#said before i collapse in a puddle of my own tears

[kantraels]

[risuola]

ENTRY #10 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You make my heart do things it's not supposed to do.

contents: arranged marriage!au, teeth rotting fluff, nothing else — wc. 1000

a/n: expect me to drop few entries very quickly because they are all finished in my drafts <3

series masterlist

It still flustered him.

Satoru never, not once in his 28 years of life, felt more confused, than right now. Why was his heart doing backflips in his chest? He sat there, on the wooden chair frozen and thankful for the furniture that held his weight because if suddenly it’d be taken away, he would collapse to the floor, meet the cold kitchen tiles and melt against them into a puddle of mess. He was there, stuck in time with his head empty and heart racing in his chest, rumbling against the cage of his ribs while you were going about the day without a care and attention to his pathetic state. A state you reduced him to.

It’s been few minutes already and Gojo sat there in silence, watching your back as you were washing fruit in the sink, snacking on the juicy strawberries he grabbed for you earlier that morning — a gesture foreign to his own body but he wanted, for once, to be the person who made you smile and not only experience the effect of someone else’s doing. He woke up earlier that day, before the sun even peaked above the horizon line and with his thoughts racing and stomach full of butterflies, he went on a very special mission.

It was a tiny market, way outside Tokyo but with the loveliest sellers. He found a booth he eyed once when on the job in the area, a stand full of little hand-woven baskets, each of them brimmed with fruit. The strawberries were red, some very bright and some very deep in color, glistening in the early sun with the morning dew that scattered across the surface looked as if little crystals were adorning the harvest. Satoru smiled and the old lady smiled as well.

“How can I help you, young man?” She asked, spreading her arms invitingly and Satoru could tell, by the look of her calloused hands, stained in juice and dirt, she was working hard every day to make a living.

“My wife loves strawberries,” he began, catching himself on the ease with which the word wife left his mouth, “but I don’t know much about picking the best ones. Could you help me with that?”

“You came to the right place, son!”

Just few moments later, Satoru was walking slowly towards his house, after warping back into the city. In his hand, a bag hung hooked over his fingers, full of those little baskets and their contents. He might have gone overboard with the purchase, but the joyful tears that welled in the eyes of that old woman when he paid her for fruit — definitely much more than it was worth according to the prices — he had no regrets. In result he carried the bagful of not only strawberries but also some apples, raspberries and sweet cherries — all of which he was forced to take, despite his initial plans of getting only the red ones you like so much.

“There you are, right on time,” your beautiful, melodic voice greeted him the moment he swung the doors open, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could’ve bought you flowers as well, he planned to do so, but he had to evacuate himself from the grasp of that one seller lady, because as lovely as she was, if he stayed a moment longer, she would pack him her entire harvest of that morning. “I thought you went out earlier, but I made breakfast for you anyway.”

“I went for a little walk,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as he could despite the rageful whirl of butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? “And I bought you these.”

A soft thud barely made itself apparent above the cacophony of clinking plates and cutlery, but it was enough to catch your attention. You looked at him, curious, and somewhat carefully reached into the bag now rested on the kitchen table. Your face brightened up, your eyes glimmered and you smiled — and Satoru could’ve sworn he’s never seen something more beautiful. You reminded him of a child that got a toy it dreamed of. Pure happiness washed over your features and he wondered if it was always that easy to bring joy to your otherwise calm self.

“Oh my god, Satoru–“ you gasped out, fishing out one of the berries and after a short rinse under the water, you popped it into your mouth and melted. He was told by the woman in the market that the type she was growing on her fields was exceptionally sweet, with the right amount of tang and a lot of juice.

“Tasty?” He asked, watching how you savored the flavor with pure pleasure.

They were tasty. He found out himself, because when your lips pressed to his own, he forgot how to breathe and the only things on his mind were the plushiness of your mouth and that sweetness. His body moved on its own, his hands found their place on your hips, pulled you in, as if it was a natural reaction for him to bring you closer.

And then, before he managed to secure his grip on you, you were gone from his proximity, leaving only the lingering taste of strawberries on his lips and a growing confusion.

I love you.

