#might make comic or a fanfic

[alias-main]

First meeting:

Felix was just minding his own business when this random kid goes up to him asking him questions and being a kid

Felix being Felix, is more than happy to entertain the little guy even letting him borrow his hat

But just before he could ask where his parent was

Oswald swoops in and starts yelling angrily at him

Felix in the middle of this huge misunderstanding, is having a gay crisis

The crisis being that he didn’t know he was gay until now

Felix does his best to explain and Oswald only believes him after his kid says that’s what happened

He leaves and Felix is reeling from 1. Being gay (or bi) 2. His new crush is an asshole

Oswald is still grieving Ortensia, but with 420 kids he really doesn’t have time to process that

Which 1. Explains his overprotectiveness and 2. His assholeness

Bro has kids to look after, a show to help out in, and ignoring his wife’s death

Felix on the other hand is reeling and subconsciously stopping himself from pursuing anything by beating himself up with reality

Because he for one doesn’t know how to raise kids and he doesn’t know anything about romance. His crush was born and dead on the same day.

As far as first meetings, this was shit lol

But then, Felix picks up two stray kids (bendy and Boris) and essentially becomes their adopted dad

Oswald takes time off from the shows and leans on Mickey/donald/goofy more

Allowing him time to actually think about ortensia and her death

(Oswald also reveals to Mickey how bad he feels for going off on Felix, he also starts picking up on his books after this)

After a certain point when the party returns, Felix and Oswald do meet again

Felix adores his kids but his crush comes back full force after Oswald apologizes and tries to play it off cool

(He’s a dad and a dork but somehow this is even more endearing??)

So they start to becomes friends at this point, even exchanging a few letters after their party leaves

Third meeting, Felix is p much integrated with all the kids

Oswald sees ortensia for a quick moment as Felix is playing with them

He tells him to get out

Later, Oswald confesses to Mickey that he’s scared Felix might be similar to ortensia and he wouldn’t be able to handle that

Mickey tells him to stop being a dick in a nice way

Felix doesn’t deserve that and also ortensia is nothing like Felix aside from being cats so oswald needs his eyes checked (joke)

Felix talks to Sheeba about what happened and sheeba is like stop being a doormat

But Felix is like, bro looked devastated I couldn’t stay in good conscious after that

After this oswald actually initiates more and more contact with Felix

Mentally making a list of comparisons between him and ortensia

At the end of it, he realizes how little in common they actually are

Ortensia seemed sweet and kind but was a spitfire with cuss words that would make even a sailor cry

Felix, despite all his grandeur adventures and excitement, is soft spoken and a bit ditzy. He avoids cussing as his fans are usually kids and he doesn’t want to influence them like that.

But Oswald also realizes something.

He’s not scared of Felix being like ortensia anymore.

He’s scared because he thinks he might be falling for Felix regardless.

At this point Felix has to leave again anyways, leaving Oswald to his thoughts on this.

He decides, without advice or talking to anyone, that he wouldn’t do that to ortensia and he wouldn’t throw away his friendship with Felix over this

Felix in the meanwhile is like, man having a crush is awesome! Even better is that he’s my friend so it’s like a two in one deal! :3

[zunaki]

Wangxian in public being disgustingly in love and the Juniors on a matchmaking mission

[erinwantstowrite]

bear with me here because i'm gonna ramble about something i've been thinking about for a while... and i'm not complaining, i'm just noticing

sometimes i think we've leaned so far into the vigilante side of the batfam that we miss out on what really makes their characters: detective work. we need more mysteries in their lives that don't lead up to some big bad "we already know who's doing it" or an "end of the world" or "yet again: this fucking guy." we need more stuff where spy movie music plays in the background and dumb adventures that don't lead up to some huge grand event with a big name villain. the shock factor stops being shocking or interesting in any capacity if we're like "Gah! the Joker! ... Again!" or whatever

does that even make sense? like "yeah sure they're blowing up a building again and there's hostages. oh look they're gonna poison the water supply." these aren't bad and that's not what i'm getting at because obviously this is a classic for comics. you need to have characters/antagonists that show up more than once and who can make a story better by being in it. and i did say to bear with me- that's because im tired. so like i hope im getting this across the right way? it's just that sometimes i don't wanna see a huge explosion, i want these motherfuckers solving a regular murder or a disappearance or regular corruption in a local office without it being tied to a grand reveal like "actually this person knows you as a long lost relative" or "they were at that circus can you guess which night they went?" that kind of thing? if you get me? like... more of the small time stuff makes the big stuff important, it makes it stand out more. at some point, the format gets repetitive even if you're switching up the villains. you can make these situations/mysteries still fun to solve for the characters and fun to read for the audience if you do it right

the concept of a detective dressed as a bat and having a sidekick in traffic light colors is inherently goofy as hell??? but that is what is so charming about it??? i think we have lost the balance between them being silly while also being intelligent with important conversations that criticize the world as we see it and teach lessons and can go over dark topics. nowadays it's always end of the world problems or just straight up the most gruesome true crime you can think of?? or they can ONLY do the dark stuff and the criticism without offering a balance of the good in the world. or we keep coming back to the FUCKING JOKER-

like yes they are vigilantes and with that comes a different level of their work, but their brand should be a mix between a black and white detective film that can get very nitty gritty and a classic spy movie, that kind of thing. at the end of the day, it's what makes them so different from the superheroes. that's what appeals to me.

