#on the other hand painful agonizing failure

[heyclickadee]

So, I’ve been trying to square the idea that The Bad Batch is from Omega’s perspective with the fact that there are a lot of things we, the audience, see happening, but are never addressed, because they’re things with which Omega never interacts. And of course it’s not literally from Omega’s perspective. There are sequences and two entire episodes she isn’t there there to see. Something that could be interesting, though, is if this show is from Omega’s perspective in the sense that things can happen without Omega, but they’re never pulled together or unpacked until it’s time for her to do so.

So, for example: We get a scene in “Faster” between Millegi and Cid in which Millegi calls Cid on her old habits of throwing people under the bus (“Hustlers like us never change.”) Cid is actually offended by this and replies with, “I might surprise you.”

There are two important things about this moment. One, we’re given a little bit of insight into Cid and the fact that she seems to want to have changed—she doesn’t want to be the person who stabs people in the back. Two, this moment is here entirely for the benefit of the audience. None of our main characters are here to witness this, so it’s not something that leads them to accept the idea that she’s changed only to be shocked when she betrays them later on. The thing they hear from Millegi is, “Watch your backs.” None of them was ever given a reason to doubt that—not even Omega, who seems to like Cid well enough and will go to bat for her, but still knows she’s not that trustworthy.

But we, the audience, are given a reason to doubt that Cid will betray them. A small reason, in that scene between her and Millegi, but a reason still. What plays out, however, is what everyone expected; Cid betrays the batch at the worst possible moment, surprising absolutely no one. Millegi’s, “Watch your backs,” plays, even though it’s not something we needed to hint that Cid would sell them out; Cid’s, “I might surprise you,” the hint that’s there just for the audience, never comes full circle.

Except…it’s not just empty, either. We do get a few hints that Cid doesn’t really want to betray the batch, that she may have been trying to get them to stay away, and several fairly big indications that she hates herself for what she’s done while the betrayal is playing out. (She looks less than proud, let’s say, when she takes the money from Hemlock, and blurting out a half-confession, half-justification to Wrecker in the first place.) So it is actually consistent in that, as suggested in her scene with Millegi, she’s unhappy being the person who stabs people in the back; but because we follow up on the other foreshadowing, and because Omega doesn’t see Cid again by the end of the non-epilogue portion of the show (she could have seen Cid in the gap; anything could happen in the gap), we never get a moment where Cid surprises us by explicitly showing that she’s changed. It’s not something that gets dropped or changed as much as it’s something that stays consistent, but doesn’t come full circle.

And there’s a lot in The Bad Batch that’s like this. We do, for example, see moments showing that Hunter, despite being a good man trying his best, is flawed and practically kneecaps himself with indecision and crippling self-doubt. Because of what Omega’s relationship with Hunter is, however, we never quite get around to unpacking that. She sees Hunter the way a lot of younger kids see their parents, so his flaws remain present rather than explored. that and instead unpack his relationship with her. Crosshair, despite his incredible redemption arc, ends the series with a lingering sense of guilt and a feeling that he deserves to die; but because of how Omega sees Crosshair—as someone who has made mistakes but who is, at the end of the day, her beloved little brother—we never quite unpack the source of his guilt or his turn from being implicitly to explicitly suicidal. We see clues and signs that Tech might have survived the fall—including one metatextually from Omega herself—but because all these clues are directed at the audience and go unseen by most of the cast, especially Omega (who doesn’t know she’s in a story where literary devices exist), we don’t ever deal with them. We see the build up with Rex, the senate, and something that looks like it’s leading to a clone rebellion, but we only really deal with the implications in moments that directly impact Omega’s story, like Echo leaving. And so on and so on—we could pick this apart for ages.

Whether or not this is a criticism, though, depends entirely on the framework. For example: If The Bad Batch as is really is the whole story and there’s nothing else, and never was anything else, then, yeah, it’s a disaster. It’s not just tripping on the finish line, it’s losing the race because you kept turning down dead end streets and having to climb over buildings to get back on the racetrack.

If, however, there does end up being more and we’re really at the end of part one of however many parts there are, what we’re looking at was never thought of as an ending, and what we’re getting is going to come with a bit of a POV shift away from Omega (not that she won’t appear at all, but that she won’t be the POV character), then it could all end up being a phenomenal piece of storytelling in the long run. I mean—I’m actually annoyed at how well it could work if they actually pulled something like that off. There’s still criticism to be had, but my criticism would be more focused on terrible audience management driven by an obsession with spoilers, the social media/marketing around the show being what it was, and a failure to really nail the transition with an episode that really seems to have been written more as a season finale (we didn’t get a long finale, I’m convinced we just got episodes 15 and 16 smushed together, and “The Cavalry Has Arrived” was just the title of the episode 16 that got applied to both), but had to also function as a series finale without being allowed to resolve anything but the Hunter-Omega arc. Basically, fumbling the transition between chapters somewhat rather than fumbling everything.

And the second one is what I lean towards, partly because it is weirdly consistent, and partly because despite the many (many) characters, plots, and subplots being left unresolved, none of it really has the hallmarks of something that ran out of either time or budget (at least, I don’t think so, now that I’ve been unable to stop thinking about it for two months). Things that run out of time usually cram all the resolution that they can into as little time as possible, and there were ways to resolve everything in the “terrible but at least still resolved” fashion by adding a couple of lines or even a voice over from Omega in the silent parts of the epilogue (cheapest, fastest solution and it could have done late, after everything else was locked down, any time before the episode was uploaded). Things that run out of budget usually cut anything that’s expensive—like, for example, a ten minute multi-character fight scene with particle effects that doesn’t have a plot reason to even be there unless we’re not actually done with the CX plot yet. Or rain. Or an outdoor set that only appears in one episode for three minutes.

TL; DR: I actually think there’s something interesting going on with the storytelling here if we’re not actually done with the story yet, but also it would be really nice to know for sure if there’s anything more coming because it’s either amazing or terrible and there’s nothing in between.

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆ LOST & FOUND - dabi/touya todoroki

CW: y/n is lowkey on her death bed but has plot armor, dabi being his usual "uncaring" self, she/her pronouns, not anatomy specified, tinyyy bit of angst, "fluff", and yeah! lolzies

Word Count: 4.7k

Author's Note: hey guys! this was written a little bit before kinktober started but i decided to finish it up and post it now lol.

y/n's world had changed the moment she was captured. once a member of the league of villains, she now found herself imprisoned by the corrupted heroes who tortured her daily, trying to extract information on her allies. she endured three long, agonizing months of pain and suffering, but she refused to speak a word.

dabi had been relentless in his pursuit, growing more furious by the day. the league had tried multiple times to infiltrate the heroes' hideout, but each attempt had been thwarted. the heroes were prepared, and they were merciless. but dabi's patience wore thin. the constant failure stirred an unfamiliar feeling in him—a festering worry he struggled to ignore. he convinced himself it was nothing more than the desire to reclaim his teammate. nothing more, he told himself.

but then one day, the league found the location of y/n’s prison. the moment they had it, dabi stormed in without a second thought. blue flames burst forth from his fingertips, devouring anything in their path as he moved through the halls of the hideout, leaving nothing but charred destruction in his wake.

finally, he found her, barely conscious and bound in a small, cold cell. her eyes fluttered weakly open when she sensed his presence.

“still alive, huh?” dabi’s voice was rough, his words cutting. “can’t believe it. you look like death warmed over.”

y/n blinked up at him, too weak to retort. but he noticed the spark in her gaze hadn’t quite faded. he knelt down beside her, his expression hard, hiding the turbulence roiling in his chest. he used one hand to break her chains, though his grip was almost harsh.

“pathetic. you let them do this to you?” his voice was sharp, but the look in his eyes was almost soft.

“they…tried…” she mumbled, her lips dry and cracked, “but i didn’t…tell them anything.”

dabi huffed. “yeah, no kidding. would’ve burned this place down even if you had.”

as he scooped her into his arms, his touch was surprisingly gentle. she shivered, the warmth from his skin a comfort she hadn’t felt in months. his words stayed rough, his tone cold, but the way he held her told a different story.

“don’t get used to this,” he muttered, eyes trained forward as they escaped the hideout. “i didn’t come here to save you. just didn’t want to deal with all the whining if i let you die.”

y/n gasped as dabi carried her, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the coldness of her own skin. she tried to focus on his face, but the world around her faded in and out, blurring into an indistinguishable haze. every jolt of movement sent a sharp pain coursing through her, a reminder of the abuse she had endured. she winced, feeling her strength waning.

“put me down,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but he kept moving, determined.

“shut up,” he replied curtly, his grip tightening slightly, as if he feared losing her.

another wave of pain shot through her, more intense than the last. her breath caught, and suddenly, she felt herself slipping. “touya…” she managed to say, her voice trembling. “i think i’m dying here.”

without warning, he stopped, the harshness in his demeanor cracking just for a moment. he lowered her gently to the ground, his eyes scanning her body with fierce intensity. she could see the worry flickering behind his cool facade, the flames that danced in his gaze reflecting a sense of urgency.

“where?” he demanded, a harsh edge to his voice as he knelt beside her. “where does it hurt?”

“everywhere,” she admitted, but a teasing smile crossed her lips despite the pain. “call me corny, but you should’ve seen the other guys. they looked worse than me.”

dabi narrowed his eyes, irritation flashing across his face at her joking manner. “this isn’t a joke, y/n.”

“you really think I’d let a bunch of wannabe heroes take me out that easily?” she shot back, though her voice wavered slightly. “they were no match for me. clearly, they didn’t get the memo that I’m not just some damsel in distress.”

“if you’re so tough, why are you lying on the ground?” he shot back, a sneer creeping into his voice. “you look like you’ve been run over by a train.”

“ow, harsh much?” she retorted, but the teasing tone was wavering. “can’t blame a girl for trying to make light of the situation.”

“you think this is funny?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. “you look like shit, and if you keep acting like this, you’ll actually die.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, but another wave of pain shot through her, making her grimace. “but honestly, I’m tired, and I’m starting to think this might be a bit much for me.”

“good,” he grunted, his expression hardening again. “maybe this will teach you not to underestimate your enemies next time.”

“you’re a real gem, you know that?” she said, rolling her eyes even as tears threatened to spill. “if I survive this, I’m definitely getting you a trophy for ‘worst rescue ever.’”

“you’re lucky I’m even here,” he said coldly, his gaze flicking over her injuries. “you should be thanking me instead of cracking jokes.”

“thank you, touya,” she said, her voice softening for a moment. “seriously.”

he huffed, looking away, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. “just don’t make me regret saving you, okay?”

“no promises,” she replied with a weak grin, but the teasing edge in her voice was fading. “you know I’m too stubborn for that.”

“you’re a damn fool, y/n,” he muttered, the frustration evident in his voice as he wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “you think you’re invincible, but look where that’s gotten you. this isn’t a game.”

“i know that,” she said, the teasing tone gone as she felt the gravity of her situation. “but I’m not ready to die here. I still have too many things to do.”

“you better pull yourself together then,” he snapped, his voice harsh but the underlying concern evident. “because I’m not carrying a corpse out of here.”

