason i didn’t take any action? i was scared — what if i lost you — what would of happened to us if that hypothetical rejection ever happened? i was a coward and i’ve been told that by my friends over and over again (i don’t blame them, i can see why now).

every time i look at you, i fall in love all over again. it brings me back to the 1st grade when you first spoke to me, i’m still the stupid and immature kid from back then. although this time i won’t run away from you because you have cooties.

to make this more clearer, since i really haven’t this whole letter. yn i like you, in love maybe. i want to be your boyfriend. as cheesy as it sounds.

i know this isn’t as romantic as the first letter i threw at your head but... hey! at least you don’t have a bruise on your forehead now.

love, jay

ʚ ♥︎ ɞ

masterlist | previous | epilogue

ʚ jay park doesn’t know how to confess to you, taking the advice of a certain kim sunoo he created a love letter. the problem? you think his best friend park sunghoon gave you the love letter. the other problem? you and sunghoon are exes that want nothing to do with each other.

a/n tears up...

taglist: @ye0ncore @youreverydayzebra @ncityy04 @softkons @ghjasksdk @danidanodino @bloom-bloom-pow @vrsace-niki @neocrush @s0ngk4ng @sunshinesouchan @jaypen @sugawarasrose @cha-raena @adoreyeonjun @jaeyuni @jungwonn @keeh0ney @dear-dreamie @jak3sgf @thanky0uverykamsa @sidehhj @soobsung @karmoki @sunwoos-foreign-pet @tobioslave @gyuville @jcngseongs @ferxanda @kittyc0ke e @seongsluv @thenoceurgirl

[mimisempai]

Let my love erase all your doubts

Summary:

While traveling with Loki in Asgard on a mission for the TVA, Mobius stumbles upon what appears to be a tender moment between Sif and his lover. When Loki finds him in their room, Mobius lets his jealousy take possession of him to Loki's great surprise.

Tumblr request :

How about writing a jealous Mobius as he and Loki are in Asgard? Loki paying attention to someone else that's not family?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33122341

1781 words - Rating M - 🔞⚠️NSFW

"Hahaha! No! Did he really do that?!"

"Yes he did, Sif, I swear! I don't know if at that moment it was jealousy or disappointment because I had betrayed him, but he really did."

Mobius, recognizing Loki's voice and still trying to find his way through the endless hallways of Asgard, used the sound of Loki's voice to direct himself. He arrived in front of a room closed just by a curtain.

Through the curtain, he saw his lover sitting close and laughing with Sif, the young, athletic and attractive woman that Mobius had used to "torture" Loki.

But now it was Loki who looked very intimate with the young woman.

Mobius didn't know what held him back, but he remained in the doorway, not signalling his presence.

"I admit," Sif continued, "That many times I've had the urge to punch you in the face, but to put you through this over and over again... terrific."

Loki grimaced at the memory.

"But tell me, Mobius and you, is this all serious?" the young woman asked softly. She whispered something else to Loki  that Mobius couldn't hear.

Loki answered, a smile in his voice, "It's true that I prefer when they are well groomed, elegant, in short, classy. But this one, even though it's ordinary, is really more practical. It fits better with what I am now. I'm not really a prince anymore, so I don't need all that elegance."

Sif muttered something again that Mobius could not understand.

Loki answered in the same tone as before.

"Hahaha, yes I know, but for now I'll settle for it, until I find a model that combines elegance and efficiency."

Mobius didn't wait to hear more, so he left with a rush, consumed by anger and disappointment.

"Mobius, my friend! Did you find my brother?"

Mobius took a deep breath to try and keep his composure and replied to Thor, "No but that's okay, I'll go to our room, get some rest."

He moved quickly under the thoughtful gaze of the god of thunder.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to the door and did not hear Loki enter a few moments later.

"Mobius?"

Mobius replied in a cold tone, "So? Finished your little interlude with your precious Sif?"

"One in every port, right? Or rather one in every planet? After all, it's true, with so many years of life..."Loki stood in front of him, looking completely uncomprehending.

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Mobius had an angry scowl on his face, his lips pursed, and did not answer.

"Mobius?"

He didn't answer and instead got up and quickly approached Loki, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, so strongly that Loki's feet almost didn't touch the ground and kissed him full on the lips. The kiss had nothing tender, however, even if Loki was surprised by this abrupt and wild side of Mobius, and never the excitement had risen so quickly. He wanted to grab Mobius's head to deepen the kiss even more but Mobius didn't let him and pulled back, saying with a hard voice, "Don't touch me!" and then resumed the kiss in an even wilder way.

Loki, more and more surprised, but enjoying this dominating side, let himself be completely done. His crotch pressed against Mobius' thigh and he began to rub himself, feeling his hardness grow, he had never been so hard so fast.

Mobius pulled back again and asked in the same cold tone, "And that's fancy enough? and that's classy enough?" before devouring Loki's lips again. Loki's mind was so foggy with desire that he didn't understand what Mobius was saying.

Mobius pressed his thigh against Loki's groin and moved faster and faster and Loki felt the pleasure rising and his orgasm approaching at the speed of a tornado.

Mobius moved aside again and spat out, "I'm convenient right? You like using me like this?" before continuing what he was doing, and Loki, too far into the pleasure, didn't even hear, as his orgasm took him over.

Mobius released him abruptly and Loki had to lean against the dresser behind him to keep from falling.

Slowly coming back from his lightning climax and catching his breath, Loki opened his eyes to see that Mobius was there, frozen, the image of anger, fists clenched and breathing heavily. Little by little Loki's mind realized that there was something very wrong.

"Mobius?"

Mobius looked at him with icy eyes, "I'm convenient huh, not elegant but convenient. How did you tell your dear Sif? Ah yes, ordinary, until you find something better."

Loki, didn't understand anything, and replayed the last few hours in his head, but he couldn't see what Mobius was getting at.

"But Mobius, what are you talking about?"

"Don't lie to me Loki, I just heard you tell Sif! You prefer style and elegance. Which I obviously don't have, but you're content with me, since I'm convenient for you, right?"

Then Loki understood everything and could not help but laugh.Mobius, shocked, said, "That's right, laugh at me!  Loki, how could you?"

"Mobius, stop! You're completely wrong, I swear I wasn't talking about you! Wait!"

Loki pulled the flaps of his own jacket forward and said to Mobius, "I meant the outfit, my outfit."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me right now!"

"Love, give me your hand, I'll show you our whole conversation."

Loki brought Mobius' hand to his temple and projected the discussion he had with Sif.

"But tell me, Mobius and you, is this all serious?" the young woman asked softly. She leaned over and whispered in Loki's ear, "I'm surprised by your outfit, you're not even wearing your prince's clothes anymore."

"It's true that I prefer when they are well groomed, elegant, in short, classy. But this one, even though it's ordinary, is really more practical. It fits better with what I am now. I'm not really a prince anymore, so I don't need all that elegance."

Sif whispered, "No, but you don't even wear your helmet anymore.

Loki answered in the same tone as before.

"Hahaha, yes I know, but for now I'll settle for it, until I find a model that combines elegance and efficiency."

"Well, now that we've talked about clothes, you didn't answer the first part of my question, Mobius and you, is this serious?"

There was no mockery nor judgment in her voice.

Loki lost his playful look, his face took on a serious expression and his voice was firm and determined as he replied, "Sif, this is the most serious relationship I have ever had. Mobius is... Mobius has been the unexpected on my path of destruction, the surprise I never thought I would have. He has made me better... even greater, he manages to make me believe that I can be better."

Sif hugged him and said, her eyes shining with emotion, "When you talk about him like that, I feel like I'm seeing the young Loki running around and going out on the town with his brother again. I'm happy for you. Really."

Loki gently removed Mobius' hand from his temple and kept it in his own.

"I..." Mobius seemed to deflate like a balloon. He went to sit on the edge of the bed again, took his head in his hands and said in a breath, "I'm sorry..."

Loki went to sit next to him and just put his hand on his thigh, waiting for Mobius to calm down a bit.

After a few moments of silence, Mobius spoke up again, "How can you be here like this, when I just behaved in such a despicable way?"

"Hey Mobius, did I say no? And if I had said no, would you have stopped?"

"Yes, of course!" protested Mobius at once.

"You see?" replied Loki softly, "To tell you that I wasn't surprised would be a lie. And to say I didn't like it would also be a lie. Would I mind a repetition? Yes, but certainly not with you in that state of mind. Because it's now obvious that you didn't enjoy it at all."

"I'm sorry I misunderstood."

"That I think is the next topic we need to talk about, right now actually." Loki took Mobius' chin in his hand to make him look up before continuing, "Mobius, how could you jump to such conclusions?"

"I... sometimes I have this feeling of inadequacy, that I'm not good enough for t-"

"Oh Mobius, look at me, I'm the one who should be saying that. You've seen all my darkness, all the evil I'm capable of. I'm the one who sometimes thinks that one day you'll realize that I'm not worthy of your love."

"Loki, never doubt my feelings for you. I told you from the beginning that I knew you were capable of good, even before there was anything between us, and you proved it to me again and again."

Loki grabbed Mobius' hand and intertwined his fingers in it.

"We're getting to where I wanted to. Yes I know your feelings and I believe in them, and that's what makes me overcome this feeling of not being suitable, because I know that you love me. And so, I say to myself that if you can't overcome this feeling of inadequacy, it's maybe because you don't have the same faith in my love? Mobius, you know that I love you, don't you?"

"Yes I know that, but every now and then that little voice gets a little louder, especially when I see you with someone younger, someone prettier."

Loki pressed his forehead against Mobius' and whispered, his lips against his, "So I want you to try every time you have that voice in your head, to remember that exact moment."

He closed the distance between them and kissed Mobius tenderly before pulling back and telling him looking into his eyes. "I love you Mobius. You are perfect for me."

A single tear escaped from Mobius' eyes, and Loki wiped it away with his thumb before hugging Mobius. And they stayed like that for a long time.

Then Mobius felt Loki laugh in his hair. He straightened up and looked at him with a curious look.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking that under different circumstances, I wouldn't mind re-doing what happened before."

Mobius laughed and brought his lips closer to Loki, who was happy to again find the sparkling sparkle in his lover's eyes and his irresistible smile.

Then he was no longer able to think, because that was the effect Mobius had as soon as he placed his lips on his.

_________

Belongs this series : Together, For all time, Always

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless🥰

[fleetingpieces]

My One in a Million CH 7

Y’all, this chapter got so out of hand and it’s so lOnG (or at least longer than any other chapter I posted) Thank you so so much @inloveoknutzy @knittingdreams @heyitssmiller and @donttouchmycarrots !! You all helped with this chapter in different ways and I appreciate you all so much❤️❤️

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added!)

@whataboutmyfries  @justdyingontheinside @heyoitslysso @sunflowerfox87 @hereforwolfstarr @potterlocked24-7 @cheekeebabe (i can’t seem to find your tumblr :( ) @domesticatedbeetlenamedjorge

CW: mentions of past animal abuse, emergency clinic, mention of needles

Masterlist

Ao3

Chapter 7 - Rough night

“Go home, son.”

Remus lifted his head from where it’d been buried in his hands for who knows how long and looked at the doctor smiling sadly at him.

It was well past any reasonable time, he’d probably been sitting there for hours, but Remus couldn't bring himself to move from his spot in the waiting room.

He didn't want to go.

He couldn't stand the idea of going back home alone, of Cocoa not being there with him. He felt as if he wasn't really there at the clinic, his mind was miles away in a deserted, foggy forest, where a furry little puppy was chained to a tree, barely keeping his eyes open, his ribs protruding like a black skeleton. How could he just go?

The feel of Cocoa’s body trembling with spasms in his arms as he’d carried him to the car was still fresh in his mind; how he’d whined pitifully from the back seat while Remus sped through the city until he reached the emergency clinic, how both their hearts had been beating a thousand miles per minute when he picked him up again and burst through the front doors.

The fear clutching at his heart had made him numb to anything else going on around him, to the way he’d practically screamed at the poor guy at the reception desk until someone came to help him. And even though he knew it was exactly what he’d come here for, parting from Cocoa and watching as they took him away had almost broken Remus all over again.

He would give anything to feel that heartbeat under his palm right then.

A hand settled heavily on his shoulder, grounding him back into his body. Remus didn't want to listen to those words again. Go. It sounded a lot like he was abandoning him.

"You need to rest. And Cocoa needs to stay in observation, but I promise we will take good care of him. You can come back tomorrow afternoon, he’ll probably be ready to go home by then."

Resigned, Remus nodded. He knew he couldn't stay and that Cocoa was in good hands, but that did nothing to quell his guilt.

He thanked the doctor, who squeezed his shoulder once, and walked numbly out the building.

The next half hour was a blur. Remus had no idea how he got back to his apartment building, he only had vague memories of getting back into his car and driving through the mostly empty streets.

All he knew was that he was now there, standing in front of his door, staring at the pattern in the wood without really seeing it, picturing the empty flat that was awaiting for him on the other side instead. Remus counted to ten and sighed. He figured it wouldn’t get easier any time soon, so he fished in his pocket for his keys.

Only to realise he didn’t have them.

He stared at his empty pocket as he replayed in his head how he’d dropped the keys to the floor when he’d gotten home earlier that day, and in his haste to get Cocoa checked, he hadn’t grabbed anything other than the car keys.

“Fucking fuck, just...fuck!” he slammed his fist against the door once, like that was going to solve anything.

Suddenly he felt exhausted. He’d been through way too many emotions in just one day and all he wanted to do was lie in bed, but he couldn’t do that ‘cause he was fucking locked out. Remus let his back hit the wall and slid down to the floor, hiding his head in his knees. Despite everything, part of him was kinda glad that he didn’t have to go in when he knew there would be no one there expecting him.

He’d left him at the clinic. Alone. Probably inside a tiny cage, with no one there to comfort him and those horrible intravenous lines piercing his skin. Remus knew first hand how uncomfortable those were.

His eyes burned as tears started prickling behind his eyelids and dampened the fabric of his shorts. It was his fault. Two years ago he’d promised he would take care of Cocoa, make sure he was happy, and look how that turned out.

“Remus?”

Oh, fuck. Remus tightened his grip on his knees as he heard fast footsteps approaching.

“Remus, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

The rustle of a bag thumping against the floor close by was the only warning he got before he felt someone kneeling next to him, but Remus refused to look up. What the hell was he doing out at this time? Remus was not sure he could deal with this right now. Not with the tornado that was Sirius Black.

He could feel the other man shuffling about, most likely not sure what to do, until he finally said softly, “Remus, please look at me?”

There was such a plea in his voice, and a level of concern he hadn’t expected. Remus knew he couldn’t stay this way forever, so he reluctantly raised his head, doing his best to dry his face on his clothes as he did. He just hoped his eyes didn't look as bloodshot as they felt.

Sirius' eyebrows were furrowed, worry written all over his face as he knelt there, his hands half-raised like he wanted to touch Remus but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Remus stared into silver eyes, trying his damn best to school his features into a mask of impassiveness. “I...I forgot my keys.”

“Ok…” Sirius eyed him wearily. “Do you have any spares?”

“Leo does, but I can’t ask him to bring them now,” Remus shrugged.

“So what, you were just going to sit here all night?”

Remus didn’t reply. He just shrugged again, his gaze glazing over and drifting to the wall in front of him. He wasn’t sure he had many options, and his brain wasn’t cooperating to come up with a solution. Maybe he could force the door open. But then he would have to pay for the damages, and he might not be able to close the door again and leave it broken for the night.

A sigh brought him out from his unhelpful thoughts. “Why don’t you come to my place?”

“What?” his eyes snapped back to Sirius, who quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You can’t possibly spend the night here Remus. For one, it’s freezing cold and you’re only in your gym clothes. And for another, I won’t allow it.”

It did seem like a very reasonable option, but then Remus noticed just how close Sirius was from him, his warmth radiating from his body and warming Remus’ numb fingers. Suddenly, all he could think of was how he’d almost kissed this man just a couple of hours ago. What if Sirius was only asking because of that? Was he purposely trying to get Remus alone?

“Ah, thank you, but I can go to my Mum’s or...or I could sleep in my car.”

“Remus don’t be stupid. It’s the middle of the night. Your Mum lives far away and she’s probably sleeping right now, and seriously? What the hell are you thinking? Sleeping in your car? No fucking way, that’s dangerous, and I have Netflix, ice cream, and a perfectly good guest room just three feet away.”

Remus hesitated. Even if he felt more comfortable knowing there was a guest room available, he still wasn’t sure he could face Sirius and whatever had happened in that pool. Wouldn’t it be awkward?

But Sirius did have a point, he couldn’t go back home. And though he was reluctant to admit it, he didn’t want to be alone right now and Sirius’ voice was strangely calming.

“Are you sure?” Remus asked, biting his lip.

“Of course.” Sirius smiled and got up, picking up the bag that he’d dropped on the floor. It was from the shop down the corner, full of snacks and a pack of cigarettes as far as Remus could tell. He offered Remus a hand and helped him get up, then led the way to his flat without another word.

Remus followed numbly, using what was left of his strength to lift his feet enough not to drag them over the floor. Once inside, he glanced idly around, noticing a few more details now that there were no people partying everywhere. There was a weird mix of decor going on: some of the stuff was tastefully modern (and very expensive), while other things were the kind of trinkets you would most likely find at a thrift store or in a street market. A Queen flag hung from the same wall as a street sign that had clearly been stolen, right next to a huge telescope that looked out the window.

“Make yourself at home,” Sirius said over his shoulder as he went over to the kitchen.

Doors closing and the sound of ceramic clinking came from the place Sirius had disappeared to. Remus moved in autopilot to sit at the couch and glanced down at his hands. His brain felt like mush, his mind going completely blank while he waited.

He didn’t move an inch until Sirius came back a few minutes later, holding a steaming cup of tea that he offered Remus. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out how to move his arm again, and when he did, it was trembling so badly that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold the cup without spilling tea everywhere. He hoped Sirius wouldn’t notice, but by the way he frowned, he had no such luck.

Indeed, Sirius placed the mug on the coffee table before Remus could get a hold of it and sat down in front of him. He then reached slowly to clasp Remus’ hand in both of his.

“Jesus fuck Remus, you’re fucking freezing. Just how long were you sitting out there?” he asked in a reproachful tone.

Remus simply shrugged. He had no idea, and besides, he was too focused on Sirius’ big hands around his. He knew he probably shouldn’t, that the other man probably didn’t even mean it in that way, but he took comfort in that small touch, in how gently Sirius held him. It was as if he was scared Remus would break, or disappear in a cloud of smoke. He vaguely wondered if Sirius realised how long it’d been since Remus was touched like this.

When he spoke next, Sirius’ voice was softer. “Ok, this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to forget about that cup of tea, go take a hot shower and change into warmer clothes. Warming your fingertips and digestive tract is pointless if the rest of you is still freezing. And after that, we’ll get you sorted for the night. D’accord?”

A steaming shower sounded like bliss right then, especially now that Remus was painfully aware of how cold his shaking body was. Just accept it, he told himself, but all that came out of him was “I don’t have clothes to change into.”

His voice sounded dull even to his own ears, but Sirius kindly ignored it and waved a dismissive hand.

“I’ll lend you some. Now come on,” his tone didn’t leave room for arguing.

Remus was finding it harder and harder to look at his face, so he let his head drop. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Remus.”

Slowly, warm fingers extended towards him, touching lightly below his chin to make him look up. Sirius’ face was a wonderful mix of fierce and caring as he stared at him intently.

“You are not a bother. Ok? Not now, not ever.”

Remus’ throat closed up, and he didn’t trust his voice to sound steady, so he just nodded quickly. Sirius smiled reassuringly and brushed his fingers in a feather-like caress, and Remus found himself jutting his chin forward to prolong the touch, but, much too soon, Sirius let go and got up.

He guided Remus through a hall and into a spacious bathroom that had both a big bathtub and a shower cubicle. Sirius went straight to open the hot tap so the water would warm up, and then he reached into the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a soft looking white towel, which he placed on the counter. He turned to look at Remus.

“Toiletries are just in that corner, use whatever you need. I’ll just go get some clean clothes for you and be right back.” He smiled again and left.

With nothing else to do, Remus let his eyes wander around the room that was slowly filling with hot steam from the shower, until he looked on top of the sink and was startled at his own reflection in the mirror.

Damn, he was a fucking mess. His clothes were rumpled, his hair ruffled and dishevelled from all the times he’d raked a hand through it, and his eyes were red, puffy and a little bit dead.

“Here you go.” Sirius walked back in, carrying a pile of neatly folded clothes which he put next to the towel. “Call me if you need anything, d’accord? Take your time.”

Remus nodded and thanked him, not quite able to meet his eye. Sirius closed the door behind him and Remus took off his clothes and stepped in the shower. He hadn’t realised how taught his muscles were until the jet of hot water hit his back and he relaxed under the pressure. It was very soothing, standing there for a while, slowly working his body to loosen up, while thinking of everything that had happened that day and trying to calm down.

