#not realizing that hey actually this is far above my paygrade

[keshetchai]

As someone who enjoys religion blogging/discussions, I've come to realize that it's a good practice to be aware of the general signs/symptoms of religious-OCD thinking (aka scrupulosity), because if the conversation is taking on all the hallmarks of scrupulosity, it's actually a definitive sign that we cannot meaningfully and compassionately engage in a conversation about religion in a healthy way. I've actually had this play out a significant number of times online, and when I realized what it was, I also began to realize that the intrusive thoughts/obsessive and compulsive thinking are only ever fed by continuing the discussion with that person.

[[ Important edit to clarify why I am saying it's not healthy — made after I went back to look for more concrete facts about OCD or anxiety (I have GAD, not OCD, but many resources overlap since they're both anxiety disorders):

When Reassurance is Harmful — this explains how/why reassurance-seeking specifically about an OCD fear is a compulsive behavior, and engaging with reassurance-seeking interferes with recovery/management/treatment.

This table from the Anxiety Disorders Center lists key differences between Information Seeking and Reassurance Seeking.

This IOCDF page on Scrupulosity info for Faith Leaders identifies "symptom accommodation" as enabling. Two of the examples of doing this by participating in the OCD behavior are: "Engage in excessive conversation focused on if-then scenarios (e.g., "If I did this, then would X or Y happen? And what if Z was involved? How about W?")" And, "Repeatedly answering questions about ‘correct’ religious or faith practices."

That page also goes on to outline more info about reassurance seeking. "Although providing answers to (often simple!) questions may seem harmless, providing reassurance serves to maintain the anxiety disorder cycle." (This BMC psychiatry article cites a lot of related studies establishing this.)

The IOCDF page on What is OCD and Scrupulosity? ]]

Imo, the responsible thing to do is to recognize that (even if the other person hasn't outright stated it/isn't diagnosed)* the conversation is not about religion, it is about needing mental health support from professionals and experts. Talking to me, the layperson who enjoys chatting theology and my religion — is not only not helping, but is actively harmful. I'm not just talking about the person who I replied to today, either. Like I've said, I've seen this happen dozens of times in various online forums.

*[while I am against diagnosing strangers on the internet, it's important to realize A) lots of people don't know what Scrupulosity is, so it's possible they've never considered this is a mental health concern that could be treated, and that B) for the purposes of my concern, it doesn't matter if they actually have diagnosed OCD. The only thing that matters is that their thought-process causes them genuine distress/fear, and every response given to them seems to only incite new/additional distressing questions/thoughts, or further entrenches the original distress.]

Ultimately, any discussion aside from "you might want to speak to a mental health professional about scrupulosity OCD" seemingly puts me in the position of feeling as if I am being used for their self-harm. I hate that feeling. I do not want to be leverage for fear and pain. I have GAD, I despise the idea that I am making things worse.

No matter how much I love religious discussion, the answer in these cases is always "please reach out to an OCD specialist/mental health professional. I am not qualified to discuss this." And then to stop there. I have never once seen anyone stuck in this compulsive thought spiral be reassured or feel any better by hearing from someone else's approach to theology handled with things like empathy, compassion, logic, or even atheism. It doesn't matter what we say, how we say it, or how we relate to our own religion. The urge to engage in this kind of conversation in order to chat about religion is a sign that we are not equipped to help.

You can't have a conversation here, because intentionally or not, ten times out of ten, you are adding fuel to the fire. Just like people can't simply tell me something that would erase/talk me out of my ADHD/depression/anxiety disorder, you also cannot simply argue/reassure/persuade people out of scrupulosity. We should not try. We have a responsibility to consider that it's outright harmful to do so, and to disengage.

[poptod]

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate. 

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

[365days365movies]

March 9, 2021: Orpheus (1950) (Part Two)

...It occurs to me that I might not be qualified for this.

I know, film is for everybody, and everyone’s supposed to have their own interpretation of a given film, but...Cocteau, man. Cocteau is a surrealist filmmaker, and that’s not an easy film category to traverse, lemme tell you. And let me ALSO tell you, I am not looking forward to Experimental June. It will break me.

But OK, I’m getting by on my knowledge of Greek mythology, as well as my...supposed intelligence. I dunno, this movie’s making me feel pretty oonga boonga right now, not gonna lie. But anyway, let’s get on with this one, huh? Part One is right here, if you want to read it.

Recap (2/2)

After their argument, Heurtebise disappears and goes STRAIGHT to Orpheus, who’s too busy writing down one of Jacques’ poems. Dude straight up tells him that Eurydice is dead, and he’s too obsessed with the poetry to care. Imma say it...Orpheus is a shitty guy. Absolutely being a dick right now. He brushes Heurtebise off.

Meanwhile, upstairs...

The process is complete, and the Princess and her magic color-changing dress takes control of Eurydice’s soul, and brings her through the mirror into the Underworld. She and Heurtebise continue to berate each other’s affections for their respective humans, and they will report each other for their transgressions.

They leave...and it’s gorgeous.

Fuckin’ NICE. That’s some Cocteau magic right there!

Anyway, Orpheus finally stops being an ass for 2 seconds and comes outside, where Heurtebise confirms Eurydice’s death to him. Upon seeing his dead wife, Orpheus realizes that he’s been a bit of a dick, and he breaks down in regret. He begins to believe that he’s dreaming once again, but Heurtebise offers him a chance to save his wife.

Heurtebise tells Orpheus that the Princess is indeed Death, and that Death uses mirrors to travel from place to place. He says the following:

Mirrors are the doors through which Death comes and goes. Look at yourself in a mirror all your life...and you’ll see Death at work, like bees in a hive of glass.

Haunting. But wonderfully profound. Heurtebise breaks Orpheus out of his sorrow, and convinces him to go to the Underworld to find Death and get Eurydice back. He agrees, and the two prepare. He finds Death’s gloves, which she had left there, and which he puts on with a brilliantly reversed shot. It’s...it’s surreally neat. And with those on, he can pass through a mirror like water. All he needs to do is believe.

Guuuuuuuuuuuh. FUCK YEAH. That’s extremely cool, holy shit. They pass through the mirror and enter the Underworld. As Orpheus struggles to make his way through in the background of the shot, Heutrebise is stationary in the foreground, and looks as if he isn’t even walking. What I’m saying is, it’s FUCKING AWESOME.

As the two continue their travels, Jacques is speaking with a council of people, interviewing him about the situation with Orpheus and Eurydice. The Princess is soon brought in to speak to the council about her pursuit of Orpheus, as well as for the death of Eurydice. She appears to brush off the accusations of this illegal activity, but are soon confronted by the newly arrived Heurtebise and Orpheus.

Heurtebise admits that he has lingered in the mortal world for too long, while the Princess admits that she took Eurydice away in order to have Orpheus all to herself. She’s made to sign a paper. Orpheus and the Princess are escorted out, while Eurydice is brought in for her own testimony against Heurtebise.  Heurtebise admits that he loves Eurydice. He too is made to sign a paper.

Meanwhile, outside, Orpheus is seemingly in love with Death as well, and the two kiss. I mean...OK, dude’s Thanos, I get it. However, their love isn’t technically possible, and as they whisper sweet nothings and so forth, they are called back by the council.

The verdict is pronounced, and the Princess, Heurtebise, and Jacques are absolved. Eurydice is to be returned to life with Orpheus, but under the condition that he never look at her...AGAIN. DAMN. That’s a harsh-ass punishment. If he looks at her, she’s dead, again. Heurtebise guides the two out, and the council completely disappears.

Back in the mortal world, Orpheus and Eurydice are helped by Heurtebise in order to help them adjust to this new paradigm. Orpheus goes to get a letter from the mail, which says “You are a thief and a murderer; we will meet you at your grave.” My assumption is that it’s from the League of Women, but I’m sure we’ll get there.

However, Orpheus continues to be a dick, claiming that Eurydice doesn’t understand how bad he has it, not being able to see her. Seriously, dude is an ABSOLUTE ass. Far from the sensitive poet of the original myth, this Orpheus is a tempestuous, selfish asshole who seems to have NOTHING BUT CONTEMPT for his poor wife. Jesus. The whole affair’s made Eurydice near suicidal, but the situation doesn’t last for long. The next day, Eurydice visits Orpheus as he’s sitting once again in the car. She gets in the back seat, and he glances at her accidentally in the rear-view mirror.

Gone. POOF. Like that. And in her place, outside, it’s an angry mob, RIGHT on schedule! Orpheus goes to confront them, and Heurtebise gives him a pistol to threaten them with. The mob, stirred on by Aglaonice and a friend of Jacques’ (Roger Blin), barges in to his place. He threatens them with the revolver, but a struggle ensues, and Orpheus is shot in the heart. He’s escorted to Heurtebise’s car, where he quickly dies.

Not exactly the “torn apart” death he normally gets, but it’s still effective. Heurtebise takes him back to the Underworld, but to a place where they aren’t supposed to be going. And, uh...

GODDAMN do I love this shit. The two are reunited with Jacques and the Princess, and the two lovers happily reunite in love, forever in the Underworld. But they can’t be together until Orpheus is made truly immortal...by the Death of a poet’s death. Yeah, the Princess is going to kill herself to make him immortal, with the help of Jacques and Heurtebise.