“no need to get dramatic, touya,” she replied, trying to muster the strength for a smile. “I’m not dead yet.”

“you’re damn lucky I don’t just leave you here,” he grumbled, but the way he looked at her was a mix of annoyance and something softer. “now, let’s get moving before they come back.”

he scooped her up again, his grip firm yet careful. together, they would face whatever awaited them outside. and even in the chaos around them, y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite his harsh words, there was something deeper in his concern—something that gave her strength even as her body protested.

“don’t drop me, or I swear I’ll haunt you,” she said, her voice light despite the pain.

“like I’d ever let you go,” he replied, though his tone remained sharp. “now shut up and focus. we’re getting out of this hellhole.”

as he carried her away from the ashes of their enemies, y/n held onto the resolve within her, refusing to let despair take hold. and while dabi kept his distance, his harsh demeanor hiding the concern beneath, she knew that as long as they were together, they would fight to survive.

----

the familiar sights and sounds of the league’s hideout enveloped y/n like a comforting blanket, but that sense of safety was overshadowed by the pain that coursed through her body. dabi carried her through the entrance, his presence a steady anchor amid the chaos of their return.

“get the hell out of my way.” he spoke as they passed several members who rushed to meet them, concern etched on their faces. “she’s injured, and you all need to back off. she doesn’t need a dozen people hovering over her right now.”

“dabi!” twice called from the other side of the room, his expression darkening at the sight of y/n’s condition. “what happened?”

“later,” dabi snapped, brushing past him and heading down the hall toward his room. “just make sure they don’t crowd her. she’s had enough of that shit already.”

y/n barely registered the exchange as her head lolled against dabi’s shoulder. her strength was fading fast, and the pain was creeping back in, clawing at her insides. the world blurred again as he opened the door to his room, setting her down gently on his bed.

“stay put,” he said tersely, stepping back. “I’ll be right back. I need to talk to shigaraki.”

as the door clicked shut, y/n felt a wave of despair wash over her. the warmth of the room felt suffocating, and all the bravado she had tried to maintain crumbled. she pulled her knees to her chest, a shaky breath escaping her as she allowed the tears to spill over.

“damn it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. she buried her face against her knees, the memories of her time with the heroes crashing over her like a tidal wave. the pain, the torture, the isolation—it all hit her at once, leaving her gasping for air.

she clenched her fists, hating how vulnerable she felt. the sobs bubbled up, and she let them come, tears soaking into her knees as she tried to muffle the sounds. she cursed herself under her breath, her nails digging into her palms. “just keep it together.” she muttered repeatedly.

after a few agonizing moments, the door swung open again, and dabi stepped inside. his expression shifted from irritation to confusion at the sight of her in such a state.

“what the hell is up with you?” he demanded, his voice harsh. “you’re back home, and you’re crying? what’s wrong now?”

y/n quickly wiped her tears away, trying to compose herself as best she could. “oh, you know me,” she said, attempting to keep her tone light despite the tremor in her voice. “just enjoying a little spa day here.”

dabi’s brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, concern leaking through his aggression. “this isn’t a joke, y/n. you look like you’re about to pass out. get it together.”

“easy for you to say,” she shot back, her snark returning as she wiped her cheeks dry, though more tears slipped past her efforts. “some of us don’t have fire powers to keep us warm and cozy.”

“seriously, what’s the point of acting like this?” he asked, exasperation lacing his tone. “if you’re hurt, just say it instead of pretending you’re fine.”

“i’m fine,” she insisted, though the quiver in her voice betrayed her. “just a little sore, that’s all.”

“y/n, you’re not fooling anyone,” he growled, frustration bubbling under the surface. “if you’re feeling like this, you need to tell me. it’s not going to help if you just sit here and cry like a baby.”

“what do you want me to say?” she snapped, tears streaming down her cheeks again despite her efforts. “that they broke me? that they got under my skin? well, they did! and it hurt like hell! but you don’t get it, do you?”

dabi flinched at her words, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. “no, I don’t get it, because I don’t go around feeling sorry for myself. I’m not going to let you wallow in your own misery. we’ve got enough problems without you adding to them.”

“thanks for the pep talk, touya,” she shot back, a bitter smile crossing her face even as she choked on her emotions. “you really know how to lift a girl’s spirits.”

“you want to be tough, fine. but don’t think I won’t notice when you’re falling apart,” he replied, his tone sharp but lacking malice. “if you’re in pain, just admit it. we’ll figure it out together.”

“don’t count on me getting soft just because I’m hurt,” she said defiantly, though she could feel the tears still falling, an irritating reminder of her vulnerability. “I’m still me.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said dismissively, but there was an undertone of concern in his voice. “but don’t think for a second I won’t drag you back from the edge if I have to.”

y/n took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes one last time. “you really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

“shut up,” he grumbled, but the hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “you’re an idiot. just remember that.”

with that, the tension in the room shifted slightly, but yn knew she still had a long way to go. she would heal, but she’d do it in her own way. with dabi at her side, even if he acted like a jerk sometimes, she felt a little less alone. together, they would figure this out, one step at a time.

the room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by y/n’s occasional sniffles as she fought to regain her composure. the tension in the air was thick, a mix of unspoken words and emotions swirling between them. dabi stood a few feet away, his expression conflicted as he watched her struggle.

“you’re really gonna keep crying, huh?” he finally broke the silence, his tone somewhere between annoyance and concern. he wasn’t used to this—seeing someone so vulnerable and broken, especially someone like y/n who had always been a source of defiance and strength.

y/n shrugged, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “what can I say? it’s a real downer to be tortured by wannabe heroes. I’m just processing.”

“yeah, well, you can process without the waterworks,” he muttered, but he took a step closer. something inside him stirred—a mix of protectiveness and frustration that he couldn’t quite shake off.

“easier said than done,” she replied, her voice shaky. “this is new territory for me.”

dabi rolled his eyes, but he found himself moving closer, drawn by an impulse he didn’t fully understand. he stood beside her, casting a long shadow over the bed. “you look like you could use something other than a pity party,” he said, his tone gruff but softer than before.

“what do you suggest? a party for one?” she replied, trying to muster a smirk. “at least I can invite you to the festivities.”

“real funny,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, but he settled beside her on the bed. the moment their shoulders brushed, a warmth spread through him, grounding the storm of emotions swirling inside.

“what are you doing?” y/n asked, surprise evident in her voice.

“shut up and stop crying,” he ordered, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “it’s annoying.”

“so, your solution is to sit here and be annoyed with me?” she shot back, but there was a hint of gratitude in her voice.

“just be quiet for a second,” he replied, his voice low. “you look like you need a break from all the bullshit.”

y/n paused, feeling the weight of his presence beside her. the warmth radiating from him was oddly comforting. she took a shaky breath, attempting to gather herself. “you’re surprisingly good at this, touya,” she said quietly.

“don’t get used to it,” he replied, but his expression softened slightly. without thinking, he reached over and placed a hand on her back, applying just enough pressure to ground her in the moment. it was a gesture that felt intimate, yet he kept his gaze trained away, focused on the wall.

“this is weird,” y/n murmured, feeling the heat of his hand seep through her shirt. “you actually care, huh?”

“don’t push it,” he replied, but there was no bite in his tone. “just… don’t fall apart on me, alright? I didn’t come all this way to babysit you.”

“fine, fine. I’ll try to keep my emotions in check,” she promised, though the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

“good,” he said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “because if you keep this up, I’m going to start worrying, and that’s not something I want to deal with.”

the room fell silent again, the only sound being the occasional sniffle from y/n as she struggled to regain her composure. the warmth of dabi’s hand on her back was a steady reminder that she wasn’t alone. she leaned into it slightly, finding comfort in his presence, even if it was begrudgingly given.

“you really are the worst,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter. “but I guess I’ll take what I can get.”

“just remember that when you’re back to being a smartass,” he replied, pulling his hand away as he straightened up. “I can’t have you getting soft on me, or I’ll have to do something drastic.”

“like what?” she challenged, a hint of her old fire returning. “give me a pep talk about how I should fight harder next time?”

“exactly,” he smirked, a glimmer of amusement shining through the hardened exterior he maintained. “or maybe I’ll just throw you back to those heroes and let them finish what they started.”

“now that’s just mean,” y/n said, a smile breaking through her tears. “you’re supposed to be my rescuer, not my tormentor.”

“like I said, don’t get used to it,” he shot back, though his tone held a playful edge. “but don’t think I’m letting you off easy just because you’ve had a rough patch.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, her heart lighter as they settled into an uneasy camaraderie. even with the pain still throbbing in her body, the warmth of their banter eased the ache in her soul.

“just… get some rest,” he added, standing up and moving toward the door. “I’ll be back. try not to cry more than necessary.”

“no promises, touya,” she teased, watching him with a fondness that surprised her.

as the door clicked shut behind him, y/n let out a small breath, feeling a flicker of hope ignite within her. maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought, even in the depths of despair.

the night stretched on, silence enveloping the hideout as the rest of the league settled into their routines. hours passed since dabi had left y/n in his room, and he found himself thinking about her more than he cared to admit. when he finally returned, he opened the door quietly, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the stillness.

he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her sleeping form curled up on his bed. her face was peaceful, the pain temporarily eased by the escape of sleep. a hint of softness crept into his expression, but he quickly masked it with annoyance. he didn’t have time for this sentimental crap.

“tch,” he muttered under his breath, walking over to the bed. he slid in beside her, the warmth of the covers wrapping around him. almost instinctively, she shuffled, sensing his presence even in her sleep.

“what are you doing?” she mumbled, her voice thick with drowsiness as she blinked up at him. “this is my room, you know?”

“it’s my fucking bed, dumbass,” dabi shot back, trying to keep his voice steady despite the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“oh shit… my bad,” she replied, realization washing over her. y/n attempted to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shot through her body, making her gasp. she winced, her hands instinctively pressing against her side.

“the fuck are you doing, y/n?” dabi snapped, concern bleeding through his irritation as he watched her struggle.

“just… trying to get back to my room,” she replied, gritting her teeth against the pain. “I’m fine, really.”

“you’re clearly not fine,” he growled, sitting up and placing a firm hand on her shoulder, gently but insistently pushing her back down. “you need to rest. are you trying to kill yourself?”

“it’s not that bad,” she insisted, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. she could feel the pain intensifying, a reminder of the hell she’d endured.

dabi narrowed his eyes at her stubbornness. “let me see,” he demanded, shifting closer. he placed a hand on her side, applying gentle pressure. the moment he pressed down, y/n let out a wince, the pain flaring anew.

“wtf was that for, touya?!” she exclaimed, irritation flashing in her eyes as she shot him a glare, even though it was obvious she was still hurting.

“get it through your head. you’re not invincible,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a hint of frustration. he could see the pain etched on her features, and it made something twist in his gut.