By the time he finished, he hadn’t succeeded completely, but felt a lot better all the same. He snagged the towel, draping it across himself, and went through the pile of clothes that Sirius had left for him, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

The feeling extended to his cheeks when he picked up a small square of black fabric, only to realise it was a pair of Sirius’ underwear.

Oh God, was he really going to wear his neighbour’s underwear? His hot neighbour’s underwear? His hot neighbour whom he very much had wanted to pin against the pool tiles and kiss senseless?

He bristled and looked up at the ceiling. Well, it’s not like the air between them could get any more awkward, could it?

***

Sirius started tugging at his bottom lip for the ninth time since he’d sat at the sofa. Remus had been in the shower for a really long time and he was starting to get worried. He still felt slightly thrown off-kilter by the way he’d found the man sitting by the door, curled in a ball and hugging his legs as if his life depended on it.

And the despair in those amber eyes when he’d finally looked up at him… How the fuck was he supposed to ignore that? He never wanted to see that look in Remus’ eyes ever again.

He was just about to go over and knock on the door when he heard some shuffling, and his head perked up to see Remus walking into the room and stop by the archway awkwardly. Sirius tried to ignore how cute Remus looked in his sweats and hoodie that were two sizes too big for him. His wet curls were flopping over his forehead adorably, but damn, it was certainly not the time to be smitten by the man.

Remus was clutching his own clothes against his chest in a protective stance, like that could shield him from...Sirius had no idea what.

And that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? This man was so open one minute and incredibly guarded the next; Sirius could tell he was desperately trying to protect himself from something. But he just didn’t know why.

He mustered up a smile, trying to make Remus feel more at ease, and approached him. “Hey there,” he eyed Remus’ face discreetly. He looked better, but still seemed to be a bit off and he held the bundle tighter when Sirius got close. “I can show you where the guestroom is if you want to lie down, and then I’ll make you another tea. I’m afraid I drank the other one while I waited. Both cold and warmed up tea should be a crime,” he said, trying to lighten up the mood. Anything to get Remus to drop some of his walls.

The corner of Remus’ mouth quirked up slightly, and, given the circumstances, Sirius took that as a success.

"Actually, I… I don't think I can sleep right now," Remus said, rubbing at the side of his neck.

"That's ok," Sirius reassured. "Do you want me to stay up with you? We can play games or watch a movie. Or would you rather I leave you alone?"

And then Remus had that look again, that seemed as though he was drowning, and Sirius prepared himself to be shut out without knowing why. But then again, Remus never seemed to do what he expected him to.

"I wouldn't mind some company, if that's ok," he said, before he hurried to add, "but don't feel like you have to."

Sirius smiled brightly at him. "My work schedule is fucked up anyway, so don't worry about it. Why don't you go sit on the couch? I'll get us something to drink."

While Remus nodded and sat down, Sirius went back into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He was actually meant to be editing his last recording, even more now that he had more of a reason to do it.

He’d received Remus’ merch a few days ago, and had made a video using it for the sole purpose of imagining Remus’ face when he saw it on Padfoot’s channel. Usually, Marlene was in charge of doing the editing, but he’d asked her to let him do this one himself. He knew it was stupid, but even if Remus wouldn’t know, he wanted it to be something personal.

The eagerness to finish them tonight was almost consuming him; he was sure they would lift Remus’ spirits. But he couldn’t leave him alone right now.

The water boiled, Sirius filled two mugs with a nice aromatic tea, and, after a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and walked back into the living room. 

Keeping a safe distance between them, he sat on the couch next to Remus, who raised an eyebrow when Sirius placed the bottle at the table. He simply shrugged in response.

"I thought you might want some."

Remus narrowed his eyes and held his cup in both hands, but after taking two sips he seemed to think better of it and reached over to pour himself a healthy dose. He sighed when he drank next and stared ahead, his eyes getting that faraway look again. Sirius wasn’t sure he wanted to know where exactly Remus was at that moment. 

He’d been wondering for a while as to what could have gotten Remus in this state. The man was usually so composed, except for those few moments Sirius had gotten a glimpse of, when he could practically see him closing up. He hated that feeling, hated not knowing how to help him or avoid those reactions.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked after a moment.

“About what?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow even though Remus was not looking at him. “You don’t seriously think I believed for a second that you were crying in the hallway because you forgot your keys, do you?”

Remus flinched but still kept his head down, avoiding his gaze, and a horrible thought occurred to him.

“I...I don’t want to assume anything,” he started, feeling a weight drop in his stomach, “but if this has anything to do with… you know, with what happened earlier then I…” he fumbled for the right words as he gestured vaguely with his hands, and finally Remus looked back with a confused expression on his face. He frowned for a second and then realisation dawned on him and he hurried to shake his head.

“No, no that’s not it. I...Something else happened and I had to leave my flat in a hurry. It’s...it’s not about that.”

His face turned to a lovely shade of pink, and Sirius had the sudden urge to cup those cheeks in his palms and feel the soft skin beneath them. He balled his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out.

“Ok,” Sirius said, relieved but still worried. Remus seemed uncomfortable, and though Sirius had a million questions he was dying to ask, he knew it was not the time. Instead, he added some whiskey to his own tea. “Well, I’m here for you, in whichever way you need.”

Silence stretched between them, and it didn’t seem like Remus wanted to talk, so Sirius found a silly movie that could take Remus’ mind off things and they sat in companionable silence. They sipped from their spiked teas while the movie rolled, and when those were finished they moved on to straight whiskey.

He could tell Remus kept stealing glances at him, and even opened his mouth a couple times, but ended up closing it back in the end. He gave him the time he needed and waited.

“Sirius,” Remus called after a while. When Sirius glanced at him from his spot by the armrest, he found soft eyes, warm like melted caramel, trained on him. “Thank you.”

His voice was earnest and loaded with emotions that Sirius couldn’t figure out, but it sent a flutter through his stomach. He smiled fondly at this gorgeous, unpredictable man that had stumbled in his life at such a dark time. “Anytime, Rem.”

Remus' face turned almost pleading, and it was becoming physically impossible for Sirius not to get closer and pull him into his arms. Not when he was clearly upset about something and possibly a bit drunk.

No, he didn't want to do it like this.

He raked his brain for a safe topic and said the first thing that came to mind. "So, you said your classes were going well?"

Remus blinked a few times and then made a vague gesture with a hand, almost knocking the bottle in the process.

Well, he was definitely a bit drunk.

"It's great. Everyone is very nice and welcoming. And it's amazing that I got to know Lily and Natalie. Although Nat can be a bit hard to deal with," he said, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. In fact, he seemed rather fond of both girls.

Remus stretched forward to grab the bottle again, his mug tilting precariously on his leg. Sirius wasn't sure it was a good idea for him to keep drinking, so he snatched it right from his fingertips and placed both mugs on the table.

“Hey!” Remus protested.

“You're clearly ahead of me, I’m just catching up,” Sirius smiled mischievously as he gulped down, the warm liquid burning his throat, and laughed when Remus scowled at him. “Tu es mignon,” he said before he could stop himself.

Fuck. Maybe he should cut back on the alcohol too.

But Remus didn’t comment on it, just stared at Sirius with those big eyes that somehow were so much like his pet’s. And suddenly something clicked in his head.

“Oh crap. Will Cocoa be ok?” he asked Remus, who just stared. “Y’know, with you being locked out and all.” Remus continued to stare, his hand flinching the only indication that he’d heard him. Sirius raised an eyebrow and watched, alarmed, as tears started welling in Remus’ eyes. He fumbled around, flustered, wanting to hug Remus but not sure if Remus would want him to. “Ok, merde, don’t worry. Maybe I can climb over to your balcony? But I don’t think I can get in unless you left the window open…”

Remus sniffed. “My dog…”

“Fuck, wait here. Maybe I can open the door anyway, I’ll just go-” he was already stumbling out of his seat, but stopped when he felt Remus pulling at his sleeve.

“He’s not there.”

“Not there? What do you mean?”

“He-” Remus sniffed again and his breath hitched, “he’s at the clinic.”

Sirius sat down slowly, his heart beating fast. “What are you talking about?”

“I… I got back home and he… he’d found some of my chocolate, I don’t even know where he got it from.” Remus paused to take a shaky breath. Sirius could just imagine the moment, and Remus’ worry, and his heart ached for him. For both of them. “He was all… trembling and stuff. I took him to the emergency clinic straight away.”

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked as gently as he could.

“I think so. They gave him something to absorb the toxins, but he had to stay in observation just in case.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

Remus’ tears started falling harder; great, heaving sobs shaking his body. He was a wreck, eyes swollen, wet tracks down his red cheeks, and Sirius couldn’t help it anymore. He took Remus’ hand, who held on as though that was the only thing keeping him together.

“But I left him alone at the hospital! When I found him chained to that tree, I promised I would take care of him, that I wouldn’t abandon him just like his old owners had. Just like I was ditched too. And I just left him there!”

Sirius started at that. What did he mean ‘he was ditched’? Every new detail about Remus’ past that came to light felt like having his vision go clearer and darker at the same time. Some questions were answered, but a lot more appeared that were worse than the ones before. He didn’t understand why Remus’ mum or Leo hadn’t been at the hospital with him, or exactly why he’d been stuck in bed in the first place. But he knew it was still hard on Remus. He could only imagine what leaving Cocoa at the clinic would have done to him.

“It’s my fault he ate the chocolate in the first place…”

“Oh no, we’re not going to do that. This is not your fault.”

“But he almost died,” he said, with his head bowed in shame.

Sirius scooted closer and held Remus’ tighter, while he used his free hand to wipe the other man’s tears with his thumb, first on one cheek and then the other. He pressed his palm against Remus’ cheek and locked eyes with him.

"Remus, the way you reacted is probably what saved his life. That dog loves you, anyone can tell, and I know you would never do anything that would hurt him. Cocoa is going to be fine."

Remus’ breath hitched again as he leant into the touch.

"How do you know?" he asked helplessly.

Sirius smiled softly at him. "’Cause he's a fighter just like you are."

It was small, but slowly, an actual, genuine smile spread across Remus’ face, looking at Sirius as if he was seeing him for the first time, and Sirius felt his world stop.

It didn’t feel like the sun was rising after the longest night. It was more like coming up for air after being underwater without even knowing it. It was melting every barrier he’d ever built. It was wishing he could see that smile every day, because if Remus smiled like that, then everything was a little bit better.

Before he could get his mind riled up about how deeply enthralled by the man he was and the panicking that would ensue, Remus yawned.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

Stretching his arms over his head, Sirius stood up and turned the TV off. Remus tried to follow but stumbled over his feet and would have crashed over the table if Sirius hadn't caught him in time, draping a hand around his middle.

"Oops," Remus chuckled, and Sirius inwardly winced at how adorable he was.

He put an arm under his shoulders and helped him to his room, not bothering to turn on the light. He opened the bed covers for him, and guided him down; Remus’ eyes were halfway closed even when he was still sitting, and Sirius had to force himself to turn around and leave, but just as he did, long fingers slid into his hand, holding on to him.

“Don’t go,” Remus whispered, his eyes now on Sirius’.

What was he meant to do about that? They were both drunk, Remus had been through a lot, and he didn’t want it to look like he was taking advantage of his state.

“It’s ok, I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything,” he assured him. He tried to get Remus to lie down, but he held on to his hand and didn’t let go.

“I can play you some rain sounds?” he offered, a bit desperate, not quite thinking straight as the alcohol was making him a bit dizzy. Or maybe that was just the effect Remus had on him.

“No, you,” Remus pouted, tugging at his arm.

Sirius wanted to. He really, really wanted to lie down with him, tuck him close and hold on for dear life. But it didn’t feel right, Remus might not want the same thing if the circumstances were different.

“Please? I don’t want to be alone.”

The conflict in his mind dimmed and he sighed, defeated, ‘cause there was no way Sirius could say no to that.

Please, don’t regret this tomorrow.

He nodded, and Remus smiled and let Sirius tuck him into bed with the blankets up to his chin. Sirius removed his shoes and went to the other side of the bed, lying on his side on top of the covers.

Remus turned on his side as well, and then they were face to face with just a few inches between them. It was dark, but not dark enough that Sirius couldn’t see Remus’ face, his soft curls, the freckles over the bridge of his nose, those beautiful honey eyes, the curve of his lips...

How the fuck was he supposed to sleep with him right there?

It would be impossible. All he could think about was how only a few hours earlier they’d also been this close to each other, how their breaths had entwined, driving him mad. He’d been so sure that Remus was about to kiss him. And he’d wanted him to, fuck, he wanted it so badly. The need to be closer was becoming unbearable.

But maybe it was all just wishful thinking, considering the way Remus had ran from him.

He hadn’t realised he was still staring at Remus’ lips until they moved, just barely, to whisper almost inaudibly.

"Goodnight, Sirius."

When he looked up, Remus’ eyes were already closed, and a few seconds later the sound of slow, even breathing filled the room.

Sirius watched him sleep for a while; his face finally relaxed and more open than it’d been all night. Stretching slightly forward, he tilted his chin up to press a soft kiss on Remus’ forehead.

"Goodnight, Re."

[mca-attack21]

Slowly

This is part one of a two part Sherlock x Reader imagine. It is full of angst and definitely something different. Fair warning it contains possible triggers involving a kidnapping. For more of my writing click here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the emotional rollercoaster that is this fic.

The first time that Sherlock was semi-aware of himself, his mind was uncomprehending and imperceptive, which was a first. He was striving against everything to regain control and wake himself but instead, he found an unnerving nothingness. It was as if his mind was entirely blank. The second ‘awakening’, after an unknown amount of time, was not much different. Sherlock struggled to regain clarity, but was seemingly unequipped to do anything about it. His mind moved so slowly, that it might as well not have been moving at all. His sense of awareness and limited charge over consciousness once again faded.

“Sherlock? Sherlock are you okay? Wake up. Please wake up,” a voice pleaded.

But while it resonated as familiar, Sherlock simply could not connect the voice with a name or face. His mind was still moving too slow, at least now though he was aware of this fact. Something was wrong, very wrong. Sherlock was by all accounts locked out of his mind palace. He couldn’t remember anything or really register his surroundings. Something was interfering with the chemistry of his brain and prohibiting him from ‘Sherlocking’. He knew that it was likely some new hybrid of a sedative and a brain dampener. But how he knew that and what that meant, were completely lost on him.

“It’s no use,” another voice, this one raising a red flag with Sherlock for some unknown reason, beamed.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” the homely voice quipped.

“I already have though, haven’t I? Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that,” the villainous voice challenged.

Sherlock knew that voice, but who was it? And why couldn’t he wake up or remember anything?

“I may be ordinary, but at least I’m not a coward,” the first voice spat back.

“I am not a coward,” the man growled.

“Then why won’t you fight fair?” the girl questioned boldly. After waiting for an answer she added, “It’s because you know you wouldn’t stand a chance. You might be clever, but one on one, without your precious minions, your cheap tricks, and threats, you are nothing more than that, clever. And even on his worst day, Sherlock is more than you’ll ever be. And you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be going through such great lengths to constrain him.” 

“You have too much faith in him and that will be your downfall. I will show you, don’t worry,” he promised.

Sherlock could hear a door being closed. He knew both of those voices. He knew that something was very wrong, but he couldn’t sort it out. His mind was slowly beginning to function again, but it was agonizing for Sherlock to be cognizant of his deficits. He pushed himself to remember, to wake, to do something, but it was all happening in its own time.

He heard the door opening again, this time noting that there was no sound of it being unlocked. This must mean… it meant that…. Ugh! Why couldn’t he just think!

“What are you doing?” the girl’s voice asked, he could hear her physically struggling. “Where are you taking me?” she questioned, fear evident in her voice.  “Stop, no, please don’t do this,” she pleaded, being forced out of the room.

Okay, so the girl. She was someone that he knew. His instincts told him that she was someone very dear to him. She was in danger. The two of them were captured by the man with the weird Irish accent. That man was the one holding them here. She knew him, so he and she had met him before. The door wasn’t locked which meant that they were bound. Otherwise, she would have been able to escape. As he was regaining more and more of his memory and brain power, he decided to redirect his attention.

He could not force himself to wake up, which meant he was most likely still sedated. His senses were very limited. His brain was foggy, but becoming less and less so. He was able to access his memories concerning his family and childhood, feeling somewhat reassured that Mycroft would have his people searching for him. He forced himself farther into his mind palace. He was going through places and people, starting to piece his life together until he saw a door for 221B. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He had never been locked out of his own mind palace before. Some part of him knew that “unlocking” this door was the key to everything he needed to know about the girl, the man, and their current arrangement. But he had absolutely no idea how to accomplish that task. 

He resigned himself to focusing instead on regaining consciousness. He tried to start small, focusing on his breathing and then trying to move his fingers or toes. He just needed to reclaim control over his movements and then he’d be able to force himself awake.

Before he could make any progress, he heard the door open again. Someone, presumably a male carrying something substantial, based on breathing and time in between steps, had entered. The thing that he had been carrying was dropped roughly and then Sherlock had heard a click and the rustling of chains. Something was being hoisted up.

As the man left, Sherlock realized his mistake. It was not something being hoisted up, but rather someone. He speculated that it was his mystery girl. She was obviously unconscious and worse for wear. He felt an instinctual urge to make sure she was okay but was unable to act on it. He tried to focus, but it was becoming harder and harder as the exertion and exhaustion of fighting the drugs had taken over.

When he regained awareness, he was frustrated to realize he was still unconscious, though it was less and less present. He wondered how long this had been going on. Surely, someone had noticed and would come for him. He then remembered that he was not alone in this. However, as he listened to his surroundings it did seem that he was alone in the room again. He wondered how long the girl had been gone for this time. He hoped that she was okay. She was strong, that is what he loved about her.

Wait-

He loved her. He knew that now, it was consuming. She wasn’t just some girl that he knew. She was someone he loved. He needed to wake up, to remember, to protect her. He ran through the entire conversation he had heard between her and the man replaying it word by word.

“Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that” the man had said.

Ordinary. That word. It stuck out, but why?

“Aren’t ordinary people so adorable?”

“You’re ordinary. You’re on the side of the angels.”

“And now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out your ordinary just like all of them.”

“She is nothing Sherlock, she is ordinary, just another plaything for you to impress.”

Sherlock heard the pieces of conversations playing in the man’s voice. He was so close to remembering him and his name. It was there, he could feel it. Now he had a new goal. He replayed every word that the girl had said, hoping to spark a similar reaction, but it didn’t work. 

The door opened, and this time there were three people who entered. One, the girl, was being chained up again, involuntarily whimpering. Her injuries were worse now, she was obviously being tortured. The man who had restrained her left the room leaving one other in the room. 

“Aw look at him, isn’t he adorable when he’s sleeping, brain wearing away to nothing,” the irish man spoke. 

“Leave him alone,” the girl tried.

“I really don’t think it is him you should worry about,” he said moving closer towards her. Sherlock heard her struggling away from him, “funny, all that blood really brings out your eyes.” 

“What is that you really want?”  she asked, her tough facade starting to falter.

“This. Exactly this. I want to watch your hope fade until you beg me to end you. I want to burn the heart out of Sherlock. Turning the hero into the villain. It’s as simple as that,” he informed leaving the room, calling out “I’m looking forward to our next little session, Y/n.”

And that was it. That was what Sherlock needed to unlock the door of his mind palace. And then it all came back to him. Mrs. Hudson, John, Moriarty, Lestrade, his cases, his violin, his flat, and above all else you. Y/f/n Y/l/n. His brilliant, kind-hearted, resilient, beautiful, girlfriend. The two of you were walking home from a date when you were both attacked and captured. He didn’t know how long ago that was now, but surely everyone was searching for you.

With that, he had full control of his mind, and he slowly brought himself back to consciousness, fighting the sedative. He managed to maneuver his arm to pull out the IV. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the harsh light. He laid still for a moment, allowing his body to process what it needed to do. As much as his mind was restored, physically he would still be affected. He worked on moving his muscles to speed up his circulation. 

“Sherlock?” you all but whispered.  You wanted to believe that you were seeing him move but knew that it very well could be your mind playing tricks on you. Tears streamed down your face.

But then he looked at you, and as your eyes met any doubt you had faded away. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, struggling to conceal his own emotion as he took in your form. You were chained up in nothing but a bra and your shorts. There were deep cuts littering your bruised and shaking body. You likely had multiple fractured if not broken ribs. You were held up by your wrists which were raw and also bleeding. Your hair was damp which led him to believe that waterboarding or forced intermittent drowning was involved. Beyond that, he could tell that you hadn’t slept, ate, or drank anything.

“How long have we been here?” he forced himself to ask.

“I think three days, it’s kind of hard to tell,” you answered.

“And do you have any idea where we are?”

“Not really, just that there are two levels and we never leave the basement.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Sherlock muttered, already starting to plan an escape.

“Sherlock? Are you okay?”

“Me? I should be asking you that,” he said forcing himself to sit up, groaning slightly at the numbness.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, I’m just glad you’re awake,” you tried to smile.

“I’m going to get us out of here,” Sherlock promised.

“Take your time,” you tried to joke. But the laugh turned into coughing which was extremely painful. 

“Just try to conserve your energy,” he said trying to hide the worry in his voice.