However, what instead happens is that Heurtebise takes Orpheus back in time, before he first came to the Underworld. This is, understand, all something the Princess is telling him to do. But as for why...I’m not yet sure. Cocteau, man, he’s a complicated artist.

Back through the mirror they go, back into the land of the living at a point that feels so long ago. And once again wearing the gloves, Orpheus takes them off in a reversal of the reversal from earlier. Fucking...cool. Heurtebise watches on as Orpheus and the living Eurydice reunite in life, with absolutely no memories of what’s passed, and no ability to see Heurtebise.

With the two finally in love again (and they actually seem to be in love this time), Heurtebise returns to the Underworld. The motorcyclists come for the Princess, to take her to a fate worse then...well, herself. Heurtebise is also taken in, leaving the still-dead Jacques behind as they pass on to an unseen fate.

...Hot diggity FUCK. That’s Orpheus. ANd goddamn, that’s a lot to unpack. I’m pretty sure it’s above my paygrade, to be honest. But, hey? This is supposed to be fun, right? Let’s live a little. See you in the Review!

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

Friendship Dissolutions; A Lesson in Asshole Trauma Reactions

So this is normally my school day, but I’m feeling the need to dig into something else this morning. The past events of this weekend, annnnd the past nearly two years. Because, if you  hadn’t heard, relationships are hard and I like to embarrass myself by telling you about all my fuck ups.

You know, romantic relationships are a disaster for yours truly, but I always thought I was pretty good at the friendship thing. Since high school I’ve almost always had robust friendly relationships - both in depth and breadth. With the exception of a few difficult points in my life since 16, my phone has never been quiet, my weekends have only been isolating when I’ve been isolating myself, and I’ve always felt like I had humans on my side who were closer to kin than my actual family.

The thing is, there have been periods when this hasn’t been the case. I want to say that it’s generally when I’m in my worst mental health downfalls, but I don’t think that’s universally true. There have been variable reasons for separating myself from other people, or vice versa. Sometimes getting too busy, sometimes naturally growing apart, sometimes getting too obsessed with a romantic partner.

But, taking a more analytical view, underlying my lost friendship events, trauma has often been one of the influences that corrupted my friendships and left me lonely, even if it doesn’t seem like it at face value. The thing is, the trail of breadcrumbs might go back 20 years or so. I might not have been in a full-blown trauma state at the time, but those early life non-learnings about relationships have left their mark. So, yes, I do believe that CPTSD is the prerequisite for interpersonal disruptions and we’re not alone in that.

Anyways, in this Fucker’s life, for the past almost 2 years I’ve been in one of those friendship lulls. I’ve had casual friends, roommates, work-associates, distant relationships, some of those hey-how’s-it-going-every-two-months relations. But I haven’t had those deep, rich, all-encompassing friendships that used to define my existence. The ones that used to make me feel safe enough to have an existence, at all.

It’s all because I lost my core group of friends, I didn’t understand and couldn’t fix the problem, and I had no idea how to move forward.

And this last time when I lost everyone I loved, it was definitely due to trauma. Acute, historical, and recovering trauma, to be specific. It was a horrible period of my life, I was a human wrecking ball, and I had no emotional control… because, partially thanks to said friends, I never had to develop those skills.

Basically, I’ve been on my own since a whole series of mental health related isolation events and relationships dissolutions that have persisted since - I want to say 2019 - but to be more holistic, the ship started sailing earlier than that. Like, when I was born.

This has all come to mind more than usual because, this weekend? I had a strange rush of humans back into my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw my best, closest, most important old friends, who were closer to siblings…. In our natural habitat, with our normal friendship routines, with hundreds of memories from the past decade flying around the room.

And today… or, realistically, since I tried to go to sleep after seeing them each day this weekend… I have the relationship reckoning to deal with. The emotional and cognitive processing of everything that’s happened. The lost years. The sense of abandonment. The feeling of being cast out of a family. The inkling that everyone was talking about me. The realization that I was acting a fool, and maybe they should be talking about me. The sense that all parties were partially responsible, but I was the one to blame. The voice in my head that has called me a crazy, miserable, unlovable mess the entire time I debated this at 6am and 6pm and 3am for the past several years.

And now, in the aftermath, I have to work through the dynamic cocktail of feelings, the sense of waiting for the other shoe, and the big decision - are these relationships that I feel secure pursuing again?

And I don’t think I’m alone in this one.

So, today I thought it would be good to talk about this. The history of losing my favorite people on the planet, how I perceived it at the time, how I see my own trauma-actions fucking shit up in hindsight, how I’ve forgiven myself for being such a wild one, and… well… my hesitancy to have close friendships with humans who hurt me in the past. The ways I realized that being separate was beneficial to my mental health and life progress. The self-sabotaging enablement patterns that I now recognize, ran deep, in our old group of friends. The fear that being around them again will let my trauma brain run away with me.

Woo - it’s a whole personal relationship reckoning over here. Let’s just do this, so I can get to my school work at some point soon.

History

So let me set up this situation. You need the background details, of which, there are many dramatic twists and turns.

Be me, Spring of 2019. My romantic relationship with my ex in Atlanta - the musical narcissist that I followed to the city - is going terribly. Since we moved things have been rocky, but now our relationship has been pumped full of disappointment, unfair expectations, emotional codependency, resentment, horrific fighting, and abuse of all colors. Every day is a battle. We’re rarely ever “happy” together. We’re closer to enemies than friends. And we live under the same roof - the one his parents bought for him, outright in cash - to make matters even more fun.

Other than him, I’m alone in this city. I work at the brewery, where no one really likes me. I have one friend from work, but little time to interact thanks to the demanding schedule of my ex with his gigs and out-of-state child visitation.

Financially, my savings have been depleted by floating my significant other’s horrible decisions for the past 2 years. We can never get ahead. He never pays me back for anything. I’m basically in his pocket, as far as needing resources to survive.

As you can imagine, and as I’ve described previously, my mental health is in THE SHITTER. Maybe worse than it’s ever been, although this is hard to judge against some of my earlier years in my 20’s. I’m definitely ramped up in an aggressive and defensive trauma state more than ever before, thanks to living with my aggressor every day. I feel like I’m surviving against the will of my partner, who seems to legitimately be doing his best to drive me into an early grave every single time the sun rises. He’s moved into the territory of intentionally triggering me for hours on end, upsetting me to the point of mental breakdowns, and then gaslighting me for “acting so crazy.” Things have become dangerous, I have no one to turn to, and no cash to get myself into a better situation… not that I know what a better situation even looks like.

But one day, I left. Packed my two bags, went to work, wound up at that single sort-of-friend’s house, never went back home.

And that’s when the real nightmare started. I mean, my ex was a terror over time as we lived together, but a narcissist scorned is a narcissist determined to ruin your fucking life. He harassed me daily via text, phone call, FB messenger, email, stalkings… whatever you can think of. When I blocked him on everything, he started trying to leverage our therapists against me until they refused to interact anymore. He wouldn’t let me into his house to get my stuff. He tried to have me arrested for attempting to do so, after he made arrangements with me to move that weekend. He suddenly refused to even acknowledge that he owed me a dime, and found a way to tally up venmo transactions to show that I actually owed him. He took my only support - our dog, who was really my dog - away and wouldn’t let me see him. Later, he reported my car stolen, so I had to purchase a new one without warning.

The list goes on and on. Just, assume every pathetic, cruel, desperate attempt at getting under someone’s skin and reminding them that they had the audacity to leave you. That’s what was going on in my world.

Meanwhile, with those financial and social pressures I mentioned earlier. No close friends in the area, no spare cash, an unstable job where I was on the chopping block for the reason of “the CEO didn’t like my personality,” nowhere to live, no idea where to go next or how to start a whole new life.

Annnnnd this is right about when my closely knit friend group back in Illinois sort of, well, dipped.

My bestest, best, most treasured friend in my lifetime had always been there for me. But now, she wasn’t. We had exchanged a handful of phone calls over the past month in the aftermath of this relationship ending, but she had been pretty detached from it. I wasn’t offended, because she had certainly heard enough of the drama in real time… of course she was tired of hearing about it...  but I was feeling especially alone and incapable of handling everything on my own, so the distance was difficult, nevertheless. Then, one day she told me that I was being too much for her. I had too high of expectations. It had been bothering her for a while. She needed me to understand and give her some space.

And this was the completely avoidable beginning of the end of my friendships. Let’s talk about why.

How I perceived it

So, I’m pretty sure you can guess how I took this challenging message from my best friend. Uh, poorly. I was so shocked that in my darkest hour, my comrade would feel like my problems were out of her paygrade. It felt like a stab to the heart and straight down through the gut. Here I was, completely alone and isolated, reaching back to my most trusted companions for a lifeline to keep my head above water, and… nothing. She didn’t want to reel me back into the boat.

I responded with some shitty messages about how I really wasn’t asking that much from her and I didn’t appreciate being blindsided by her sudden decision to get rid of me. I had only taken up a few phone calls to talk things through based on her schedule. I had visited her one weekend as I went to a job interview nearby. I had asked her to come visit me soon, so I could feel less alone for a few days. I didn’t think it was fair that she was responding this way. I couldn’t believe she would turn her back on me at this particular moment.