He heard that right, a gentle whisper against his mouth. You said it, this time you said it for sure, this time he was sure the words actually were spoken, not read between lines.

“Sit down, Satoru, eat your breakfast,” you sing-sang happily, as if you didn’t stop the entire globe just now. As if you didn’t just alter the universe he was in, shifting the rhythm of the muscle in his chest permanently. As if you didn’t just tell him you love him.

But he sat down, afraid to not lose his balance and absentmindedly shoved a piece of a pancake into his mouth.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland@ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer x fem!reader fic based on “Work Song” by Hozier?? Whatever storyline or category you want!!

work song | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, near death experience, blood, gunshot wound, hospitals. word count: 1.77k a/n: hozier song request makes my brain go brr. i hope the people of tumblr enjoy this bc i most definitely enjoyed writing it.

boys, when my baby found me

Your hair whipped your face as you spun around through the labyrinth of a warehouse that your team had found themselves in. It seemed like an impossible task, trying to navigate this space, but you had already cleared over half of the space.

A small noise, like a shoe squeaking, caught your attention, causing your ears to rise like an animal hunting for prey. Turning a corner, you had your flashlight and firearm raised, coming face to face with Morgan. The both of you relaxed ever so slightly, no longer ready to pounce.

Ricocheting throughout the warehouse, you heard a deafening gunshot. The sound bounced off of the metal walls of the building, making it almost impossible for you to determine where the sound originated from. Meeting Morgan’s eyes, he nodded his head to the left, signaling for you to go that way while he went right.

You affirmed his tactics, turning slowly and making your way to the left. The rusted building was now so eerily quiet that goosebumps were sprouting across your body, even under your bureau jacket.

Continuing your way down the narrow passageway, you saw movement inside of a room. Sliding your back along the wall, you peeked into the room, seeing two bodies on the ground. You whispered almost imperceptibly into your radio, calling for medical. One of them was the local officer that the BAU had been working the case with.

The other one was Spencer.

You pivoted so that you were entirely in the doorway, facing the UnSub, he raised his gun at you, but you were already pulling the trigger, hitting him square in the forehead. Breathing heavily, you lowered your firearm before scrambling over to Spencer.

I didn’t care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her

In your ear, you could hear Morgan shouting, “Y/N, Reid, sound off, dammit!”

Something needed to happen. You needed to do something, but you had such severe tunnel vision that the only thing you could think about was Spencer.

He was gasping for air on the metal ground of the warehouse, lying in a pool of his own blood. You observed in horror as the red puddle spread with each passing moment.

Launching into action, you tugged your jacket off, stuffing the fabric onto Spencer’s side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Even Kevlar vests had an Achilles heel, and the UnSub had managed to strike him precisely where there was a gap in the material. All the while, you were muttering the words, “Stay awake.” Just those two words, over and over again, like a prayer.

You hummed, using one hand to apply pressure to his wound and lifting the other so that you could smooth his hair back. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and you knew that, even with your attempts, he was losing too much blood. “Y/N,” he muttered, sounding like he was using all of his strength to say your name.

Gently, you hushed him, “It’s okay, Spence. Don’t talk, you’re gonna be just fine,” you insisted as his blood soaked through the knees of your jeans. You weren’t sure who you were trying to console at that moment.

“It makes sense-“ he said, being cut off by a cough, sending blood spurting out of his mouth. If his lung was collapsing, there was nothing you’d be able to do. You tried to shush him again, but he had more to say – he almost always did. “That I’d see you while I’m dying.”

Choking on tears, you leaned your face onto your shoulder so that you could wipe them away without moving your hands. “I’m here, I’m really here,” you urged, he wasn’t hallucinating, and he wasn’t dying. Not on your watch. “It’s me, Spence. I’m right here,” you told him carefully.

He opened his mouth again to speak, and you wanted to tell him to save his strength. You also didn’t want to deprive him of his words. “You…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words, “You’ve always been my favorite dream.”