“I love you,” you whispered, allowing the exhaustion to take over, knowing that you were safe now.

“I love you too,” he replied.

————————

Tags: @fanfictionsilove​ @delightfulheartdream​  - Let me know if you want to be added to my Sherlock tag list!

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

dings a rinky triangle right next to your head Hi guys, it's fic time! I actually put this up last night but I'm telling you right now. It's had a few hours to cool, like a pie out of the oven, but made of words. This chapter will actually contain mentions of ssssself harm, so viewer beware, i guess.

His world stays dark, even though he knows he’s opened his eyes. He tries to understand that, brain feeling foggy. He must be somewhere dark. He’s laying on his back. He can hear muffled voices, maybe, over him? He’s under something. He lays there, listening, but he’s too tired to even try to understand, and the voices are too muffled to be anything recognizable. Maybe, if he really strains, he can hear a familiar voice, or someone who sounds like his baby sister, but the only word he manages to understand is “invisible.”

He falls back into a restless sleep.

The next time he’s able to shake exhaustion from his mind, he tries to sit up. It’s easier than he thought it might be. This time, more aware of himself, his body feeling less destroyed, he actually tries to understand where he is. It feels like he’s laying in dirt, or under dirt, in a mountain of it, the usual soft scent of freshly turned earth overpowering. It still hurts to move, but he forces himself to, clawing upwards, through the dirt, until he reaches a wooden plank, which he goes through, like he’s not even there.

It’s a box, containing something foul smelling. A coffin… he’s inside a coffin. Juno buried him below a pine box, in someone else’s grave. The inside of it stinks, like decay and chemicals, and he doesn’t stop to take in whoever this used to be, just pushes up, and out, until he emerges from the ground like a zombie, like Night of the Living Dead. The ground around him is grown over with grass, and he grabs at it, using it as much as he can, as he crawls from someone’s grave, until finally, he pulls himself free from the earth, and lays there, taking breaths he doesn’t need, to clear the smell of the body from his nose. His suit and trench coat are filthy, but that barely registers, at this point. There are more important things to worry about, like getting home- He sits up, catches sight of the gravestone.

Emily Deetz Devoted Wife, Beloved Mother “Whom Most We Love Reach First the Golden Gate, Leaving Us Desolate”

He stares at the etching on the stone, and feels something in his mind snap, like a rubber band stretched too tight. He’s seeing the world through a fisheye lens, his vision distorted, blurry, as he tries to understand exactly what just happened. Juno made him crawl out of his own mother’s grave. The body he still reeks of was Emily’s. He sits there, a long time, not feeling much of anything, only able to stare, replaying that memory, over and over, and the only thing that makes him move is the sudden realization of what grass over a grave could mean. Emily’s been buried long enough for it to grow. How long has it been since he’s been home? He does his best to push this fun new trauma down, as far as it will go. He’s got to get back to his family. What’s left of it, he thinks, humorlessly.

He stands, off balance, and wipes some of the dust and dirt from his face, and finds that, annoyingly, his glamour has slipped, and it refuses to reapply. Maybe he’s too drained, though he’s not sure how he’s going to get back home, clearly looking as deranged as he must. He’s too exhausted to teleport, and he wanders around the cemetery, avoiding the few people there as much as he can, as the sun dips low, and vanishes. At least by that point he can force his teeth and ears to resemble normal human’s. The moss and eyes, well, he’s too worn down to care. So he’ll look like an extra grubby hobo, he thinks. That’ll have to be his new look, for now.

He reaches a gate, and leans on it, and then falls through it, and blinks, confused. He’s never been intangible by accident, before. Usually it takes concentration to make his solid form incorporeal. He stands, straightens out his suit collar, adjusts his sleeves, fiddles with his tie, as he thinks. There’s got to be someone around here who can call his family for him, or at the very least, a cab. The cemetery is growing darker, and his attention is drawn to the far off flicker of candles. He feels a pull, and he approaches, taking in what he sees.

It’s a group of five teenagers with an Ouija board. Predictable. He snorts, and expects that sound to alert the kids to his presence, but they don’t even turn to see what the noise could be. He steps closer, until he’s fully illuminated by the glowing ring of candles around them, and he tries to be friendly. “Hey, just a normal livin’ adult human man, in a cemetery, at night, approachin’ a group of children. You kids wanna be helpful an’ call me a cab?” BJ tries, but he’s ignored. The kids don’t even look in his direction. He remembers being a snot nosed teen, but this is a bit much. His blood boils, and he leans down, claps his hands in one of the teen’s faces, and she responds to that, but not in the way he wants. “I think I just felt a cold spot!” she tells her friends. “In front of my face, just now!” “Calm down with that,” a red haired girl shoots her a look. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already having a spiritual experience. Yeah, right.” “No you guys, really!”

“Lookit me,” he interrupts them. The children continue to squabble. His gut clenches. “Look at me!” he demands, storming to the center of the circle, and kicking at their stupid board game. His boot goes through it. They don’t react. Why would they, he realizes, sinking to sit on top of the board.

He’s invisible.

He tries to recall everything Juno had said, as he’d struggled to keep conscious, while impaled. Loneliness. Invisibility, being at the command of the living. Being… forgotten. No, no, NO- His impending freak out is stymied when he feels hands go through him, and he shoots up, hovering over the board game, as the teens below him react. “Oh my god, total cold spot! Should we like, make a note of that?” “Come on, come on, let’s start, while there’s still someone or something here!”

The five teens lean forward, each placing fingers on the planchette. “Is there anyone here?” one of them asks.

Betelgeuse stares, and feels a tug, again, clearly coming from the board. He knows some demons use these things to play with their food, before they eat, so he gives it a go, and floats over the game, head down, feet in the air, like he’s diving underwater. Maybe these kids can actually help him. He pushes the planchette with one finger, to land on “Yes.”

“Did you do that?” one boy asks, and the group devolves into the kids blaming each other, and he rakes his hands down his face, and tries to move the planchette, again, but they’re too busy squabbling, they’re not touching it anymore. Fuck, this is frustrating. He’s never wanted a group of teenagers to drop dead as badly as he does right now. Finally, they put their hands back on the pointer, and ask another question. “Are you friendly?”

This time, he pushes the planchette to spell, instead. “S-U-R-E.” “That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence,” the redhead from before mutters. “What do you want?” He nudges the pointer along, painstakingly slow. “H-O-M-E.” “You want to go home?” “YES.”

“For fuck sake, yes,” he groans, and then perks as one asks, “How can we help you?” Well… he’s not actually sure. He squints, trying and failing to recall everything Juno had said. How is he supposed to work with this curse thing, when he doesn’t know the rules? He digs his hands in his pockets, frustrated, and then blinks, because there’s what feels like a business card there, one that he doesn’t remember. He pulls the paper from his pocket, studies it.

BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE

He remembers the way Juno had chanted his name, before he’d lost consciousness. That must be it, then. His name is his burden.

“M-Y-N-A-M-E-T-H-R-E-E-T-I-M-E-S”

“Oh, wait, wait, guys, I’ve heard of this,” one of the girls gasps. “Demonic entities, they have you do things in threes, to mock the trinity, you know, father, son, and holy ghost. It’s a demon thing! We might be talking to a non-human spirit!” “That means we can’t trust it, right?” A boy asks, and they all look uneasy. He steers the planchette around the board, desperate. “W-A-N-N-A-H-O-M-E-P-L-Z.” The redhead wrinkles her nose. “Do demons use chat speak?” she asks, glancing around the group.

“O-H-M-Y-G-O-D-U-K-I-D-S-A-R-E-K-I-L-L-I-N-M-E.”

“I’m not afraid. Tell us your name, spirit!” a boy calls, and he gives the planchette a push, intent on spelling it. The pointer doesn’t move. “Come the fuck on!” he growls, but it doesn’t matter how much strength he puts into the action, he can’t move the dinky plastic piece to spell out his name.

“Spirit? You there?”

“F-U-C-K,” he spells out, in a rage, because this is pointless, he’s too exhausted and sore to think of how to make this work, and he just wants to go home, and see what’s left of his family. He growls again, and then snuffs all the candles in the circle, all at once, causing the kids to scream, and scramble, and that, at least, forces a rictus grin from him. He’s always enjoyed the sounds of terror. He leaves the children tripping over themselves in the dark, and decides he’s going to have to make his way home the old fashioned way- floating. At least he doesn’t have to walk, he supposes, tucking his legs under himself, and he floats invisibly out of the cemetery, and down the sidewalk, trying to focus on how good it will be to see Lydia and Charles, and not on how they won’t see him, and especially not on how every part of him, physically, emotionally, mentally, is hurting. read the rest over here~ If you're totally lost, I find starting at the beginning of something often makes the middle of something make better sense. So you can start at the very beginning right HERE

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Afterwards

Whumptober Day 24: You're Not Making Any Sense (Yeah, I know I’m months behind on Whumptober, I’m still gonna finish it out and you can’t stop me >:c ) Prompt: Forced Mutism

Eric tries to get over what happened at the club with Tessa. But that's easier said than done, especially when a new trigger makes itself known. (continued from “Behind Closed Doors”)

Warnings: Panic attack, flashback, referenced sexual assault

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

The immediate aftermath of what happened at the club is fuzzy for Eric. It took until late morning the next day for the drug to wear off. He felt foggy for the rest of the day, even after Dr. Iplier released him from the clinic a few hours after he woke up.

“Hey, Eric,” Dr. Iplier had told him as he left, “If you ever need to talk about what happened, you can always come back.”

He’d said it quietly and gently, with a look on his face like he hoped that Eric would.

And maybe he will.

But not yet.

As far as Eric knows, precious few people know what happened that night. Most of the egos know the basics; that he had to spend the night in the clinic after going to a club with the Jims, and that whatever happened was very serious. But the Jims, Bim, Wilford, and Dr. Iplier are the only ones who know the full story. Not even Ed knows, which Eric feels a little bad about, what with how close they’ve gotten. But Eric isn’t about to tell him. It’s hard enough to bear the sad looks and sidelong, cautious glances of the five people who know, even if he knows they come from a caring place. Bim is fretful and awkward as he always is in a crisis, Wilford tries to address it but always fails. The Jims have become Eric’s twin shadows, attuned to his every move. Dr. Iplier exerts a gentle-but-present pressure on Eric to start actively processing his trauma, something Eric doesn’t think he’s ready for yet.

He thinks about what happened. A lot. Not even necessarily to imagine how it could’ve gone differently, what he could’ve done to prevent it – though he thinks about that sometimes, too. But usually it’s just a replay in his mind whenever there’s nothing else to focus on. He catches himself staring mindlessly into the mirror while he brushes his teeth or into his food while he’s eating. The whole scene, Tessa and everything she did, plays out over and over.

It could’ve been worse, Eric supposes. She could’ve raped him.

Even thinking that word makes him sick.

Despite this new layer of trauma on top of Eric’s other, older traumas, he starts to feel a little more like himself day by day. He’s still able to laugh, to smile, to find joy in his hobbies, his friends, and other things that distract him. He’s familiar, at least, with this stage of trauma; the long stretches of numbness broken up by genuine good moments. Someday the good moments will outweigh the bad again, Eric just has to get there.

But a couple weeks after the night at the club, Eric’s recovery snags.

He’s in a common area with the Jims and the younger Googles, all of them taking turns playing a video game together. Eric isn’t very good, and neither are the Jims, but everyone is laughing – except Chrome, though he does smirk every so often. They’re all having fun, including Eric. As RJ and Oliver are competing in a 1v1, someone else enters the room. Everyone looks towards the door to see Yandere, grinning a little as he watches everyone play.

“Hey,” he says, “Can I join in?”

Eric still finds Yandere a little scary, and so do the Jims, but he’s learned by now that Yandere is harmless to the other egos unless someone gives him a reason not to be. Truthfully, Yandere can be a lot of fun to hang out with at times. It helps that Chrome is already in the room for Yandere to flounce over to and playfully wrap his arms around. Yandere looks the same as ever, with one difference: He’s wearing dark lipstick, a deep, vampiric red, darker than his hair.

Eric immediately knows he doesn’t like it. Not that it looks bad or weird, but it suddenly puts Eric on edge in a way he can’t pinpoint. Especially when Yandere smiles mischievously at Chrome as Chrome takes in his appearance.

“That’s interesting,” he says neutrally.

“What, that’s all?” Yandere scolds playfully, smacking Chrome on the arm. The force of it probably would’ve hurt anyone else, but Chrome doesn’t even flinch. Though he does smirk a little.

“It’s a look!” Oliver says, looking away from the screen for a moment to give a thumbs-up.

“At least one of you is nice,” Yandere laughs. “How are we taking turns here? When can I play?”

“I was going next,” CJ says, “But you can go instead, since I’d be playing with Red Jim.”

Eric is only half-listening (and half-watching, in CJ’s case) to the conversation. He’s focused intently on Yandere’s lips, on how they look as they move, the strangely familiar way they smile and open to laugh. The laugh becomes a little awkward, and suddenly, Yandere is looking back at Eric.

“Uh, you good there?” Yandere asks, “Is my lipstick that interesting?” Chrome looks at Eric curiously, as do Plus and CJ. Eric’s cheeks turn red and he rushes to explain himself.

“I-I’m sorry! S-Sorry, I mean, I’m,” Eric stammers, “I j-just, I don’t r-really see, um, guys wearing l-lipstick very much. But it’s n-not bad! It looks, um, it’s good, but not l-like, oh geez–”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. Eric doesn’t care at all that Yandere is a guy in lipstick. But he can’t find a way to explain how strange the dark color on Yandere’s lips makes him feel.

“It’s alright, Eric-kun, I get it,” Yandere giggles, no longer awkward. He pauses thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’ve never seen me in lipstick before, huh? I don’t wear it a lot, but makeup’s fun!” His eyes light up. “You’d look cute in makeup too, I bet!”

“O-Oh, um, I don’t know if I…” Eric trails off, uncomfortable. He immediately understands that he doesn’t want that at all, the same way he immediately knew that he hated the lipstick. Fortunately, Yandere only shrugs, taking no offense.

“Well, if you ever want to try it, I can help!” Yandere says brightly, “Aka-kun won’t let me do anything but paint his nails, and he only lets me use the same red as his shirt.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Chrome asks, “Any other color would clash.”

“No way!” Yandere exclaims, “I bet plenty of colors would look good, maybe even a different red!” His eyes glint with mischief, and he grins. “Maybe even something like the color I’m wearing. Hmmm…”

“Yandere–” Chrome begins, intuiting Yandere’s intentions.

He’s not fast enough to stop Yandere from leaning in and kissing Chrome’s cheek. Plus and Oliver laugh, and the Jims laugh too as Chrome sputters indignantly. Yandere pulls away, leaving a dark red stain on Chrome’s cheek.

“I was right, that color looks great on you~!” Yandere laughs.

“Gross,” Chrome mutters, wiping at the stain with the heel of his palm. The stain is stubborn, though, and stays well put.

Eric is staring. He can’t stop looking. His breathing is faster. The dark stain is sending him somewhere else, two weeks ago, at night in the bathroom of a club, a woman straddling his lap, dark lips coming towards his face, leaving stains all over him, drawing back to moan or giggle before coming close again and again –

Eric can’t even excuse himself, can’t make up a reason for leaving before he’s already gone, out of the room, away. He has to get away. If someone calls after him, Eric doesn’t hear them. He can’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears, over the club music pounding. He makes it to his room somehow, he doesn’t shut the door because he can’t be locked in again. He sits on his bed, curled up, because if he curls up no one can sit on his lap. He starts crying, shivering, he can feel Tessa’s mouth on him and it won’t stop –

Someone comes in cautiously, Eric hears his door creak open a little wider. Eric looks up to see CJ, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. There’s a long pause, during which Eric tries to come up with an excuse, even though he knows CJ wouldn’t be fooled. The silence stretches, and CJ eventually steps into Eric’s room, closing the door behind him. Eric realizes he wants the door open, just a little, that having it closed all the way is too much right now. It reminds him of that closed bathroom door, of being trapped and stuck. He opens his mouth to say as much, but nothing comes out. He can’t talk at all. His heart is too loud, his mind is too dizzy.

CJ comes to Eric, sitting on the other end of Eric’s bed, a few feet away. It’s close like Tessa was, but it also reminds Eric of when he was found, when CJ ran in and blew his whistle and rescued him. He feels like he’s there now, like his soft bed is the hard toilet seat, like the soft sunlight through the window is the fluorescent light in the bathroom. CJ signs something but Eric is too far in the past to understand. He’s breathing too hard but not getting enough air, he’s still crying but he’s hardly making any noise. CJ reaches out a tentative hand, lays it gently on Eric’s arm. It’s not rough, there’s no grabbing, there’s hardly any pressure at all. But to Eric it feels like a smaller hand, one with long, manicured nails, one that’s about to pull his arms away from around his legs so it can rub over his thighs to –

Eric jolts away from CJ, letting out a fearful cry. CJ pulls his hand away immediately, shocked. His eyes go huge, and Eric can see regret instantly cloud his face.

“I’m sorry,” he signs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At least Eric can focus enough to understand CJ’s signing now. He still can’t talk at all, and he’s too afraid to uncurl enough to sign. He’s utterly speechless, too caught up in awful memory to communicate at all. He can see CJ’s hands in front of him but he can still feel a different pair of hands wandering over his body.

“Do you…do you need to be alone?” CJ asks.

If Eric knows CJ, he knows that CJ is asking this with the utmost reluctance. CJ would much rather stay with Eric until he knows his friend is okay rather than leave him, even if that’s what Eric wants. But he cares enough about Eric to ask anyway, and Eric knows that if he gives CJ any indication that he wants him gone, CJ will leave without thinking twice about it.

Maybe that’s why Eric shakes his head. He still trembles, a part of him is still afraid to be alone with someone in a closed room, but another part of him knows that CJ is safe. CJ relaxes a little, and offers a reassuring smile. At least, that’s probably what it’s supposed to be; mostly it just looks nervous.

They stay like that for a while, silent in the face of Eric’s still-running heart. It reminds Eric of that low morning when the Jims came to him and quietly sat by him, helping him gain the strength to face the day. It’s one of Eric’s better memories, and the rush of warmth that comes with thinking of it combats the chill of what else Eric is thinking of, the cold of the club restroom and the toilet seat Eric was sat onto. That cold is beginning to leave him, the hands rubbing over his body start to disappear. Thinking of kindness, having CJ here watching over him, and simply letting seconds pass away from his trigger all allow Eric’s heart to calm, allow him to start breathing easier.

“Do you feel better?” CJ asks.

“Yeah,” Eric replies. He still doesn’t trust his voice, he still prefers the quiet.

“Can I ask…what happened?” CJ’s fingers are uncertain and halting as he signs. “You don’t have to tell me, but…”

Eric doesn’t mind the question, and he can tell what CJ means: If he knows what triggered Eric so badly, he can avoid it, and protect Eric from it. It warms Eric all over again to know.

“It was…Yandere leaving a kiss mark on Chrome’s cheek.” Eric’s hands shake just a little as he remembers. “It reminded me of Tessa, all the lipstick stains she left on me.”

CJ winces. He must remember those stains, too. He tentatively, slowly, reaches out his hands to Eric’s, which are curled in his lap. This time, Eric doesn’t stop him, and lets CJ cover his hands with his own, and the two continue to sit in silence. But with CJ’s hands on his, Eric finds the silence even warmer, even kinder, even nicer. He thinks, suddenly, that he’s almost okay again.

As if on cue, someone outside knocks softly on Eric’s door.

“AJ, CJ, are you guys alright in there?” asks RJ’s voice. “Can I come in?”

Only a few minutes ago Eric was still too uncertain and nervous to speak. Now, though, he feels stronger, more secure, normal.

“Yeah,” he answers RJ. His voice is more quiet than he meant it to be, and for a moment he’s not sure if RJ even heard him.

But the door opens, and RJ pokes his head in, concern written all over his face. Eric can’t wave him inside with CJ’s hands still on his, so he smiles at RJ instead. RJ immediately smiles back, and happily comes inside. Like CJ, he closes the door behind him, but unlike with CJ, Eric no longer minds the closed door. Maybe later, he’ll let them know that he’d prefer the door slightly ajar before this happens again.

And it will happen again. Eric already knows that. There’s bound to be other triggers, bound to be other times that memories of what Tessa did to him swarm over him and make him afraid. But knowing that isn’t scary, at least, it’s not scary right now. Not with CJ sitting across from him, gentle hands squeezing Eric’s, and with RJ coming in to sit beside him and lean against him, providing a comforting pressure.

Someday, Tessa will fade into the background amongst Eric’s other traumas, and Eric will find his normal again. For now, he lets his head rest against RJ’s, lets his hands rest in CJ’s, and takes in their gentle care.

[aliasimagines]

Ice Cold (pt 2 to Melted Hearts)

Jason Todd x reader with ice powers

requested by @im-hqlover​

A/N: I had a great time writing this (and by great time i mean i cried. a lot. tOO MUCH ANGSt). But I hope you’ll enjoy reading!