And so, the rift developed. We stopped speaking. I started sobbing. I was absolutely beside myself, as if I hadn’t already been. This wasn’t what I wanted, at all, but I also felt like I had no control in it.

.......

Like it? Well I’m too lazy to post the whole thing here. Check t-mfrs.com for the full blog AND the podcast recorded version. Yawelcome. 

www.t-mfrs.com 

(Traumatized Motherfuckers)

[purplehairedwonder]

Inside a Broken Dream Chapter 1

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen Words: 3636 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Shachi, Bepo, Penguin, Heart Pirates, Donquixote Doflamingo Note: Story title comes from the Vertical Horizon song "Shackled." Character and relationship tags reflect the current chapter. Obviously this is canon-divergent ;)

Summary: Two years after Wano, peace on the Grand Line is fragile. Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates are doing their best to help maintain the peace, but the return of a figure from Law's past might shatter the balance of power entirely.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N 

The Marine vessel ambled through the waves, seemingly unconcerned that it had entered territory in which it was not welcome. It didn’t take long for the lone government-sanctioned vessel to be spotted, though none of the guards at the outpost recognized it. They repeatedly attempted to hail the ship without a response. Despite the radio silence, a few uniformed soldiers were spotted working on deck, so any thoughts that the ship might be abandoned and simply following the currents of the New World’s waters were quickly dismissed.

No, this Marine ship was traveling into territory it had no business being in, and it must be doing so on purpose. But why?

After the repeated attempts to hail the ship went unanswered, the outpost guards immediately called in to report the sighting, thankfully reaching a member of their boss’s inner circle.

“A Marine ship,” the voice repeated flatly through the Den Den Mushi. “In our territory.”

“Yes sir. They’re not answering any of our attempts at contact, but there are soldiers aboard. What do you want us to do?” The boss had made it clear that anyone who shot first and asked questions later would regret such carelessness—in the current, fragile state of the world, even one reckless move could cause the whole house of cards to come tumbling down. That would be especially true with a Marine ship in pirate territory.

“Nothing for now. I’m not far. I’ll come myself.”

“Aye, Shachi-san.”

-----

Shachi watched the horizon, squinting behind his glasses as the sunlight reflected sharply on the water. The sky was cloudless and the ocean gentle. Despite that, Shachi’s muscles were tense. Though he spent more time above deck on ships these days, it never quite felt right to be so exposed at all times. Shachi had spent so many years sailing in a submarine that other ships just felt wrong.

Or maybe Law’s paranoia was rubbing off on him more than he’d realized.

Shachi sighed. He missed the Polar Tang.

Oh, it’s not that the Tang was gone or that Shachi never traveled on her anymore. But she was the flagship of the Heart Pirates, so she was usually reserved for Law’s travels these days. And Law—much to his captain’s chagrin, Shachi knew—was traveling less these days than he once had. The Heart captain would like nothing more than to take to the sea with his nakama again, to take the Tang beneath the waves and just sail, but it wasn’t that simple anymore; things had changed for all of them in the years since Dressrosa and Wano.

Shachi had been out visiting the islands at the edges of the territory on a routine check in—a duty he actually enjoyed while others found it tedious. Though he appreciated (and excelled at, if he did say so himself) his new responsibilities helping Law, he was still a simple pirate at heart. Getting out on the ocean and sailing across the territory was the closest he came to those early days when he, Law, Penguin, and Bepo had sailed the Polar Tang together around the North Blue, so he took every opportunity that he could to do it.

This was meant to be a laid-back assignment, so Shachi had received the call from the outposts with no little surprise. The outpost guard who had called was far from frightened (Law had no patience for panic among his men), but he was confused—and for good reason. This was one of the last places a Marine vessel should roaming. It was practically a declaration of war, though that was above Shachi’s paygrade. Before making any decisions or calling Law, Shachi needed more information than the guards had been able to provide, so he headed in the direction the ship had last been seen with a small crew.

It didn’t take long for Shachi’s ship to find the rogue Marine vessel. Just as the guard had said, it was a lone, unfamiliar ship that neither seemed to be sailing with a particular destination in mind nor appeared damaged, preventing it from avoiding the territory. But there was no way a Marine vessel didn’t know where it had wandered.

What the hell?

Shachi grabbed the ship’s Den Den Mushi and connected to the local frequency. “Marine vessel, identify yourself.”

Silence.

Shachi frowned, exchanging looks with the other men on his ship. They seemed nonplussed as well. “Marine vessel, this is Shachi of the Heart Pirates.” After two years, it still amazed him that his name should be recognizable, but it was. “Identify yourself, or we will be forced to fire.”

“Ah,” a deep, amused voice replied, startling Shachi. “It seems we’ve finally found someone high up on the food chain. Good.”

“Marine vessel—”

“I have a message for your captain, Shachi of the Heart Pirates,” the voice interrupted.

Shachi rolled his eyes. This was hardly the first time they’d encountered someone looking to make a name for themselves by challenging Law. That trend had started once Law started making a name for himself as a Grand Line rookie and had only gotten worse over the years as the captain’s status had grown. This, it seemed, would not even need to garner Law’s attention, though he might be amused that it was apparently the Marines looking to gain some notoriety this time.

“And what message is that?”

“Tell Trafalgar Law that his old boss would like to see him. Well, if you survive, that is. If not, your bodies will be enough of a message for the boy.”

Shachi barely had time to register the cold chill of recognition rolling down his spine as several cannon balls slammed into the ship. The world exploded into fire and debris. A shockwave thew Shachi backwards like a ragdoll and slammed him into the mast. His neck snapped back hard. His body screamed in protest while his head spun. His ears rang as he slumped to the deck, blood pooling in his mouth. His glasses were long gone.

Shachi felt darkness descend as a maniacal laugh echoed through the Den Den Mushi.

-----

“Mrph.”

Law sat up in the chair he’d been reclining in for last four hours, absently turning through pages of a medical book as he waited at Shachi’s bedside, and looked over to see Shachi’s eyes slitting open.

“Hey,” Law greeted, relieved. The knots in his stomach untied at the sight of his friend coming to. He put his book down and grabbed the spare pair of glasses Penguin had provided and placed them on his friend’s eyes. Though the lights in the infirmary were low, the last thing Shachi needed to worry about was his light sensitivity. “You with me, Shachi?”

“C-captain?” Shachi coughed.

Law gave him a wan smile. “Good to see you among the living.” Unfortunately, several of the men on Shachi’s ship hadn’t been so lucky.

Shachi blinked a few times behind his glasses before trying to push himself into a sitting position. Rather than fight him on that, Law helped ease him up to a more comfortable position. Though Law’s Fruit had taken care of the worst damage from the explosion—and it hadn’t been pretty when Law had first Scanned his friend—Shachi wouldn’t be getting out of this bed for a while. There was also no way to assess potential brain injuries until Shachi was awake, so he watched Shachi carefully for any telltale warning signs.

Shachi looked around for a moment then turned to Law. “Are we on the Tang?”

Law nodded. Once he’d heard about the attack, Law had boarded the Polar Tang with the closest Hearts on hand and beelined to the wreckage of Shachi’s ship; it had been several hours since the attack at that point, and unsurprisingly the vessel that had dared attack one of his inner circle was nowhere to be seen. Smart, because Law had been ready to kill the moment he saw the damage done to his own men—to one of his closest friends. They’d managed to recover Shachi and three other live crew members from the smoldering debris of the ship. That left six men unaccounted for; while Law had treated the wounded, Bepo was leading a search to find the lost as well as track down the enemy ship. It couldn’t have gotten far.

“What happened?” Shachi asked, still sounding a bit dazed. Concussion, most likely.

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Law replied, crossing his arms. He needed to know, but he also wanted to make sure Shachi didn’t push himself too hard.

Shachi frowned and seemed to consider, though the way his brow furrowed indicated it was giving him a headache. “I…” He licked his lips, and Law offered him a glass of water, which he gratefully sipped from. “While I was on my inspection, I got a call from one of the outposts,” he said finally, words slow and slightly slurred as he collected his thoughts. “There was a Marine vessel entering the territory.”

Law raised an eyebrow. “A Marine ship?” That was��� unexpected. And potentially disastrous for the current tenuous peace on the Grand Line.

Shachi nodded then grimaced at the movement. Definitely a concussion then. “They weren’t getting any responses when they hailed it, though they spotted men aboard, so I took some of my guys to check it out.”

Law nodded. It was what he would have wanted Shachi to do, and Shachi knew that.

“When I hailed them, I got a response.”

Interesting. “And?” Law prompted.

Shachi opened his mouth to reply, but Law’s Den Den Mushi chose that moment to ring. Law nodded at Shachi and the other man sighed, collapsing back into the pillows behind him and shutting his eyes against the dim lights. Just that small amount of speaking had worn him out.

“Yes?” Law answered, still keeping an eye on Shachi. He realized his fingers were drumming anxiously against his bicep and forced himself to still.

“C-captain” Bepo replied, “we found the ship that attacked Shachi.”

Law nodded, already mentally preparing to order Jean Bart to get the Polar Tang moving as he listened with half an ear. “Good.”

“Y-you’re not going to believe who’s on it.” There was something off about Bepo’s voice.

Law frowned as Shachi opened his eyes to look at him, seeming to know what Bepo was going to say. Law didn’t like the expression on his friend’s face. He took a breath. “What are you talking about, Bepo?”