seeing them in the big superhero groups is fun, don't get me wrong. it's always funny to see them standing next to people who are so powerful they never really fit in with anyone but each other, who chose to step up and use their powers for good. the Bats' specialty is Gotham and yet here they are stopping a god or whatever. and they do stop the god or whatever, all the while being an important leader and strategist to their teammates. they're important to have in these cases. but if there's a world ending event every time i pick something up, it's not as fun

the fact that they are so very human and not fantastical is why i like reading them. it's what makes the joke of people, even Gotham citizens, theorizing about them being cryptids, funny. they're fucking weird but that's because they're detectives. people who love to solve mysteries usually have a fatal flaw of curiosity. they forget the bounds between social interactions sometimes because they're used to working through problems or being intertwined with partners that understand them. but they're very much human. so human that it hurts them in many ways. and idk i've just been thinking about it lately and idk what point i'm trying to get across actually

it's just that in my eyes that's how it really is for Batman- a black and white movie narrated by a very serious man who took up a job to help people, one that has a deeper commentary on the world and viewed outwardly as pessimistic but actually has a deep hope for his city and who tries to help even the people who have wronged others. He's a stationary man in the belief that him being a constant can serve to soothe others and help them move forward. He stays in the middle of the path so he can tell everyone what is up ahead. he blends into the Gotham rainy night to serve justice but in a way that saves both the victim and the perpetrator. (the way he tucks a Robin into his cape is the same he does for Gotham with his mere presence.) and his background is actually so important to his story and yet people still somehow gloss over the lesson from it? he lost his parents because of a man who was on the opposite end of the spectrum to where he was in life. and yet he chose to help the people like the man that killed his parents. he could have done anything else with his power and money, but he instead is choosing to bring as many people up with him as he can. He's Mr. Serious that no one else can get a read on. and yet he walks into a room and he's already piecing together your life and what you're going through because he thinks it matters. he comforts people who have lost something or someone or themselves. I picture Batman and I don't picture a man trying to save the world, I picture a detective walking around a crime scene and trying to save at least one person every time he puts on the cape. and he put on the cape and became a vigilante because then he could go out of the bounds of what laws have been set up- and specifically, Gotham has other people in power who are corrupt, keeping the system that way. that's why Batman being a billionare and throwing himself into helping people at the risk of his own life is so important. he knows that if you are alive, you have something or someone to lose, no matter who you are. the dude is a bleeding heart but he doesn't know how to express it, in fear that if he gets too close, if he moves down the path with them, he'll be lost again

and then he's met with someone who should be a complete opposite, but isn't at all, because they're two sides of the same coin. his partner in crime, his son, a boy that is nothing like the black and white world that he sees. and that's the point in his life where he first sees that potentially getting lost is worth the risk. Robin is color and passion that needs guidance to move forward, but can not do so unless the stationary man learns to move with him. the kid is loud and reckless and you'd think he's from a different genre from the detective but they aren't so different, really. not when you look close enough. Dick grew up moving from place to place and seeing the world, knowing so many different people from different cultures. He's been learning to fly and jump and embrace the free fall his entire life. He's clever and he's sharp, and he thrives in the action and adventure. it's that perspective that compliments the stationary man. one is steady and the other pushes. he's the same genre but a different generation. and Batman introducing him to the way of life he chose for himself was another way he could save someone. because let's be real for a second? Dick would have gone down a very dark path had he not had Bruce, who understood, who saw not just himself in the kid but also saw who the kid has been his entire life until now. he saw Dick's parents, he saw the family he had in the circus, he saw the joy he had in what his family was doing. he saw the grief and the fire and the color that Dick's world was made of. because to Bruce, it always matters. Dick had to come to terms with Bruce's perspective to help anyone who they come across, to always give more chances, and it kept Dick from losing his color

what gets me is that the man who lives in the black and white world can actually see many different shades of gray (because black and white always needs the medium), whereas the boy in a world of color and light can get so focused on the bright that he can become single minded. and yet the boy sees a world of color and delves deeper into the lives of the peolle they come across and can be much more open minded, and the man in the black and white world sometimes forgets the shades of grey are right there. they are just like each other. they can exist without the other, but do they want to? because the black and white can be built up into the colored image, like the inking and shadows drawn on a comic book page before the colors are added in. they meet in the middle to complete each other. Bruce has been passing the story over to the next generation for a long, long time, even before his story was complete. and just like with the first Robin, it was so for every Robin afterwards. they each color in the lines differently, but that's what makes Robin so special, so unique. they are an art style that branches into their own life, but can not forget where they started: tucked into Batman's cape and the inky black of his world

and so detective work really frames their hunanity to me. the mysteries they get their hands on, the glimpses into the lives of Gotham citizens that they swore to protect, it's fascinating. it's what makes their story stand out compared to the people who can lift trucks or cast spells or run around the world in seconds. so yeah ig that's what i'm trying to say? that i want to read more of that? in both canon and fanon. cause even the small time villains we see can be like. AWFUL people and it takes out the fun of their gimmicks. and if it were any other day this would be a more coherent post but alas, it is not any other day