Warning: charachter’s death, grieving, anxiety, panic attack, you kmow all the great stuff

Word count: 3722

At any other time you would be complaining by now. At how your side was stinging and how your breath stuck in. But not now. You ignored your hurting leg and ran as fast as you could. Still, with you running at full speed, Batman was a few steps ahead of you.

The Joker has left, leaving Jason and his newly found mother. Batman couldn’t contact him and you just hoped that the psycho didn’t do anything irreversible.

You couldn’t help but play back the last conversation the two of you had in your head. You had a fight. A big one. It was totally pointless by the way but he was too upset at the time. Bruce has just scolded Jason for being too reckless and told him that he should stop being Robin for a bit. Of course you went to comfort him when you heard about it but he wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. There was a lot of shouting, both of you lashed out on each other and it wasn’t pretty. Sure, you regreted it immediately. You called Jason, you texted him but he didn’t reply. Later you found out from Bruce that he went away to search for his biological mother. He left no notes for you, no text, nothing. Yet in this very moment you couldn’t be angry at him, you just hoped he would be alright when you found him.

You finally saw the warehouse in the distance. They should be there. Some kind of relief took over you. He was there. You could almost feel the handle of the metal door, grabbing it and slamming it open.

It all happened quickly. One moment you were still running the other you were thrown back by the wave of the explosion. Your ears rang and it took a moment to realize what happened.

No, no, no, no

You didn’t know when you got back up or when did you start running again but you were on your way to the ruins.

No no no no

You could still hear the noise, ringing over and over again.

-Jason threw a bomb while furiously hitting the switches of the controller.

„Kgshhsssh” he made the most ridiculous explosion mimicking sound with his mouth you ever heard. Just like he expected you break out in laughter causing him to easily win the game.

„That’s cheating!” you manged out in between two giggles.

„Nah, that’s playing smart, baby.” you disapproveingly shook your head and hit the replay button.-

You saw Bruce stopping next to Sheila but you didn’t see him.

No, no, no, no

He has to be somewhere near. You kept tilting your head in all directions as fast as you could until you spotted a bright red piece of clothing. It was from his uniform. You were there in a second trying to lift the debris off of it. It was to heavy, you can’t possibly do it alone. That’s when you saw a pair of strong arms helping you push it off. Your heart pounded so fast you were afraid it’s going to break out any minute.

You saw him. Under the heavy ruins, covered in blood, bruises and dust. Your breathing stopped.

No, no, no, no

Batman was already by his side checking his pulse but it was useless. You both knew it deep down but a little hopeful voice kept saying ’what if not? what if not?’ in the back of your minds.

The bat looked up at you with is usually unreadable face now broken and shook his head.

Legs slipping from beneath you, you fell on your knees, hard. Your whole body shook as you screamed and cried.

„No, no, no, no...this can’t be. No!” the ground beneath you began to froze.

You don’t know how you got home. Your memory is foggy. You remember little bits like Batman talking to you, a window to the cloudy sky which was probably on a plane and maybe the manor?

But now you found yourself on your bed. Instead of your costume you had on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. The hoodie was Jason’s. You sat up, all of a sudden remembering everything. You felt sick amd dizzy. The room was spinning. You stumbled out of bed.

It has to be a dream. It can’t be true. It was all just a messed up dream.

You almost fell like three times til you got out to the kitchen. Diana sat there, she looked so stressed. And you knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. She caught your shaking body and pulled you into a tight hug. You layed your face on her shoulder, quickly soaking her shirt with your tears. She played with your hair in silence. You had to get it out. Minutes passed, maybe an hour when you whispered between two sniffs.

„It’s my fault.” it was bearly audible but Diana heard you. Gently pushing you back so she could look in your eyes she said „Don’t say that Y/N. You did everything you could. You-„

„Noh.. I did not. If we haven’t had a fight, he would have brought me along with him and I would have been with him and-„ you cried out again. „Can I go back to my room?”

„Y/N...”

„Please.”

„Allright. Go. But I’m gonna check on you every now and then. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Without a word you stumbled back into the dark room. You sat next to the window, leaning on the cold glass which gave some kind of comfort.

You spent most of your time there in the next few day. Every song on your phone reminded you of him. Every book on the shelf, every tought you had. So you sat there. Staring blankly outside, your eyes at the busy street, your mind occupied with playing the explosion over and over again. You could have been faster. If only you got there one minute earlier. Only a minute... You probably slowed Batman down too. If he was alone he would have made it on time. He probably blames you for the loss of his son. But that’s alright. You blame yourself too.

Guilt was with you everywhere. You couldn’t shake the thought what if?

You couldn’t really eat either. It just didn’t feel right to feast while his body was somewhere cold waiting for his coffin to be done.

You couldn’t wet out of bed one day and you felt guilty for doing that. You had your whole life ahead of you wasted day after day while Jason had no more days left to waste.

You tried to smile at Diana one time after thanking her something when you noticed a little voice in your head. It wnet on and on about how went on and on about how selfish you were for smiling. How can you smile? You’re not even hurt a little by losing Jason? God, you really are worse than the Joker.

THE JOKER!

That’s it. You have to snap out of it! Step out from this miserable act and do something. He has to pay for what he did. You closed your fist forcefully. You imagined beating him until he couldn’t move anymore. You wanted nothing more that to swipe that irritating smile of his stupid pale face. You wanted to freeze his veins, break him into million pieces of frozen meat. Than put him in a block of ice and throw him in to the Gotham river, let his remains sink down to the bottom.

Next thing you knew you were in your supersuit racing down to the front door. Just as you reached for the handle you heared Diana.

„Where are you going, Y/N?”

„Out.”you turned.”The clown needs to pay for what he did.”

„And what is that you want to do exactly?”

„Just what he deserves.”

„Do you hear yourself Y/N? You can’t do this.”

„He killed thousands of people! He took Jason too! I can’t-„

„You’re hurting. I know. But revenge will not bring you satisfaction. Jason will not appear miraculously if you go after the Joker. And you don’t kill Y/N!”

„I haven’t before.” you said more and more quietly

„Y/N you are grieving. You want him back, more than anything, I know. But you are in no shape to go after the Joker. Dear, you couldn’t even take out a thug like this, you-„

„Don’t you think I know that?” you cried out. „I know. I know I can’t do this for him! I’m a pathetic mess.”

„He wouldn’t want you to get hurt. I am certain of that. He would want you to continue on. Please Y/N don’t go. If not for me than Jason.”

His sweater still had his smell in it. It was comforting as you laid on your bed. Soft music played in the background. You reached for your phone and took it from next the plate. It was empty, except from the crumbs from your toast.

You open your texts and read back the last conversation you had with Jason before the fight.

Your heart clenched at his text. ’See you soon, doll❤️❤️’

(time skip to the funeral)

There was only a few people there. You almost laughed. He really was loner like Diana said the two of you were.

There were no big speeches. Not because he didn’t deserve one but because noone was in condition to do one. All of you were broken. Like a glass vase that was hit off the table all of a sudden with such brute force that it shattered to unrecognizable pieces. With a lot of work and time you could rebuild the vase but you could never cover up the marks on it. It will never be as strong as it was before.

You looked at a tree the whole time. It was such a nice tree, it looked a lot like the one you sat under the night you first met. It was covered in beautiful green leaves and it was blossoming. You looked at the tree because you couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at the tomb. You distracted yourself with the tree, with leaves, with anything you could because if you wouldn’t you would have broke down crying, you were sure of that. Sometimes his voice popped up in your mind, him saying your name. You choked up then, tears were threatening to fall but you swallowed back all of them.

A good amount of time must have passed because you sensed everyone starting to leave. Dick with shaking shoulders, Bruce marching slowly like a robot, Barbara and Commissioner Gordon behind them. The only ones left were Diana, you and Alfred. The man has been through a lot, seen a lot and you never saw that on him but as you turned to face him you saw a tired, shaken, torn man. He looked so vulnerable and so..old.

„Miss Y/N... Thank you for giving him his happiest memories. I know he loved you dearly.” he said quietly. You fought with your tears again and held back yoir breath. Afraid nothing would come out of your mouth but a sob you noded. Diana put her hand on your shoulder but you gently took it off. Collecting all your strength you spoke, your voice barely louder than a whisper. „Can I-could I have a moment alone?”

„Of course. If you need me, we will be inside.”

You watch them walk away too, you kept your eyes at your ’aunt’ and Jason’s grandfather until they became small silhouettes in the distance. You than walked with unsteady legs and shaking body as you couldn’t hold yourself anymore. The bouquet which you strangled in your hands until now looked too vibrant against the cold stone and the dark dirt which beneath was an even darker coffin.

You promised you wouldn’t leave my side.

You lifted your fingers to your lips before placing them on the tombstone.

„I love you”

You felt awful. And tired. You couldn’t really sleep. Everytime you passed out from exhaustion you woke up hours later covered in cold sweat, sometimes crying other times screaming because of the nightmares that haunted you. Diana figured your mental health was getting worse and worse so she made you a therapy appointment. You were unsure at first. Afraid to open up, to get help. But you went anyway.

You needed some sort of closure. Well that’s what they told you at therapy. Because you couldn’t say goodbye to Jason in person, you needed to find a way to do it now. Your therapist listed a bunch of methods but only one caught your interest. Write a letter to him. You liked the idea because he loved stuff like that. Hand written letters are so Shakespeare-y, Y/N! So you grabbed a pen and started writing. The words came naturally and you wrote the letter at one sitting. It wasn’t long. But it served it’s purpose. It was a closure.

Once you were done with the writing you put it into an envelope. You took the candle you lit before you started writing and poored the hot red wax on the back. Quickly before it hardened you carved a „J” into the wax. Satisfied you put it in the drawer of your table before locking it with a key. In the locked drawer, under the letter there was your superhero uniform. Diana was understanding about your decision. She let you stay with her and even though you wanted nothing more than to travel back to your family you took her offer. You wanted to focus on your studies and Gotham had one of the best university of the country. If not the best. But you talked with your family almost every day, video chatted with your brother whenever you could. And your days went like this. You worked, you found a lovely part time job at the local art museum, you studied, went to therapy and got through every day.

But no amount of medication or therapy could uplift you as a hug from Jason.

However you learned one really important thing. You can’t do anything about it. As much as it hurts, he is dead. But what you can do is try and live a life worth living. That is what he would have wanted (it took a lot of therapy sessions and speeches from Diana for you to believe that but now you finally do).

You worked hard, you studied hard so you could get in to university. And after a good while you stared dating again. It didn’t mean it actually hurt less, or that you didn’t miss him anymore, no. No, but you had to try to move on. Although seeing his lifeless body was a trauma you would carry with yourself in to the grave. You never forgot him, you still think about him, sometimes you wonder what would he do in certain situations that happened to you. You still cry some time. You still have anxiety attacks and not having his arms around you makes it harder. But you are trying. And that’s the best you can do.

(years later after Jason’s death, Gotham City, in the small apartment you live in)

You shared the apartment you were living in with one of your friends. You met at the first day of school and since you had the same classes you hang out a lot. She found this place not far from the university and asked if you wanted to move in. You did, not wanting use Diana’s hospitality (even though she said it was fine) plus you wanted to be more independent.

It was Friday night and she left for a party, she asked you countless times to come with her but parties weren’t your scene. Too many people.

So you were home, alone but it was kind of nice. You decided that a few hours of chilling wouldn’t be so bad. With all the studying and working you did all the time, you just wanted to do nothing tonight.

You changed into a comfortable pair of pants and your GSU hoodie. With some of your favorite music playing in the background you prepared some food and brought it back to your room. You sat the plate down to your table, next to your laptop and turned back to close the door.

„Hey”

Hearing a robotic voice from behind you, you spin around in a flash, grabbing a pocket knife quickly. Turning around you met with a huge figure leaning next your open window with hands raised in a defensive way. His dark clothes blended in perfectly to the dark lighted room but his big red helmet stood out just fine.

You knew him. Sure you left crime fighting behind but that doesn’t mean you just ignored what was happening in the city. He is a new face around Gotham. A raising crime lord, seemed to be interested in taking over the biggest crime lord, the Black Mask. His name was rumored to be the Red Hood.

„Oh, come on! We both know you don’t need that. But hey! I’m impressed! Your reflexes are pretty amazing considering you hang up the cape years ago. I bet you still work out.” you couldn’t see but he looked you up and down.

„Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here but I don’t want anything to do with you.”

„Ah, why so harsh, doll?”

„If you leave now I won’t call the cops.”

„Sweetheart” he sighed annoyed „ You and I know that I will be long gone before old Commiss Gordo gets here.” The Hood slowly let his hand down reaching into what you assumed was a pocket inside his jacket. You pointed your knife at him.

„Easy there. I mean no harm.”

„Oh yeah, tell that to the trail of dead bodies you left on the streets”

Your comment was rewarded with small chuckle from the armored man.

„I mean no harm to you, is what I meant. Those fucks who you are talking about? They had it coming. I’m not gonna apologize for killing psycho bastards who sell drugs to kids.” he said getting a bit to heated at the end. You saw him take out a a folded piece of paper. From where you stood you couldn’t see what was on it but to your great suprise his next move was to held the paper out for you.

You nearly laughed out at him.

„ I expected a better distraction from you.”

„If I wanted you to be distracted, you would be distracted dear. Just take it.”

Still not sure, you took it and unfolded it. You slapped your hand in front of your mouth, quickly forgetting about the knife, letting it fall down with a loud crash. The paper was actually an old picture of you and your late boyfriend. A picture that was supposed to be six feet under ground in said late boyfriend’s coffin.

Your whole life body shook with anger.

„What the fuck have you-„

He quickly interrupted with a calm voice.

„I found it in my jacket. I seriously have no idea how you snuggled it into it because Bruce was never the sentimental type and wouldn’t let you put it there.”

You just stared at him with plain confusion and anger.

„Who-„ are you? Because it can’t be... This person in front of you can’t be who you think it is. No. It’s not him. But the way he stands, he speaks, the „doll”, the picture! But it can’t be him.

„You know it Y/N-„ his voice sounded more human and familiar as he took off the helmet.

„Jason...” you knew it wasn’t possible. He shouldn’t be here. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you because of the exhaustion. But he was there. Taller and muscular than last time you saw him but he was your Jason. Right here. „How...”

„Does it really matter?” he asked his voice gentle, making your legs fill like they’re made out of jelly. He stepped closer, holding out his hand towards you.

No, it really doesn’t. He is here now and that’s what- wait. The Red Hood has been here for weeks!

„Jason.” you looked up at him. „How long?”

„Well...”

„Were you even dead?”

„Yes! Of course! For a while I was. I died. It was real but-„ he couldn’t finish his explanation because you smashed him across the face.

„How could you? I was mourning, we all were. Goddammit we still do, you idiot! Do you hate us that much??”

„Oh, so were continuing where we left off! Great! I loved that fucking fight we had. Amazing last memory of you!”

„How can you say that?!” you shouted, lips trembling, your whole body shaking. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and tears felt your eyes. Jason’s face fell. Fuck, I’ve gone too far.

„Hey..uhm try to listen to my voice and-„ he was cut off with a glare from you.

„I know, I know. I fucked up, I’m sorry. Just try to breathe and I will just be out in minute”

„Don’t you dare- don’t leave you idiot.” you reached for him with shaking hands. And he took your hands. You touched the rough material of his gloves, his jacket and as he gently hugged you, you felt his armor too.

You stayed like that for god knows how long in his embrace. Sure you were mad at him and he knew that but that could wait. He was here now and he wasn’t about to leave. You had all the time in the world.

He brushed your hair out of your face, with a loving gaze. Without a word you cuddled closer to him, laying your head on his chest you listened to his heart beat. He continued to play with your hair with one of his strong arms wrapped around your torso. You didn’t talk. Not because you didn’t know what to say but because you didn’t need words to understand each other. Even after all these years. And you knew that the of you belong togethe. Whatever happens, you will always find your way back to the other.

[lotusthekat]

Flashes

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Relationships: Familial Hank & Connor (please do not ship them)

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Original Minor Characters

Summary: Flashes are what keep coming back to him. Flashes are what alarm him, take him away from reality - only for it to retribute with a deadly force.

Or, Connor suffers a car accident.

Word count: 2225

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: My first fic on this blog! This was an idea I had one night, without knowing it was Connor’s birthday on the 15th. I decided to torture him as a birthday present then, haha.

I did my own take on the car accident prompt, even though I don’t really know how to write car accidents, so I hope this is good enough. Enjoy!

WARNINGS - car accident, near death experience, fear of death, major character injury, implied past death, trauma, panic attack and swearing.

--

Connor only sees flashes. White, blinding blurs. Thirium blue, its metallic smell sickening. He hears and sees and speaks static. Nothing makes any sense, and the android is aware his eyes burn inside.

Until, in the next moment, his optical components are stabilized. He still sees mainly white but rebooting system messages give him a rather positive diagnosis: aside from a couple, non-severe injuries, Connor seems to be alright.

However, the android takes a while to acknowledge other presences in his surroundings. He recognizes an android technician using the computers, controlling the unliving machines that are looking after Connor’s body. Beside them, a human woman accompanies the procedure; soon enough, she turns around expectedly, maybe knowing Connor awakens through the screens.

It’s only then that the RK800 concludes he’s in an Android Repair Center, especially when he takes notice of their uniforms – different tones of gray and blue, though they no longer have the CyberLife brand, the company having been shut down a month or so after the first stage of the ongoing Android Revolution.

The woman approaches Connor with a sympathetic smile.

“Hello, Connor,” She says. “How are you feeling?”

(Feeling. Times truly have changed, for this question to be directed at him.)

The RK800 blinks several times before replying, still growing used to the bright room, and yet bothered by his lacking memory.

“I’m…” He doesn’t know what to answer, as there is only one question lingering in his processors: “What happened?”

Her smile falters a little. “You…” She looks down for a moment, as if to plan her words. “You suffered a car accident.”

Connor gapes at her. “I- I did?”

She sighs, not in annoyance but concern. “Your car crashed into a tree; although you had no deadly injuries, you fell onto hibernation mode due to your stress levels before we treated you.”

After this, the android says nothing. Flashes return to him. Cold, biting cold creeps in his thirium vases, causing him to tremble. Logic is far from his senses, as he knows he’s approaching the inevitable, the endless darkness.

Loud, deafening “ping” sounds are heard somewhere, and voices try reaching him, yet Connor can’t seem to find their sources. He sees the same blurs, hears the static again.

It’s cold, cold, cold.

He’s going to die.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t—

 … nor. Connor? Can you hear me? You’re safe.

A telepathic voice has reached him. It sounds to be the other android in the room. They begin to form again in his vision, a dark void.

Calm down. You are in the Android Repair Center. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe, they repeat. You’re going to be alright. You just need to listen to me. Can you do that?

Desperate, Connor nods, at this point crying helplessly.

You’re not going to die, Connor. You’re almost healed, and you will be ready to leave soon. I promise.

The RK800 struggles to breathe, to calm his loud, hammering pumps. Connor replays the words in his head several times, even repeating it out loud to himself until his thirium pressure returns to normal. The other android is still present, staying for him, and just that helps.

Finally, Connor is back in the room, both technicians relieved. The blaring pings are no more, and the android doesn’t feel cold anymore.

“You’re alright, Connor,” The woman says. “We will do one last check-up, and then you’ll be free to go, okay?”

He nods.

“As for the car, it was already taken for repairs,” She reveals. “We contacted Mr. Anderson and he’s waiting for you outside.”

Connor tenses up. Hank…

Oh, goodness. He crashed Hank’s car. He’s screwed.

“You’ll be okay,” The woman insists, in a lower volume; maybe noting he’s distressed again.

Connor silently lets the technicians finish their job. The android eventually accepts the furious scolding that’s coming for him.

--

It’s snowing outside, though it’s not so dangerous, which is why Connor agrees to this.

Hank is apprehensive to let him wander around in the snow, yet Connor reassures him it’ll be alright. The android offers himself to go to the market, after everything the former lieutenant has done for him. Connor might as well let the man rest for tonight and get the groceries by himself.

Given many humans have evacuated Detroit in a short amount of time, the available markets are farther from Hank’s neighborhood, so Connor takes the car. The groceries themselves are quick to get done, taking roughly forty minutes. The ride home is tranquil, not too many cars share the same snowy road tonight. Connor texts Hank that he’s on his way back, quickly getting a reply.

Hank: don’t text while driving

Connor: Mind you that I am, according to your own words, a “walking smartphone”.

Hank: scratch that, you’re a smartASS phone

Connor: A highly-advanced smartass phone, indeed. :-)

Hank ultimately replies with a middle finger emoji, bringing a smirk to Connor’s face.

The radio, one of Hank’s favorite stations, plays Joy Division in a satisfactory volume. Connor finds out he enjoys the sound and wanders in the night. There’s still half of the way left. He already anticipates Hank’s sassy remarks regarding the healthier food the RK800 has bought; he imagines Sumo jumping and trying to snatch the treats Connor buys for him, whilst Hank complains he spoils the dog too much.

He feels… warmth. A feeling he’s become familiarized with. The warmth of home.