Bepo inhaled, as if gathering courage to speak. “I’m sorry. I-it’s Doflamingo.”

-----

Two years ago

With Kaido’s fall, Trafalgar Law expected to be recognized as the next Emperor

A week after Kaido, the King of the Beasts and one of the four Emperors of the New World, fell to the combined efforts of the Straw Hat, Heart and Kid Pirates, the Land of Wano has a new ruler and open borders. As the World Government seeks to normalize relations with the formerly isolated nation, questions remain about the power vacuum that exists among the Three Great Powers.

With the recent dissolution of the Royal Warlords at this year’s Reverie, there are already concerns about the fragile balance of power on the seas. And now, with one of the Emperors falling, many are looking for an immediate replacement to stabilize the powers in the New World.

Popular support among the highest levels is, once more, behind a former Warlord: Trafalgar Law, member of the Worst Generation and Captain of the Heart Pirates, was among the victors in the battle against Kaido and already has the support of numerous influential figures to take the King of the Beasts’ place among the Emperors.

Of course, Trafalgar’s candidacy for Emperor is complicated by his infamous alliance with Straw Hat Luffy, who this paper reported as being considered the Fifth Emperor mere months ago. While an alliance between Emperors would have been unheard of in the past, this paper has confirmed that Kaido and Charlotte “Big Mom” Linlin formed an alliance of their own before Kaido’s defeat.

If Trafalgar is recognized as an Emperor as expected, he will be the third member of the so-called Worst Generation of pirates to reach the highest levels of power on the Blues – following Marshall D. Teach and Monkey D. Luffy – but is unlikely the be the last.

“Fuffuffuffuffu. So, the little bird continues to spread his wings. If he’s not careful, he’ll get too close to the sun.”

-----

A cold chill went down Law’s spine at the utterance of that man’s name. “What?” he breathed.

“He’s right, Captain,” Shachi said quietly.

Law turned to him sharply and Shachi winced back into the pillows. Law sighed and ran a hand over his face. Doflamingo had been in Impel Down for the last two years; that chapter of his life was supposed to be closed. “Tell me, Shachi.”

“Doflamingo was the one to answer when I hailed the ship,” Shachi replied, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. “I didn’t recognize his voice immediately, but he said he had a message for you.”

“Of course he did,” Law sighed. The games never ended with the man. “What did he say?”

Shachi licked his lips, grimacing when he found a cut. “He, uh, wants to see you.”

Son of a bitch, Law thought irritably. “Bepo?” he asked, turning back to the Den Den Mushi.

Truth be told, it didn’t shock Law that Doflamingo was out of Impel Down; it was his connections to the Celestial Dragons that had upended Law’s plot for vengeance those years ago, and Law wouldn’t put it past the bastard to find some way to exploit those connections once more to get out. But now, of all times… The balance of power on the Blues was tenuous at best, and the reemergence of a disgraced Warlord and underworld broker would only wreak greater havoc.

“W-we didn’t contact the ship,” his first mate replied, “but we’ve got eyes on it. Doflamingo is definitely on board. He… seems to be in charge? The Marines are following his orders.”

That the Marines on board the ship were following him was not a good sign either. Unless Doflamingo was controlling them, consummate puppet master that he was.

This would need to be dealt with quickly.

“Send Jean Bart the coordinates,” Law told Bepo.

“C-captain, are you sure? That’s what he wants.”

“And let the bastard get away with attacking my men? With nearly killing Shachi?”

Bepo whined in the back of his throat but didn’t argue. “Yes, Captain.”

-----

Once the Polar Tang surfaced alongside Bepo’s ship and in front of the wayward Marine vessel, Law took a steadying breath then hefted Kikoku to her familiar place on his shoulder. A Room blossomed out from his hand and quickly encompassed all three ships as Law headed out on deck, Penguin and Jean Bart flanking him. He was sure Doflamingo would have noticed the range on the Room—and he wanted the other man to know that, no matter what he thought, Law would be in control of this little tête-à-tête.

The remaining Hearts on the ship stationed themselves out of sight but were poised to strike if needed. Shachi had wanted to come, but Penguin had convinced him to stay in the infirmary after Shachi had nearly fallen on his face trying to get out of bed. On Bepo’s ship, the mink stood alongside Ikkaku, Uni, and Clione at the fore of the ship. Bepo’s remaining men were out of sight.

As Law approached the railing, he couldn’t suppress the surge of rage that the sight of Doflamingo’s giant form and familiar pink coat ignited under his skin—nor that tiny curl of icy fear in the back of his mind. Years later, and his reaction was still the same. A completely normal response to a traumatic trigger, Law’s logical mind reminded him. A lot had changed since Dressrosa, though, the least of which was not Law himself.

As Shachi and Bepo had reported, Marines were moving around the deck of the ship, though now that he was close, Law could see the slightly jerky motions that indicated they weren’t moving of their own accord; anyone unfamiliar with Doflamingo’s strings likely wouldn’t recognize the difference. That was one mystery solved, but it still didn’t explain what the bastard was doing here and how he’d gotten out of Impel Down—and on a Marine vessel no less.

“Fuffuffu,” Doflamingo chuckled as Law appeared. “And here I thought it would be harder to get an audience with an Emperor.” He tilted his head amusedly, glasses glinting in the fading sunlight. “Though I confess I had hoped us being Family would count for something. Glad to see I was right.”

Law clenched his jaw but kept his voice level. “Attacking my men was not your smartest move, Doflamingo.”

“No?” Doflamingo blatantly raked his gaze over Law. “It seems to have worked out exactly as I’d hoped.” His lips twitched. “How’s Shachi?”

“You son of a—” Penguin growled, but Law raised a hand and Penguin cut himself off, though he continued to vibrate in anger.

“What do you want?” Law asked flatly. He knew better than anyone not to get caught up in Doflamingo’s pace—the ugly ring of scar tissue on his right bicep was a permanent reminder of that lesson.

Doflamingo spread his arms wide and grinned. “Can’t a pirate want to congratulate his protégé on his success? First a Warlord, now an Emperor. Your rise has been very impressive, Law. Especially considering how it all started.”

Law ignored the obvious bait. “You didn’t break out of Impel Down to congratulate me on something that happened two years ago. What. Do. You. Want.”

If possible, Doflamingo’s grin widened. “Who says I broke out?”

Law blinked, and for a moment he was standing on Green Bit again, hearing from Blackleg-ya that they’d been deceived, watching the plan he’d had spent countless hours fine tuning and sacrificing for starting to unravel in his hands. Law should have every advantage in this situation, yet one sentence—the implication of one sentence, even—sent him spinning.

Schooling his features, Law simply quirked an eyebrow and let as much disdain as he could manage flow into his retort. “I highly doubt Akainu is letting former Warlords out early on good behavior.”

“Fuffuffu. He is if they can do something for him.”

“What could you possibly do for the Red Dog?”

Doflamgino shrugged with exaggerated affect. “The Fleet Admiral was very interested in the, shall we saw, personal knowledge I had of the newest Emperor.”

Law stiffened. “You expect me to believe Akainu let you out of Impel Down for some trivia about me when I was a child?” he forced himself to scoff.

Doflamingo tsked, as if disappointed. “We both know better than that, Law.”

And the son of a bitch was right; Doflamingo knew some very, very dangerous things about Law, his background, and his Fruit. Law was practically a ghost when it came to records before he started making a name for himself as a pirate in the North Blue; the records of Flevance had either been destroyed or suppressed by the Marines, and he hadn’t been anyone worth noting when he’d been part of the Family as a child.

But Doflamingo… He knew all of it.

Law briefly wondered if Akainu would care he was the sole survivor of the White City, a demon child in his own right. From what he knew of the man, Law would expect him to want to wipe out the stain on the Marine record that Law represented. Not that he needed any additional reasons to target Law.

Perhaps more damning, Doflamingo knew that Law was a D., a revelation that had shaken the former Celestial Dragon and given even Sengoku pause—though the man had lied about knowing anything about it. For all that Law distrusted the former Fleet Admiral, he didn’t think Sengoku would have shared that tidbit out of respect to Cora-san. But if Akainu were to find out… well, Law didn’t doubt that the name his parents had warned him to keep secret would only cause him greater problems if the Marines knew about it. He may not know what it meant yet—he and Nico-ya were still working on that—but he did know intimately how those with that name suffered. Whatever the higher ups in the Marines knew about that secret name, it put those who carried it directly in their crosshairs.

Of course, Doflamingo also hadn’t said that he’d shared any of that information either. Law, over far too many years of reflection—obsession—on his time in the Family, has realized that Doflamingo did much of his manipulation through implication, letting his victims make their own assumptions about his words. It was a tactic he used himself. He wouldn’t let himself be taken by half-truths and suggestions.

“That still doesn’t answer why you’re here, other than to waste my time.”

“You wound me, Law,” Doflamingo pouted. “But fine. I wasn’t lying when I said the Fleet Admiral is interested in you. Akainu offered me my freedom in exchange for you. Dead or alive. He provided me a ship and everything.”

Law could feel his crewmates stiffen defensively around him, hands going toward weapons. Bepo growled somewhere to Law’s right. Law ignored them. “If you were here for my head, there were easier ways to go about it.”