“thanks for the reminder, but I didn’t need you to be a jackass about it,” she retorted, her voice sharp despite the way her breath hitched from the lingering pain. she winced again as she shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“you think this is easy for me?” dabi shot back, his tone harsher than he intended. he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “just sit still, okay? it’ll help.”

with a reluctant nod, she settled back against the pillows, but he could see the way her body was tense, how she was fighting against the pain. he felt a surge of annoyance at himself for not being able to do more. “look,” he started, his voice softer now, “I’m just trying to help. you really need to rest.”

she met his gaze, the stubborn fire still in her eyes but dimmed by fatigue. “fine,” she murmured, allowing her head to lean back against the wall as she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the discomfort.

dabi’s irritation faded as he watched her. she was strong, but even the toughest needed support. without thinking, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. she tensed slightly at first, but then relaxed into him, seeking the warmth he offered.

“there. it’s not a big deal,” he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, but the hint of protectiveness seeped through.

“you’re such a softy, touya,” y/n teased, though her voice was weaker, softer now. “I can’t believe you’re actually cuddling with me.”

“shut up,” he replied, his tone defensive. “this is just practical. it’s warmer, and you need to stop shivering.”

“practical, huh?” she echoed, snuggling a bit closer to him. “sure, keep telling yourself that.”

dabi rolled his eyes but didn’t push her away. he found himself relishing the quiet moment, the way her breathing began to slow as she relaxed against him. it felt oddly comforting, and he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him.

the silence wrapped around them like a thick blanket, filled only by the soft sounds of y/n's breathing. she nestled closer into dabi’s side, the heat radiating from him providing comfort against the chill of her lingering pain. he shifted slightly, instinctively tightening his hold around her shoulders.

after a few moments, y/n broke the quiet. “did you miss me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. she turned her head slightly to gauge his reaction, a teasing smile dancing on her lips, despite the weight of the question.

dabi’s brow furrowed as he looked down at her, his expression a mix of annoyance and something softer. “you think I have time to miss anyone?” he replied, his tone gruff, but there was an underlying warmth there that didn’t go unnoticed.

“come on, it’s a simple question,” she pressed, trying to suppress a smile. “you could just say yes, you know.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, a hint of exasperation in his eyes. “fine. maybe I missed you a little,” he admitted, his voice begrudgingly honest. “not that I’d tell anyone else.”

“oh really?” she said, feigning surprise. “a little? I’d say I was gone for quite a while. you should have been lonely without me.”

“lonely? hardly,” he scoffed, though she could see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I had plenty of things to keep me occupied. but yeah, it was… quieter.”

y/n smiled at that, feeling a warmth blossom in her chest. “I guess I was kind of fun to have around,” she teased lightly.

“you were more annoying than fun,” he shot back, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “always getting in the way. but I guess it’s better than having nothing to deal with.”

“so, you missed my annoying self then?” she prodded, enjoying this back-and-forth.

“shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words. “just don’t go getting yourself captured again. I don’t want to deal with the consequences.”

as the night deepened, the soft glow from the single lamp in the corner of the room cast a warm light over y/n and dabi. she could hear the faint sounds of the league moving about outside, but in this moment, it felt like they were the only two in existence. she relaxed further into his side, feeling a strange sense of safety she hadn’t felt in months.

“you know,” she began, her voice trailing off as she considered her words, “being away from all of you… it was different. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but I did.”

“what, the chaos?” dabi replied, arching an eyebrow. “you’re telling me you missed all the arguing, the plans going wrong, and the constant danger?”

“maybe not the danger,” she admitted, a small laugh escaping her lips. “but yeah, I missed the thrill. I missed you guys.” she paused, glancing up at him. “I even missed your terrible sense of humor.”

“my humor is perfect,” he shot back, a smirk creeping onto his face. “you just don’t understand true comedy.”

“right, keep telling yourself that,” she teased, then grew serious for a moment. “but really, I just… I missed being part of something. even if it is a little chaotic.”

dabi’s expression softened slightly, and he nodded. “I get it. being alone sucks. but you’re not alone anymore. we’re all messed up in our own ways, but we look out for each other. that’s what makes this whole thing work.”

“yeah, I know,” she said softly, her heart swelling at his words. “and I’m grateful for that. I never thought I’d find a place where I truly belonged, especially here.”

“well, don’t go getting all mushy on me now,” he replied, trying to mask the warmth flooding his chest with a chuckle. “I’d hate to ruin my tough-guy reputation.”

“too late for that,” she said with a smirk. “you’ve already cuddled with me, remember? tough guy or not, you’ve got a soft spot.”

“shut up,” he muttered, but he couldn’t suppress the slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “just don’t get too comfortable with the whole cuddling thing.”

“too late,” y/n said, a playful glint in her eyes. “I think I might just make this a regular occurrence.”

dabi rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. instead, he leaned back against the pillows, pulling her with him. “whatever. just don’t expect me to go easy on you when you’re back to being a pain in the ass.”

they lay there in silence, the warmth between them easing the tension and exhaustion that had been building for so long. y/n shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to dabi’s neck, her lips lingering just a moment before she pulled back. she felt his muscles tense, and she looked up, half-expecting him to scold her.

"y/n," he murmured, voice firm but with an edge of something softer. she looked up at him, searching his eyes, caught off guard by the intensity there. before she could say anything, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started slow, almost hesitant, then deepened, as if he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words.

her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back, feeling the tension drain from her body. she melted into him, their breaths mingling, the world fading until it was just the two of them. the kiss was a silent promise, a reminder of all they'd been through and the unspoken connection that tethered them together.

finally, they broke apart, foreheads resting against each other, and y/n whispered, "goodnight, touya."

"night, idiot."

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

Tag: @ririkavitanitraxova02

[livwritesstuff]

Steve reaches the top of the stairs on his way to get ready for bed when he hears the weary call of his husband from the other end of the hall.

“Steeeve,” Eddie groans, “Rescue me please.”

He’s in Hazel’s room, Steve can tell, which probably means that tonight is another night in a long string of failures to get their three-year-old into bed at a reasonable time (seriously – their older two went to sleep without any issues hours ago, but their sweet Hazel James has been in a phase of doing everything she can to avoid her bedtime).

Indeed, Steve walks into their youngest daughter’s bedroom to see that Eddie is the one blinking bleary eyes at him while Hazel, on the other hand, is wide awake and standing on her mattress in her Halloween pumpkin pajamas (yes, it’s June – very few battles are won by Steve and Eddie these days).

“Uh-oh,” Steve warns her, ”You’re putting Daddy to sleep, sweet girl. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“Well, first I hafta show Daddy all the places I got hurt today,” she replies, coming up right to the edge of her bed so Steve really has no choice but to pull her in for a snuggle.

“Where’d you get hurt today,” he asks her.

“Don’t,” Eddie mumbles, an arm over his face shielding his eyes from the light of Hazel’s lamp, “It’s a trap.”

But Hazel is already wiggling out of Steve’s arms, backing away just far enough to push her sleeve up and reveal the impressive collection of colorful, patterned bandages decorating her arm.

Earlier this week, Hazel had discovered the magical power of Band-Aids (in other words, she fell and was completely inconsolable until Eddie suggested putting a princess Band-Aid on the nonexistent “owie” – surprise, surprise, the agonizing pain disappeared without a trace almost immediately).

Now, she’s practically covered in the damn things.

“Look,” Hazel says, pointing at a princess band-aid by her wrist, “‘Dis is where I fell and a stick poked my arm.”

“A stick poked your arm?” he repeats.

“Uh-huh, so now you gotta give it a kiss.”

Obviously, Steve obliges, planting a dramatic kiss onto the plastic band-aid.

“All better?” he asks her.

“Yep. And then this one –” Hazel points at a Ninja Turtle band-aid up by her elbow (Steve’s gotta make sure Robbie doesn’t see that one or her six-year-old version of hell will rain down on all of them), “This is where I got stung-ed by a bug.”

Steve kisses that one too, and then Hazel hits him with a pretty fantastic yawn.

“You wanna come cuddle in bed with me and Daddy?” he asks quietly. She nods, and as he scoops her up, Eddie grumbles something that gets muffled into his arm.

“What was that?” he asks (only a little sarcastically). Eddie drops his arm and lifts his head to look Steve dead in the eye.

“You’re a goddamn sucker,” he repeats.

“Let’s go,” Steve ignores him, holding out the hand not holding Hazel. Eddie takes it and lets Steve pull him to his feet, and then they head off to bed.

[dragons-hoard-of-fandoms]

On the one hand, gold.

On the other hand, PAINFUL, AGONIZING FAILURE.

[adrift-in-thyme]

@kikker-oma happy belated birthday!!! Sorry it took so long for me to finish this! But I hope it proves worth the wait <333 (Also I hope you don’t mind some whump)

CW for blood and injury, vomiting, a panic attack, and a cave-in (be careful if you’re claustrophobic)

————————————-

In the wake of the explosion, Sky feels nothing. There is a high-pitched ring in his ears, spots in his vision, warm, sticky blood trickling from his nose. But no pain.

Until there is.

It hits like a claymore, cleaving through the half-consciousness he has clung to thus far. And the next thing he knows, he’s jerking upward, gasping. Only, he can’t sit upright at all.

His mind screams the panicked order, his muscles attempt it, but a weak, agonizing twitch is all he manages. Something is holding him down, something massive and heavy. His chest struggles to rise beneath its constant compression.

Sky blinks again, squinting past the tiny eruptions of light and the dust that floats, thick and suffocating in the air around him. There is nothing much to see in the endless darkness. But he can make out jagged shapes, blocky forms, the outlines of sand-covered objects.

Caging him in. Holding him down.

He’s pinned, he realizes with a streak of mind-numbing terror. And suddenly, what little air he had managed to drag in turns to nothing at all. He gasps, eyes blowing wide, as he thrashes.

Or attempts to. All he manages is to bring on a fresh onslaught of dizzying agony. It strikes through to his very bones, sending sharp pricks of static dancing before his eyes and crawling up the back of his head. And for a split second, everything goes a striking shade of black.

Then, he’s breaching the surface once more, too soon, much too soon, skyrocketing back into a world of pain and suffocation.

Sky coughs, choking on blood and tears. He has never really considered himself claustrophobic, but this experience might just change that assumption. Of all the ways to die…

But you’re not, he berates himself. You’re not dead yet, so think, think. Figure out a way to survive.

He can’t reach his pouch. The rubble piled beside him makes certain of that. It presses against him, crushing his side and tugging at the hem of his sailcloth. But if he can move it just a bit…

Trembling hands press to its jagged surface. With a sharp intake of breath, Sky steels himself and pushes.

Something shifts and for a split second, Sky dares to hope that maybe, just maybe he can get free. But then, the rubble on his lower half crawls sideways with the rest. And Sky screams.

The nauseating numbness that had begun to take root vanishes, replaced with the absolute agony that splits through his legs. He turns his head to the side and chokes up bile.

That one moment seems to last forever, pain dancing along his body endlessly. He lies there, limp and gasping, gazing at the blurred splotches his vision has been reduced to. And the waves wash over him, stealing the air from his lungs and turning his thoughts into incomprehensible things.

Needles streak up his neck, bringing with them unnatural heat. His eyelids flutter, eyes preparing to roll back in his head and plunge him back into the painless deep.

“Sky!”

A hand finds his, desperate in the way it grasps at him. Sky inhales sharply, jolting back into some semblance of awareness.

He had thought no other heroes were near the blast. He had thought they were all clear of the area. So, why…

Wait.