Except it fades once Connor realizes how… foggy and dark is outside. The snow seems faster, stronger; going against what the weather updates have told him before he left home. Connor is careful and attentive, managing to drive at a soothing speed.

But the more time passes, the snow worsens. It’s not a blizzard yet it does little to calm him.

Somewhere, Connor is aware his stress levels are higher than recommended. His hands hold tight onto the wheel. Regardless, he doesn’t lose control of the car.

However, his enhanced attention fails when he needs the most.

Once the flashlights blind his view, the android barely realizes what’s happening. Rather than following his programming, he follows what is most likely his flight or fight response – which leads to complete failure.

He dodges the other vehicle but at the cost of Hank’s car drifting furiously along the snowy, wet asphalt. Connor screams as he’s unable to stop it, until the crashing glass and metal deafen his audio processors.

His hearing is static and painful, vision at first darkened by uncertainty. Connor slowly awakes, eyes stabbed by blaring warnings, even though they’re not numerous. The android looks at his side, multiple glass shards having attacked the right seat. His right side hurts for that matter, and he tastes thirium. He’s just barely touching whatever the car has crashed into. Either way, Connor can still move, and he chooses to get out of the ruined vehicle.

Which gets even worse, as he’s caught by the freezing wind outside. Connor gasps for air, until he realizes there’s next to nothing. He can’t go so far, his limbs hurting, burning, and so he falls onto the snow, having what’s remained from the car to support his body. Connor is long gone when it comes to his high stress levels, and he does try to call the emergencies. Problem is, he cannot speak.

“Help…” He begs, throat wracked by the cold. “P-Please, help me… I-I’m cold…”

There’s a voice trying to talk to him, but the snow is so loud that he can’t understand it. He’s distantly aware that tears are rolling down his face, only for them to freeze and bite his eyes and cheeks.

Connor doesn’t feel the car anymore. He detects nothing but the snow. No light. No life.

He’s trapped again. And he’s… he’s not getting out this time.

He won’t go back home.

He won’t see Hank and Sumo again. He won’t see Markus and Josh, and North and Simon again. He won’t feel the sunlight on his face, or the rain softly wetting his clothes.

Right now, he’s shot by the freezing snow.

He’s going to die.

“Please…” Connor whispers, growing numb at this point – and so desperately trying to stay awake. “Help…”

I need more time, he begs.

But another voice arrives with the harsh truth: one that sounds too much like Amanda.

It’s too late, Connor.

You failed.

--

The way to the waiting room feels endless.

Connor looks down, trying to come up with a rational explanation of what happened, failing in the end. He’s not willing to tell Hank. This might be the turning point for the man to decide not to live with him anymore – and that’s really alright. If anything, Connor will do everything to pay for what he did.

Finally, he arrives. The Center’s waiting room is less white and neutral – its shades of blue are vivid. Though it’s not what draws his attention in the slightest, as he realizes there’s only one person waiting there.

Hank sits uncomfortably on one of the chairs, restless. He’s grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, as Connor judges by his mismatched socks and shoes, his home sweatpants and his worn, thick jacket. Hank is hiding his face with one of his hands, practically leaning onto his arm for support. He doesn’t appear to detect Connor’s approach at first, so the android finally voices his presence.

“Hank?”

The older man raises his head only a little, enough to reveal red-rimmed, swollen eyes, contrasting his light blue. Knowing Hank, he must’ve been crying in silence the entire time, and once he lowers his hand, Connor’s suspicions are confirmed by obvious tear stains. Connor has never seen Hank in such a tragic state.

The RK800 stares back, guilt creeping in his chest.

“Hank… I—”

The moment the android opens his mouth, Hank jumps from his chair and tackles Connor in his arms. He’s mindful of any injuries he might have, but at the same time Hank engulfs him so he never leaves.

“Jesus Christ, Connor!” Hank curses wetly. He can’t see his face, but Connor feels the other’s tears wetting his neck.

Connor considers for a moment, yet he doesn’t resist for long. He crushes the older man in both relief and fear, fearing he might go back to the snow and pain if he doesn’t let go.

Hank’s heart rate is high, too high. He’s barely holding it together, his sobs silent and muffled by Connor’s shoulder. After what feels like forever, Hank manages to pull away, looking even more terrible.

“Fuck, Connor,” He says, a hand gently reaching Connor’s face. “Are you okay?”

The android nods. “My injuries weren’t so grave, and the remaining, less severe ones will be healed by my own healing system.”

Hank sighs in a confusing mixture of feelings, drying his own tears with one of his hands. “Good fucking God…”

Connor lowers his gaze, remorseful.

“I’m sorry for crashing your car, Hank,” He apologizes. “I couldn’t—”

“I don’t give a shit about the car, you fucking idiot!” Hank snaps and faces him again, firmly grabbing his shoulders. Even so, the man is far from angry; he looks like he’s about to have a complete breakdown. “I could’ve lost you! I can’t-!” His voice breaks, crying harder. “I can’t fucking take this again, Connor. I can’t.”

Again…

Connor freezes, feeling stupid for not acknowledging why Hank is so distressed. Not that the man has ever been pleased with Connor risking his life and even dying once. But it’s been months, everything has changed. Everything between them has changed, and Connor knows Hank much better than before.

Of course Hank would be devastated. A car accident, of all things, to take Connor away from him in a snowy night…

The android cries along with him. “I’m sor—”

“Shut up, Connor. I just—” Hank takes a deep breath and pulls him close again. “I’m just glad you’re alright, son.”

The same warmth returns with these words, specifically the last one, and Connor buries his face in Hank’s shoulder. “Me too. I was…” He fists Hank’s coat and whispers, “I was so scared, Hank.”

The older man squeezes him. “I know.”

Finally, Connor relaxes in his hold, so much that his legs no longer cooperate with his weight. Hank supports him either way, smoothing his brown curls. After another squeeze on his shoulders, he lets go of the android, though not allowing him to go anywhere out of his sight.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Hank tells him. “Sumo is worried sick about you. Dog’s probably got a ‘Connor In Danger’ radar at this point.”

Connor smiles sadly at the thought, yet he finds himself staring at Hank and how his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. Hank guides him outside and calls a taxi, his arm firm around Connor’s shoulders. The latter feels him calming down, despite the hesitance of letting Connor go.

The taxi arrives in a couple minutes and so Hank and Connor share the backseat. The way home is silent, though their beating organs are soothing and clear. Connor lies on the former lieutenant’s side, while the other smooths his brown hair over and over. Connor takes a deep breath and finds himself slipping into a peaceful slumber, warm and welcoming and loving.

(Thankfully, it wasn’t too late.)

[ahgasescenarios]

Before You Go- Lee Taeyong

Word count: 1k

Genre: angst/sad

A/N: So this work is inspired by Lewis Capaldi’s Before You Go because I was honestly obsessed with the song and felt like it called for an angsty scenario LOL But enjoy this drabble of mine, I know it’s not the best but I’m still working on bettering myself as an author. Let me know if you have any comments about what I should improve on, thanks so much xx

  The weather outside reflected your mood; gloomy and foggy. You strolled about mindlessly, umbrella in hand with a permanent frown painting your features. You had been feeling out of sorts lately and you were at a loss as to how to remedy the situation. Your boyfriend Taeyong was too busy buried in books to be of any help, but you did have a date today, so you were counting on it to cheer you up, even if just a little.

“Taeyong, are you almost here?”

You were standing outside the café you had judged fit for a date. You came here yourself quite often to study.

“Oh, god, (Y/N), I’m so sorry I totally forgot. Is there any way we can reschedule?”

You looked down; disappointment clear in your eyes as your feet unconsciously kicked at the ground.

“Sure. I had errands to run anyway.” That was your first lie.

This wasn’t the first time your boyfriend had stood you up. His studies in law occupied his every waking instant and he barely had any time for you anymore. He used to make time for you, sacrificing his precious hours of sleep for a few hours with you. You wondered what had changed. You walked around with the same question weighing on your mind.

When you finally lifted your gaze from the ground, you noticed that your feet had inadvertently led you to your boyfriend’s apartment building. After a gruesome internal dilemma, you opted to listen to your gut.

“(Y/N), what are you doing here?”

Your boyfriend opened the door with an astonished look on his face. His hair was disheveled and the bags under his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t lying about the workload his program imposed.

“I don’t know Taeyong, but I think we need to talk.”

“Right now’s not the best time, (Y/N) …”

“Well, when is it ever, Tae? You don’t make time for me anymore.” You sighed and looked down.

“That’s not true, I- “

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy. But did you notice that we haven’t seen each other in over two weeks?”

The guilt washed over him, he obviously hadn’t noticed.

“Babe, I’m sorry, let me make it up to you- “

“I just.” You stopped yourself and chose your next words very carefully. “Maybe this is a sign.”

“What are you saying?” He took a step back.

“We haven’t been the same in a very long time, Taeyong. I keep clinging on to our happiest memories and replaying our moments together but when I get to the present, I don’t like what I see.”

As the words left your mouth, Taeyong realized that you were right. He had been so engrossed in his studies that he hadn’t made you a priority until all you shared together were memories. There was a moment of silence before he spoke next.

“When did this happen to us?” Taeyong asks, puppy dog eyes boring into yours.

“I don’t know, I guess it sort of just did.” You paused. “I just want to be happy, Taeyong and the truth is girls like me don’t end up with guys like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stood up at this and walked over so he was facing you.

“Nothing, forget it.” You tried to turn away, but he stopped you.

“No, tell me.”

“Well, Taeyong look at me. I’m not enough for you and I never will be.”

“How could you think that? “

“What does it matter now, anyway?” Tears formed at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill any moment. “It’s none of us’ fault, but I think it would be better if we ended things.” You wiped your own tears, surprising yourself with the turn of this conversation. You hadn’t known you were going to break up with him when you first set foot in here.

“Wait, what? (Y/N), where is this coming from?”

“I’ve been struggling for weeks Taeyong, and you haven’t even noticed. I need to take some time for myself.”

He looked down, ashamed of himself. He had so many regrets. There was no point in fighting at this point and he only felt bad about having caused you pain in the first place.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N), the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

You nodded.

“I know, and I’m not mad at you. You were my first love, Tae and you’ll always hold a special place in my heart. But for now, I have to do this.”

“I really wish things were different. If I hadn’t been so focused on school maybe-“

“Hey, don’t go blaming yourself, okay? We both made our mistakes. Sometimes, things happen for no reason at all.”

You smiled through your tears, which only broke Taeyong’s heart further. He hated seeing you like this and he hated that he was the one responsible for that look on your face. He walked over to you and held you tightly against him. The hug lasted longer than what was deemed acceptable, but neither of you minded.

“Thank you for everything, (Y/N). I hope we’ll meet again someday in better circumstances.”

“Me too, Taeyong.” You stood up on your tippy-toes and kissed his cheek one last time. “Goodbye.”

And with one last look at what used to be your favorite place on earth, you were out the door. You felt like you had done the right thing, but that didn’t lessen any of the pain you were currently feeling. Being with Taeyong had been your joie-de-vivre and you were grateful for him being your first love. Maybe you would meet again one day and this time would be the right one, or maybe not. There was no right or wrong answer. But for now, you’d listen to yourself.

So before you go, you replay every moment in your mind one last time. You forgive Taeyong for all the times he stood you up when you needed him and let your heart be free. And when you finally opened your eyes, you were ready to become the person you deserved to be.

[carry-the-sky]

these heavy words, your open heart

summary

“You told me once that I was honest. That I don’t lie to you. But the hospital—you asked me to start over, and I said I didn’t want that.”

Karen sucks in a breath. Frank’s eyes are still on her, wide and bright. It’s the most vulnerable she’s ever seen him look.

“I lied,” he says.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

“Don’t do that,” Curt says. “Don’t put this on her. She’s a grown-ass woman, she can make her own decisions. This is about you. What do you want?”  

For as long as Frank can remember, the answer was this—to make those responsible for his suffering pay. He never thought beyond that. The city needed a punisher, so that’s what he became.

But now—he thinks about the first time he met Karen, handcuffed to a hospital bed, how she shoved the photo of his family in his face and told him they both wanted the same thing. He knew right then that she was different. She was the first person who saw him, and not a pile of crime-scene photos, or a dead family. Not a monster. She saw him. 

“I want to be with her,” Frank says, and the confession leaves him feeling lighter than he has in years.

Curt smiles wide. “Then go get her, man.”

Frank spends the next day and a half in a daze. His reunion with Karen feels like a dream, a kaleidoscope of moments he replays over and over in his head like he’s afraid he’ll lose them if he doesn’t. He expected her to be angry—hell, he would’ve deserved it—and instead she held his hand, told him he was worth more than a life of punishment and war. Frank knows he sure as shit isn’t, he knows that—but the thing is, when Karen was saying it, he believed her. As long as he’s known her, she’s always had the uncanny ability to look at someone, truly look at them, peel all the bullshit away until what’s left is what’s real.

But this—this is what’s real: He thinks about his last words to her at the hospital, how callously he’d pushed her aside, and he feels sick to his core. The usual excuses he makes for himself—I was protecting her, I was protecting myself—fall away, until all that’s left is shame. He hurt her, and meant to. He did that. 

“So you were an asshole,” Curt says the next time they meet for lunch. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.” 

“That your expert opinion, Dr. Phil?” Frank snarks, swiping a hand over his jaw to hide his smile. 

Curt smirks at him over his french dip. “Deflection. Classic. Look, Frank—self-awareness is half the battle. You know you messed up. What matters now is how you choose to fix it.”

“Yeah? What if it can’t be fixed?”

Curt stares at him for a moment. “Nah,” he finally says, shaking his head, “nah, man, I’m not buying it. That sounds like an excuse to me, an easy way out. The Frank Castle I knew wasn’t a chickenshit, but hey, first time for everything, I guess—”

Frank shakes his head. “Unbelievable, man.” 

“Hey, you brought it up,” Curt says. “I’m just here for the food.” 

They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Frank polishes off his sandwich and orders a second cup of coffee, trying his best to ignore the swell of gratitude rising in his chest. He and Curt take the piss out of each other, but the man is family. He’s always been there, always had Frank’s back when others wouldn’t. Even before he hung up the vest, Frank knew that Curt’s was the first bridge he needed to mend. 

It’s not just Curt, though. Everyone he’s reached out to—David and Sarah, Madani, the kid, Karen—they’ve all taken him back, and it knocks the wind out of him each time. Their kindness, their willingness to forgive—it’s staggering. It’s more than he deserves. 

He says as much to Curt, who laughs in between bites of his potato salad. 

“You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty stupid, Frank. You’ve got people who care about you here, and you’re trying to—what, balance the scales? That’s not how friendship works, brother. You don’t keep score.” 

Frank grips his coffee cup to keep his fingers still. “So, what—it’s all good, now? Everything I’ve done, all the shit I’ve put you through—boom, forgiven, just like that?”

“It’s not all about you, Frank,” Curt says. “No one but you gives two shits about what you think you deserve. That’s not your call. It’s mine, and Karen’s, and anyone else who decides to make the same call. We chose to give you another shot.”

Frank swigs his coffee, more to hide his face than anything. Bastard’s too damn good at his job. 

“You know, I met her,” Curt says, pushing back from the table slightly. 

Frank’s heart kicks. “Who—Karen?” 

“Yep. She reached out to talk to me about all the shit that’s been going down at the VA office. I didn’t put two and two together until later—looked up some of her other articles, and that’s when I recognized the name.” He fixes Frank with a knowing stare. “She’s one hell of a reporter. I can see why you like her.”

“Christ’s sake, Curt, we in high school again?”

“I don’t know, man, you tell me.” 

Frank turns his words over in his head before responding. “After I lost Maria—that was it, you know? She was everything—I never thought about anyone else. Didn’t want to. And now—it feels like part of me’s buried in the ground with her and the other part’s sitting right here. I don’t know what to do with that, Curt.”

“You said it yourself—this is you, now. This is how it is. And Karen has her own shit, like we all do. We’re all just pieces, Frank. That’s all life is. You just gotta figure out how your pieces fit with hers.”

Frank snorts. “You come up with that yourself?”

“Swiped it from a book I’m reading. Pretty good, right? Just the right amount of bullshit.” Curt leans forward, elbows on the table. “It’s simple, Frank—do you want to be with Karen or not?”

“I—” Frank sputters. 

“C’mon, man, answer the question.”

“What do you—” Frank’s jaw clenches, and he swallows hard before continuing. “What do you want me to say, Curt? What about what Karen wants? You think she wants—this? All my baggage and bullshit, how is that fair to her—”

“Don’t do that,” Curt says. “Don’t put this on her. She’s a grown-ass woman, she can make her own decisions. This is about you. What do you want?”

For as long as Frank can remember, the answer was this—to make those responsible for his suffering pay. He never thought beyond that. The city needed a punisher, so that’s what he became.

But now—he thinks about the first time he met Karen, handcuffed to a hospital bed, how she shoved the photo of his family in his face and told him they both wanted the same thing. He knew right then that she was different. She was the first person who saw him, and not a pile of crime-scene photos, or a dead family. Not a monster. She saw him. 

“I want to be with her,” Frank says, and the confession leaves him feeling lighter than he has in years. 

Curt smiles wide. “Then go get her, man.” 

.

He calls her on his way home. It rings three or four times before she picks up, her voice light and warm even over the phone.

“Hi, Frank.” 

His stomach twists. “Hey. Didn’t think you’d recognize the number.” 

“You’re in my phone as Pete. I figured I’d put you in my contacts now that you have a real cell.”

Frank grins. “Yeah, guess it was about time for me to graduate from the burners.”

“About time,” she agrees, and he thinks he can her the smile in her voice. 

“Hey,” he says, “I won’t keep you, but—are you free tonight?”

“Oh, tonight? Um—” she pauses. “Foggy invited me to a New Year’s party, but I was kind of on the fence about going. I can definitely get out of it.”

Embarrassment surges through him, hot and fast. Since losing his family, he hasn’t paid much attention to holidays—this time of year just dredges up painful memories, things he’d much rather stay buried. He didn’t even realize that today was New Year’s Eve. Of course Karen has plans—she has a life, friends, a constellation of things that don’t involve him.  

“Frank?” Karen’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “You still there?” 

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, I’m here. Listen, if you’re busy, that’s fine. I don’t want to pull you away from anything—”

“Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. I love Foggy and Marci, but their parties can be over-the-top. Like I said, I was already thinking about not going. I’ll just tell Foggy I’m coming down with something. He’s a huge germaphobe.” 

Frank’s clutching the phone so hard to his ear that his fingers are starting to ache. “If you’re sure—”

“More than sure. What did you have in mind?” 

.

He shows up at Karen’s place a little after eight. He feels more than a little conspicuous walking down the length of her hallway—what if her suspicious neighbor is home?—but all of that dissolves as soon as Karen opens her door. 

“Any luck?” she says.

He hefts a brown paper sack. “That Thai place on 7th was open. I also brought booze.” 

“In that case—” Karen swings the door wide, smiling.

Her apartment is exactly the same. Maybe a bit more lived in, but that’s good. He pictures his own place, sparsely furnished but functional, and wonders what Karen would think of it. 

“Bottle opener’s on the counter,” she says, closing the door shut behind him and moving towards the kitchen. She says it so casually, like this isn’t only the second time he’s ever been in her apartment. It stirs something up in his gut.

He opens the beers while Karen digs into the takeout bag. They settle onto her couch to eat, and she turns the TV on, flipping through the channels until she gets to the live broadcast of the ball drop. 

“I know it’s stupid,” she says, hitting the mute button, “but we always used to watch it when I was growing up. Just one of those family traditions I can’t seem to shake.” 

He’s not sure what to say to that. Even though he’s known her for a while, Frank still feels like he doesn’t really—know her. She knows his story, got down in the guts of it, everything that happened to him and his family. But he’s never asked her about hers. Not once. 

“Is your family in the city?” he asks, and instantly knows he’s said the wrong thing. Her face darkens, eyes darting to her hands.  

“No,” she says quietly. “My dad’s back in Vermont. That’s where I grew up. I came to New York after my brother died.” 

Frank feels the breath swoop from his lungs, like he’s been kicked in the chest. All this time—all this time he’s been dragging his ghosts around, leaning on her for support, unloading all of his shit onto her, and he never considered she might have ghosts of her own. He remembers standing by the water with her, the ache in her voice when she told him that life is just people fighting not to be alone. She hadn’t just been talking about him. 

Their conversation in the hospital echoes in his ears—What if there’s a better way, what if you and I figure it out together? You could choose to love someone else, instead of another war.

I don’t want that. 

For a second, just a second, Frank lets the shame wash over him like the tide, all-consuming. He lets himself drown in it. 

You know you messed up, Frank. What matters now is how you choose to fix it.

“Karen, hey—” he shifts so he’s facing her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“I never told you,” she says softly. 

“I never asked,” he corrects. 

“Frank—”

“No, Karen—” he sets his beer on the coffee table and gathers her hands in his. “You’ve been in my corner from the beginning, you’ve been there with me through—all of it. I was so wrapped up in my own shit, I never asked you about yours. I’m sorry.”