[000marie198]

I love you fanfic authors

I love you fanartists and fancomic artists

I love you amv editors

I love you fan animators

I love you theorists and analysts

I love you fandom people who make this little bubble of joy bigger and that much greater to experience

[sysig]

Some highlights from a tense but still very Winterkov-y scene (Patreon)

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[squishykitty825]

Survivor’s guilt

Dick’s phone had been eerily silent when he and the Titan’s had returned from their mission off-world. He had sent a text to Jason, but his brother wasn’t known for responding very quickly so he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an immediate reply.

It had been Barbara who broke the news to him, days after his return. Days after he had left Bruce a voicemail asking him why Jason was ignoring his messages. It should have been Bruce who told him, but it hadn’t.

He had nearly thrown his phone against the wall when he heard the words leave Barbara’s mouth.

“Jason’s dead, Dick. We buried him over a week ago.”

Now, standing before a brand-new headstone, Dick clenched his fists tightly at his sides, angry with Bruce for not telling him. Raging that the Joker wasn’t rotting six feet under in an unmarked grave. But mostly he was furious with himself. For going on the mission. For not coming back sooner.

For not being there when his Little Wing had needed him.

He should have been there.

He should have protected his brother.

He should have been the one to die.

Wind rustled through the leaves of the trees around him. The sun shone brightly from a near cloudless sky. It was too peaceful. Too bright for a day like that. Especially in Gotham.

Here lies Jason Todd

Dick scowled.

Those words should never have needed to be carved into stone.

He remembered what he had thought almost immediately after hanging up with Barbara that day. Remembered wishing he could have taken Jason’s place.

Barbara said it was just survivor’s guilt. But Dick didn’t believe that.

Survivor’s guilt didn’t make him want to beat the Joker to a bloody pulp with the very instrument that had led to his brother’s death.

Survivor’s guilt didn’t make him hate himself for not knowing his brother was in trouble. Didn’t make him blame Bruce for not telling him.

No. It didn’t do that, but it did make him wish he could turn back time. It made him wish he could prevent the events that had led to his brother’s death.

But he knew he couldn’t do that.

So instead, he sank to his knees in the grass, his head falling to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Those damn words carved in the stone mocking his pain. Mocking the ache in his chest that had him screaming just to try and relieve the pressure.

It didn’t work, but he still did it, even when he thought he felt the arms of a ghost wrapping around him as he squeezed his eyes shut against the image of his brother’s name permanently engraved in stone.

[24bughours]

A comic based on my recent fic on ao3, "Scarecrow In The Wind, Standing Still"

Transcription below the cut

Toshi: You're right. I need to be a guiding force for him. Especially in these circumstances.

Toshi: ...I think I understand why he's isolating himself.

Aizawa: Why?

Toshi: He feels the same way I do. Or- did.

Toshi: He feels like he has to take this burden alone, because he's the one Shigaraki wants. He can't bring himself to endanger the people he loves, much less encourage them to fight alongside him in a battle that may result in many casualties.

Aizawa: Hm.

[aloonaram]

Here’s an edited wip of my Birdflash oneshot.

Fair warning, this will probably change in the final product as I try to figure out at what point in the timeline I want this fic to take place.

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks, Walls. You’re such a loving boyfriend,” Dick retorted. He tried for a smile, but Wally watched sadly as it twitched and fell before it could become what it once was–what Dick’s smile used to be.

Dick opened his door wider in invitation and Wally rushed in and examined the place. Gotham wasn’t ever known for its beauty, but even with that in mind, Dick’s apartment looked pretty rough. Empty containers of takeout and miscellaneous trash littered the floor and countertops. His couch was sprinkled with brown spots that he almost assumed were polka dots before he realized they were most definitely patches of dried blood. Clothes were strewn across every surface, their musk permeating his senses. Dick brushed past his side and made his way to the kitchen, opening his rickety fridge to expose the meager amount of food he had. Wally would bet his life savings that each of the five items had gone bad too, based on the state of the place.