Sniffling, you shake your head, “I’m not a dream, I’m right here.” You told him, watching carefully as his eyelids grew seemingly heavier, “baby, open your eyes.”

in the low lamplight I was free

His skin was pallid. Even in the dim, orange light of the warehouse, you could see a sickly sheen forming on his skin. His body temperature was dropping, and it was all you could do to not cover his body with yours as you tried to keep him warm. “Spencer, please,” you rasped, urging him to open his eyes.

Your only solace was that his chest was still rising and falling. His breathing was rickety, but he was still breathing, and that had to count for something. “Spencer,” you cried, watching as blood sept through your jacket, flooding between your fingers as you tried to keep him in one piece.

“Love, open your eyes,” you begged, your eyes flooding with tears until everything was just a blur of red.

His heart was beating, you could feel it beneath your hands. A weak, unsteady beat under your trembling hands. “Baby, please, oh my god,” you pleaded, verging toward incoherent babbling.

You were second-guessing if he was still breathing. If his heart was still beating. With that realization, you screamed.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

At first, you were just screaming, letting the vibrations of your vocal cords portray your emotions, and then you screamed for your team. You had never felt more alone, kneeling in a puddle of Spencer’s blood, and no one was coming to help you.

This couldn’t be how it ended. You refused to acknowledge it, even as you felt the life leave his body.

Leaning your head to the side, you spoke into your radio, “I need medical. I’m in the upper west wing of the building. The suspect is dead, I have an officer and an agent down.” Tears continued to stream down your face.

You heard footsteps behind you as people piled into the room, but you didn’t dare take your eyes off Spencer. Not when there was a chance that it would be the last time you looked at him while you were both still breathing. “Agent,” someone said, but it didn’t register. They kept repeating themselves until two strong arms wrapped around you, dragging you away from Spencer.

Now sat on the floor, you clocked the paramedics that were now frantically working on Spencer, packing his wound, and cutting off the Kevlar vest.

Breathing heavily, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Rossi approached the local officer, checking his pulse. Emily was hovered over the UnSub, collecting his weapon from his corpse.

You were still being firmly held back, trying to pry the tattooed arms of Derek Morgan off of your torso. “Stop, let me get to him. I need to get to him,” you struggled against his grip, but any attempts at freedom were futile. The medics were saying awful things about a weak and thready pulse and pneumothorax.

Clinging to any semblance of hope that you could find, you listened to them talk about Spencer’s pulse, knowing that a pulse meant he was alive.

Your breathing quickened as you looked up at Morgan, Hotch was hovering behind the two of you, “I should’ve called for medical sooner.” Your voice was miserable, you had sat there with your jacket to his side for far too long. He could’ve gotten help from professionals.

“You radioed almost five minutes ago for medical,” Morgan informed you. “The EMTs just couldn’t find you in this damn maze.”

While you had no recollection of calling for help when you first found Spencer, you also knew that Morgan would get no pleasure out of lying to you.

You heard one of the paramedics say there was no pulse, and you didn’t remember anything that followed.

no grave can hold my body down

Crumpled in a ball, you picked at the crusted blood in your fingernails as you focused on the steady beeping of Spencer’s heart monitor.

According to Emily, who had been there when you woke up in the hospital, you had passed out around the time that the medics lost Spencer’s pulse. The doctor said it was just a result of stress. Thanks to some IV fluids and hydroxyzine, you were able to be discharged.

Spencer had been out of surgery for several hours now. The doctors had been careful to use the term “if he wakes up”, while you had made sure to say “when he wakes up.” You were playing the most horrendous waiting game, and there’s nothing worse than playing a game you have no interest in.

You were now donning a pair of black sweatpants and an old Academy t-shirt. Being the only team member permitted to see Spencer while he was still sleeping – girlfriend privileges, as Morgan phrased it – you waited with only the noises of his monitor to keep you company in the ICU.

Nurses came in and out, trying to manage his pain without the use of narcotics, making sure his blood transfusions were helping, and every once in a while, they’d check on you.

At this point, you had been nursing the same cup of ice water for hours, remembering the last thing Spencer had said to you: You’ve always been my favorite dream.

There was something so peculiar about being with someone who read so much, especially when he said such eloquent things while bleeding to death. You sighed, slumping back in the chair, you looked back at Spencer, only to be surprised that he was looking right back at you.