Karen squeezes his hands. “I appreciate that. But we were in each other’s corners, Frank. You saved my life—twice. That’s not nothing.”

“Still. I never asked.” 

She sighs. “What do you want to know? I can’t say my life story makes for very good holiday conversation—”

“Anything,” he says. “Or nothing, whatever you want. Either way, I’m here.”  

.

They eat their takeout, and Karen talks. She tells him what it was like growing up in Vermont, how easy everything was before her mom got sick, then the diner, and her dad losing himself in it. She talks about the first time she used, skipping class with her boyfriend at the time to do a line under the bleachers.  

There’s so much he wants to ask, but he lets her talk without interrupting. The picture she’s painting is helping to fill in some gaps, like puzzle pieces slotting together. He never doubted who she was at her core, strong and stubborn and unflinchingly fearless—now he knows why.

When she tells him about Kevin, her voice changes. He was an honor roll student, he taught himself to play guitar, he was the only one at the diner who could make the burgers taste like something other than cardboard—there’s sadness there beneath the surface, but it’s not bitter, not like when she spoke about her dad. All Frank can hear is a sister who misses her brother.  

They’re both on their third beer by the time Karen gets to the accident. 

“I was high,” she says, her voice flat. “And I’d been drinking. I flipped the car. I killed him.” 

Frank’s heart is in his throat. He wants to reach out and hold her, take all the hurt and anguish that’s radiating off her and ball it up tight, absorb it from her skin like blood from a wound. He’s not sure he trusts himself to speak, but he forces the words out anyways. “You were a kid, Karen.”

She blinks. “I killed him. God, Frank—” she sinks her fingers into her hair, hands bracketing her face. “I sometimes think I’ve come to terms with it, but I haven’t. Shit like that—you’re not supposed to come back from it. You’re supposed to live with it.” 

“Look, I get it,” he says. “I do. I’d rather live with the pain than work through it. Because I don’t deserve that, right? I don’t deserve to heal and move on. But—a friend told me recently that it’s not up to us to decide what we deserve. Life’s a shitstorm, yeah? Make a mess, clean it up—that’s all you can do.” He gives her arm a gentle squeeze. “It doesn’t define who you are, Karen. It doesn’t.”

Karen smiles sadly. “I’d like to believe that. I really would.” She stares at the TV for a few moments, the light from the screen flickering across her face. Then she shakes her head a little and turns to look at him. “So, that’s me. I’ve never really talked about all of that before. I mean, there are people who know bits and pieces, but—you’re the first to get the extended version. Thanks for listening, Frank.”

“Thanks for trusting me to,” he replies.

Karen’s mouth twists into a smirk. “Well, that got heavy. I’m sure this is exactly what you had in mind when you asked if I was free tonight.” 

The pressure in his chest eases a bit. “What, reliving trauma on a first date? Yeah, definitely. I know how to show a woman a good time.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow. “A date, huh?” 

Frank’s cheeks flush with a warmth that has nothing to do with his drink, but Karen just laughs. “I’m messing with you,” she says. “But technically, the coffee house was our first date.” 

Frank feels his mouth tilt into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Coffee, a public place, neither one of us was injured or bleeding—sounds like a date to me.” 

There’s something loosening up in his chest, something buoyant and warm. Yeah, maybe it’s the two and a half beers, but he doesn’t think so. This feels like something else. 

“Wait—” Karen’s eyes narrow, glancing at something above his head—the clock, he registers, as he follows her gaze. “Wow, it’s midnight already? How long have we been talking?”

He was thinking the same thing. It feels like he just got here.

Karen’s head swivels back to the TV—but the ball has already dropped. The camera is panning over the crowd, confetti and streamers and people wearing oversized 2020 glasses. “We missed it,” she says, but she doesn’t sound disappointed. “That’s okay, I have a better idea. Follow me.” 

She leads him up to her building’s roof. It’s chilly, but she’d snagged the blanket from her couch—she wraps it around her shoulders now, staring out at the city. The sound of cheap firecrackers being set off hits them from every direction, and Frank can see some kids waving sparklers in the street. 

“Hey,” he says, and Karen looks at him. “Sorry again for pulling you away from your friends tonight. Nelson, he’s—he’s a good guy. Underneath all that corporate lawyer bullshit, I mean. Seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” Karen angles towards him. “I’m happy here, though.”

“What, freezing your ass off?” 

She rolls her eyes, and Frank grins. He knows what she actually means. She’s not talking about not her apartment, or the rooftop. She’s talking about here, as in—the two of them, now. This exact moment in time. I’m happy here, with you.

They’ve moved even closer together—Karen’s arm brushes against his, and that simple touch enough to send sparks skittering up his spine. Her gaze softens, slips down to his mouth and then up again. She reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, lips curving like a new moon.

“Happy New Year, Frank,” she says, soft and low. She’s close enough for him to see the birthmark on her cheek, to feel her breath against his skin as she exhales. 

Frank is very aware of his own breathing, his heartbeat thundering under his ribs. Every nerve ending in his body aches to close the distance between them, and he wants to. Fuck, he wants to. But he’s also scared out of his goddamn mind. They’ve crossed a lot of lines together, but not this. Never this. As long as he’s known her, they’ve had snapshots, a slew of moments that never added up to anything, but now—

Now, there’s time. Frank wants to savor every second of it.

“Happy New Year,” he breathes. 

.

They make their way back to the stairwell that leads down to her building, hands threaded together. He feels every point of contact like his skin’s a live wire. They walk in comfortable silence, stealing furtive glances at each other—Frank’s amazed he makes it down the stairs without falling on his face. 

Karen hesitates when they reach her door. There’s a weight to her gaze that wasn’t there before, uncertainty tinged with hope. She opens her mouth to say something, but falters as Frank pulls her into a hug, his arms sliding around her waist. He dips his face into the crook of her shoulder, breathing her in. 

“Thanks, Karen,” he says. 

She cinches her arms around his shoulders, squeezing tight before letting him go. “See you soon?”

He bobs his head. “Night, Karen.”

He walks away down the hall, only daring to breathe when he hears the scrape of her door shutting behind him. The building is full of sound, music and people laughing and those cheap poppers going off, and then he’s outside. He lingers by the front doors, cranes his neck to look up at her apartment. Warm light glows behind her window, framing the flowers like a painting. 

It’s almost painful to pull his gaze away, but he does. He shoves his hands into his pockets and steps onto the sidewalk.

That’s when he hears it—a low whine. 

Frank freezes where he stands, tilting his head as he strains to listen. Fireworks crack a short distance away, and then there’s silence. He stays still for a moment. Then—

Another whine, coming from the alley next to Karen’s building. Frank peers down it. The length of the alleyway is tangled in light and shadow from the nearby streetlight, but if he squints he can just make out something huddled by the dumpster. He moves towards it.

It’s a dog. Its face is tucked under one paw, but at the sound of Frank’s footsteps, it lifts its head. 

Frank knows that face. It’s the dog, the one he followed on the day he’d seen Karen’s flowers. He recognizes the marking over its eye. 

“Hey, you,” he says, squatting. The dog doesn’t growl or make any effort to move away from him, which is how he knows something is wrong. He narrows his eyes, doing a swift visual inspection. The dog’s shaking like a leaf, whether from the cold or something else, he can’t tell. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, you’re not gonna like this, but I’m gonna check you out, yeah? It’s okay—” he reaches out slowly. The dog’s eyes flick nervously from his hand to his face, until he’s resting his palm flat against its flank. “Easy, easy. That’s a good dog.” 

He keeps his hand there for a second. The dog’s eyes never leave his face, and he feels something crack apart inside him. No half-measures, this time. He’s going to do whatever he has to do to make sure it gets out of this okay. 

Frank gives the dog a gentle pat, lifting his fingers lightly. Then he slides his hand over its back, down its sides and up towards the shoulders, checking for any sign of injury. Its fur is matted and dirty, but there aren’t any obvious wounds. Frank’s hand drops to the dog’s leg—and that’s when it nips at him, letting out a yelping bark. 

Frank doesn’t see any bones jutting out, so he’s reasonably sure nothing’s broken. He stretches his hand again towards the leg in question, and this time, the dog bares its teeth in a warning. 

So. Definitely injured. Maybe the bone is fractured, or there’s a torn ligament.

Frank considers his options. Even if it wasn’t a holiday, vet clinics aren’t open this late. There are emergency clinics, but he’d have to somehow get the dog into a cab, and transporting it when he doesn’t know the full extent of the injury might make things worse. 

Frank digs for his phone, and punches Karen’s number.

She picks up almost immediately. “Frank?”

“Hey,” he says, looking down at the dog. “I’m sorry to ask but—I need a favor.”

.

It only takes a few minutes after he hangs up. He’s working out how he’s going to lift the dog without making its pain worse when he hears the sound of a door swinging open behind him.

Karen’s half-jogging towards him, her hair trailing behind her in the thin breeze that’s kicked up. She crouches next to him, and he can see her brandishing a Milk-Bone in one hand. 

“Hey, girl,” she says fondly. The dog whimpers in response.

“You sure it’s the same one?” Frank asks, watching as she holds out the treat. The dog licks at her hand, then gingerly bites into the bone. 

Karen scratches the dog under its chin as it chews. “I’m sure. She has such distinct markings. I first saw her maybe half a week ago, right here in the alley. I called animal control, but I don’t think they ever came. Then I saw her again the same day we met for coffee.” 

Frank’s thoughts turn to the first time he’d met the dog, and what transpired afterwards. “Yeah?”

Karen pivots to look at him, hearing something in his tone of voice. “Why?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but—the day I called you, when I saw the flowers—this dog showed up on my jogging route. I decided to follow it, see if I could maybe get it to a vet, and—it led me here. To your place.” 

Karen hums thoughtfully, rubbing the dog’s ears. “You are a lucky dog, huh?” She shifts on her feet. “Okay, we’d better get her upstairs.” 

It takes a few attempts, but Frank is finally able to slide his arms under the dog’s belly and lift it without jostling the injured leg too badly. Karen offers up treats as a distraction and talks gently to it the whole way up to her floor. They move as a unit, slow but steady. 

“I set up a bed here,” Karen says as soon as they’re in the apartment, gesturing to a hastily arranged nest of blankets and pillows by the couch. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I could do.” 

Frank meets her eyes. “That’ll work fine. Thanks, Karen.”

They work together to gingerly lower the dog onto the makeshift bed. It whimpers when its bad leg brushes against one of the pillows, but otherwise settles. It looks exhausted, casting a half-hearted glance around the room before dropping its head to its paw. 

“My first aid kit is pretty basic,” Karen says, moving into the kitchen. “There’s some bandages in there, though.”

“That’s perfect.” 

Karen returns with the supplies and a bowl of kibble. The dog licks at her fingers when she sets the bowl by its head. 

“She likes you,” Frank observes.

Karen shrugs. “The Milk-Bones helped.” 

“That’ll get you in the front door, but dogs can smell bullshit a mile away. They know when someone’s heart is good, yeah? This one—she knows.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad we finally got her out of the cold.” Karen’s knuckles brush the dog’s nose. “Do you think anyone’s looking for her?”

Frank starts to unravel one of the bandages. “Hard to say. Figured we—I—could take her to a clinic tomorrow, see if she’s chipped. They’ll find a shelter for her if she isn’t.”

“I can go with you,” Karen says. “I mean—I’d like to go with you. I did see her first.” 

Frank huffs a laugh. “Deal.” 

Karen stabilizes the dog while Frank attends to its leg. It makes a rumbling noise in its throat when he gently runs a finger down the length of bone. There’s some slight inflammation around the elbow joint, but he doesn’t want to risk applying an ice compress when the dog is already hypothermic. He settles for wrapping the limb, and Karen helps him lift the leg so that it’s slightly elevated on one of the pillows.

“Think that’s about all we can do for now,” he says. “I can stay up with her for a bit if you want to get some sleep.”

Karen fixes him with a knowing stare. “You know what I’m going to say to that.”

Frank smirks. “Yeah, I know. Thought I’d try anyways.” 

They stay like that for a moment, and then Karen stands, tugging lightly at Frank’s arm to pull him up with her. “Since we’re in for a long night,” she says, “you want some coffee?” 

“You gonna put that sugary crap in it?”

Karen smiles, her teeth flashing. “Extra, just because you said that.” She turns towards the kitchen—

It’s a reflex. In one swift movement, he’s reaching out to stop her, fingers snagging on her sleeve as he pulls her in and presses his lips to hers. She makes a soft sound of surprise against his mouth, and for a second, he thinks she might pull away—but then her hands are cupping his face, sliding around the nape of his neck, and she’s kissing him back. The world slides out of focus, narrows like a scope until it’s just him and Karen and his hands at her waist and the press of their hips and her mouth moving softly against his. 

She pulls away first, breathless. “I was wondering when you were going to do that.” 

Frank tips his forehead to rest against hers. “Wanted to, earlier. I just—I don’t want to mess this up, Karen. Don’t want you thinking I’m here for some reason that I’m not—”

“Frank.” Her fingers are moving in slow circles at the base of his neck, tangling in the hair that’s curled there. He thinks he’ll never get tired of this—how gentle her voice sounds, the feeling of her hands on him. “I want you here. You get that, right? I want this.” 

His hand comes up, thumb dragging along the edge of Karen’s jaw. Lucky, she’d called the dog, but maybe luck has nothing to do with it. They’ve been in each other’s orbit ever since she crossed that red hospital tape. He thinks he knew, even then—

Wherever this woman is, that’s where he’s supposed to be.

“Okay,” he says, lips grazing hers. He feels her shudder, and warmth unspools in the pit of his stomach. 

“Okay,” she whispers back, and kisses him again.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 31)

Sokka groans, she still hasn’t spoken to him since the night they’d looked at the lights. She isn’t being hostile, but Raava he’d almost prefer it to her cold shoulder. Frankly, he never thought that a firebender could be that cold, perhaps he hadn’t wrapped her in enough parkas after all.

He watches Azula emerge onto the deck and tries a little wave. She returns it with a degree of nonchalance.

Alright, he decides to himself, so maybe she isn’t giving him the cold shoulder but she has definitely been distant. They are two days into their boat ride and she hasn’t come to him with her sleep troubles at all.

The worst of it is that he isn’t entirely sure why. Had not answering her right away really been such an offense? “Can we talk?” He asks as she passes.

“No.” It is a single word and she slips away. Slinking across the deck as though he hadn’t spoken at all. He watches her find TyLee and reluctantly invite herself into whatever discussion the girl is having with Mai. He supposes that he is happy for her, she has managed to bring herself closer to the two of them again, even if she lacks some of the social graces.

“You two fighting again?” Katara asks.

“No!” He answers. “Yes? I don’t know. She’s just not talking to me. But she hasn’t lit my close on fire yet, so that’s a good sign, right?”

“Well what were you talking about before she stopped talking to you?” Katara inquires.

Sokka gulps. His face might be going a shade pink. He isn’t sure if he should tell her. How the hell is he supposed to break the news that he is falling for the person who’d persistently attacked them for the longest time.

“Well?”

“I uh...she asked me if I…”

“If you…” she encourages with a hand gesture.

“If I love her.”

Katara’s mouth falls agape. “And what did you say?” She sputters, her voice a hair higher than usual.

“Nothing.” He replies. “I didn’t say anything and then she stomped--sort of, she kind of tried to stomp but her feet kept getting stuck in the snow and so she had to just walk--back to our house.”

Katara sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, giving him the impression that he is absolutely clueless. “You can’t just say nothing when someone asks you if you love them!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Answer the question, Sokka.”

.oOo.

“Awww,” TyLee gushes and Azula has to turn away to hide the light shade of pink creeping over her cheeks. “And what did he say!?”

“He didn’t say anything, TyLee.” She crosses her arms.

“Hmmm…” She hums.

“What am I supposed to make of nothing?”

“That he doesn’t like you and you should find someone who isn’t a moron.” Mai shrugs.

“He’s not a moron. Unlike your boyfriend.” Azula grumbles.

Mai shrugs again, “all of the men on this boat are idiots.”

“I don’t know.” TyLee replies. “Maybe he didn’t reply because he’s still thinking about it. Or maybe he does love you! And he just got shy.”

“Why would he get shy?” Azula asks.

“Because you’re...you.” She replies. “You’re an intimidating person.”

And yet he has seen her bawling and shaking like a child or a cornered and wounded animal. He can’t imagine that, that is intimidating.

“And you’re pretty and smart and maybe he doesn’t think that he can match up!”

Her flattery is rather nice, but she takes it with a grain of salt. Granted, she has decided that TyLee is the prefect person to ask about this. At the very least, she is enthusiastic. Azula finds herself glad that she has chosen to try to mend things between the two of them. Though she wonders if it was a feat only made possible because there is such a large portion of her missing.

“I think that you should ask him again.” She smiles.

“And this time give him time to answer.” Mai adds in a monotone drawl.

.oOo.

She ought to do it, she ought to ask him again, or at least resume talking to him. Her mind is loud again, loud and full of dark visions as it takes her through moments she has already lived. She wants to wander in by Sokka again but she doesn’t want to leave him with the impression that she is using him. That she only speaks to him when she needs comfort. So her legs carry her back to Zuko’s cabin. As of late, when the phantom tingling in her arms worsen and the past replays itself in her nightmares, she finds herself pestering her brother. He lets her take the top bunk and talks to her until her words break off into a sleepy murmur. It isn’t the same as spending the night with Sokka but it is its own kind of reassuring. This time she doesn’t bother knocking. He is still awake and doesn’t question her as she climbs back onto the top bunk.

He gives her a few moments to settle in before asking, “what do you want to talk about tonight?”

Tonight has been ludicrously rough, her nightmares much more potent and she wants to attribute it to her hatred of the sea combined with how recently she’d relived her days in the compound. “Can you tell me about your scar?” She imagines that this is a topic that will have strength enough to keep her attention.

She hears him suck in a deep breath.

“Nevermind.” She mumbles.

“No. It’s fine, I’ll tell you.” He replies and then he goes silent again.

“Let me guess, that’s my fault too?” She asks softly.

“No!” He replies quickly and much more hushed he adds, “it was our father’s fault.”

Her brows furrow. Their father. Truth be told she hadn’t thought much of him. Hadn’t even considered how bizarre it is that she hasn’t seen either of her parents yet. There is so much going on in her mind… “why haven’t I met them yet.”

“Because Ozai--father is in prison and mom is visiting our uncle in the Earth Kingdom.”

“Did he go to prison for burning your face?”

Zuko shakes his head. “Sokka told you about the war right.”

“Parts, yes.” She answers. “He only really told me about my part in it.”

“Well it was our father who sent you out to go after me. He’s the one who…” he trails off. “I think that a lot of what you did was his fault. He was always turning us against each other.”

Azula inhales, her chest constricting slightly at that mention.

“He was evil. He’s still evil, but he’s evil in prison now. He was going to burn the entire Earth Kingdom to the ground so that he could rule over everything. And he had you go out and conquer things in his name and you. You liked it.”

Azula curls her hands into the fabric of the pillow. In and of itself it is disturbing to know. But that she had managed several successes… “what’s wrong with me?”

She can sense him going tense on the lower bunk. “I didn’t mean that. I mean…” he breaks off with a frustrated groan. “I don’t think that you’re like him. For a while I did, but you’re different now.”

This only sinks her heart further. “When we get to the Foggy Swamp, I was thinking that we can just shut the facility down, make the arrests, and be on our way. I think that I’m better off without my memories.  And besides, I’d rather not risk losing the ones I have now if something goes wrong.”

“Don’t say that.” He says.

“People like me more now, I’d rather have that. Anyways, my past doesn’t exactly sound cheerful.”

“If you’re worried about going back to the way he--father--wanted you to be I don’t think that you should. I think that everything that’s happened since you lost them will matter more to you than what came before that.”

Azula draws her legs to her chest.

“And if it helps, even before you lost your memories I realized you weren’t like him. Ozai is a lost cause. You’re more like me.” He pauses.

“Why would you say something so rude?” Azula snickers.

“Gee thanks.” He grumbles, she detects a faint trace of amusement before his tone goes serious again. “Did Sokka ever tell you what I did before making friends with Aang?”

“No.”

“Well for one thing, I burned a whole village on Kyoshi Island. It was where Sokka’s girlfriend lived. And I sent a hitman to kill them all…”

“Oh wait, he did mention that.” She mumbles more to herself. “The hit man anyways. I can’t picture you as the type to burn a whole village down. Not on purpose anyways.”

“Ha. Ha.”

She snickers again.

“My point is, our father got us both to do awful things. But I had mom and uncle. You only had him. I’m glad that he’s not around you anymore or me. Because you have a chance now.”

“I suppose that that’s good to know.” She notes, not even conveying half of the relief that is swelling in her chest. She supposes that she can’t be horrible to her core if it brings her that much comfort knowing that she hadn’t been completely unsalvageable before the Vine Facility.

“Anyways, I knew that our father was evil from the start. I was thirteen when he challenged me to an Agni Kai.”

“Agni Kai?” Azula sits up and climbs down to join him on the bottom bunk. He sits up and makes room.