Dick turned to toss Wally a water, “So…what, uh, brings you here?” Dick’s awkward tone hangs heavy between the two. Now that Wally could get a good look, his lover was in rough shape. Even worse than his apartment; which was a feat, his mind whispered. His hair laid limp and greasy along his neck and his bags seemed to have bags of their own. A couple of dark bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt, some leading down to his left arm if the strange way he seemed to carry it was anything to go by. Dick clutched his own water bottle, doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” Wally started, “I texted the other Robin, uh Tim, I think? But he never got back to me either, so I got worried, you know? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I don’t have super speed for nothing.” He waved his hands around, doing his best to lighten the mood. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to talk, let alone seen each other in person, but, you know, if this isn’t the best time, I can totally leave. I know this is kinda spur of the moment.” Wally wished he could slap himself the moment his lips stopped moving. Some of the younger heroes had started calling him a professional yapper and he wished it didn’t fit so damn well.

Wally watched as Dick took a breath and rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. He winced. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best time to show up out of the blue.

“No, I…You don’t need to leave, “ Dick sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been responding, Walls. Everything’s just been… a lot, to put it simply. I’ve been so busy trying to balance my day job, Bludhaven, and…and being Batman. I just haven’t had much time to myself lately, if you can’t tell by the state of my apartment.” Dick laughed pitifully and winced when it shook his aching arm.

He couldn’t help moving forward into the kitchen and enveloping Dick in a hug, something he definitely should’ve done the moment he’d arrived. His partner sighed shakily and moved to wrap his arms around Wally’s middle. He felt Dick’s face pressed against his chest and hooked his chin to the top of his greasy head. Dick had always been one for physical comfort, a miracle considering who he’d grown up with and the environment he’d been forced into at the ripe age of nine. Wally would be lying if he didn’t say Dick’s need for physical affection didn’t bring him relief and make him feel needed. Sometimes, he felt powerless amidst his lover's strife–Batman’s rule against metas in Gotham limiting his ability to help. Providing Dick a simple hug; feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen and his breath hit Wally’s neck as he sighed in relief, was Wally’s respite from his perpetual guilt.

Wally knew about Batman’s…death. He’d been there when Dick hosted Bruce’s funeral, letting Dick squeeze the life from his hand as he listened to the speech from Alfred. With Bruce gone, the natural order of Dick’s family had seemed to fall apart. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, a title Wally knew he had never wanted–never felt right for him. He’d be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of such a change–that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma had grown to separate Dick and his siblings. And yet despite that, he knew one thing for a fact. Dick, his lover and the man he’s known for well over a decade now was not the type of person to let others shoulder pain on their own. He took and took and took until he knew only he carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders, letting his muscles feel relief only when his family no longer felt pain. And he’d continue to carry that weight with a smile as long as he knew his family would smile back, unaware of the sky creeping in on Dick’s tense shoulders.

Wally squeezed his arms tighter around Dick’s back, supporting him as his breaths became ragged in their silent embrace. As Wally did so, a sick thought entered his mind, fueled by the anger and pain he felt for his partner; a small part of him–microscopic even–was glad Bruce wasn’t here. Not because he reveled in the effects his passing had on Dick, nor because he wanted Dick to be forced into the role of Batman, but because despite his struggles, Bruce had never been good for Dick. Yes, he played the parental figure Dick needed when he was younger and yes, he provided the necessities for Dick to survive, but he never provided what Wally knew Dick needed most.

“Do you wanna move to the couch, babe?” Wally whispered, cheek pressed against Dick’s head. He feels Dick nod silently and Wally zipped them to the couch in less than half a second. Wally sat and patted the spot next to him, watching as Dick laid his head on his lap, pressing his cheek to Wally’s stomach while letting his legs hang off the side of the couch.

Never one comfortable with silence, Wally broke it first. “If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t push. We can chill, watch the Office, eat popcorn–whatever you want. I just worry…you know? Not being able to be here to help and hearing on the news, Batman and Robin this and Joker and Two-Face that…I just wish I could do more for you.”

Wally looks down to meet Dick’s pained stare and internally winces as Dick opens and closes his mouth, struggling to respond.

“Me and the bats have it handled over here, okay?” Dick starts quietly, aimlessly running his hand over Wally’s knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey. I know you have more than enough to deal with back at Central and I don’t want to stress you out with problems I have handled.”

Wally lets his free hand run through Dick’s hair, quickly relishing in the way Dick warms to his touch. “I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be stressed, you know me too well for that, but I’m here to support you, Dick. To be your listener when you’re stressed.” He paused for only a moment before speaking again, “I know you, Dick. I’ve known you for almost every era of your life as you have, mine. I knew you when you were my scrawny, baby leader-”

“Hey-” Dick tried to interject, but Wally kept going.

“I knew you when you wore that god awful blue and yellow disco Nightwing suit-”

“It really wasn’t that bad-”

“And I know what it looks like when you don’t have things handled. You don’t need to soften the blow for me Dickie and you don’t need to play the perfect soldier.” Wally paused. Let it be known even the Flash is out of breath from time to time. “You were always there for me during rough times, so please let me be there for you.”

[zimanddibromance]

Zim angst because I love him (told you guys I’d be back with little doodle here and here….mwauahauhauaha…. )

Gonna put the still of the final art below the cut bc I love it sm for some reason

Poor bug being bullied makes him question whether or not his fellow irkens and Tallest actually like him..he’ll move on in 5 seconds don’t worry.