Memories crash back into his mind like waves on the sea. Memories of a building crumbling behind him and a boy by his side, running, running away from the collapse, away from certain death. Memories of the fiery knowledge that had situated itself firmly in Sky’s gut, the knowledge that he must protect him, protect the hero who came after him.

Protect the hero who was the first to feel the brunt of his failures, no matter the cost.

His hands fly out on instinct to shove the small figure in front of him through the doorway. Echoes of a terrified voice in his mind as he leaps, meaning to follow, wanting to.

Only for darkness to catch him before he can.

Four. Sky’s breath hitches, a sob of relief and agony catching in his throat. Four is here with him. Four is alive.

And he came back.

“Sky, can you hear me?”

The Skyloftian focuses all his strength. Weakly, he squeezes Four’s hand. The smithy blows out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank the goddesses. We’re gonna get you free, okay? We just need a minute. If we move anything now…”

Though he trails off, the words left unspoken weigh on the Skyloftian even more heavily than the rubble. He drags in a thin gasp, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

“But I need you to stay awake until we can get you out,” Four continues, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “Can you do that?”

“Yes,” is what Sky means to say. “Hurts,” is the croaked cry that comes out.

Four’s grip tightens. “I know, Sky. I’m-I’m sorry.”

Sky closes his eyes. The darkness there is safer, more comfortable than the dusky dimness floating around him.

“Not your fa-fault.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me.” The voice is grim and drenched in guilt. Though it aims to sound accusatory, Sky feels that it hardly meets the mark. “‘There was time. We could’ve both gotten out. We could’ve…”

“K-kept you safe.” It is hardly a croak. The word burns in his throat. “Smithy…I w-wanted to…”

He drags his eyes open, stares into the expanse of floating nothingness. He still can’t breathe.

“It’s the least I…could do.”

Four is silent for a long moment. Then, his fingers constrict just slightly. Their warmth is welcome in a world of cold darkness.

“You’re going to get out of there, Sky,” he murmurs and there is something in his tone that Sky cannot identify. Maybe he could if he wasn’t so tired. Far more than usual in fact. This exhaustion drags him down like a leaden weight, pulling at the remaining scraps of consciousness.

“Just hold on,” the smithy says, and Sky pushes back against the endless deep.

Hold on.

He can do that. He can…

“T-tell me about y-your Hyrule,” he croaks.

And Four does. The smithy has many secrets, perhaps, even as much as the old man, and yet, he tells him. Of his grandfather, of Dot, of his home and his world and the tiny creatures known as Minish.

Sky clings to every word that tells him more about the hero who followed after him and the land he fought to protect. He clings to the sound of his voice, the warmth of his fingers, the painting he paints of his life…until his brothers come.

And then, finally, finally, the world is opening back up and the sunlight is streaming in and he can drag in thin gasps of fresh air and…and Four is right there, still holding his hand but gazing down at him now. Concern gleams in his multicolored irises.

Sky offers him a weak smile. “‘M okay now, smithy,” he murmurs, every word agony. “T-thanks for…for staying.”

Four’s face splits into a grin. A teary one, but an expression of joy nonetheless. “I’ll always stay. It’s the least I can do for the person who paved the way.”

There is respect in those words, Sky realizes dimly. Respect and something else…A connection, perhaps, that is stronger even than their bond of brotherhood.

He deserves neither.

But as he lets his eyes slip shut, as the voices of his family swell around him and arms lift him with a gentleness that belies their strength…he is glad to know about their place in the timeline. He understands the look in Time’s eye a little better now, when he gazes upon Twilight.

He is proud of his successor too.

[jasntodds]

Too Heavy | J.T.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Request: @just-lost-inbetween-worlds​ : Can I get Jason Todd (doesn’t matter which version) with the prompts: bloodied knuckles, wiping the others tears away, as well as crying into their chest. Maybe bloodied knuckles bcs of punching something in a mental breakdown and then the rest happens.  Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts

Summary: Sometimes things get a little too heavy for Jason

Warnings: Angst, blood, mentions of death, mental breakdown, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,802

A/n: I was listening to a lot of Too Heavy by The Plot In You while I wrote this so here we are lol If you wanna be added to my tag list, click the link below, send me an ask, or comment!! You can also follow my library blog @peteprkerlibrary​ !! If you like this, please reblog it and/or talk to me about it!!

masterlist | request info | tag list

Everyone has bad days. They come and they go. It gets better. It always gets better. But for Jason, his bad days are sometimes so rough and harsh, the world collapses from under him. He falls through the cracks into a black abyss, surrounded by every failure he’s ever had. He falls and falls and falls until he finally hits the bottom and the wind is sucked from his lungs in a hard smack. Leaving him alone in the pitch black coldness. Today is one of those days.

He’s just gotten back from patrol and he was quiet not to wake you. He walks steadily to the bathroom but his thoughts are circling the drain. Every step he takes is like twenty pounds added to his ankles and another thought joins the damned ride. Jason’s chest grows heavy as he finally reaches the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The worst nights of patrol involve kids and tonight did. It’s always the most innocent of people that get to him. Most nights, he can handle it because it’s part of the job. It’s one of the reasons he puts the helmet on every night. But tonight is different. Tonight is different because it didn’t have the hopeful ending it should have and it’s not fucking fair.

Jason’s hands grip the bathroom counter so hard he thinks he might shatter it in his palms. He almost hopes he does. He looks at himself in the mirror, his back slightly hunched over and he looks hollow. A discarded shell of who he should have been. And he can’t stand it. His head spins while his eyes slam shut and his grip tightens harder against the cool stone.

His chest starts to heave as his breathing quickens. His chest grows heavy and he wants to start ripping out every single one of his organs in hopes it’ll lift some of the weight. The heaviness is suffocating and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think this would be his end.

But he knows better.

And this is the never-ending hell he’s trapped in while the inability to save the kids tonight triggers memories to flood back like overflowing rivers in a flash flood.

There’s the echo of metal on concrete seeping into his blood stream and that menacing laugh that never should be called a laugh beats against his eardrum. The feeling of the panic he felt that day wraps him in a cruel and painful hug as if to be living off of his inability to breathe properly. Images of the Joker and the look on his mom’s face flash across his eyes and he can’t take the heaviness of it all anymore.

The grief he suffers with is nearly paralyzing and it is agonizing. They say grief gets better but when is it that supposed to happen? Because it’s been years and he can’t breathe and he wants to rip his lungs out of his chest just to feel anything other than this. He was just a kid.

Jason was a just a kid.

Tears burn his eyes, one slipping by and sliding down his cheek and he grits his teeth so hard they nearly shatter under the pressure. All he wants is for it all to stop for even a second. He wants one damn second of relief.

He looks up at his own reflection once more and he can see some bruising from last week and he hates it. The white streak in his hair almost seems whiter in the light of the bathroom and he hates it. He hates it. He hates it and he can’t do it. He punches the mirror in a quick motion, just once and it shatters into the sink and over the counter.

“Fuck.” Jason groans because he knows it was loud and he can’t stop the tears now. They’re drenching his face and his breathing is racing, quivering.

Blood spills into the sink as Jason hovers his shaking hand over it. Not a single part of him even cares or pays the stinging any mind. All he can do is try his best to breathe and shake his thoughts away but nothing works. They’re still there. Flashing across his eyes like lightning in the middle of a raging storm.

His legs start to feel weak as if he’s just gotten done running for miles on end. It’s getting harder to stand the more he tries to fight his own breath and thoughts. His head spins and he his stomach turns and twists into gnawing nausea. And he can’t even be bothered to stand anymore because that is just getting too damn hard too. His own body is growing too heavy with every passing thought and he swears that’s some sort of cruel joke.

Jason sits on the floor against the counter, hanging his head and pulling his knees up to his chest. Tears fall down his cheeks and he tries to fight them off with every thought he has but nothing works. They fall anyway, staining his cheeks in a wet mess.

“Jason?” You call from outside the door. 

The shattering of glass woke you up and for a few seconds, you thought someone had actually broken in. And you were nearly frozen, stuck thinking if you had a weapon of any sort in the bedroom you could use. But then those seconds faded and you didn’t hear footsteps or shuffling through the apartment. You didn’t hear anything and when you checked the time to see it was after three, you knew.

“Jay?” You call again, knocking on the door gently when he doesn’t answer.

Your groggy voice breaks his heart. He never meant to wake you up.

Jason slides his hands over his face and clears his throat. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.” Jason tries to stabilize his voice but you can hear the weakness and quiver. He’s mastered the art of hiding pain but not disguising the pain of crying.

Taking the knob in your hand, you twist it slowly, gently pushing the door open. You spot Jason still in his Red Hood gear, minus the helmet, sitting on the floor with drops of blood on the floor. He keeps his head hung and his forearms on his knees. You spot blood on his knuckle with open wounds before you see the broken mirror and your heart just breaks for him.

You step in slowly and cautiously as if moving too quickly will make him dissolve right into the floor. “Hey,” You crouch down beside him, tilting your head to try and get a look at his face that’s covered by his messy hair. “What happened, Jay?”

“I’m fine.” Jason forces the words from the back of his throat and he hates how weak they sound. 

You don’t like the answer because anyone who’s fine doesn’t break a mirror. Anyone who’s fine doesn’t sit on the bathroom floor at three in the morning with bloody knuckles crying. He’s not fine but Jason has never been very good at admitting to anyone when he’s not. He’d rather drown than ask for a life preserver.

You move in front of him, sitting on your knees. You reach out cautiously, putting your hands on his wet cheeks. Jason’s eyes shut down hard with your touch and you’re so gentle with him. Why? What’s he done to deserve it?

You pick his head up softly and Jason lets you. His eyes are bloodshot as he looks at you. His pretty blue eyes are now a haunting shade of navy, like the sky over the ocean in the middle of hurricane. Why does the world treat him with such cruelty?

“Please, go back to bed.” He nearly begs you because you shouldn’t have to deal with all of his trauma.

It’s not fair for you to lose sleep over him. He swears you shouldn’t and you don’t deserve it. All he wants is to be alone with his grief. If anyone has to suffer what he went through, it has to be him. It can’t involve you. Not you.

But you’re stubborn and that thing in your chest beats endlessly for him.

You can see his chest moving harshly with every breath and he might be Red Hood but he was Jason Todd first. A kid trying to survive the best he could. A kid who just wanted to learn and be a kid. Smart mouth and relentless as hell. But a kid no one looked out for. Red Hood looks out for so many people, but who’s supposed to look out for Jason Todd?

“Please, I’m fine.” Jason voice finally cracks as a tear escapes his bottom lid. “Just go to bed. I’ll be there a minute.”

You move your hands from his cheeks and he thinks, for a second that for once, you might actually listen to him. And he’d be lying if that didn’t hurt, too. But, it’s you and you were never very good at following his instructions even on good days so you move closer to him and stretch out your arms.

“Come here, Jay.” Your voice is soft, etched in worry and love.

He’s reluctant at first because he knows if he does, he’ll lose it entirely. Every piece of him that’s been able to hold in a sob will finally crack and that’ll be it. But he sees the worry in every tired line of your face and you always look so inviting.