“Fuffuffu. Very good. I’m not interested in running errands for Akainu.”

Law crossed his arms and waited.

Doflamingo’s smirk turned predatory. “I’m here to take back what’s mine.”

[autumn-maple13]

Lost to Time - Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Heading for Caem

Amara and Ignis awoke long before the guys did, dressing quickly to steal away to the café they had visited so many days before. The owner had welcomed them warmly, making sure they were okay as she made them coffee and breakfast, and even joining them while they ate – though she did leave them to their own devices when Amara produced the map of the locations of the Royal Arms.

And yet, despite the time they spent there, they still returned to the hotel before everyone had awoken, arriving just in time to say goodbye to Talcott before Monica and Dustin took him and their luggage to the Cape to begin their side of the preparations. Iris met them in the lobby, smiling at them before she took a moment to let Ignis know she would be riding with them, as the Guards had only enough room for Talcott once everything was loaded. Amara cringed as she thought about the amount of room the Regalia's backseat actually had with Gladiolus and Noctis hogging it.

"You could ride with me instead, so you don't have to be so cramped," the redhead offered, making the Amicitia look at her in concern.

"Do you really think Gladdy would let me ride on your motorcycle?"

"I think he knows I'm a very safe driver, so why not?"

"Safe, but a tad unpredictable at times. Perhaps it would be better for her to take one of our spots in the Regalia, while one of us rides with you instead."

"Have fun Specs!" the trio turned to watch the other part of the group come down the stairs with all their bags, including Amara's from her room. Noctis smirked at his advisor, not even trying to hide how amused he was. "I don't think any of us need to get near her after yesterday."

"Noct, as your friend and a Glaive fully capable of kicking your ass into next week, shut up." Amara smiled sweetly, "Unless of course, you want me to run off to Altissia ahead of you and spill everything to Lunafreya. I'm sure I could find some way across the sea, just for the sake of embarrassing you."

"Speaking of, don't think I've forgotten that I need to find out what you've already told her."

"My lips are sealed."

"Ignis, I command you to find out for me."

"Sorry Noct, but this one is above my paygrade as either a Crownsguard officer or your advisor."

"Don't you outrank her though?"

"No, she's actually currently one of the only four officially ranked officers left. Our activities with the Guard are more for practicalities sake since we're technically both your first and last line of defense. Gladio is the only one among the three of us with a rank, though he doesn't have an officer's title."

"You have to actually fulfill Crownsguard assignments to gain rank, and he didn't have too many opportunities since he's your Shield." Amara nodded, smirking in triumph for a few seconds before something hit her. "Hey, wait, what do you mean after yesterday?"

"Wait, were you just threatening me without even paying attention to why?"

"It's kinda just force of habit to threaten embarrassment upon you at this point. I heard 'I don't think' and just kinda zoned out on the rest."

Gladiolus grinned, walking over so he stood beside the duo and leaning into them. "He means the way Ignis acted when he found out you might be on the base."

Amara flushed brightly when a glance to the side showed Ignis fidgeting slightly, suddenly very interested in the lens of his glasses, before she began glaring at the taller man and then at her snickering former classmates. "You two can it."

"Ah, it's good to hear her fussing again," Prompto laughed, walking over and slinging an arm around Amara's neck. "Come on Ams, I'm sure you already know we were all freaking out trying to get you back."

"Of course, she knows, Ignis isn't the only one around here that cares about her," Noctis added, pulling the blond's arm off the woman. "Let's get going already. Specs, you ride with Amara. I'll drive the Regalia."

"Alright, but just so you are aware we should make a stop at Malmalam Thicket on the way there to procure another of the Arms."

"Alright."

It only took a few minutes for all of them to make their way to the vehicles and re-stow everything away. Iris was the first to get settled in the Regalia, taking Noct's usual seat in the back. Unusually, all the guys were quick to buckle up once they took their own spots, leaving Amara and Ignis to exchange amused looks before climbing onto the redhead's motorcycle. The man wrapped a steady arm around his partner's waist as she turned the engine, letting her wave to the others before heading up the ramp and out of the parking area. Noctis was quick to follow her out of the city, though Ignis was chuckling in her ear about the distance he was keeping between them.

Heading in the direction of the waterfall tomb, the little journey looked like it would be smooth sailing for them all the way to the Thicket – until a buzz filled Amara's ear. Looking up, she growled at the sight of one of the Empire's flying fortresses coming in above them. The sound of the Regalia's engine roaring closer was the only interruption, with Noctis pulling alongside them with a grim look. Ignis shifted slightly behind her.

"We should find a spot to pull over," his hand tightened on his partner's hip, no doubt reminded of the news he had received the previous night.

Amara nodded, glancing at her friend's. "Old Lestallum is just ahead! We can stop there!"

Falling back behind the Glaive, the group looked ahead of them to the small town that was quickly approaching. They were quick to pull into the parking lot of the hotel on the main street, parking there and asking Iris to stay put while they went to take care of things. Deciding to take the Regalia, despite her previous 'capture', the group hopped in with Amara behind the wheel, letting her take them out of the city towards the old Lucian base the Fortress had landed in.

"Surprised to see them this far out," Noctis grumbled, adjusting the bracer on his arm and making Prompto sigh.

"Leave no plot of land unconquered."

"Those aren't conquering numbers," Gladio pointed out, a growl to his voice.

Ignis nodded, looking over at Amara as she gripped the wheel a bit tighter. "Likely building a supply line it would behoove us to cut."

The redhead agreed, turning down a street that led away from the Base's entrance and following the tall walls as the guys made a few comments about how the base looked. Pulling over not far beyond the wall's uphill curve, Amara sliced the wires acting as a guardrail before climbing back into the car and maneuvering it carefully off the road. After a quick (and careful) disguise job, the group was following the Glaive up the hill, through the brush. Heading quickly up the slope Amara soon found an unwatchable part of fencing that acted as a makeshift wall between the base and some of its supply pipes, cutting them a hole in the shadow of the inner walls and motioning towards a concrete slope that stretched upward some feet in front of them. Looking up they could see a guard tower situated on the upper level and looked to Amara questioning.

"Noct and I will take out the guards, the rest of you stay out of view for now." She was speaking quieter than they had heard in some time, motioning for everyone to follow her, then at Noctis when they reached the crest. The King threw the first warp, taking out a sniper on the stairs of the tower as Amara threw one of her Kukris, warping over to take care of a Trooper in the tower's shadow. Hearing the sound of metal hit the ground made the other few troops in the area show themselves, only to be taken out with expert precision before they could ever fire off a shot. The others joined the duo soon after, and followed Amara up the stairs to the lookout, sharing a few curses and groans at the sight below them. The base was already much farther set up than anticipated, with the fortress's tail acting as a conduit to spread the MT generator's power across the area.

Noctis sighed, looking over it again before turning to his friends. "So, what's our plan?"

Ignis took a moment to think, then looked at Amara. "Find the base commander and take him into custody. Targeting metal men will yield little in the way of reconnaissance, but bones bend easily. We'll split into two groups."

Amara shook her head. "No, three. I'm going to head for the generator."

The men looked at her for a moment but nodded when they saw her glaring down at the machine. Ignis sighed softly, shaking his head.

"Prompto and Gladio can generate a diversion."

"Aw, yeah! Making a scene's what I do best." The man laughed, cracking his knuckles.

The taller blonde smiled for a moment, then looked to his King. "Noct, are you prepared?"

He got a nod in response, making Prompto smack his friend's shoulder lightly. "Operation: To Catch a Commander is go!"

Amara looked at the guys but only took a moment to wish them luck before losing a kukri down to a sheltered area behind some shipping crates. It had taken them a bit longer to get to the base than she had realized, she noticed, as she slinked through the shadows that were growing darker by the minute. She didn't want to risk checking the sky to confirm her suspicions, so hoped the guys were being careful to avoid any demonic distractions the Niffs had held on several bases she had infiltrated in the past.

Slipping beneath a tarp when she heard metal clad feet getting close to her, she willed herself out of sight using Noct's magic as she had been trained to do with King Regis's, and tried to ignore the slightly more red tint bleeding into the purple edging the crystalline fragments surrounding her from the magic.

Not moving until she was sure she was in the clear, the woman snuck back out, dispersing her magic so she wouldn't drain herself further as she slipped through the shelter of more supplies until she found herself nearing her target. Watching for any patrol before making her next move, she slipped along the edge of the inner wall, ducking behind what she could to avoid being lit up by the harsh lighting of the center of the area. Heading quickly up behind the Generator when she was close enough, she set to rigging a Firaga flask to its base, then warping herself up onto a platform before she threw a lower level flask at it, igniting it with a loud explosion that sent a shock through the base – setting off alarms and awakening a large MT armor that she hadn't realized was manned, but the Generator stayed running, though it was fluctuating wildly.

Realizing they must have re-enforced them somehow after the last base was taken out of commission, she was happy to hear the guys joining her before she dove headlong into attacking the MT power supply, letting them handle the armor. Hacking at it with strong blows of a broadsword was enough to dispatch it after the explosion had weakened it, so she found herself quickly warping in to help the guys. With Gladio and Noctis attacking the armor's legs and Prompto sniping its joints, she set to disarming it – though she and Noctis were warping after it when the surprisingly agile armor leaped into the air and landed several feet away, perfectly situated to rain missiles on them.