“Oh right, you don’t remember what those are.” He says aloud. “It’s a one on one dual between two firebenders. It’s a fight for honor and ends when one opponent burns the other.”

Azula nods. “Father wanted to hurt you.” It isn’t a question but rather a repetition of what she already knows.

“Yeah. A grown man wanted to burn his thirteen year old son because he spoke out of turn. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight our father because I...still loved him. I believed in him.” He shakes his head. “And even if I could have fought him, I didn’t stand a chance.” She can see tears glistening down his cheeks and thinks that perhaps she should reach out. But she also thinks that doing so would be awkward. So instead she holds her hands in her lap and stares at her palms.

“And while I was looking up at him, begging him not to do it…” He touches his fingers to the scar. “You and uncle were there.”

She can add that to the list of things better off unmemorized.

“After that he banished me. Told me that he didn’t want to see my face again because I’m an embarrassment. You found me a few days later and were able to convince him to let me have a ship and a crew and uncle.”

“I did something good?”

He gives a soft smile and nudges her on the arm. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you that you’re not like him.”

“Our father burned you…” she trails off. Suddenly she wonders what he has done to her. Just as much, she doesn’t want to. “A man with honor wouldn’t fight a child. Or anyone significantly below his skill level.”

“You always fought me.” He points out.

“Then I must have found that you could hold your own against me. Even if you couldn’t win.” She shrugs.

“You think that I’m a good firebender?”

“I haven’t see you do it much, but if you can fight me and come out alive then you have to be at least somewhat competent.” She pauses to consider the alternative. “That or we’re both horrendously subpar.”

He laughs. “You’re not subpar.”

She stands up and heads for the ladder.

“Thanks.”

“It’s the truth. You can’t be that bad if…”

“No. For telling me that it’s father who has no honor.”

“Oh, yes, well that is also the truth.”

He laughs once more. “You’re still terrible at being comforting.” Before she can climb up he adds, “but somehow that is kind of comforting.”

“Glad that I can help?”

“If you have trouble sleeping, I’m down here.”

“Yes, I know. Good night, Zuzu.”

She hears him give an exaggerated groan. “Why is it that no even a memory wipe could erase dumb that nickname!?”

“Because it holds more power than the both of us.” She murmurs. “Good night, Zuzu.”

“Good night.”

Azula pulls the covers up to her chin. She thinks that she might just have a peaceful night after all. She only needs to sort things out with Sokka. In the meantime it is a kindness to know that she isn’t resented. That, even at her darkest she hadn’t been so truly terrible that her own brother could write her off. Again she finds herself toying with the idea of calling her memories back. She sighs and decides to put that line of thinking aside for the night and take comfort in ridiculous nicknames and potential and highly cringeworthy sibling bonding.

[taesbetch]

02 | Blood//Water

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Gory, Smut (eventually) Mafia!AU

Summary: Taehyungs life has become consumed with the gang lifestyle. But when he becomes a bit too greedy he endangers the only person he's ever truly cared about. Fighting fire with fire is never a good idea, but Taehyung is lit match in a room full of gasoline, will everyone make it out unburnt?

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous | Next 

Normally waking up in the morning wouldn’t usually include a panic attack due to the unfamiliar surroundings and the foggy memories of the night before. But there you were, clutching your chest as it tightened in fear, throwing your breathing into a haze.

Gasping for air you tried to silence yourself as not to draw attention to your room but the sobbing and inevitable noise that came with your bodies need for air was too much for you to hold back.

Your eyes stung as they adjusted to the light breaking through your curtains; controlling your breathing you allowed your body to shake in confusion, your suddenly exposed skin covered in Goosebumps. Missing the warmth your bed had provided you dove back under the covers still weeping uncontrollably You let the remaining tears fall onto your blanket as you wrapped it around your body.

Finally normalising your breathing pattern, you let the silence of the room you were in relax you and let your mind drift to anything other than focusing on what your future held. Your body felt sticky and gross, probably due to the amount of sweating you had been doing both during the extreme events and through the night.

Looking towards the bathroom you thought it wouldn’t hurt to wash yourself. You had been blessed with amenities, so you might as well take advantage of them. Turning on the shower you thought about why you were being treated so nicely, why you were being protected.

Taehyung wouldn’t confirm anything, but all of this must mean the two of you would’ve met.

Trying to rake your mind for answers you let the hot water hit your skin as you thought hard through your memories trying to find him hidden in one of them. Flashes of your childhood ran through your mind, pressing their painful edges to the front of your mind.

“Take her with you! I don’t want her! You’ve successfully fucked up our child so she’s your problem now!” you saw the outline of your mother as she shoved you towards who you knew to be your father-

Shaking your body out of replay mode you breathed out with a heavy grunt as you let the water hit your face, cleansing yourself of the painful past you had tried so hard to move past. Thinking back to the day your mother left you with your alcohol addicted father you never fully understood why.

Your childhood was filled with gaps in your memory, things that your mother and father would fight about that just didn’t make sense to you. not only did the love to argue over who made you worse, they constantly fought over who would have the burden of taking care of you – successfully making you feel like shit.

Getting out of the shower, you looked at the clothes you were given. All the clothes were either black, grey or white – their shape long or baggy to hide whatever they were placed over. You rolled your eyes before grabbing one of the many sweatpants and jumpers.

Timing seemed to be on your side, just as you readjusted the heavy material you heard locks moving and keys jingling. As the door opened you were greeted with a cheery smile from hoseok, his calm demeanour making you gravitate towards him, almost like a safe place in this unfamiliar mess.

“Come with me, I got permission to take you to the rooftop, you’ll feel better up there” Hoesok smiled as he held your door open, signalling with his hand to follow him. You walked towards him with your eyes wide. You could leave your room???

Of course, leaving your room with an escort was not freedom but if you were to pick someone out of the people you had met last night, it would be hoseok.

The walk up to the rooftop was silent as you took in your surroundings the halls ways consisted of the same colours in your wardrobe. Black, grey and white. You heard the chatter of others every now and then, but you saw no faces to match their voices.

As you reached the door you realised how much taehyung must trust taehyung and how capable the man must be. He was the only one guarding you and the only one watching you.

“You probably have a lot of questions – I know it must suck so now that it's just you and me. Ask away and I’ll let you know what I can” He stated. Your lips parted in awe as the two of you walked onto the roof, the view of the lake below knocking the breath out of you.

As you sat yourselves down on a bench nearby you sighed as for the first time in a hot minute you felt relaxed.

“well, what did he do? Why does he have to protect me?” you asked as you watched the lake glisten underneath the suns gaze. Hoesok was right about the roof making you feel better. The breeze was soft and cool, and the day was bright and warm. It was almost impossible to have a bad mood on a day like this with a view like this.

“we were supposed to be working in collaboration with the block boy’s gang but taehyung scammed them to get what he wanted. Told them he’d give them fifty to off someone for him and only gave them twenty not to mention the gang that we were working together to take down is not one you wanna mess with. Taehyung purposely withheld certain information from the block boys to get them to agree with his plan. In the end, they lost both their scout and chameleon. ”

“fifty dollars seems a bit cheap for murder” You muttered as that was the only piece of information your brain had take from what he said.

“no, I mean fifty thousand” He laughed as he threw his head back.

“sorry what?!” you chocked, your breath catching in your throat.

“what you think you can just pay people fifty dollars to take a life?” he asked, his eyebrow raised as you looked at him like a deer in headlights.

“well…yea some of them” you said as you shrugged your shoulders.

“anyway, what did you mean by scouter and chameleon?” you asked as you turned yourself towards him, trying to get comfortable on the steel bench.

“well those are just nicknames for whatever part we play” he explained.

“So, each person has a position in the gang?”

“yep, there’s the scout, the sniper, the shadow and or chameleon, the hitman, the planner, the hacker and the leader. It’s pretty much just as it sounds. I could go into more detail but taehyung doesn’t want me telling you too much” Hoseok smiled as you closed your eyes in frustration.

“which one are you?” you asked as you analysed him, trying to figure it out.

“which one do you think I am?” he said with a cheeky grin. His eyes were sparkling and kind, his face always seems familiar and the way he held himself was that of everybody else.

“to be honest, you don’t really look like you’d be in a gang” You stated looking at the man who you assume was just a regular guy. That’s when it hit you. chameleons are known for blending in…

“ohhhhhh, you’re the chameleon!” You exclaimed excitedly.  

You smiled happily before remembering you had restrictions on what else he could tell you.

“So what else am I permitted to know” Your voice laced with sass and annoyance. Hoseok smiled before thinking for a second.

“ask and I’ll answer or deny” He added as he folded his arms over his chest.

“mmm, how did taehyung get into all this gang shit?” You asked hoping the answer would somehow help you understand how you were involved in all of this.

“Sorry, denied” he sighed.

Grunting you bite your lip trying to think of another question.

“How did you get into all of this gang shit?” You asked, the guy seemed to nice and to normal to be into this stuff.

“I needed to pay off my sister's hospital bills. Taehyung was nice enough to take in an untrained useless piece of crap and turn him into who I am today. I owe a lot to him” He said as his eyes travelled to the view in front of you.

“How's your sister doing now?” you asked hesitantly, sensing what the answer was.

“She unfortunate didn’t make it but its okay, she’s better off now,” He said before taking a deep breath of fresh air.

“I hate to do this to you, but I've gotta take you back now,” he said giving you a sympathetic look.

“thanks for talking to me, don’t tell the others but, you're my favourite” you joked while sending him a wink. He laughed before the two of you stood up.

Making your way back to your room the two of you were silent again, your ears were listening out for any discussions going on, one that would maybe tell you something about the man who was ‘protecting’ you.

“Taehyung!” Hoseok greeted as the two of you approached your room.

“I guess I'll be leaving you here” Hoseok said giving you a supportive smile before walking away. You looked at taehyung as he unlocked your door. staring you down as you started walking inside his hands reached out to grab your arm, his grip soft.

“wait-“before he could continue what he was saying a voice you knew all to well yelled out to you. The blonde-haired man you were best friends with appeared out of nowhere, the man who broke the heart of your other best friend was now standing in front of you, grinning from ear to ear.

Your heart stopped; for a split-second, happiness ran through your body. Your friend who had gone missing was alive and well…but why was he here? When the realisation hit you – anger and hurt consumed you.

“Mark what the fuck!” You shouted in shock, the feeling of betrayal setting in quicker than that of happiness. His smile dropped as he realised his current dilemma.

“You haven’t told her that Sana and I were sent by you?” he asked in confusion – taehyung face tightening at the sudden revelation. He looked at you sadly before his mouth opened, no sound came out as he tried to explain himself.

You marched into your room, running a hand through your hair as taehyung dismissed mark.

“So your telling me that you’ve infiltrated every aspect of my life?! What the fuck? Why!” You yelled as taehyung closed the door behind him, clearly already tired of this conversation.

“For your protection”

“FROM WHAT! THE BLOCK BOYS! Have you thought that maybe I would have been safer without your interference! That maybe if you would’ve just stayed the hell away from me I would have had a happier and safer life. God! What is wrong with you! My whole life is basically a lie, all because you have some obsession with me, for reasons I don’t know and that you won't let me know because ‘you can’t explain it right now!” You yelled at him, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails draw blood from your skin.

“calm down” he ordered, his eyes narrow and dark. Though he didn’t seem shocked at your sudden outburst he defiantly wasn’t pleased with it.

“no! I’m not gonna calm down! I don’t know you! I have gone through every memory possible and I have no freaking clue who you are!” You shouted, your face red with fury and your heart heavy with the knowledge that your life had been filled with subtle lies.

“every memory possible?” he asked his voice deep and taunting.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, not letting his intimidating voice scare you into submission.

“Even the ones you can’t remember? The ones locked away in the blank spots in your mind?” He asked, his voice harsher than before. You could see some form of hurt in his eyes but it was for reasons you didn’t understand. You stood there in shock, no one knew out your blank spots – but here he was, calling you out on them.

“How do you know about that…” you said quietly, your eyes tearing up from confusion and pain. Wer4e the people you called your friends ever your friends? Why was this boy from parts of your life you can’t remember so determined to keep you in his life? What were you missing?

“You don’t know me because I’m the part of your life you can’t remember. And trust me. It's better that you don’t”  He growled. His voice booming with authority. Although he wanted to leave the conversation there, you were keen to keep it going.

As you inhaled, ready to shout about how unfair it is for him to keep the information he knows about you hidden a loud banging on the door interrupted you.

“Boss!” A voice that you identified as Jungkooks shouted.

“WHAT!”

“we just got news that the block boys are planning an attack” He answered. His tone unbothered by taehyungs

“on the mansion? That’s ridiculous” Taehyung shot back, his ear getting closer to the door.

“apparently they’ve got help” you heard before the sounds of feet running got further away from the door.

Taehyung shot you a look before grunting and angrily exiting your room. As the door slammed shut You sat on your bed with a huff, still too emotionally riled up by the argument to fully comprehend what jungkook had said. Taehyungs rival was planning an attack. They were coming for revenge. Which means they were coming for you.

AN: Its short but it felt weird to have the other part i wrote in with this chapter - like...well i can’t spoil anything but the next chapter will be longer and more...mmmm action packed.

[noythe]

Of Oracles and Kings

After surely enough hours of thinking I finally managed to write down, what I am thinking of the Prologue of Episode Ardyn. Everything I gathered since the release of Final Fantasy XV will be used in this post, probably not pleasing every single individual - but this is my opinion alone.

All the facts I am going to list are part of the Game, may it be from several translation sources - as far as the german was closer to the original japanese, I considered a few things from there, too.

Remember, this is a post made by someone who hated Ardyn on an early stage, but fell in love with the chancellor after enough time, fancfiction - replays and so on. But I will edit this whenever I find something new that is a reliable source.

Now is your last time to turn back, if you are an Ardyn hater or want to spill more fire into it.. Last chance to scroll past this. Thanks.

And by all means. Whatever I have written down there - this does not justify what he had done in the game.

1: Izunia

Ardyn Lucis Caelum. The name we all got to know during the stage of the game, as Noctis goes into the chrystal. The tale of the accursed. I guess I do not have to repeat this. We all know it very well. But the first name we stumble over by this handsome traveller with that voice like silk -> Izunia.

So, in the Dossier by german translation it was stated, that the Name of Ardyn was Izunia.. Before they became Lucis Caelum. Considering the Anime now - I have two theories.

They messed up the translation. Again.

Which is hopefully more like to be happening: Before the Plague went down and everything went to hell, everyone might have been normal. Same for Somnus and Ardyn. Only as the world needed it, they were gifted by the Astrals to stop this. Rising over the human limits with their abilities they were given the Name of Lucis Caelum. For whatever reason. I hope this will get finally solved and covered in the DLC.

2: Fleuret/Oracle

We have Aera. A woman that is betrothed to Ardyn and sneaking out to see him. Called the Oracle .Didyou guys ever reconsider that an Oracle was not always meant to heal the people? If we can take the information of the Prologue for granted, Aera was talking to the Astrals/Godsl and spreading their word and plans among the people. Perhaps because she could understand the godlike gibberish. She was no healer. It was Ardyn on his own. They looked up to her and took her word for granted.

So after he was no longer able to heal, I guess the Astrals or Bahamut decided that they needed a new source of Light in this darkness. Because the Plague was not gone after Ardyn was killed/imprisoned/abandoned. But it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be Aera. Even if she looks a lot like Lunafreya and shares her last name as far as I know - she died to protect the man she loved. Besides the shared looks are quite intersting.. Remember the time Ardyn was killing Lunafreya and his entire look softened for a mere second? Perhaps he saw her again.  

So, we see another woman next to Aera - perhaps Gentiana as she was a Messenger of the Gods as well and some Artworks show a dark haired woman that wields the Trident.  It is not confirmed yet, but I guess that she might have assisted Somnus indeed. Just not like the very first Oracle did. 

3: Scourge

While both brothers have their way of dealing with it, I have to say I like Somnus even less than before. Not that he just burned the people alive - he made it worse without noticing, calling his brother a traitor for doing his best to stop the plague from spreading. So in fact, Ardyn cleaned the mess up - his younger asshole brother created. Also - people say that the Memory might a fake. I can nearly assure you it is not. During the early scenes you see Somnus gathering the Victims of the plague. It is night. Do you guys remember what happened in the game during night and with Demons around? Right. The Area got misty/foggy and some particles were flying around. So. GUESS WHAT. There are DOZENS of people. It’s just what happens with all the scourge piled up. As Aera dies Ardyn can’t hold back the darkness he had gathered over an undefined amount of time. Maybe it had been years. So what Somnus had faced with Gil in the beginning.. Was probably NOTHING compared to the darkness Ardyn had been holding back, Same for the moment Ardyn gets stabbed by his brother in the tower/Temple/whatever.As the entire Scourge that was gathered in his body is released, it’s all dark. This is one of the effects of the scourge. Don’t play it down. So killing someone with the scourge is not an option, as we saw it only spreads ( Reference: The ‘Death’ of Ardyn during the ending) Unlike the method Ardyn used -> Taking it in and keeping it contained. That gives me to think..Did Lunafreya heal it the same way like Ardyn did? Was she getting that weak because of it and the Covenants? 

There probably was a way to clear it. Perhaps a special rite whatever. But that was never mentioned. Maybe Ardyn was just send to sacrifice himself with all the Scourge, only given this task. One live in exchange of countless. But we know how this played out.

4: Kings

I noticed some people claiming that Ardyn was in the end selfish as he announced himself King. He didn’t. He never really did. First of all he was traveling alone and in secret, admired by the people he helped with a real solution. They despised Somnus for what he did - and I can’t blame them. If someone would burn my entire family just for the sake of ‘preventing’ things, I would be pissed too. 

Ardyn was loved by the people. They asked him to be king. They had chosen him. And he knew what kind of burden that would be, but for the sake of them - he would have been their king.  We see Aera talking to the Chrsystal - performing some kind of ceremony to listen and spread their word. It was Somnus who asked. But the ones seeing the scene don’t know what was told. Only Aera and Somnus know - at least that was what I thought. But recalling Episode Ignis helps here. The Chrystal itself tells us there, that Ardyn was indeed chosen.

They call out Ardyn and he ends up in the same room - Somnus seems to snap, revealing his master plan to get Ardyn to them because they had lost him before and says that he is the chosen one. Somnus lied. Otherwise Aera wouldn’t be so surprised. He didn’t even wait for HER to announce it. Aera the Oracle - the messenger of the god, the voice the people would listen to.

So I assume that Somnus is indeed the jealous King Ardyn told us about.

That he was in the end rejected by Chrystal was not his fault. Ardyn hadn’t done anything wrong in this case. He had tried to fulfill his calling - knowing what would happen. Sadly we have no real information about this but I really guess that Ardyn was talking the truth. He was erased from history. And we know that Somnus felt guilty. 

5: Curse and Blessing

We know that Ardyn is immortal. Unless Noctis shows up and fulfills his calling and cleans up the mess Somnus and Bahamut had created.

We also know that the Oracle promised Ardyn to remember him always - even if no one else would. Foreshadowing? Perhaps. Perhaps she had seen the future like Ignis did during his Episode. Words she used during the gameplay trailer reveal, that she wanted Ardyn to live ( I guess she meant him. And I guess the scene was a dream that haunts him during the 2000 years or after his freedom.)

Maybe she had used these words before, trying to encourage him. Perhaps she had known about the state he was in. Maybe she knew he had a calling to follow. This is just a theory of mine and I can’t say for sure how this will play out. But I hope SE will play it smoothly, otherwise I will be mad af. But he calls it himself Both during the train-scene. My thougts on that. The Blessing part might be indeed from Aera.. While the curse keep him chained to this world and far from the woman he had loved.

6: Lies

There is no good or evil, only thinking makes it so.

If it would be a twisted memory, I assume we would know. Ardyn had suffered a lot. He had seen people die he cared for. He had lived, loved and in the end found peace. People say that this insight into the Episode might be twisted because it is Ardyn’s story we’re talking about. Think about it again. Aera is telling us the story and we have enough proof that he is talking the truth. As it is even said by the developers that the Anime will show the side of Ardyn we didn’t know so far. It is confirmed.

(And if someone screams. BUT THE PLACES ARE DIFFERENT - Watch the prologue again, or at all.... Watch it for real. And notice the details, temple area, open at the sides, different time. It is as confirmed as I can say now. If SE tricked us.. Well. I just can work with what I have. There is no mistake in the Animation or such. Watch it 200 times if you have to. I can point it out by seconds, but I am too lazy for that.)

To erase every single trace of Ardyn in history, Somnus had to work cleanly. I have to say, Somnus did good by that. Either because he burned everyone alive who knew or made sure the day was never mentioned like it happened.

But why isn’t  Aera mentioned? Somnus erased Ardyn from history. Guess you wouldn’t want anyone to know that you actually killed his fiancé, because you’re a mad,stupid idiot she knew the truth that he didn’t. Sad death. I hope they’re happy in the Afterlife. They deserve it.

 A lot has been lost. No one had known. No one. And to be fair, a common  quote I stumbled across lately a lot: History is written by winners.