“I’m worried about you. Please.” You plead with him, your voice cracking with a mix of tiredness and sadness. And Jason can’t hold it in anymore because you’re worried about him.

Jason moves his legs and moves closer to you, resting his head against your chest because at his point, it’s all too heavy for him to even try for a proper hug. And folding into you seems a hell of a lot easier for everyone. You wrap one arm around his side and rest your other hand in his hair. And just like he breaks.

A sob rips through his throat, echoing through the bathroom and you have to swallow the lump that forms in your throat. He shakes against you, sliding his hands to your back and holding onto your shirt. His grip is tight as if he’s stuck between thinking you’ll disappear if he lets go or that he’ll disappear if he does. Your hand runs through his hair and you try to console him, knowing there isn’t much that can help at this point. But you try by playing with his hair and whispering softly to him despite your own heart aching and breaking for him.

Tears brim your own eyes as you hold him against you. If you could, you would claw out your own heart and replace his with yours. Maybe that would help some of his agony. Maybe that would make his pain a little more tolerable. Maybe if you could swap out your hearts, you could take some of his pain away. You’d do it if it meant he wouldn’t suffer so much.

Minutes tick by and his breathing is still harsh against you but the sobs have slowed. His grip is still iron-tight on your shirt and all Jason wants is for the world to stop spinning. He wants the aching in his chest to stop and he wants everything around him to stop feeling so damn heavy.

You pick his head up, cupping his cheeks in both hands again. His cheeks are tear stained and you swear you’ve never seen him look so broken before. Your thumb awipe over his cheeks, brushing the tears away gently.

Jason nearly shudders with the action.

“It’s okay, Jay.” You assure him and your voice is strained as if begging him to believe you.

“It’s fucking not.” He sputters, his brows pulling together and you can see him clench his jaw. “It’s all shit and those kids deserved fucking better.” His breath is hot, boiling on your skin as he seethes. And you know what lead him here tonight.

He told you. Right to your face he told you he died. He left out the gory details of it all for your own sake but you know he was just a kid. And you know why he was there and about the Joker. He was just a kid.

“Kids?” You questions and you know Jason always has a bad night when it involves kids.

“Forget it.” He lets out a scoff because he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to know the details.

“Hey, no.” You shake your head, eyes scanning over his face as your brows pull together. “I’ll listen all night, okay? I won’t ask anything if you don’t want me to, okay? You can talk or not. But, you’re gonna be okay.” Your eyes lock with his and he wants to believe you.

But he also knows he’ll back here again. He always comes back here. Haunted. The ghost of who he was then and the ghost of who he should have been follow him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to shake them as much as he wants to.

He places his hands over yours and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are whenever he does this. “Just so damn sick of it.” His voice is rough and exhausted.

“I know.” You nod with understanding.

You’ll never be able to understand how he feels or what he goes through but you try. And you see it across his face. You see it in the way he turns in his sleep, when he actually gets sleep. You see it in the way he’s always observing everything around him, always on guard. And you can see it in the way he is with his weapons, there’s always at least two weapons on him at any given moment. As much as you want to understand exactly what goes on inside of his head, you won’t but you can see it. So, you try your best to help and just be there in capacity he’ll let you.

“Why don’t we get you in the shower? I’ll wash your hair, clean up your hand, and we can get into bed? I’ll rub your back and you can tell me what happened if you want. Or I can read to you until you fall asleep.”

He’s almost always reluctant when it’s been bad. He never thinks he deserves the kindness and care you offer to him. On good days, he can accept it. It’s something he struggles with still because no one ever been so kind and careful with him before. So, it’s hard but on good days, he finds it easier to accept. But on bad days, like these, he’s reluctant because if he can’t see the good himself, why should anyone else? But he looks at your eyes that glossy with worry and you give him this look that makes him feel like he’s been put under a microscope. And you would do anything for him.

“Thanks.” He mutters, taking your hands away from his face. “I got it.”

“I know.” You nod your head. “I want to.” You smile gently at him, tilting your head slightly to the right. “You’re not alone, ya know?” You assure him because you think it must be lonely dealing with everything he goes through. “I got you.” 

He knows. As hard as it is for him to accept the care and kindness you offer him, he knows because he notices everything. He notices how he always wakes up with a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch and the way you always have his favorite protein bars on hand even though you don’t like them. You’re the one missing sleep when you have work in the morning to sit on the bathroom floor with him. It’s hard to accept sometimes and he gets in his own head about it sometimes, but at the end of the night, he has you.

And you’ve always had a way of lifting some of that weight for him, maybe without even trying.

“Okay.” Jason finally agrees, still a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You get to your feet and offer him your hand.

He almost chuckles because you can’t actually help him from the floor. But he takes your hand in his anyway, getting to his feet. You look up to him with gentle eyes before closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping your arms around him as tight as you can.

It takes a few seconds before you feel Jason relax under your hug and his arms come around your waist. His chin lays on the top of your head and he feels like he can breathe a little better now. 

When things get a little too heavy, at least he has you to help lift some of the weight.

Tag list: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog​

[isa-ghost]

Fuck it, Possessed qPhil headcanons

Hi! Welcome to the headcanons that started my fic Awake Me From My Nightmare. You might've heard of it. It's so surreal revisiting these several months later and seeing how they've developed in the story.

It starts out slow. Little quirks that pop up or intensify and sail over his head. They're harmless, or seem justified after all. Like his impulses to steal shiny or neat things activating more often. His aggression towards threats like the Purgatory workers or Feds growing to proportions usually unlike him. It flies under his radar, and under the radar of everyone closest to him. Ender King is methodical and careful with the start of it all, and it works. His influence begins to fester inside Phil more and more over time.

The process of the possession is the worst part. It stings like dragon's breath. Every nerve in his body is on fire, his wings in ten times the agony as they're already so sore. His eyes flash between their usual ocean blue and a fierce, foreign, violent purple. Blink and you'll miss it, but his pupils occasionally thin into draconic slits. The hallucinations get worse, so much worse, and so much more vivid. He loses track of time so easily, hours worth of it. The progression is convincingly sentient, it strikes when he's alone like it KNOWS he's vulnerable and there's no one around to witness the way it tortures him, temporarily immobilizing him as every inch of his body burns and aches like it's soaking in acid. His own tears start to vaguely sting and splashing his face with cold water in an attempt to ground himself is a MISTAKE. Oh god, he's in so, so much pain... And that's what makes him succumb in the end. He can't take the burning of his wings anymore.

He feels.. so.. hollow. So empty inside. Like this deep, inconceivable void has opened up inside him and is devouring every inch of his being until nothing is left. And... it feels so right. It feels so deserved...

No, this is definitely deserved. All that guilt he felt before is gone. That must mean this is him finally being punished for all his failures, right? For being so weak?

He doesn't want help, he's perfectly fine. Why are you looking at him like that? Please, as if you could do anything about this anyway. Don't make him roll his eyes. You couldn't fix this even if he let you. You think you stand a chance against him, The Angel of Death? You'd never win.

His temper is so unstable. He snaps at people he'd never snap at. He yells, he never yells unless it's in jest or at the Feds. He lashes out. He'd NEVER seriously lay a hand on any of the others. He'd never so much as genuinely threaten them. What's come over him? And why won't he answer the others when they ask?

He isolates. He deserves to be alone. Also he can't be bothered with those two needy children, can't a man breathe for a bit? This infection inside him festers more and more, the longer he's away from the things that could tug at his heartstrings or prod at his memory.

So many things have become a blur. Did he say that? Did he do that? When did that happen? What's this "abueli" sign mean? Who's this "Missa" you speak of? What do you mean we're friends? I've never met you in my life. I think I'd remember being friends with a man with a mechanical arm.

The sunlight hurts. It hurts SO much. Keep it off him, keep it away from him, don't bring him outside.

His insides feel like they're withering. He can't eat, it comes right back up. Even bending down or moving certain ways hurts. It's like he's shriveling up and decaying from the inside out. No he doesn't need help.

The longer you watch him, the more obvious it becomes that he's fighting a parasite inside. And it's agonizing to watch. There's nothing you can do, you don't even know what's wrong with him, and he won't tell you. But he can't hide the way he's losing control of himself. It feels like you're watching him die right in front of you. The immortal you've always thought of as both an unstoppable force and unmovable object. Dying.

The moments of clarity are the worst. The way awareness hits him like a brick. He's abandoned Chayanne and Lullah for who knows how long. Has someone taken them under their care in his absence? His friends have seen him in such a pathetic, terrifying, unsavable state. He's mortified. Has he hurt anyone? What destruction has he wrought? Where has he been? How long has it been since he was last in control of himself?

He can't bear looking people in they eyes anymore. Even looking them in the face is a challenge. It borderline disgusts him. It makes him viscerally uncomfortable.

He's terrified to see his reflection. He knows the changes aren't all in his head. They aren't just behavioral.

Something startles him. Suddenly he's on the roof of the nearest building, or in a tree. But... he didn't shoot his grappling squawk. He didn't even have the tool in his hand. Did he just.. teleport?

He doesn't startle again. He is no longer flight, he was never freeze. He is always fight. Even when it's unnecessary, even when it's an ally that surprised him, he swings. He almost immediately comes to his senses every time & quickly moves so he misses. But there's no mistaking that those swings are intended to be precise and lethal.

His vision starts to change, like the way the world looks when you possess an enderman in spectator mode. It's a gamble if his vision is normal or not every time he wakes up.

Eventually he stops sleeping though. And stops talking to Rose. Stops showing up at the Sanctuary. Chayanne & Lullah keep going though. They've been talking to her, desperate to find a way to bring their Papa back into control for good.

He stops eating too. Ender King He doesn't need to. He's slowly becoming a skeleton of himself. How.. ironic, given the Ender King's state last Phil saw it in person.

It's convenient that depriving Phil of sustenance and sleep makes him weak enough to keep controlling with ease. :) It keeps him too weak to resist. :)

Phil always has a shred of awareness of his situation and surroundings even when Ender King has full control. He knows the harm being carried out by his hands. He knows the vile things being said with his tongue. The guilt is so unbearable. He wants it to stop. But he's so weak. And this is his punishment for being weak. He doesn't deserve to break free of this possession until he can do it himself. But the longer he stays under, the weaker he gets...

The longer he's subdued, the more convinced he becomes that this is deserved, escape is futile, all is lost and it's hopeless. But is that him thinking that, or one of the many ways EK is keeping him complacent? Preying upon his insecurities and flaws. Stupid greedy insecure old crow.

The above doesn't mean he isn't going out of his way to make being possessed as difficult as possible though. He's inconveniencing Ender King EVERY step of the way. He didn't want this, and no amount of overthinking his way into believing he deserves this will make him forget that.

When it's finally over, he has nightmares for MONTHS. It wouldn't surprise him if they were chronic. He doesn't tell anyone but Fit, and he doesn't tell him all of them.

It takes a long while after he's been saved for him to remember water no longer hurts him. He avoids it like the plague. Every time he even hears water moving, all he can think about is the way it stings worse than falling in lava.

The social part of recovery after it's all over is the worst. The guilt and shame make him want to hide and never talk to another person again, yet he can't stand being alone. He gets too paranoid.