You jumped slightly in the chair, leaning over so that you could look at him, “Hey,” you whispered, maintaining the reverent tones of the Intensive Care Unit. “How do you feel?”

He’d lie to you and tell you he was fine, but you could tell by the way his heart rate increased that it was a lie. His eyebrows furrowed as he clocked the white patient ID bracelet on your wrist and your bloodshot eyes, “You’ve been crying,” he observed.

Despite yourself, you smiled softly, “I thought you were dead.” Your voices were each raspy, yours from screaming and his from being intubated.

Slowly, he unfolded his arm so that his hand was extended to you. Without a second thought, you placed your hand in his. He hummed softly, “And leave you? Never.”

I’ll crawl home to her

[raz-writes-the-thing]

How about a Crowley x reader story (or it can be headcanons, whichever you prefer ♥️♥️) where the reader is a very emotional person, who cries and gets frustrated quite often, and Crowley is the person who’s there to comfort them. He’s basically their partner, confidante and protector all wrapped up in one.

Untitled Crowley x GN!Reader

Fluff/Comfort

Requests are: OPEN

Crowley knew humans were vulnerable. All those emotions God had inflicted them with. He had them too, of course, but he had never met a human with such volatile emotions as you. And there was the added bonus that Crowley had had six thousand years to understand them.

Or perhaps he had, but he hadn't felt for a human with such explosive emotions such as yourself in all his six thousand years of life on Earth.

So, when you knocked on his apartment door, frustrated as all Hell and ready to collapse into a puddle of tears, well- Crowley hadn't been ready for it per se, but he also wasn't necessarily unused to seeing you overwhelmed at the end of the day and needing some support.

"Oh," he grunts in surprise as you wrap your arms around him as soon as he opens the door. "Oh, dear, right- you alright, love?"

You sigh out a breath of relief as you feel his arms come up to wrap around you. He tuts comfortingly and rubs the top of your spine. You don't have to see his face to know that he's got his bottom lip stuck out in the way he always does when you're upset.

Crowley let you stand there for another few moments before pulling away to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

"Come on, then, darling. Out of the doorway."

He closes the door behind you, ushering you into the extremely minimalistic flat. You supposed you had better change that soon- though with the amount of time you both spent at the Bookshop, it probably didn't matter so much.

"Right- now, tell me then?"

You huff out a laugh at his straightforwardness. Crowley wasn't usually one to beat around the bush. Not with this, anyway. Other things, sure. But when it came to you unwinding or venting? Crowley knew you just needed to get right into the thick of it so you could move on to the next thing on the agenda.

He listened as you told him about your day. About all the frustrating and upsetting things that had happened to you. He nodded along and poured himself a glass of whiskey, setting himself down on his chair and gesturing for you to sit on the table in front of him, tips of your shoes brushing the rug underneath.

One dexterous hand reached out to pull your leg over the arm of his chair. "Mm- yes, well that does sound rather odd," he replied to you, setting his whiskey down so he could tug your shoe off- quickly followed by your sock. The feel of his fingers massaging into your tired feet had you interrupting your own story to let out a satisfied groan.

This, of course, made Crowley grin like nothing else, and after a moment, he pulled your other leg up to do the same. You continued, feeling mildly overwhelmed with the recount of a particularly upsetting thing a barista had said about you behind your back. Tears welled for a moment, and you sniffled quietly.

Crowley stopped his massage at once, shuffling forward in his seat to brush your cheek with his thumb. "Oh, come now, love. You know- well as I do, that isn't true." And if Crowley made a point to put that particular barista's information in the Books of the Damned down below, then that was just his own business, wasn’t it? You did, of course, notice the flash of anger in those snake's eyes. "They were probably just jealous of you."

You sniffed out a laugh and wiped the snot from your nose.

"Yeah, maybe," you replied, rolling your eyes. But you couldn't deny the little smile that pulled at your lips.

"Oh, there you are," he chuckled. "Knew that wouldn't take long. Too enamoured by my demonic charms, aren't you?" 

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” You replied, smile widening into a grin. Crowley downed the rest of his whiskey.