The duo were quick to remove the launcher from action as their grounded companions moved in, and were successful in setting one of them off directly in the face of the armor – making it succumb even faster despite themselves barely missing being caught in to close range explosion. Between the four of them, it didn't take much longer, leaving them darting out of range before it exploded itself.

Hearing the laser gate locking them in with the armor die out, the group turned to watch a peeved Ignis approach, frowning as he looked at them.

"Glad to see you lot were successful."

"Does that mean you weren't?" Noctis almost sounded shocked, with agreeing expressions on their faces as they looked in surprise at the advisor. He made some sort of motion at them as he shook his head.

"I placed our captive into the Hunters' custody, but I've just been informed he's fled… He lives to die another day."

"And I'll gladly help him with that," Noct growled, rubbing his shoulder. "For now, let's head back to town."

The group muttered their agreements, following the Advisor back out of the area and heading for their exit.

They had hardly made it into the open when the sound of a grunt from above them left the guys looking at Amara in shock when she summoned a crystal barrier over their heads and a sword to her hand. Jumping in front of Noctis she blocked the incoming spear of a woman clad in Niff emblemed clothing, letting her barrier dissipate when the woman kicked herself free, only to launch another blow that locked them close together.

"Hey pretty girl," the woman seemed to purr before launching herself backward and away from them, landing gracefully a few feet away as she laughed. Gladiolus darted in front of the King as the redhead dissipated her sword to draw her kukris, looking at the Niff female with a smirk.

"Hey Aranea, long-time no ass-kicking."

"Oh, so you remembered me? How sweet! Unfortunately, I'm not here for you today Glaive."

"You're not getting Noctis." She was aware of the others jumping in front of their charge, though she didn't risk a glance to see who was where.

"Well, let's see what you can do!" Aranea had hardly finished speaking before she shifted her weight and darted around the group at an incredible pace – directly into her target, who was lucky to warp through her strike and avoid it. Knowing his fighting style wasn't suited to dealing with the Niff's heavy dragoon lance, Amara used one of her old tricks and left Gladio trying to not fall on his ass when she leaped up onto his shoulder, then off of it into the air where she summoned her own lance.

Quickly balancing herself, the redhead brought the full force of her body weight down with the lance between the other woman and the King, cracking the ground from the force of it. Warping through the enemy's attacks, the Glaive dispersed her spear and switched back to her kukris, using the small blades to knock away the lunges of the lance trying to hit her. Aranea was getting angrier by the second, and finally shoved her away before leaping high into the air – hovering there long enough to begin spinning quickly as she rest her foot on the hilt of her spear, building up speed and torque that would be sure to do a lot of damage.

Realizing what was at stake, Noctis and Amara both warped after her and left the others to deal with the MTs that were starting to arrive on dropships no doubt alerted by any number of alarms on the base. They were cleared out easily enough as the duo chased the bigger threat through the air and from platform to platform, at one point managing to slam her face first into a metal beam, until she finally managed to knock both back to the ground below, only to perch rather unimpressed on another platform above them – looking like she was checking her watch of all things as she peeled her helmet off.

"Aw, is it that time already?"

"What time?" came the question from the more than confused king as he rubbed his wrenched wrist, looking less upset by the whole situation than he had earlier.

"Quittin' time," Aranea shrugged. "Sorry, but this girl doesn't work after hours. I could, but there wouldn't be a single gil in it for me. Hey, we should play again sometime, pretty girl."

Amara tried to come up with a retort, but the Niff had already leaped high into the air, and into a waiting dropship that was an oddly bright shade of red. As it took off from the base, Noctis couldn't help but look over at the Glaive with an even more confused look.

"Who the hell was she?"

"I'll have to explain later, for now…"

Prompto sent a nod her way, turning to his friends. "I'm still worried about Iris."

"I imagine she's fine," Ignis didn't seem particularly concerned, instead using a potion on his liege then tossing one to the redhead, but Gladiolus seemed a bit more worried.

"But we shouldn't keep her waiting."

It was a quick agreement before the group was hurrying from the base, pausing at the edge of the lights to look down at the dark expanse separating them from the Regalia.

"Amara, I don't suppose…?"

"Prompto, you and your flares are coming with me this time."

"What? Why me?!"

[bettername2come]

What Will Be Left to Defend?

Spoilers for Infinity War. Also posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554131

There were some moments Jessica really hated living in this city. For instance, moments where a giant alien spaceship appeared in the sky when she was supposed to be getting proof that some rich bastard was cheating on his wife while she was working late nights at Metro-General in the pediatric oncology unit. Jessica crouched on the roof, snapping photos of the cheating asshole and his secretary (God, could he be more cliché?) when the wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face. She heard an engine above her and tilted the camera upward, expecting to see a helicopter but instead spotting a giant, round spaceship spinning around like a Ferris wheel from hell.

Her finger automatically clicked on the shutter button. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed. She stood and jumped over the edge of the building landing hard but gracefully on the sidewalk below. People were just beginning to react, fleeing the sight as quickly as they could. Not that it would do much good. Traffic everywhere would be gridlocked. Kilgrave had barely been able to get them out of the city when the Battle of New York had happened and that was with mind control powers. She hadn’t wanted to leave then. That instinct to protect others fought against Kilgrave the moment when he said “Go, Jessica!” but she’d been unable to break free then.

She was free now and she was going to help as many people as she could, including the very limited number of people she truly cared about. She grabbed her phone, dialing Trish’s number, glad the alien invasion hadn’t affected cell service…yet.

Trish’s phone rang���and rang…eventually her voicemail picked up. “Hi, this is Trish. Leave a message at the beep.”

“Shit,” Jessica muttered. “Trish, it’s me. I know how we left things. I just – look, there’s a spaceship wreaking havoc on the city, it puts things in perspective. Just call me when you get this. Let me know you’re okay. Don’t do anything stupid. Please.”

Jessica hung up just in time to see a giant chunk of metal hurtling towards the ground, straight where a kid was huddled behind a bench, as if that would protect him from the chaos around him. She leapt through the air, snatching the boy from the sidewalk and rolling away with him, trying not to grip him too tightly as she did. The debris hit a fraction of a second after they had moved.

Jessica pulled away, checking the kid and seeing nothing obvious. “Are you okay?” The boy didn’t react, just continued staring at the spot where the metal had landed. “Hey, kid, are you hurt?”

He finally seemed to snap out of his reverie trance, shaking his head.

Jessica looked around, hoping there was some kind guardian within shouting distance who she could hand the kid off on. She did not want to get stuck with babysitting duty on top of all this, but she couldn’t exactly leave a traumatized kid alone in the street.

“Jacob!”

Jessica breathed a sigh of relief as the boy reached up and hugged the woman who came over, presumably his mother.

The woman glanced back and forth between Jessica, her son, and the hunk of metal laying where he had just been. She locked eyes with Jessica. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Jessica nodded, unsure of what to say as she watched them hurry off. Her phone rang. She reached for her pocket, hoping to see Trish’s name on the screen, only to be disappointed. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

“Well, I was thinking about getting the gang back together,” Danny said. “Seemed like a good time.”

Jessica glanced up at the sky as Iron Man flew past, chasing after some alien. “I was actually thinking this might be a little above our paygrade. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’m not much good in the sky.”

“I was thinking more like ground work. Let Stark and the spider guy handle the aliens, get as many people off the streets and underground as possible.”

“What, does Rand Enterprises have a secret underground bunker or something?”

Danny’s silence was deafening.

“I was kidding.”

“Colleen already called Claire. She’s supposed to be bringing in Luke. Figured people could use her medical help since the hospitals would be packed. Thought you and Luke would be good for search and rescue.”

“And your super fist?”

“Iron Fist. And if I could actually get within punching distance of an alien it would probably come in handy, but until then, I think money’s gonna have to be my best superpower.”

“Works for the other iron billionaire.”

“Yeah, I keep trying for a team up, but he won’t return my calls.”

Jessica rolled her eyes.

“Are you coming or not?”

Jessica surveyed the damage around her. It wasn’t that far to Danny’s building; she could be there in a couple of minutes if she ran. They could do more together than they could separately; they’d proven that last year. “Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up without another word and typed a quick text to Trish. Headed to Rand Enterprises. Danny’s setting up a shelter. Let me know you’re ok. She hit send and took off for Rand Enterprises.

*

The attack ended more quickly than Jessica would’ve expected. The Battle of New York had taken hours, but this time…she didn’t know what, it was different. She wasn’t sure if that meant the bad guys had accomplished their mission or been defeated. Or if they were watching, waiting for a chance to make another move. According to the news, Tony Stark was missing, which didn’t bode well for the aliens being done. Jessica stayed with Danny and the rest of their ragtag team. There were still warnings out to stay inside, underground if possible. Like hiding would make any difference if monsters from space tried to show their ugly faces again. Still, rescue crews had been checking the damaged areas and they were much less picky about getting help from the local vigilantes than the police were. The next morning she and the others were still trying to get things in some semblance of order around the city (better than last time at least), when she heard someone call her name.

“Jess!”

She turned her head quickly at the sound to see Trish sprinting towards her (faster than she should’ve been able to, but Jessica didn’t want to think about that right now). Jessica stood there frozen as Trish collided with her, wrapping Jessica in a (too tight) embrace.