Other Phil headcanon sets:

Set 1

Set 2

Set 3

Set 4

Set 5

Set 6

Set 7 (Eggza Edition)

[galaxy-fleur]

Do you have any thoughts and headcanons about remake Leon pining and being down bad for someone he knew for a long time? Before Raccoon City or after all the same, i would love to read it :DD

Nothing like some good old slow-burn... It is an interesting thing to think about! Leon having someone that knew him before his life was forever changed would definitely have its upsides and downsides to it. For both parties involved. I do think a part of him will always crave that feeling of normalcy and stability that was stolen away from him. For someone to see that spark of innocence in him that he thinks he has lost now. Make him feel like that young, bright-eyed boy again that still had the control over his fate, even if for a moment.

Leon would feel more at ease, on the one hand. Someone knowing him so intimately means they actually know the real him, not just as an exceptional soldier, or a government's weapon, but as the same simple guy before the world was forever changed. And that's something he'll definitely want to indulge in. It's a nice feeling, to be looked at as a human and not as a weapon or an asset for once. He'll be overall just softer and more approachable with them. Even though he may become tough and battle-hardened, his actual self will always show through. And I'd say such a connection would bring those glimpses of his former self more often than not.

But, on the other hand, having someone who knew Leon before the Racoon City disaster also means that they see just how much he has changed. The pain and the weight of it all cannot be concealed from someone who knows you like that. There's no pretending that he's fine with being used as a tool. Not when you can compare it to that younger, truer version of himself. It's a double edged sword. Although he may find great solace in this familiarity, it may also act as a harsh reminder of what he has lost. And this goes the other way around, too. Witnessing someone you knew undergo such drastic change—and not voluntarily—must be difficult.

Seeing Leon's optimism wane and then slip away as he endures one agonizing ordeal after another must bee awful for his friend, too. While everyone else only sees a hardened professional, an old friend will only recognize a person they love pushing himself into something that's so far removed from everything they've both known.

So, there are definitely some nuances to explore here. As for Leon harboring feelings for an old friend like that... Hm, I think it depends on a position they're in, honestly. He'll definitely be way more open about it if they're in a similar line of work. However, it will be a little more difficult if they are a civilian. But his protective nature will remain constant. That's something that'll be a regular occurrence in either circumstance here.

More than anything, Leon wants to be able to protect those he cares about. It makes him sick to think of losing someone he cares about so much and not being able to keep them safe. That, of course, is a result of his failures in Racoon City. He won't be able to let go of that guilt until the events of RE4R (that's kinda what his story is about there, after all). It can become a little intrusive, depending on the personality of his friend. Although he has good intentions, his paranoid and protective nature may cause him to restrict their freedom or take away their agency in an effort to keep them safe. (I'm not talking about anything extreme here ofc!) That's something that can be a source of conflict for sure.

On a brighter note, you can also expect Leon to be way more softer, as I've already said! Tiny smiles, dumb jokes, remarks that aren't very funny but are charming in their own right, and awkward compliments every now and then. Those are all the things you can expect from him. He's not the greatest flirt, especially around someone who he has known for so long. Kinda hard to play Casanova when the person you want to woo knows all the embarrassing things about you. But he's charming without even trying.

And he's much more tactile, too! I feel like Leon tends to communicate through touch, so he has a natural tendency to be physically affectionate with those he's close to. He won't be clingy, per se. However, a light touch on your lower back or shoulder is common with him. Probably lots of headpats if his friend is shorter than him. It's a nice way to express affection without going too far with it. Will grab onto their hands, too. Mostly during an emotionally intimate moment.

Leon might even give out a hug or two for a friend like that. Most of the time, he needs it far more, honestly. Speaking of which, he's not only touchy himself, but he's also very receptive to touch, too.

For someone who always has to be on his guard, him not flinching at the touch but leaning into it instead speaks more than any words possibly could. More than anything, it's a show of trust and connection he feels to said person. It's very sweet, once you learn all the ins and outs of how he operates.

He won't go around asking for it, but if they were to go and offer him a hug? He'll absolutely melt into it.

[fatuismooches]

Yesss please, let's have some fluff for fragile reader and dottore <3 My new medication has been helping with my pain, so so so I'm just imagining like something Dottore is doing to help fragile reader is *helping* somewhat, their pain is lessened even if not completely gone but! It's progress! This makes the two of them feel hope for the first time in what could possibly be years, the sheer joy of something working, even just slightly, has the reader crying in joy because they've been able to walk a bit without collapsing. They still need their mobility aids but for the first time in decades they're not in agonizing pain and feel their limbs settle even slightly. It's not an overnight thing of course, Dottore has been monitoring them, and they've done their best to upkeep their progress. It isn't until one morning when they think about how the last few months have been before they realize as they're standing up to move around, moving to the lab, that it's... not as agonizing as it normally is? The bad flare ups are there obviously, but they don't feel like they're withering away. They feel.... stable, both metaphorically and literally. They haven't had any new marks from their body unable to hold itself up and bumping/scratching against the walls. They make their way to Dottore in the lab that morning, hobbling along more excited than normal, the smile on their face wide and joyful. It almost feels silly to tell him the progress, the fact they can hold a pen for longer now without the pain in their wrist being unbearable, the marks on their hands have begun to heal without new ones appearing, their steps more steady. Their illness isn't curable. It probably never will be, no matter how much Dottore tries. But... the sign of progress, of being able to *manage* it.... that is enough. It is enough. ❤️ -❤️‍🩹🌹

Oh,, this is so sweet fluffy and soft I love it so much! And I'm glad you've been feeling better anon, that makes me happy ❤️ I like to think so too... that although things don't get better quickly enough, they do over a long period of time.... after all, Dottore is your genius husband, you've always believed in him even when he hit so many roadblocks and failures along the way. It's an extremely important moment for both of you, you feeling better after so many years of illness and Dottore relieved that finally something worked. Perhaps not a cure, but to see you so elated and free after centuries makes him regret absolutely nothing. The segments too of course, they're finding amusement in your new-found energy and attempts to squeeze them to death with your hugs. In fact, there's a different energy in the lab now. Of course, it'll always have that looming air of despair and death to others... but when you're happy, the segments are too, and that means they spend less threatening the regular agents and leaving them alone!! Granted they have more work to do now since the segments are busy slacking off and showing you all the cool things they couldn't show you before due to your illness but at least they have a higher chance of surviving now!!

I imagine your progress just hits you one day, how you've been feeling a lot better both mentally and physically, of course, you're not in tip-top shape but the fact just makes you have a rush of excitement and exhilaration. You almost wonder if you've been dreaming for a while, but nope, this is all real. When you barge into Dottore's office, practically slamming the door open, he's initially worried that something bad happened. But you plopped yourself on his lap and placed both your hands on his shoulder, beckoning his attention with not just your body language but that sweet smile he hadn't seen in so long, then going off into a tangent with all the things you can do now. Your voice raising in pitch and volume as you waved your hands in glee, just completely contented and joyful. Dottore didn't interrupt once as he merely listened to you talk for so long without getting out of breath, and then at the end, he pulled you closer and gently bit your neck. Perhaps he can't express his happiness for you outwardly as well, but that's okay.

[pmpwbrrs]

Anyway, OC ramble time ⬆️⬆️ about this fucker

Forbearance of Reciprocity (FoR) was built not so long after Void Revolution. Though he came out rather.. unsuccessfully. The construction process was uncoordinated, because it was led by people who were not very competent for this work, and FoR came out, one might say, defective...

He has malfunctions and failures (they often bring physical pain and discomfort, by the way) more often than other iterators, and they can be fixed only by Ancients. And, unwittingly, Forbearance makes mistakes in calculations, in research, and in general in almost everything, no matter how many times he rechecks his work.

Iterators almost never make mistakes (at least not as many as he does), so Forbearance of Reciprocity, to put it slightly, has caused a lot of resentment in the local community. Although there were those who wanted to just disassemble him, no one could - it is even more difficult to do than to build him, and besides, it is much more expensive. And it would not be possible to just fix him: he's too much of a mess. It's easier to just leave it as it is.

So there he was - dissaponting both his people and himself. No matter how hard he tries to do everything right, it's still never enough.

But ancients are gone now. Cycles go on, malfunctions accumulate and cause pain, more intense and more unbearable with each passing day...

However. He found a loophole. He has a chance at a normal existence, one that he should have had from the very begging! Something that will allow him to fulfill his mission, for which he was built.

He is not going to just sit and wait for an agonizing death, having achieved nothing, while having such an opportunity in his hands.

And if this opportunity requires sacrifice, then so be it.

[arista-essendon]

Royce's inner monologue: On the one hand GOLD, on the other hand, painful, agonizing failure

[pendarling]

Making A Choice

Whumpee fixed their eyes on the wall when Caretaker arrived for the forth time that same day.

They couldn’t shake this awful feeling of doing something wrong in their midst to disappoint them. So far, Caretaker has spoken little toward them, and Whumpee knew it was because somewhere, in those hidden acts of care and reassurance, was an anger unfathomable to them.

Caretaker clearly stated in the beginning, before everything, that they wanted them not to leave their sight. Ever. That there was trouble emerging soon, so they were at risk of being hurt. Yet, when the moment arrived, Whumpee turned their back on them and left. They hadn’t been exposed to dangers like this before, and in their ignorance believed that it wouldn’t be so bad. That they could handle it.

Now, they faced the sinking feeling in their stomach as Caretaker waited so patiently, and awfully long for their chance to blast them after realizing they’d been arrogant to their warning.

It was a death stare.

Whumpee shakingly took the bowl from Caretaker’s hands and felt their heart palpitate. The silence extended, as it was the only reminder to their own mistake.

Any minute after this, Caretaker would leave and return later to pick up their dishes. An hour from now they’d inform them it was time to check their wounds and bandage what was stained. Then after that, they’d sleep.

It was an agonizing process that would repeat again and again. Leaving Whumpee in a state of discomfort which rivalled the feeling they’d get around Whumper. Something they never thought they’d have to relive in the presence of someone so close.

“Sorry.” They whispered; their hand curling into themselves tightly.

Caretaker shuffled in their spot, registering the words for a second. It wasn’t until a certain moment had passed that they responded. “I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d do that.”

Whumpee felt themselves centred in the same position all over again when they were initially rescued. They could sense the glare from Caretaker, “I wanted to help.”

“By giving us all away?!” Caretaker slammed a hand into the table, the sound of glass trinkets moving around made them flinch. They’d never been on the receiving side of Caretaker’s wrath before. Not once had they experienced how it felt. Caretaker fixed their hair and sneered at their direction, “I told you to listen to me, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s heart ached in a way they couldn’t comprehend, a sore restraint pulled on their throat. It was painful to have Caretaker hate them. “There wasn’t… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” They shook their head slowly as they took a long look at Whumpee’s own state. Their body was afflicted with all types of wounds and bruises. It was another reminder to Caretakers own failure to control other members. They had a gut feeling that Whumpee would be trouble to deal with, but they didn’t know the full length until now.

A bitter empty huff of breath was all they gave them. If they’d known any better Whumpee would have to deduce Caretaker’s lack of words for the cold shoulder.