[dbcoatl-art]

Couple more Alchemist! Noise doodles for ya, since you liked the first bit of sketches.

I also made Peppino an adventurer of sorts, and one particular quest he gets has him teaming up with the Noise of something. Maybe they're on the hunt for an outlaw or something, I dunno.

Noisette is also an alchemist, but she specializes in healing potions (Noise can also make healing Noise potions, but most of the time he prefers making ones that blow up in your face).

[pismaco]

nm doodles from last year at work (when i had a job.... sad)

[scribbiesan]

“The Red Hood stood before him silently in the dark alleyway.”

*throws this at you and cries* i never wanna do backgrounds again i say (y’know, like a liar)

What the fuck is up y’all, i finished that thing like i said i would! I couldn’t figure out how tf to add lighting from a lightning strike so i just threw shit at it and hoped it stuck. I might have missed a few details or fudged his design or whatever the fuck, but that don’t matter. What DOES matter is Jason Todd is a scary motherfucker even when he’s just dicking around for psychological damage.

Anywho, this is a little piece for the fanfic Fowl Play over on AO3 by pinkjester, go give them some love!! I love reading that fic when i need a good laugh and am in a BatFam mood. It’s short, but cute, and i love it.

Hope y’all enjoy!!

Toodles!~

[braisedhoney]

"He’s frozen stiff, threatening claws now hovering down to the side—his eyes look huge in the darkness, that faint white glow giving just the slightest of his expression away. 

He still doesn’t strike."

- all because of you (i do right) by puppyblue on ao3, Chapter 1. @puppyblueao3 here on tumblr i think!

(does this count as a fic rec or fanart. both, probably. rambles under the cut.)

SO uh—i'm really picky about fanfiction. like. really really picky.

i dunno why exactly, but i kinda have a hard time reading them right away bc a) i'm not really a shipper and that's most fanfiction i've seen and b) i like when i can really imagine the characters saying and doing whatever it is they're doing.

y'know the whole "he would not fucking say that" meme? lmao that's me, but with fanfics and only to myself. (i know everyone has their niche and i'm not here to police anybody's fun, just curate my own.)

anyway all that to say that i really, really liked this one. a lot. it's canon divergent off of into the spiderverse, and if you can believe it the comic is literally not a spoiler bc it's in the summary of the fic. but if you liked uncle aaron or even just are a sucker for redemption (? ish?) arcs, i think you'd like it! with all the angst and chaos from atsv it's a nice change of pace.

[vhstown]

reminder that ppl who make stuff on the internet for free don't actually owe you anything at all like ... as sad as it is that ur fav comic / fanfic hasn't updated in god knows how long that person has a life 😭 can we not harass people and be compassionate and patient and understanding thanx

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story IV: Price

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [AO3]

This one is a little different from the other side stories, but I have to say I had a lot of fun diving into the way Price experiences his powers from his POV.

This one is probably the most plot-relevant story, in relation to part 2. Hope you enjoy it!

The human mind is a deceptively complex subject. No person thinks the same way, Johnathan has found - some see images scrolling by, vague hieroglyphs symbolizing thoughts. Others narrate their day-to-day life, to themselves or to an imaginary audience. Once, he came across a woman, who, being deaf from birth, imagined words as hand signs.

He could take decades studying a single person, exploring the connections in their grey matter. If he wasn’t devoted to keeping his hands dirty to keep the world clean, John would’ve considered working in a field more suitable for his powers.

As it was, the people he comes in contact the most become the subjects of his investigations.

The first of his boys was the hardest. John met Simon merely a few months after his own Reaping, while the grasp he had on his powers was far weaker. He remembers the first time he arrived at reading distance from the Ghost; the sharp, fractured mind of the then-Sergeant was like a physical ache in his own, and he had to shamefully retreat to the bathroom to vomit.

They were both newly not-quite-dead, both far too powerful to allow back to the field while they didn’t have a tight leash on their abilities. So, they trained together.

Simon, or Ghost as he insisted on being referred as, really shouldn’t have been cleared to stay in the military. John didn’t have to be a shrink to tell, the choking feeling of the Sergeant’s memories and flashback almost bringing him to his knees countless times.

The kid went through worse than most veterans have. He had the powers to match.

Limbo. An ability never seen before in the entirety of recorded human history, the first revenant of the Void Reaper. The higher brass saw it as a cheat code for warfare.

John saw it as a defence mechanism of a broken man.

Ghost’s mind was his first, and perhaps biggest, hurdle as a commanding officer and as a revenant. It took weeks before he could stand to be in the same room with him for longer than an hour, months for the inky, tar-like miasma coating each of Simon’s thoughts to clear.

Ghost began to trust him. See that John is the closest one to really understand what made him a revenant, the fundamental reason of Limbo’s existence: It was never about being an off switch to hostile soldiers, like General Shepherd treated it.