“Oh, thank God, I was so worried, and my cell phone got smashed under rubble.” Trish pulled away. “I guess I was right. Figured Danny Rand was one of the only people you weren’t pissed at.”

“Yeah, well, he’s one of the only people left who haven’t betrayed me, so…”

The relief started to slip away from Trish’s face.

Jessica sighed. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said honestly. “I tried to call.”

“You did?” Trish asked hopefully. She sounded so desperate for Jessica’s approval that Jess felt her resolve weaken just a little. Trish had been trying to protect her, right? Hadn’t Jessica killed to protect people she loved? Hadn’t she screwed up the lives of the people around her?

“I was angry. I still am. And I have every right to be. But there’s a difference between being angry and thinking what you did was wrong and wanting to see you dead. That’s what family means.”

Trish took in both sides of Jessica’s statement and nodded. She looked around the scene, where volunteers were still working. “Do you guys need some help?”

Jessica looked back to where Luke was clearing away rubble. “Not sure there’s much left to do here. Everyone who was injured has gotten to the hospital. Danny’s got a shelter set up in his building, but I don’t know – “ Jessica was cut off as she felt Trish grip her arm suddenly. She turned back to her. “Shit, Trish, what are you – “ She didn’t finish her sentence. Trish’s death grip on her arm had released, but not for the reason Jessica had expected. It was gone. Turning to ash before her very eyes.

“What is this?” Trish asked, staring at her rapidly-dissolving arm. She locked eyes with Jessica, who could only stare back in horror. “Jess?”

“No. No, no, no.” Jessica reached for Trish, only to have her sister crumble away beneath her fingers. She stared at the empty space as the ashes blew in the wind, scattering over her clothes and face (no, no, not again, not again).

Jessica heard a bloodcurdling scream in the distance that snapped her back to reality. She surveyed her surroundings and realized it wasn’t just Trish who had disappeared. All around her the streets were filled with people now blowing in the wind, confused loved ones left behind. What the hell? Was this their big plan? How? Why?

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she heard someone calling her name, before she was wrapped in a warm embrace. She hugged him back (God, why hadn’t she hugged Trish back?) before pulling away to get a look at him. “What’s going on? Are we under attack? Are we supposed to be fighting someone?” God, she wanted to punch someone right now. She looked up at the sky, just in case there was a ship within jumping distance, but no sign of the attackers were there, just clear blue skies.

“We don’t know,” Colleen spoke up, alerting Jessica to her presence for the first time. “I was talking to Claire, and then she just…”

“Luke too,” Danny whispered. He reached out his arm to bring Colleen in close to his side, as though she were about to slip away too. Which, for all they knew, she might.

“Trish,” Jessica murmured.

“We need to do something,” Danny said, his old eagerness kicking up. “We’ve got to move, find out who these guys are, what they did, how to defeat them. Jess, what should we do?”

“I – I don’t know.”

[spxderman-s]

A Stranger to Loss

requested: this was actually three requests combined into one fic, because i thought that they all blended together really well. Thank you to the three who sent them in! 

pairings: peter parker x reader 

word count: 3.3k 

warnings: swearing, violence, guns, pain description

a/n: like i said before, this is 3 in one. it was super fun to write, i randomly got this burst of inspiration yesterday and spent all last night banging this one out. its kind of long, so i hope thats okay with y’all. xoxoxo enjoy! 

// not my gif // 

You hadn’t expected to become a hero of Queens, much less being called a ‘superhero’ by its civilians. You felt an overwhelming need to protect the city, to put yourself in the line of duty to ensure the safety of the citizens. Those people were who you interacted with every day; from the old woman who knits on the subway every morning, to the deli owner who made your favorite meatball subs. Your neighbors, your classmates, your parents. Too many horrible things happened in the quiet of the night that you felt deep in your bones you had to do something about it--anything.

You were ordinary. Just someone from Queens who happened to place this mantle on your shoulders yourself. You wore a mask, you played the part, and no one figured out your intricate plan to keep your identity hidden--until something came along that life couldn’t prepare you for.

Nothing could prepare you for the day you found out that there was another who had the same mindset as you.

It was a Thursday afternoon, you had bolted down the streets and donned your identity-masking suit in the privacy of a dirty alleyway, slipping the fabric over your face and you began your evening of fighting petty crimes--muggers, thieves, the usual. You were known throughout the city as [Y/S/N], an unidentified hero. Some others had skepticism in their blood, and they preferred the term ‘vigilante’.

After knocking a bike thief out cold and propping him up awkwardly against the flower shop nearby, you heard cheering and shouting down the block. Running towards the commotion with fear, thinking it was something higher above your paygrade, you came to a skidding halt at what you saw in front of you.

“Thank you so much, Mr--?” a woman said, being carried by a stranger hanging from a building by some weird white substance.

“Spider-Man,” the stranger said proudly, setting her down. “Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

The large crowd he had drawn in began cheering his name, and he gave a salute that dripped with swagger--shooting more of that chalky material out of his wrists and was gone in a mere second. As the crowd dispersed, paying you no mind, you walked over to where some of it was hanging off of the building wall. Reaching out with a gloved hand, you tentatively poked it with your index finger and found it to be surprisingly malleable, but sticky beyond belief. You had heard stories about a guy who called himself Spider-something, but you just thought it was a joke of some sort, something for internet fame. Turning around and looking in the direction that this very real superhero disappeared to, you gave an irritated sigh and began thinking that Queens was too small for two of them.

You shoved the last part of your suit into your backpack as you walked tiredly down the hall to your apartment. You could feel a bruise forming on your shoulder, thanks to a hefty man who got a few good licks in an hour earlier. Wincing as you lifted your arm to open your front door, you heard a voice behind you:

“[Y/N]! I was wondering where you’ve been today.”

Your gaze turned over your shoulder, comfort blooming in your chest at the sound of your best friend’s voice. “Hey, Parker...got caught up at the uh--library, didn’t realize how late I stayed.”

He grinned knowingly. “I’ve been there--more times than I’d like to admit.” Peter gestured behind him towards his door. “Do you want to hang out for a bit? I feel like it’s been ages.” There was something laced in his words--and there was something hidden in his eyes.

“Sure,” you suppressed an exhausted breath. “Just let me change--I stink.”

He laughed at your words, and let you escape into your apartment. Seeing that you were home alone, you dropped your backpack to the floor with a thud, and donned some fresh, clean clothes. Before you slipped on an old sweatshirt that sported the Midtown School of Science and Technology logo, you eyed the purple, mottled skin along your collarbone and tenderly grazed your fingertips over it as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. This was definitely going to stick around.

Shaking your head, you pulled the sweatshirt over the giant bruise and went over to Peter’s apartment, trying to keep your stiff movements as fluid as possible.

“[Y/N]!” May exclaimed, sitting on the couch in their quaint living room. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you around these parts--are you doing alright? How are your parents?”

You grinned at her, always happy to see her. “They’re doing good--my dad still wants your recipe for banana bread.”

May’s eyes twinkled behind her glasses. “And he’s never going to get it.”

“I didn’t think so,” you replied with a wink. “Where’s Peter?”

“He’s in his room--maybe you can get him to clean it.”

“Tony Stark himself couldn’t get him to clean it,” you laughed, moving down the cramped hallway and pushing open the door to Peter’s room. He was laying on his bed, phone in hand, one leg hanging off the side. When you entered, he glanced towards you and sat up.

“Nice sweatshirt,” he prodded, leaning back against the wall. You took a seat at his desk, pulling your legs up onto the chair.

“You’re never getting it back,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him.

Peter shrugged, flipping his phone between his hands. “Looks better on you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his cheeks changed to a deep, dark red. “I didn’t--I was just--”

“It does look better on me,” you said, saving him. He let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

“Are you doing alright?” you asked, tilting your head in concern at him. He flipped his phone quicker in his hands after you made your inquiry.

“Do you remember a year ago--when that guy dressed as a bird terrorized the city with his crazy advanced tech?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “The guy the media called ‘The Vulture’?”

“That guy.” Peter’s jaw clenched, his voice cracking with emotion. His eyes flicked to the door, and he gestured to the window. “Can we go outside and talk?”

You had never seen him this stressed out before, so you nodded and followed him out onto the fire escape. You sat down beside him and cross your legs, worry lacing through your veins. “What about him?”

“The Staten Island ferry that he split in half a year ago,” he spoke quietly, his eyes staring straight ahead of him. “It had someone I cared about on it. And she didn’t make it.”

You were stunned into silence. Staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, you wanted to reach out and hold him close. You could feel the pain and anger and sadness radiating off of him, the tension hanging in the air like a thick curtain that you could easily cut with a knife. His jaw was taut with developing emotions, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, and tears welling in those brown eyes you loved so much.

“Peter,” you whispered, your voice faltering. Your fingers reached out without you realizing and they intertwined with his, his rigid fists relaxing into your hand.

“It’s been an entire year,” he said, breathing raggedly and furiously wiping at his eyes. “And I still see her everywhere I go, in everyone I see.”

“I’m a stranger to loss,” you admitted quietly, your thumb softly grazing back and forth across his skin. “I can’t imagine the pain you went through, the pain you’re still going through.”

He leaned his head back to rest on the brick wall, his eyes closing. “We weren’t even together, but I was as in love as a kid like me thought I could be….”