They deserved it. Whumpee knew that, but it was unexpected still.

They muttered another apology, unable to come up with anything better to say in such a sorrowful state. They were caught up with too many emotions then. Some relief, happiness, disappointment and of course hatred for themselves.

How could they leave Caretaker’s protection so easily? Who did they think they were?

In all honesty, it was best to leave the thinking to Caretaker. They had years of skills worth listening to and respecting. Their demeanour was far more evident than any other team member they’d come across. Naturally, they should’ve put aside their concerns and follow their lead, but it had done nothing to prevent them from coming to a conclusion they could’ve avoided.

Caretaker turned on their heels and exited the room right as Whumpee felt their tears escape. It was an idiotic decision, but they couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

They paid the price of losing the one thing that they really counted in the most. Caretaker’s trust.

Whumpee wasn’t stupid, they knew they’d never truly be forgiven even if Caretaker did come around some day. They wept silently for the remainder of time, their shoulders shaking and lungs suffocating from the constriction of keeping it quieter than when they slipped away from Whumper’s grasp.

They couldn’t go back, but Whumpee couldn’t see themselves staying here any longer. The worse case scenario, they’d be let off the mission and sent home.

Their mind played out a scenario where they’d leave.

So, as Whumpee wiped away the tears around their cheeks they made up their mind.

~~~

MASTERLIST

[writersmorgue]

Angst Drabble

(Read at your own risk: major character death, blood, gore, hurt no comfort)

read on AO3

-

Katsuki wheezes, the cold winter air burning his lungs while he sprints as fast as his fractured knee will allow.

What’s waiting for him on the other side of the tall, vacant office building is no doubt worse than the pain he’s feeling now.

Dunce face had been snatched from right under his nose during their battle, literally.

One second he’s trying to clean the idiot’s slashed abdomen while they take a short pause in an alleyway during a siege, the next some bat-looking humanoid extra swoops down and yanks his flailing body into the air.

He watched, quirk refusing to work from how dry the air and how exhausted his body was, as the figure carrying his friend as he flailed in the talons climbed higher and higher into the sky.

What the fuck even is that thing. It’s not what they’d been looking for, nothing about Dracula wannabes on the comms.

Nothing that could prepare Katsuki for his failure to protect his friend. Nothing to blame on anyone.

But his wrath did nothing to stop those talons from retracting, from flesh to be ripped from his friend’s sides, and for him to plummet from the sky.

Denki’s sharp yell abruptly stopped after only a few seconds.

A small pop tells Katsuki if he could use his quirk it would be going ballistic. His hands feel like they could split in half, and even the smallest explosion is agonizing.

He skids around the corner of the building, nearly tripping over his feet as his body tilts at some impossible angle.

And when he sees his friend, crumpled into the ground, he does fall.

The last few yards he runs half on his feet and half falling over his hands.

His friend’s yellow hair is completely stained brown, and the red of the blood seeps down onto his dirt-speckled forehead.

His legs are pulverized, telling Katsuki he was unlucky enough to have landed feet first.

Denki’s eyes are glassy, practically vibrating in his head as he tries to look over at Katsuki.

He moved toward him, trying to make it easier.

The guy’s hand is shaking as he tries to move it, first down to his hip, then when he feels the bone clearly sticking out, he lets it fall back to the pavement.

There are bits of flesh and blood around a six-foot radius from them, and Katsuki doesn’t know how his back must look, but he’s surprised he can move at all.

Katsuki leans down, laying a hand on Denki’s chest.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay.”

The panic button has been pressed on Katsuki’s suit, and Denki’s was as soon as his vitals were fucked up on impact he’s sure.

An ambulance will be coming soon.

But they both know that’s not what he means.

“I… can’t see.” Denki rasps, small specs of blood spraying onto his chin as he speaks.

“Just listen to my voice, it’s going to be over soon, Denki. You did so good.”

Katsuki wills his voice to calm, to stop wavering. He wants the last thing his friend hears to be as strong and capable as he was.

It’s what he deserves, damnit. After you failed.

“I know, Kat. I’m… it’s coming I c-can feel it.” He sighs, blood dripping from his nose down his cheeks.

Katsuki rips his glove off and brings his hand up to brush a pink tear away from his fluttering yellow eyes.

Denki hums, the straining muscles in his neck relaxing slightly.

“Kat, I don’t want… ev’ryone t’ worry. So-“ his lungs rattle deep in his chest, “I die on ‘mpact.” Chest heaving, every word looks like it feels like hitting the ground again, “‘Kay?”

Katsuki blinks heavily, willing himself to keep his focus on Denki but the weight of the situation is pulling him somewhere deep in himself.

“Yeah.” He rasps, looking into Denki’s sightless eyes one last time as his friend smiles and lets them close, calmed by his answer.

“You were gone when I got here, Denks.”

Denki sighs again, nuzzling into the ground as if it were the soft bed of grass on the hill outside Heights Alliance that their friends would so often catch him sleeping on in the spring.

Like it’s Eijirou’s bed on game nights when he was too lazy to go back to his own.

Like it’s the last time he’ll ever sleep.

“Didn’t feel a thing.” His words barely a whisper on his last exhale, but Katsuki hears them clear as day.

And when the ambulance gets there, and Hanta and Mina fall to the ground in hysterics, Katsuki will tell them that it’s okay.

Denki died on impact. He didn’t feel a thing.

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

"The Vanity Of Virtues" A CQL (Xue Yang x Fem! OC) Fanfic: Part 1

Lan Qiān Qiān had run away from her problems. Or, at least she had thought that was the case when she snuck out of Gusu and abandoned the Lan Clan and its many strict rules. 'No one will look for me. No one will miss me, anyway.' She thought, the sadness of failure settling into her bones as she wandered the streets of a town in the lush mountains to the south of Gusu. It was lightly raining, and the people in the market place hurried their transactions so they could return home before dusk. It became apparent that Lan Qiān Qiān was being followed. Her keen ears had been trained to recognize this, and she subtly dropped her hand to her side so it hung loosely next to her sword (which she called "Misfortune").

She turned around suddenly, coming face to face with a richly dressed young man, who she had seen a lot around that town. "You're following me. Why?"

"Is a man of my stature not supposed to take interest in such a beautiful girl?" The man spoke confidently.

Qiān Qiān scoffed. 'The audacity of this man. Its his first time speaking to me and he says this?' She frowned. "Your flattery falls on deaf ears. I'm not interested in aristocrats who follow around girls without dignity." Lan Qiān Qiān said sternly. It felt refreshing being able to speak her mind now that she had left the Lan Clan.

The man advanced. "Maybe I can teach you to appreciate me through other means. Would that interest you?" The man spat.

Qiān Qiān shivered, becoming aware that the other merchants and customers in the outdoor market had gone inside. It was just her and this ugly rich asshole who didn't look like he'd take no for an answer. She gripped her sword, and yet the man didn't seem at all threatened by this gesture. "Don't come any closer!" Qiān Qiān unsheathed her sword.

The man laughed, and approached her anyway. He went to bat the handle of the sword away with one of his hands, using the other to stroke her face.

'That's it.' Lan Qiān Qiān thought, boiling with anger. Faster than her racing heart, she spun away, and slashed the sword across the mans legs, so his knees buckled and he shouted in agonizing pain, collapsing on the ground. Her rage still filled her every breath, as flashbacks filled her head to when she was a child. How she had hated being beautiful, the way her wishes were disregarded. The way men had approached her... She slashed her sword again, this time completely slitting the mans neck. Blood spirted out and stained her blue Lan Clan robes, and she spat at him with distain. The town's guards came into view, marching around the corner. Realizing her situation, Lan Qiān Qiān made a run for it, tears welling up in her eyes as she used her cultivator skills that she had learned to set up a small temporary invisible barrier that halted the guards and delayed their pursuit.

She sprinted to the stables and climbed on a horse, spurring it forward and out of the town's back gate. She knew the energy barrier she had created would only last a few minutes longer. As she rode the horse into the darkness of the mountains, she wondered why she didn't feel guilt of any sort. Qiān Qiān had always assumed that if she were to let her temper get the best of her, the first person she'd kill would leave her riddled with regret. Instead, she felt something different. Almost... satisfying. She shook her head. It was wrong. It must be wrong, to feel this way.

Hours passed and the horse Lan Qiān Qiān chose was getting tired. She kept an eye out for another town, but instead only found a cave that appeared to be some sort of makeshift shelter. Wood boards patched up holes in the ceiling as she entered, but there was no sign of anyone . A hole in the ground served as a fire pit that had gone out many days ago. She hitched the horse to sharp rock, exhausted from the travel. Slowly but surely, Lan Qiān Qiān drifted off to sleep to the sound of water dripping into a puddle of the cave's floor.

The sun peaked through the cracks and opening of the cave, and Qiān Qiān's eyes fluttered open. She bolter upright, seeing someone sitting across from her, staring at her intently. She unsheathed her sword, but immediately after took note of this man's appearance. "You're injured!" She gasped, seeing the long gash in his midriff that he was clutching. His clothes were soaked in blood, but his dark eyes were shining with amusement.

"You're a long way from Gusu," He observed, glancing up at her headband.

"Aren't you in pain?" Qiān Qiān stuttered, flustered by the devious way he was grinning. This man was staining the floor with blood yet seemed un- phased by it. In fact, he was more interested in small talk.

"A little, maybe." He shrugged.

Qiān Qiān shook her head, starting to panic over his injury. He may be a stranger, but he didn't seem like he would do much in his current state. She took off the outer layer of her robes, tearing off a shred and advancing towards him.

"Mmm. Not so fast, sweetheart." The handsome man backed away gripping a knife with his other (partially gloved) hand. "I'll need a name before I let you closer."

She sighed. "Fine. My name is Lan Qiān Qiān. I'm only telling you that because I highly doubt you'd be the sort to go running to Gusu telling Lan Xichen of my crimes."

"Well then, you can come closer. I'm Xue Yang." He said in an alarmingly charismatic tone, taking in her appearance with more interest. He set aside the knife, and beckoned Qiān Qiān to come closer. She cautiously took a seat by his side, gently tying the long shred of her robe around his waist. She felt very aware of the her proximity to this "Xue Yang".

"This should stop the bleeding for now." She said, tightening the cloth until it was just right.

"Qiān Qiān. Your name suits you." He said, suddenly gripping her arm. "That's enough tightening. Its fine now." Xue Yang winced.

She sat back down, carefully leaning against the wall next to him. "The blood on your clothes," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "Its not all your blood, is it?"

Xue Yang laughed lightly. "Of course not. I'd be embarrassed if it was." He turned towards Qiān Qiān. "You said you committed crimes. I love a good confession. If you tell me who you killed, I'll tell you about my latest murders."

Lan Qiān Qiān's eyes widened, and she whipped her head towards him with shock. "You can't just say stuff like that!"

"Why not?" Xue Yang asked, genuinely curious. "You know I'm not wrong. I can tell a killer when I see one."

"You say that with pride. Don't you feel remorse?" She whispered, planting her face in her hands with distress. Mixed feelings coursed through her like lightning.