Limbo was a world in Simon’s full control, a place where for once in his life, he could make sure he wouldn’t be hurt.

But that wouldn’t be apparent, from just watching him on the field, from reading mission reports on his unmatched powers. No other soldier, General, or Spiritulogist saw what John saw.

And while he tried to explain, it all fell on deaf ears.

John carries many regrets in his life, but allowing Limbo to become a hostile realm toward Ghost might be his worst one.

Guilt isn’t an uncommon emotion among soldiers. Some hide it better than others, but Captain Price learned to see through mental walls a long time ago. While he didn’t have the opportunity to peer into many revenant minds, it was even more prevalent in theirs.

That is to say, Kyle Garrick shouldn’t have surprised him.

He met the young Corporal barely two weeks after his death, the sight of crushed bones still terribly fresh in his mind. It didn’t deter Price like Ghost has - he has learned a lot since, lived through worse - and instead intrigued him. Call it morbid curiosity, but the sheer amount of care Kyle has for each and every soldier on his team, dead or alive, was a sign he will go far, in Price’s eyes.

That value, as admirable as it was, was currently eating the young soldier from the inside. Before he could take Gaz under his wing, he was forced to watch from the sidelines as the regret and shame weighed on Kyle’s heart. It gave him a considerable amount of comfort, to watch the man grow when they had the chance to work together.

Despite knowing both of them, Price wasn’t sure how Ghost and Gaz would handle a mission together. He knew they would be as professional as ever, but Ghost’s reputation precedes him by many paces, and it unfairly emphasizes times when he either was out of control due to the unimaginable weight of his past, or under orders.

So it came as quite a shock when Ghost not only complimented the Sergeant, but in his mind thought he would be content with working with Gaz again.

Price was already meaning to get Gaz on the 141, but seeing how well the two mashed with each other made him all the more certain of the need for the taskforce. He initially pitched it to the higher brass with an explanation of the tactical benefits of gathering their strongest revenants and training them together, allowing for the soldiers to explore unique and powerful ways to combine their abilities.

But secretly, it also allows Price to keep an eye on them, be their commanding officer, and make sure nobody will take advantage of those otherworldly powers without taking in consideration that maybe, despite already dying, revenants aren’t any less human than their fellow soldiers.

And for a long time, it was them three, against whatever fate threw at them. The taskforce gained infamy as the only revenant-exclusive squad in the world, mission after mission joining a long line of successes.

It wasn’t all perfect behind closed doors. Ghost’s Limbo continued to be hostile towards its owner, forcing him to work alone. Gaz was still burdened, and while having other revenants around him helped, showing him he’s not alone in his struggles, sometimes it was not enough.

Their team had their flaws, but it was better than any other alternative they had.

Then, Soap found his way in.

Sergeant MacTavish was an odd revenant, even among the unusual. From the first time meeting him, Price noted just how much the Scot seems to repress, even within the comfort of his own mind. Peering in, it was as if thick concrete walls were erected around his thoughts, sectioning off the different parts that made up Soap.

His personal file wasn’t much better - full pages blacked out, especially any pertaining to his Reaping. Price knows the smell of red tape, and Soap’s file was reeking with it.

It brought him years back to Simon, the way both of them appear to be afraid of themselves.

He decided to assign them both to a simple mission. Ghost resisted at first, as he always does when Price tries to get him out of his shell, so to speak. Luckily for him, and unfortunately for Ghost, he has the final word as a Captain.

It ended up a shitshow, because it always does when Price needs it not to. Or, that’s what he thought at first, hearing the initial reports.

Ghost’s demeanor was almost somber when Price asked him about Soap. Regret, and what Price could define as the feeling of missing out, surrounded the Lieutenant’s thoughts. Something about Soap caught his attention.

It took months before an opportunity arose, and an incredible effort from his side to not spill those thoughts accidentally (lest his plans fail, and his boys become disappointed), but Price managed to convince his superiors that the taskforce needs a new member. That member, of course, being Soap.

Price did not foresee just how much that addition will change his team. To say he regrets it would be a lie… but knowing what he knows now, he might’ve considered it longer.

Seeing how happy the three of them are, how things simply click better with Soap around, Price believes he would’ve made the same choice again and again.

Price came across a few revenants in his life, gazed into their thoughts more than once. Each of them were wholly extraordinary. The experience of dying and meeting a Reaper alters one’s mind irrevocably.

Out of all of those revenants, there’s only one that made Johnathan Price feel an innate sort of dread, one whose thoughts were disturbing enough to keep him awake at night for weeks after their short meeting. One that forced his own to a breaking point, made Price physically hear the creaking of his crumbling brain attempting to process what it is seeing.

That mind being, Vladimir Makarov’s.

John’s Reaper isn’t of the chatty kind, the one that tries to control its revenants with an iron fist. For the most part, it let him do as he pleases, occasionally warning him from this mission or another.

The sudden shift between their world and his Reaper’s realm never ceases to send a bolt of shock through him. He has observed minds when they were brought to distant places beyond their understanding. It made his eyes bleed.