You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to hold in your own sorrow as you felt his body jerking with his silent sobs. Your grip on his hand tightened, and you sat with him as he cried, soaking up all of the emotion that poured out of him and washed over you like the aftermath of a horrible hurricane, debris and wreckage floating around you. You wanted to wade into his depths, to dive into his thoughts, but your mind withdrew from the curiosity and you decided to just sit with him in his moment of mourn. The city lights on the skyline and the stars in the night sky seemed dimmer than usual, as if the universe understood his pain, and wanted to let him know that it mourned with him.

“Can I please get this check cashed?” you asked the bank teller politely, who took the paper out of your hands and began tapping numbers into her computer.

“I just need a signature here,” she said, pushing another piece of paper through the small slot at the bottom of the glass pane that separated the two of you. Picking up one of the pens, you hastily signed your name and returned it to her, and she pushed more buttons into her computer.

“How’s your day going so far?” you asked, trying to make small talk.

The teller didn’t look up from the screen. “It’s going.”

Nodding awkwardly, you drummed your fingers restlessly against the wooden sill, waiting for her to finish adding the transaction to the records. Your eyes wandered around the lavish bank, landing on each different person in the room.

The bank teller cleared her throat and your turned your attention back to her with an apologetic smile. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw two large men walk into the bank, but you were focused on getting the cash the teller was handing you. As you took it from her, her hands went rigid and you glanced up at her. Her eyes were trained behind you in fear, and suddenly you heard:

“I want everybody in this fucking bank to get on the fucking ground!”

Your blood ran cold. Turning around, the two men who walked in were clad in all black, including ski masks over their faces. All around you, the people in the bank began putting their hands in the air and lowering themselves to the marble floor.

You were paralyzed, clutching the money in your hand. One of the robbers noticed you, and pointed his glossy black gun straight at your forehead.

“Are you fucking deaf?” he snarled. “Get on the ground!”

As you slowly lowered yourself to the floor, he moved towards you quickly and snatched the bills out of your hand and stuffed them into his pocket. He then pointed his weapon at the teller that was helping you, who raised her hands in terror.

“All the money,” the robber commanded her. “Give it to me.”

You had only ever handled criminals who weren’t armed or had very little weapons on them. As the robber near you continued to threaten the teller, you put your hands over your ears and began shaking uncontrollably. Terror ripped through you, and you could do nothing.

“Spider-Man!” someone shouted in relief, their voice echoing across the bank. You raised your head, tears streaming freely down your cheeks, and you saw the red-and-blue superhero fly through the door with a stream of webbing. He moved with agility and mobility that you wished you had, and he confronted the robbers with such bravery that made you feel small and weak.

Sirens were wailing outside of the building, and you could see through the large windows that they had multiple men standing with barricades, guns pointed forward.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket with trembling hands, and struggled to push the buttons to dial your mom’s number. She was probably working, you thought as you raised the phone to your ear and listened to the drone of the ringing tone. A click, and your mother’s voice sounded: “Hey, sweetheart! Sorry we didn’t make it home last night, I don’t know if you saw but I left some meatloaf in the--”

“Mom,” you cut her off, voice barely above a whisper. “I love you so much.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the fear in your voice. “[Y/N], what’s going on?”

Suddenly, a strong hand ripped the phone from your hand with a, “Give me that!”

“No!” you cried, looking up at the other robber standing above you, holding your phone. He dropped it to the ground, and you saw that the call was still going. No doubt your mother was screaming for you on the other end.

The robber pointed his gun at your phone, and fired two shots, utterly destroying it. You cried out as your hearing went dull, a ringing in your brain rising up. You tried to crawl away from him, but he grabbed you by the arm and roughly raised you to a standing position. He held you to his front, his left arm squeezing across your chest, and his other arm lifting his weapon. You felt the freezing metal of the gun press into your temple, and you closed your eyes, waiting, waiting, waiting.

“Hey, Spider-Man,” the robber sneered, holding you as if on display. “Cut the shit, or the girl dies.”

You refused to open your eyes, and your blood ran cold in your veins at his words. You weren’t sure how you were possibly standing, you didn’t have any strength in your body left.

“That isn’t very nice,” came a young voice--and you opened your eyes in confusion, seeing Spider-Man shoot out his webbing with a thwip, landing on the gun digging into your skin, and he yanked the weapon away. A split second later, he shot some more out, landing directly into the robber’s face, blinding him. He pushed you away with a bellow, and tried to claw the webbing from his eyes. You crumpled to the floor, and began crawling towards the nearest wall.

“Go on, get out of here!” Spider-Man yelled to the other hostages that had grouped in a corner on the opposite side of the bank. They didn’t hesitate, running and screaming out of the building. You were the last one left, but you were too terrified to move.

“You too!” he shouted to you, not realizing that one of the robbers was getting up behind him, pulling something from his belt.

All you could do was point in fear, and he whirled around, seeing that the robber held a grenade in his hand. Spider-Man shot his web up to the ceiling, and lifted himself to it. The man grunted as he threw the bomb up towards the masked hero, and for a second, everything fell silent.

You couldn’t register the blast until you were dazed and coughing in the dust and smoke from the rubble tumbling down over you. The entire ceiling began breaking apart, plaster and concrete raining upon anyone who was below it. Large pieces fell around you, blocking your sight and your exit--and you curled up in a ball, knowing that at least you called your mother before you died.

But you thought about Peter. Your last conversation with him. How he had opened up to you, had shown you his raw emotion, and how you knew you let him down by being in this situation. You couldn’t have him lose another person dear to him again.

Trying to push some of the rubble out of your way, another huge chunk of concrete fell through the top and collided with you, white hot pain lancing up your arm and into your shoulder. You fell to the ground with a scream, and stayed there, waiting for someone to find your body. The ground stopped shaking with falling debris, and all was silent as the dust settled. You could barely hear the sound of the sirens anymore, everything was muffled and dull.

You didn’t know how much time had passed--a minute, an hour, a day--until you heard soft scratching through wreckage. The pocket you had been trapped in threatened to cave in, until a beacon of light shone over you. Arms cradled you, a voice was calling to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

“Wake up, [Y/N], please!” the muffled cries sounded, whoever was holding you gently shaking your body in an effort to revive you. Your head rolled limply until it rested on their chest, and you could hear them sobbing. “Please! You have to be okay!”

I’m alive, you wanted to say, but your voice nor mouth could work. I’m alive!

“I’m so sorry,” they said, and you could feel something pressing against your forehead. “I’m sorry, [Y/N], I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what? How do you know my name?

With all the strength you could possibly muster, you opened your eyes. Your eyelids felt like they had ten thousand weights hooked to them, but you managed to crack them open to slivers, trying to make out who had found you.

At first all you saw was red. But after a few moment, more details began developing--blue, dust settling around you, the light shining through the hole in the debris. A weak breath escaped you, and a dull, throbbing pain in your shoulder returned.

“Thank you….thank you….for finding….me,” you croaked out, voice barely audible.

“Oh my God, [Y/N], oh Jesus--I thought you were--that you were,” the voice came again, cracking with emotion.

Your eyes began to register who was holding you. You couldn’t believe it at first, seeing his masked face looking down on you, his hands gently but firmly grasping you in an intimate embrace. “Am I dead?”

Spider-Man let out a choked laugh, and shook his head. “Thank God you aren’t.”

“Am I going to die?”

“Not while I still breathe,” came his firm reply. “I’ll get you out.”

“I’m so tired,” you sighed, closing your eyes and resting your head against the hero’s chest. “I just want to sleep for a little while.” You could feel your strength slowly ebbing away from you, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“No!” Spider-Man cried, cradling you close. “You have to be strong, [Y/N], please.”

“I don’t know if I can….” your voice trailed off as you slipped further and further away.

“Look at me, look at me!” he begged, and you obliged with effort. He pulled off his mask with one swift motion, and what he had been hiding underneath it the entire time almost made you completely pass out. You stared in awe and wonder and confusion at the face that was so familiar, yet so foreign to you.

He was scared, terrified. His beautiful brown eyes searched your face for any kind of reaction, and his grip on you tightened.

You reached up, and gingerly ran a finger down the length of his face. His eyes fluttered closed, feeling the tenderness in your touch, and a gentle sigh escaped him.

“I can’t lose you too,” Peter whispered, his words hoarse with emotion. “I can’t.”

Weeks had passed since the bank robbery, and life seemingly returned to normal. You had been questioned by one person after the other, but eventually the media began to quiet down.

You were sitting on the balcony of your apartment, twisting the your superhero mask in your hands. Twilight was settling over the city, the soft glow from the recently set sun casting its golden light over you as you wrestled with your thoughts.

After a few moments, you tossed the mask into the trash by the door. Queens was only big enough for on hero, and that was Spider-Man. As you thought of him, a smile graced your features and you left your apartment to go pay Peter Parker a visit.

tagging: @tronnoristheotp @nedthegay @i-saved-me @theweirdowithablogo @skymoonandstardust @timemngmtoptimisationproblems @thumper-darling @holywinchesterness @grabyourpolaroidandmyhand @ketterdame @tonight-couldbeforgettable @dimplesandcutesmiles @terrashrone @leorai-lemony-lewa @kaliforniacoastalteens @yoinkpeter