"No. Do you feel remorse?" Xue Yang asked.

Lan Qiān Qiān paused for a long time, face still in her hands. "I.... guess I don't.... either."

She felt Xue Yang's hand placed lightly on her shoulder. "Thats what I like to hear."

She looked up at him, and almost immediately blushed. Just the way he looked at her made her feel guilty. Absolutely sinful. And her thoughts... well, they were far from pure.

Thanks so much for reading Part One!!! Like, comment, and reblog if you want a sooner part two!

[gravedigest]

Character death, descriptions of violence, potentially upsetting content

Non-canon to Doing Something, basically just classique Deimos death.

It feels like a punch to the back of his neck, shoving him forwards hard enough that his head knocks against the terminal. It hurts, ringing his ears and glitching his vision in a spark of pixels, but the spatter of blood is a shock.

It wasn’t that hard, was it?

Time moves slowly as he registers the taste, the fluid filling his mouth, the searing pain in the back of his neck.

He spits out a mouthful of red onto the terminal, slick and heavy, drooling out now as a pulsing flow that syncs up with the beat of his heart.

Oh god.

Oh god.

The mechanical crash of Hank’s body obliterating whatever shot him through the throat is muffled, dull, he blinks.

The keys stick as he keeps punching out letters, fingers splitting apart to type so he can clamp his other hand around his neck, catching himself with an elbow when his knees start to give out.

He can’t breathe.

Oh god. Fuck. God, shit, no, he’s fine.

It’s fine.

Then there’s another bud of pain that blossoms out from his back, his legs collapse beneath him like one of those tension toys, a button pressed and loosening his strings. He can’t feel his hips, like his legs are being held up by an invisible force.

Warnings creep into the black that surrounds his vision, connections to his limbs terminated, a helpful diagram pops up to let him know which vertebrae was just shot out.

This.

This is…

Well, he can’t say he didn’t expect to go out like this.

His whole body is shuddering, seizing up, and it worsens when something nudges at him, tries to move him and twists his spine like a broken charging cable, connecting for a flash of agonizing disharmony. He screams, then, bubbling through all the blood, and the prodding and pulling stops. He’s choking. He’s choking. He can’t breathe.

Get up.

Hank.

His connection to Hank isn’t cut yet.

His left hand sputters, reaching for the man, hitting something solid that immediately responds by grabbing on, holding.

[im dead hank]

The grip tightens. Harsh. Crushing. When his hand splinters, it’s let go of immediately and dropped to the floor. Everything is numbing, icy, it’s so cold, it’s so fucking cold and he can’t even whimper when he’s moved again, absolutely swimming with the motions, but they’re delicate this time, fingers probing at the back of his skull.

He’s shrinking, shrinking back into his rig as his body breaks down, backing into the corner as the floor falls out beneath him.

He’s too aware. He’s too aware inside his rig. His computer has clarity that his oxygen-starved meat doesn’t have.

[im dead]

You are not.

[did you kill the guy that killed me?]

You’re not dead.

[please]

The prying at his head doesn’t stop, not when the panel that closes up his skull is prized open like a mollusk, the boards and banks both out in the the open, vulnerable, alerts pummeling him from every side.

I did.

He catches on to what Hank’s trying to do, the little pressure he can still feel in his head increasing as Hank reaches in, bypassing the port that he has no cable to attach to, going for the meat.

All he has left is hearing, hearing his own gurgling lungs, full of liquid as his mind begins to split, literally pulled apart as Hank twists his whole rig.

The lights go out.

Critical failure.

——

Doc stares at the bloody lump of computer parts sitting on his desk.

He hasn’t been able to move from his seat, hasn’t been able to look away, to do anything but stare after Hank had deposited it on his desk with more care than he’s ever seen the man use. He left without another word.

It’s a mercy that he’s been left alone to handle this.

Keeping himself together is strenuous.

Somehow, he finds the strength to lift his hand, to thumb away some blood to read the serial number etched into the cage that housed the rig, an almost expected arrangement of numbers and letters.

Experimental.

Skinner had said he’d been butchered.

He knows who did it, now.

He wishes he didn’t.

He slides the rig closer, leaning to pull his toolbag in, fitting the anti-static bracelet around his wrist and tethering himself to a grounding point. His stomach churns as he starts to work q-tips into the soiled machine, soaking up the spatters, working away the dried crusts that’ve already formed.

The big port required a handful of cotton swabs and alcohol, until he could once again see the scrapes he’d make when he’d press his finger into the opening, the discoloration as he worried away the topmost plating with anxious fiddling.

He has to take a break when the components are clean, has to turn away to stare at the wall and consider the consequences of what has happened.

What he will say to Sanford.

What he will have to explain to that poor man, when he’s through with this.

Doc does not expect forgiveness, he could not ask for forgiveness.

He’s committing another atrocity.

He zooms in and turns the rig this way and that, looking for possible places where an errant drop of blood may have connected two circuits and allowed any of the delicate components to be hit by an unregulated charge.

The contacts look okay, only a semiconductor knocked out of place, and the bent shape of the cage from the-

He can’t think on it, he selfishly refuses to imagine how it was removed, even though there’s little left to imagine.

Hank was so careful with it, but he can imagine-

He can’t-

He won’t.

The multimeter is giving him good readings as he methodically checks each and every path of circuitry, once he’s soldered in a replacement part, even properly using a bit of flux.

He has no idea if Deimos will be recoverable.

He doesn’t know if he should be trying.

He finds the broken leads that once led to his optics, familiar enough with the procedure to be confident that the little camera will operate crisply once he’s removed the old wiring and replaced it with something whole.

He knows the layout of the Two Shoes rig that replaced the old equipment, he designed it. He knows where to attach the thermometer, the gyroscope, his fingers beginning to quake with the stress.

He pulls his mask off so that he can breathe, heart hammering in his chest.

It shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t be doing this.

The kid has lost everything.

He can’t make that more comfortable.

Hank finds him in that moment, Doc’s face in his hands, trying to just keep breathing.

His attention is drawn when he hears a click.

His eyes drag up, Hank’s hand on the rig, easing a cable into the port. Hank stands back, staring ahead.

“… I said that you weren’t dead.”

[adrift-in-thyme]

Congrats on the follower milestone, Trin!! For the lil fanfic suggestions, how about Sky and Warriors bonding? I do love how you write emotional hurt/comfort, and it would be cool if Wars were the one comforting, but these are all just suggestions! No worries if you don't feel inspiration from this prompt :) Hope you're having a good day!

Tysm @unclemoriarty !! And thanks for the prompt! I love writing Wars and Sky, especially when it’s angsty ;) I hope you like what I came up with!

No warnings, just some angst

———————-

Sky brushes a hand roughly across his eyes, trying to do away with the moisture there. He doesn’t deserve to cry. Not after everything. But the Shadow’s words still echo in his mind, a sentence he never wanted to shoulder.

…and yet has for years now.

“Have you told them yet?” Crimson eyes gleam in his mind’s eye. Cool metal presses against his neck. “Have you told them that you are responsible for all their pain?

“Tell me, hero, have you informed them of the curse you allowed to take root in your souls?”

Seeing their faces had been the worst of it. Worse than the wounds the Shadow had inflicted, worse than the fear and pain. They had looked at him, questioning, confused, and all he could do in the aftermath was spew a choked explanation full of excuses.

“I should’ve stabbed him right then and there. I shouldn’t have given him the mercy of another moment of life.” That is what it really comes down to. His foolish belief that he had won, that he could spare the fading god a few more seconds to breathe his last.

Decency and morality are things he clings to. They’re what make him a hero. He has no plans to release them now. But…

He gazes out into the dim light of a cloudy day, wincing as even that much brightness assaults his aching eyes.

But in this moment he is beginning to think his decision was more pride than anything else. Or…perhaps it was just exhaustion. A yearning for it all to be over so he could go collapse in his friends’ waiting arms, safe at last.

It doesn’t matter either way. The point is that he failed. And now others must shoulder the repercussions of that failure.

“Hey, Sky.”

He jolts abruptly out of his thoughts, breath hitching. In an instant, he is on his feet. But it is only the captain standing there, looking a bit damp from the drizzling rain.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Sky shakes his head, forcing a smile onto his lips.

“It’s fine.”

He turns away, flopping defeatedly back down onto the ground. If Warriors knows it for the sign Sky means it to be, he doesn’t indicate as much. Instead, he comes to sit down beside him.

“It’s not a very pleasant day today, is it?”

Sky doesn’t answer, but he can feel the captain’s eyes on him, searching, questioning, perhaps even judging. He fights not to crumble before their scrutiny.

“No,” he croaks, finally, “it’s not.”

Warriors has turned now to gaze out into the endless gray. Sky still feels exposed, raw. Suddenly, he has the distinct yearning to claw out of his own skin.

For another agonizing thread of minutes it is quiet. Then, Warriors speaks, his voice soft.

“We aren’t angry at you, Sky.”

Sky looks down at his boots and doesn’t reply. The silence is agonizing, but speaking is far worse.

Warriors allows it for a short while more.

“Did I ever tell you how the War of Ages began?” He says, finally, still soft, far softer than the captain usually sounds.

Sky shakes his head. Warriors chuckles, short and bitter.

“I figured as much. Well, you should know…it started because of me.”

Sky’s eyes widen slightly. He turns to Warriors, but the captain is facing away still, expression carefully guarded.

“A woman named Cia became obsessed with me without me even knowing it. She attacked Hyrule to get what she wanted. I wouldn’t give in — and neither would anyone else — and in the end we defeated her. But to get there, to obtain a victory…”

He ducks his head, that hollow chuckle ringing out again. It tears Sky’s heart in two.

“It’s what it means to be a hero, Sky,” he murmurs. “To lose, to fail, if only to succeed in the end. We carry heavy burdens — every single one of us.”

Finally, he turns to Sky, a sad smile on his lips. Gently, he puts a hand on Sky's shoulder.

“But if we stick together we’ll be alright. Trust me.”

Sky swallows hard. Tears still pick at his eyes and the lump in his throat warns of the sobs that are still to come. Far away he can make out a dark haze amongst all the gray — rain approaching fast. He watches it through blurred eyes.

“I’m sorry about the war,” he says, quietly. It’s not enough — he knows it isn’t. What can he say to wash away Warriors’ guilt, his pain?

“Not your fault. And I didn’t tell you to gain your pity. I told you because I wanted you to know that I understand. And I know the others do too.” His arm is around Sky now, drawing him in, nudging away his barriers. “That’s why we don’t blame you. Why would we when we all bear our own guilt?”

Sky inhales shakily. The rain is even closer now. They will likely be soaked soon. But with Warriors warm and steady beside him, he can’t bring himself to care.

He doesn’t deserve this comfort. The war that had made Warriors a hero wouldn’t have even happened without his failure, after all. Yet, he feels incapable of pulling away.

“I’m sorry anyway,” he murmurs, thickly, because words are all he has to offer. “Even if you don’t blame me for the curse…I’m sorry.”

Warriors doesn’t reply. But he coaxes Sky closer until the Skyloftian is resting on his shoulder. And when the rain comes pouring down and Sky shatters beneath it, Warriors holds him tightly while he sobs.