This one is no different.

“R-Reaper. To what do I owe the honors?” John asks, wincing as a headache attacks him, brain overstimulated by the shifting shapes around him, concepts he has no words for appearing and disappearing with a blink.

“You are to be sent on a mission in a few hours.” the Reaper responds, a wild mass of flashing lights, like synapses of a starless sky. Price’s gift allows him to see the hidden messages between the words.

“Interest. Warning. Fear.”

…Fear…?

What… could make his Reaper… afraid?

The ancient voice continues, “You will be asked to kill a man. A revenant.”

“Danger. Blood. Enemy.”

John’s brows scrunch in confusion, “Reaper-?”

“You cannot kill that revenant. Under orders of Fate, you will not kill that revenant.”

“Command. Terror. Fate.”

John opens his mouth, to ask one of the billion questions swirling in his mind, but the synapses flash, his body gets the feeling of falling, and-

John gasps, eyes rapidly taking in his surroundings. Back in his office, kicked out of the Reaper realm before he could let out a peep. He sighs, wiping sweat from his brow, nape still tingling with the wrongness of his Reaper’s messages.

Something is scaring his Reaper to obey… ‘Fate’. John’s not sure what exactly that is, but he knows who will.

He’s about to punch in the number of the resident Spiritulogist on base, when a knock sounds on his door. “Open!” He calls loudly, his mind already supplying him with the orders the rookie is about to tell him.

They have a mission lined up for him, and he’s to be debriefed immediately. The rookie mumbles as such, and John waves him off.

His stomach churns in a way it hasn’t for a very long time.

“Bravo 0-6, what’s your status?”

Price brings a hand up to his comms, “solid, in position, no sign of the target.”

The watcher copies his response, clicking off channel. John swallows thickly, adjusting the hold on his sniper. On paper, this mission should be simple - a man named Andrei Nolan has been observed to be making moves in favor of several international criminal rings. The SAS needs him dead, and Price is here to make sure of that.

The intel suggested a possibility of the man being a revenant, but with no confirmed Reaper, the information doesn’t help him in the slightest.

The port he’s overlooking is said to be housing missiles in some of its shipment containers. Nolan will arrive to buy them from a local arms dealer. They would’ve not sent someone like Price usually, but not only did Nolan evade capture several times, he recently ramped up his activity, pointing to a new employer.

Any other day, Price would’ve killed him with no hesitation. Today, however, the words of his Reaper echo within his mind, dread spreading through his synapses, the emotions that coursed through the interdimensional being now flowing through him.

Reapers don’t lie, and his certainly doesn’t mince words. If it didn’t see a reason to warn John, it wouldn’t have.

There wasn’t enough time to explain that to his superiors, though. Humans don’t understand the connection Reapers and revenants have, hell, they barely understand Reapers as a concept, let alone their intricate oddities.

He inhales deeply. John hopes he’s close enough to read Nolan, when he finally shows up. Perhaps the man’s mind might have a clue as to why his Reaper needs him to stay alive.

And as if his thoughts have been heard, Andrei Nolan shows his face. Or… is that Nolan? The description given in the brief fits him, black hair, brown eyes, Eastern European man in his 30s, wearing a black suit and a red tie. But…

His left eye is closed, lower lid pink like it’s infected, and Price can’t tell from the distance, but… there seems to be a red line, almost like a tear, drawn down his cheek.

Price frowns, adjusting the zoom on his scope, analyzing the face as much as he can while the man moves. The seller arrived already, and is now showing “Nolan” the goods, but he doesn’t pay mind to him. The left eye seemingly confirms the revenant status, something about it is unsettling in a Reaper’s way, but if that’s the case, wouldn’t the intel note that?

“0-6 to Watcher.” Price mutters, eyes not straying from the supposed target, “I’ve got eyes on a man fitting the description, but something doesn’t line up.”

“This is Watcher, what is the problem, Lieutenant?”

“His left eye is shut, red marking down his left cheek. Sign of a revenant, don’t know who’s.”

The line goes quiet for a few beats, “...standby, 0-6.”

The crease between his brows deepens, John sighs and waits. The alleged Nolan and the seller are still discussing something, probably pertaining to the deal.

After a few long minutes, his radio crackles, “Watcher to 0-6, we’ve consulted Dr. Novikov.”

The head Spiritulogist of the SAS regiment. If there’s any non-revenant he could trust on such matters, it’s him, “what did he say?”

“No PID. Nolan has not been documented to have markings like the ones you’ve described, and they’re impossible to acquire after Reaping.”

“...So we don’t know who this man is?”

“Negative.”

Price shuts his comms for a moment to curse. He radios back in, “Watcher, requesting permission to move closer to target.”

“Explain your reasoning, 0-6”

“I want to use my powers on him. Check his thoughts, might give us an ID.”

The Watcher’s voice becomes muffled as they talk to another person in the room, “granted. Make sure to not be seen, Price.”