He calls himself noble, thinking that his actions are the right ones. Maybe that’s why he burned the people alive. But burning innocent people is not noble. There is nothing noble about killing the fiancé of your brother and calling her a foolish woman. There is nothing noble of tricking your brother and cursing him, giving him no choice but to mourn for the love he had. Good job Somnus. It took your nearly 2000 years to realize and ask your friendly younger version to give Ardyn peace, huh. A little bit late, asshole. No, I don’t forgive you.!

To finish this for now, I have to say: Ardyn deserved better. Same for Aera. It is a tragedy. 

Not you, Somnus, I hope I can smash you in an epic-long-ass-bossfight during the DLC: Otherwise my comrades-Character will wipe the Lucian floor with your remaining body parts. I hope we get more answers during the DLC and can’t wait to finally play it.

[benjikarofsky]

Caught Up || Para

WHO: Benji Karofsky (@benjikarofsky) and Topher Pierce (@topherxpierce​).

WHERE: Benji’s apartment

WHEN: 26th March 2019

NOTES: Worried about his best friend’s sudden drinking, Topher visits Benji to make sure he’s okay. After Toph drops a bombshell, Benji shows he’s more like his brother than he’ll admit. 

TRIGGERS: N/a.

BOLD: Benji

ITALIC: Topher

WORD COUNT: 3039

While Benji had had a few drinks here and there before, he had never been drunk. At least until last night; between his emotion-filled hook-up with Franco and dealing with the aftermath, this week had been one Benji wanted nothing more than to forget--and given that this was the second day in a row of him being plastered, he was well on his way. 

At the sound of a knock, Benji hobbled over and swung open his front door. "Toph-ie!" he slurred, a 4loko in one hand. "You came!"

Topher honestly didn't know what to make of this situation. Not one bit. After all, these types of situations weren't an everyday occurrence. All the same, the former Serpent had made the trip to Taco Bell then to Benji's as an ever increasing number of thoughts competed for attention in the back of his mind. What did Benji want to forget? Why turn to alcohol and not try to pile on better memories? Who should get read the riot act first? 

 All of those questions got locked away as he'd knocked on the door and was soon greeted by Benji. "Yeah, I did and got the Taco Bell as requested," Topher responded while he held up the bag in order to show he was speaking the truth.

"Awe, you're the greatest!" Benji replied, hugging Topher before the other boy could protest. "Wanna come in?" he offered, pulling again and backing up, taking a swig out of the can as he did. "I'm just watching Moana again." He pointed to the TV, the movie paused on the screen. "It's fun to sing along to when you're toasted. Some of the songs are so fast though!" He burst into a fit of giggles and plopped down on the sofa. "I'm sorry, Toph-ie. I'm rambling, aren't I? My head just feels so foggy," he explained, starting to giggle again.

Topher managed to return the hug as well as give a light smile as he answered, "Actually, the title of greatest goes to you and sure, I'll come in." With that said, he entered the oh so familiar apartment and simply listened to Benji as he set the food out on the coffee table. "Yeah, a whole lot of those songs are tough to keep up with, regardless of whether you're sober or drunk as a skunk. But the rambling's fine, nothing to apologize for. Actually, leave the apologizing for everything to me."

Benji tilted his head, putting down the can so he could pick up the remote. "What? Toph-ie, why are you apologizing?" he questioned, pattering to the arm of the sofa and propping his elbows up on it so he could see his best friend better. "You didn't do anything!"

The youngest Pierce perched himself on one of the arms of the sofa once he was done with the food and was about to start watching the movie when he noticed that Benji had paused it. Topher's gaze turned to face his best friend in order to convey that he was paying attention to what was being said. "I may not have done anything tonight, but there are plenty of other things to apologize for. Besides, it's just my thing, you know? Apologize for stuff so other people don't have to or whatever."

Benji frowned, his eyes not leaving Toph. "Plenty things?...Like what?" He asked, "I don't think you've done anything..." A little off thanks to all the drinking, Benj found himself getting lost in Topher's eyes. "I think you're perfect."

"It's a long and complicated story that would be lost to a hangover," Topher replied with a light shrug then allowed a soft smile to appear on his face. "Again, you're such a sweetheart and maybe you're right about me not having done anything, but I still feel like I have. Anyway, I think you're perfect too, Benji. We're like pieces of a puzzle in terms of cliches."

Benji giggled, his face turning pink. "I love it when you talk all literature-esqe, Toph-ie," he admitted, too drunk to notice what slipped. "I think we're perfect too."

A light blush started to paint Topher's cheeks at the compliment, yet he quickly moved to cover his face until it went away.  When the burning feeling started to dissipate, he turned in order to face Benji again. "I'm glad you do. That's a big worry of mine, that I might be accidentally boring somebody with all the literature related talk. We make a pretty excellent duo and I hope that continues for the rest of our lives."

"You'll never bore me, Toph-ie," he assured, giving his best friend a soft smile. "C'mon. Let's watch Moana!" he said excitedly, scooting back a bit, then pulling Topher's arm so he would fall into the sofa seat next to him. "I just re-started it, so you didn't even miss anything important."

Topher allowed himself to be pulled down onto the sofa with the same soft smile on his face, although he also made plenty of mental notes that he was here for one reason alone. To continue doing his best to be a great friend. "Thanks for restarting it Ben," he softly responded then allowed himself to relax just a hint and let bits of stress melt away for the time being.

After Benji pressed play on the movie, he cuddled up to Toph, laying his head in the crook of Topher's shoulder. Although this was far from the first time the two had been affectionately close, a sober Benji would have probably opted to stay on his side by himself--there would've been less temptation that way. 

 "...Toph?" Benj asked, breaking the silence, "when you said you feel like you did something... what did you do?

Topher's attention had admittedly drifted right back to the movie, so Benji's voice almost made him jump off the sofa. In moments though, he'd recovered his usual calm exterior and gave a light shrug so as to not dislodge the other male. "I don't want to give too much away because it'll just be lost by morning, but I've been thinking about some things," the youngest Pierce simply stated. 

A few moments later, he took a deep breath then added, "One of them is that I'm considering going back to the Serpents. With the Black Hood running wild, I want to keep an eye on my loved ones and have people ready to help out with that if necessary."

Immediately, Benji was forced to remember Toph's time in the gang--every day, he was stuck worrying about his best friend, and his nights were seemingly devoted to cleaning Toph's wounds and making sure he was okay. With everything else going on in Benji's life, he couldn't bare to have Toph rejoin that life; he wouldn't be able to handle it emotionally. 

"...No," Benji said firmly in response, barely moving from his place on Toph's shoulder. "You're not re-joining the Serpents. I'm not gonna let you."

To put it simply, Benji's current tone felt like a knife to the heart. As much as Topher seriously didn't want to risk a fight starting between them, his mind was already formulating plans. He remembered everything that his best friend had done for him during those two years he was a Serpent and would forever be grateful as well as hold the guilt related to causing worry on his shoulders. But, the youngest Pierce only sighed as he closed his eyes. 

 "Ben, it'd be better for everyone if I went back. Sure, I'm not as strong as I used to be physically, but apparently plenty of Serpents make up for that and mental strength is fine. Plus, it would help me rest easier at night if I knew that I could have extra pairs of eyes on my loved ones."

"No, Toph." Benji stressed, turning around to stare him in the eye. "If you wanna help your loved ones, you do that by staying out of this. What good is an extra set of eyes if now I have to go back to worrying about whether you're gonna make it home at night?" He bit his lip, his mind still too cloudy to be able to formulate his thoughts the way he wanted to. "You will never understand how much I care about you, and if you re-join the Serpents, it will do more harm than good. For you, for me, and for everyone else. I'm putting my foot down on this one."

"I've already tried staying out of it, Benji and I hate that you worried about me then more than words can say. But I'll be alright either way," Topher stated. His fingers started to tap against his leg as the conversation started to replay over and over in the back of his mind. "Listen, I care in a way that words can't express too. I feel like I've run out of options though or maybe I didn't even have a range in the first place. All I know is that I believe it would be in the long term best interests of my loved ones if I went back, potential risks be damned."

"NO!" Benji shouted. In the back of his mind, he knew the alcohol was affecting his temper, but with everything going wrong this week, he couldn't afford to ruin things with Topher as well. "You're not listening! Because if you cared about me, you wouldn't even be considering this! This town is getting worse by the second! People have been maimed and people have been killed! You're not rejoining the Serpents, Topher! I refuse!"

The shout definitely got his attention and immediately, Topher's body language softened. He definitely wasn't going to back down from this so soon, but blue eyes were alight with the usual caring nature that was on display when around loved ones. "I really don't want to argue about this, especially with you. Yes, things around Riverdale are in a constant downward spiral and terrible things have happened to plenty of people. You and so many other people in my inner circle mean the world to me, I want the best for you guys. Benji, please understand me when I say that there is a method to this madness, even if it doesn't seem like it." He took a few moments to close his eyes and take a deep breath then focused his attention on his best friend once again. "It's late and you're drunk, plus I didn't even want to bring this up. Can we table this until the near future?"

"Do you think me being drunk has anything to do with this?!" Benji asked, his voice booming. "Topher, you are one of the smartest guys I've ever met! You can't actually think that this is the best way to protect the people you care about! Do you understand how much I care about you?! If you got really hurt or worse, I would literally never recover! I don't know how much easier I could spell this out for you! I--" he grabbed Topher's face and kissed him, his clouded emotions finally getting the better of him.

In hindsight, the being drunk factor was something he shouldn't have mentioned. As soon as Benji was done speaking, Topher was about to start again, but in that split second...his best friend's lips were on his own. For a wordsmith in the making, there was literally nothing that could describe that swirl of emotions that stirred up in those moments and eventually, he found himself returning the kiss ever so slightly. The former Serpent had to come up for air soon though as the hurricane of emotions started to weigh heavily on his entire being. "I'm sorry. For everything I said," he finally whispered.

As soon as Benji realized what he was doing, he let go of Topher. 6 years of imagining their first kiss, and this was about the furthest from his fantasies that things could've gotten. "I..." Benji stammered--If he thought formulating his thoughts was hard before, this was another world--"I'm... I'm drunk. I'm... I'm so sorry..." he whispered, stumbling as he pushed himself off the sofa and backed up until he accidentally hit his back against the opposite wall.

"It's fine, really," Topher replied in the same low and even tone as he fumbled for his cane then pushed himself up. "Let's eat and get some rest, alright? We can continue the conversation tomorrow or forget it ever happened, whatever you want to do. But I think we both need some rest right now," he added in between careful steps toward Benji. That classic storm of thoughts and emotions continued to rage unchecked in his mind, yet Topher calmly held a hand out to the other, an unspoken offer of help and promise that he wouldn't turn his back.

As Topher walked towards him, Benji shook his head, wishing he could somehow back himself even further into the wall. "We... we... I..." he stammered, still having trouble trying to process what he just did. "Don't... we can't just eat and act like I didn't just do that! Don't go easy on me because we're friends. I... punch me! Something!"

Topher rolled his eyes as he listened to Benji this time and instead remarked, "Look a little closer. You'll see that I am doing something. You want a reaction? This is it, in all the annoyingly calm glory. It would be a massive fucking waste of energy to feel anger or whatever towards you right now." He held his hand out once again and arched an eyebrow as he waited. "I also hate to be that guy, but can we speed up this reconciliation? My legs are tired from work and I just want to enjoy whatever's left of the night with you. After the movie, kick me out or let me stay, the choice is up to you."

Benji felt his shoulders fall, still staring straight ahead at Topher. "...Okay." he said, barely audible. Cautiously, he took Topher's hand and finally walked away from the wall. 

 "You... I wish I could control my emotions like you. I'd get in a lot less trouble," he added, giving an exhausted laugh. Silently, he worried how his best friend would react if he knew of even part of the week Benji's temper had gotten him into. He slowly sat back down on the sofa, but couldn't help subconsciously still keeping his distance. "...What do we do now?"

"That would be a wish wasted, let me tell you. It might seem like a blessing at first glance, but it's nothing other than a curse," Topher answered as he soon joined Benji on the sofa. "It'll feel great and like you've finally got a handle on things then you'll come to realize that you replaced one coping mechanism with another." He knew that he'd come to regret making that remark later, but what was another regret added to the pile at this point? Plus, what better way to admit that he had troubles of his own than in his typical casual fashion? 

"As for what we do now, you eat if you want to. If you don't, then we can save it to be warmed up tomorrow or I can make you something else at anytime. Then we pay attention to the movie and if we're still awake later, switch it to something else. We just go about the night as we normally would."

Benji slowly nodded. "...G-Go about the night the way we normally would," he regurgitated, not realizing his body was still hugging the sofa arm opposite Topher. 

"I... I think I'll eat later." His tone was timid and nervous, "...Wanna hit resume on Moana? You're closer to the remote..."

Topher gave a small nod as he moved to grab the remote and get the movie started again then placed the remote back on the coffee table once that was accomplished. He turned to Benji with the same kindhearted look painted across his face then aimed to reach for his best friend's hand. "C'mon, making the most of this includes my partner in crime. Plus, I'm tired and your shoulder is looking really cozy right now."

Benji hesitated, but after a moment, he nodded slowly and took Topher's hand, pulling him to lay down against him. Things stayed quiet (besides the TV) for a few minutes, but, eventually, Benji couldn't help but break the silence with a drunk giggle, finally comfortable again. "Hei hei's so cute..." he murmured, "I want a chicken..."

Topher only gave a small hum of approval as the emotional exhaustion started to take a toll on him. "Maybe someday," he answered in response to the chicken comment. In the span of a few moments, he nearly drifted off plenty of times yet tried to remain awake for both Benji and the movie. "You don't mind if I use you as a pillow, right?"

At Topher's question, Benji simply moved his best friend onto his chest and smiled, feeling his eyes start to slip closed. "...Wanna stay here tonight?" he offered, exhaustion obvious in his voice. Between the alcohol and all the emotions, Benji knew he'd be falling asleep any moment now.

Topher gave a light hum of thanks then moved in order to get a better glance at Benji when the offer hit his ears. "Yes, please. I think that if I tried to go to my car right now, I'd fall asleep while walking," he lightly joked after the acceptance. As the former Serpent relaxed once again, he added, "Don't know what I'd do without you, man."

Benji smiled, feeling himself start to drift off to sleep. "I don't know what I'd do without you either, Toph," he whispered, wrapping the other boy in his arms.

Topher's soft smile remained firmly planted on his face as he too felt himself drifting off to sleep. "Let's hope we never have to figure out what to do," the youngest Pierce muttered to himself then closed his eyes in order to get some much needed rest. Everything else could be worried about later or when morning came, but for now, Topher would enjoy this while he could.

[adventurousrecovery]

Session #3

I was nervous. The session prior consisted only of gathering information and practicing mindfulness and grounding techniques. Today was the real deal.  He called me from the lobby, led me to his office, motioned to the chair, and told me to turn it facing the light bar. It was a tripod with a thin, black, rectangular bar that held many lights. Two green lights were lit in the middle. Once again, we went over the grounding techniques, irrational belief (”I deserve bad things”), and counteractive belief (”minding and leavin’“). I am told to relax, think of the incident that happened in third grade, and follow the lights on the light bar without moving my head.

Me, standing in the the kitchen refusing to take my medication. I want to be normal. It doesn’t work anyways. I throw it. Mom is so furious at my actions she picks it up, pins me against the counter while I squirm in refusal, forces it in my mouth, and screams at me to take it. I struggle to swallow as i can’t breath due to being upset. I am defeated. I am left with the question, “How could a parent’s view their child as unacceptable so much that they feel the need to resort to forcing medication?

The lights move horizontally, back and forth. I follow, but struggle to focus on the image while trying to focus on the lights. Shut up, brain! I’m frustrated and begin to panic that I’m not doing it right. I’ve practically tried everything else. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucked. He stops the bar and asks, “What are you experiencing?”

“I’m tense. My mind won’t shut up.”

“Okay, go with that.”

He turns it back on and I try to focus without overthinking. I think of the incident, replaying it over and over. I forget to blink. Am I supposed to blink?

He stops the bar, “What are you experiencing?”

“My body feels hot.”

“Okay, go with that.” He turns it back on and I try to focus. I can’t focus on the incident AND the lights.

He stops the bar, “What are you experiencing? Smells? Sounds? Feelings?”

“It’s dark outside and the light is on above the kitchen sink. The sink is clean and the drain is shining steel.”

“Okay, go with that.”

He turns it back on and I can feel myself fighting less. Nothing.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing? “

I stare at the floor and don’t blink. “She dug it out of the sink. She DUG it out of the sink”

“Okay, now go with that.”

They probably don’t remember what they did and if they do they don’t care. How can someone go on with their life after doing such a thing, much less forget?

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

He turns it on. I don’t want to think about. I feel that’s as much as there is and all I can get of that memory. I get mad at myself convinced it is a waste of time. I feel there is more to it and I’m just not doing enough. I replay the memory over and over as I follow the light. I can’t stop criticizing myself. I feel uneasy. He noticed.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

I sit in silence. I’m shaking. I don’t want to say it because I don’t want to be hospitalized. I’m not a threat to myself. It’s just how I feel. I take a chance and trust his response and the process. Tears fall from my face, “I wanna self harm. I REALLY wanna self harm.” If I were to leave his office I’d be afraid that I would. My body’s shaking is responding to the emotions and overwhelming urge to do so. Craving. I guess he trusts the process too.

“Okay, now go with that.”

He turns it on. Is he fuckin crazy? Go with that? That’s genius. I can dwell on this shit for hours. I’m consumed with anger. SO. MUCH. ANGER. Why am I so angry? This is what I’ve felt for years and I’ve taken it out on myself.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

“Fuck you, meaning fuck them.”

“Okay. Go with that.”

He turns it on. My body responds and starts twitching.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?

“My body is twitching which has only been a response when my PTSD symptoms are heightened. It’s actually been a while since my body has twitched.

“Okay, now got with that.”

He turns it on. My body continues to twitch. It’s fuckin annoying. I’m angry I can’t control my body. I CAN’T CONTROL MY BODY. I CAN’T CONTROL IT. What a bitch! I’ve never been able to. It’s always been a fight.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

“I can’t control it. It’s always been a fight of control. Me fighting them. Them fighting me. Me fighting myself.”

“Okay. Go with that.”

He turns it on. What a realization! It’s bs. I realized it before, but now it really sinks in. I feel sorry for them. I feel calm at having realized this. Just because I feel sorry for them doesn’t mean it’s okay. It still happened.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

I softly answer and speak it into existence, “I feel sorry for them.”

“Okay. Continue with that.”

He turns it on. It flashes in my mind like a sign on Broadway. “I DESERVE TO MOURN.” Mourn? I’m not sad. I’m not mad. I wouldn’t say I feel sorry for myself. I lost something and I deserve to mourn. Allow it.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

“All I see is words, large, solid words. I deserve to mourn. I don’t feel sad or upset.”

“Good. Now, go with that.”

He turns it on. What a revelation! I’ve never allowed myself to do anything other than be punished by the inability to accept without validation my unfortunate experiences. I don’t need that validation to mourn. My emotions are real and I should feel them. That is beautiful. It is sacred.

He stops the bar, “Take a deep breath. What are you experiencing?”

“I have never allowed myself to mourn. I did lose something. I’ve been waiting for someone to hear me so that the things I feel are valid. Things happened. My feelings are real. How beautiful of an experience it could be just to feel and know that is enough. It’s sacred.”

“Okay. I think we are going to stop there for to start another would cause it to be interrupted due to our time limitation. Do you have any questions?”

“I feel like I went through all the stages of grief really fast. I don’t feel like I did it right. My thoughts were all over the place and I feel where I’ve ended up isn’t even related, but I feel okay.”

“No, no. This is how it works. It’s a train of thought in processing the information. As your mind works to continue processing, don’t be surprised if you find yourself feeling down or anxious. This is why we worked on mindfulness and grounding techniques. On a scale of 1 to 10, how do you feel about that particular incident now?”

“A 3, maybe 4? I accept it. I don’t feel it’s gonna go away or I’ll forget it. I don’t really FEEL negative about it. I’m okay. My usual response when I think about it is to dwell on it for hours, deny my feelings, self-destruct, or completely redirect with no resolution only to have it pop up later and wreak havoc while I question why I’m feeling what I’m feeling. But this, completed it. I rode it out, really fast. There was no redirection or self harm. This is new. This is how it should happen.”

“Wow. 3 or 4? That’s a significant decrease as most may experience a 6. Rarely, if ever, is it a 1. It’s difficult to forget, but the symptoms decrease, happiness increases as does the ability to function.”

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

I have found myself depressed and randomly crying. On Thanksgiving, I had to leave the table because I was so overwhelmed with the feeling to mourn. I went upstairs to the bathroom and just let myself cry until I felt I was okay. I practiced my grounding techniques before joining my family at dinner again. I isolated and slept in the recliner afterwards. I feel irritable, distant, foggy, and dissociative. Everything feels heavy. Today, I cried while shopping at the DG. I can’t say there is a reason for these crying episodes other than that it simply happens and to let it, but don’t dwell on it.