“Copy.” he answers, adding under his breath, “not a bloody rookie, am I…”

He leaves the sniper on the hill he previously perched on, preferring to go as light as possible. The target and the seller have moved since the conversation with Watcher, opening a shipment container and examining its contents. With their backs towards him, Price weaves between containers, climbing up a few to get a better view of the guards.

His range on complete strangers is shite as ever, a disadvantage he can’t train out of him. John stays low, sticking to the sharp shadows cast by the steel boxes, creeping closer and closer to the target.

The target is still focused on the illegal missiles, and he needs to step just a few more meters to get into range-

The man sharply turns, his eye locking with Price’s. A chill goes down his spine, and he freezes in place. He couldn’t have noticed him.

Price’s muscles don’t dare move, thoughts both reeling and dead still, as the man raises a hand, and slowly, slowly peels his left eyelid up.

The red line on his cheek continues up into the eye whites, going all the way into his disturbingly crimson pupil.

The seller stares at the target, expression confused when he is ignored. The target steps forward, and John has to force his legs to stay put and not run, because every single cell in his body screams of danger.

“Danger. Blood. Enemy.”

The target enters his range, and smiles. But why would he smile? He has no reason to, because he doesn’t know that Price is a Revenant of the Mind, doesn’t know the limits of his powers.

He doesn’t. He can’t.

And yet when their thoughts link, the first words he can farce are…

“Johnathan Price… just on time.”

John’s thoughts escape his mind before he can get a semblance of control on them, questions like “you shouldn’t know my name, how do you know my name?!” and “who are you, what Reaper fucking reaped you?”

To that, the target smiles with perfect, unnaturally white teeth, “you should know by now, people like me and you operate in realms considered impossible by most, Lieutenant.”

Price grinds his teeth, forcibly pulling his mind back, taking control of his powers, of what the target sees, “you’re not Andrei Nolan, are you?”

The Target chuckles, “you’re far more pathetic than I expected.” the image in his mind is not of Price, but of the entire SAS. “No, I’m not Nolan. I’ll let you know my true name, because rest assured, Johnathan, we will meet again.”

Price scoffs incredulously. There’s no doubt in the revenant’s mind, despite stating something he couldn’t possibly know.

“You do not believe me.”

“I’ve read enough minds to know an overconfident one by now, mate.” Price glares.

The revenant’s grin widens, peculiarly pleased. “It appears that I need to provide evidence for my claims. Very well.” he sweeps two fingers on the red marking on his face, a sort of thread materializing between them. Price’s breathing picks up, something in the revenant’s mind poking at his, a red haze enveloping his thoughts.

He takes half a step back, eyes wide and staring at the thread hanging from the revenant’s fingers.

“I can promise you, Lieutenant, you will not stay in disbelief for much longer.”

The thread shoots forward in a sudden rush, Price stumbling back, but no man or revenant could escape those unnatural strings.

The moment it wraps around his throat, images begin flashing in his mind.

A burning city, smell of flesh overwhelming his senses.

Emptiness. Living statues, covered in darkness.

Endless skies, clouds and stars, moon and sun, falling and falling and falling.

Piles of broken bodies, some familiar and others not, all far too young to be dead.

A photo passed towards him, of the very revenant that is invading his mind. The smell of alcohol burns at his nose.

Realms beyond his own, a fabric weaved with crimson strings. Hands, knitting it together. Three eyes, identical to the revenant’s.

Words. 

“Fate”

“Unescapable. Indestructible. Unchangeable.”

“Nothing but a puppet on red strings.”

A cruel smile, human teeth grafted onto the blood-red skin of a Reaper. Suffocating satisfaction, unfathomable knowledge, power great enough to bend Reaper will.

“Under orders of Fate, you will not kill that revenant.”

“The Revenant of Fate.”

“Vladimir Makarov.”

The string snaps.

Price finds himself on all fours, shaking. The screaming around him doesn’t die down, and it takes him minutes to realize it comes from his mouth. Little red tears drip between his hands, his eyes crying blood.

The revenant - Makarov - laughs. In his thoughts, the sound bouncing in his cranium, unescapable.

“When I tell you we will meet again, Johnathan, I do not lie.” Makarov says, condescending. “But for now, our business is done.”

He feels Makarov leave his range, not before he says, “you should consider yourself lucky, Lieutenant Price. Not many receive this gift, to see their own fate. Until next time.”

John doesn’t dare lift his gaze for what feels like hours, the shaking in his limbs taking long minutes to subside. Eventually, the dread in his gut lowers enough for him to look up.

The seller’s body lays dead in front of him, shipping containers still full to the brim with missiles. Makarov didn’t come for them.

His only goal was Price.

“This is Bravo 0-6 to Watcher, how copy?”

“...Price?! We’ve been trying to contact you for hours, where have you-”

“Target was not Nolan. He wasn't after the missiles, either.”

“Lieutenant-”

“What do we know about the Reaper of Fate?”