“Oh, I think I know so.” Crowley leaned forward even closer- close enough to feel his soft breath on your cheek. “In fact, I didn’t even have to Tempt you.” 

And, well, that there was the truth of it, wasn’t it? You had sought Crowley out on your own. Once he’d caught your attention, there was no going back. 

“Don’t play coy, love. We both know it’s true,” Crowley said softly, flitting his eyes down to your lips. It was barely another second before his lips were on yours, kissing you with such fervour that it took your breath away. 

He pulled away, nipping at your lip teasingly. 

“Right, then. Let’s get some food into you, Pet,” he said, giving your foot a comforting squeeze. “Aziraphale made scones. Never did get out of the habit of baking after lockdown.” 

You chuckled and hopped up from the table, following your Demon- and feeling much, much better than you had when you arrived.

[thelastwarriornun]

24 for avatrice?

Bang. Bang.

Beatrice’s ears ring with it in the absence of Ava’s shouting, or the shrill clicks and shrieks of the clicker. Beatrice’s breaths are a loud rasping thing, only  interrupted by the rhythmic wet tap, whether from the recently deceased clicker, or her own injuries Beatrice isn't sure. 

It comes back in fragments. Ava, patrol, the creek trails, all very routine. Nothing Beatrice would consider even a challenge. They’d found broken glass, and a fresh trail of blood leading them into a local minimart. Unusual certainly, but they were experienced with this. The building was old, rot having set in from all the moisture, another commonality. 

All very routine, until the floor had given way, wood shrieking and splitting as it collapsed, taking Ava with it. A gaping hole left in its stead. Beatrice remembers shouting, dropping onto her stomach with an outstretched hand as if she could undo the damage. She remembers sliding through the fractured wood, and dropping despite the height ignoring the ache in her knees. 

It wasn’t until Beatrice had landed, taking in the dark room around her, that she heard it. The telltale clicks and shrieks of a clicker. Beatrice's hand barely finds her holster before it’s there just two feet from Ava, Ava who’s groans come with tightly closed eyes, still reeling from the world falling out from under her.

It was too close. Too close to take a shot without putting Ava at risk. Too close to do anything except shield Ava from the fevered snap of jaws. It was an easy choice to make. It was the only choice. It doesn’t make it any less painful, Beatrice throwing herself into the shambling form, as teeth tear and rip through her shoulder, taking flesh and fabric indiscriminately.  Well this will be much harder to cover up with a chemical burn. 

Beatrice somehow manages to find her pistol, pressing the barrel against the clicker's head. Well head was probably overly generous, whatever once resembled a skull had given way now to the fungus blooming into something bright orange and ovular shaped. Beatrice fires twice, two shots in quick succession that spray blood and flecks of fungus against the ceiling. They fall together, and the clicker makes for a terrible cushion, smelling of rot, and full of varying lumps, manifestations of the infection. 

So Beatrice finds herself rolling off the infected, a groan on her lips as her back collides with cold tile, ears ringing. “Fuck.” It felt like an appropriate time for cursing.

“Beatrice.” Ava’s voice is faint, confused, likely still regaining her senses.  

Beatrice finds that pushing herself upright is a losing game, her right hand useless between the painful ache in her muscles, and the slick sticky puddle of blood now coating the tile. Right then, laying will have to do.  

“Beatrice!” More urgent now, and hands are on her. They’re gentle, as they pull Beatrice up, propping her against a nearby wall as Ava tries to fix something that can’t be mended. “This isn’t– it can't be– it’s from falling right? It didn’t bite you?” 

Beatrice laughs, a wet sound, ignoring the waves of pain that echo from her shoulder. Even she can see the distinct rows of teeth now memorialized in the cut of her shoulder. “Ava listen to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up Beatrice. Just give me a second to think.” Ava tears her flannel open, buttons scattering across the floor as Ava turns it into a bandage.

“That was one of my favorites.” Beatrice’s complaint is quiet, but Ava scowls all the same, tying the fabric in a tight knot against the open flesh, as Beatrice grits her teeth. 

“Now you want to be funny. You’ve barely said a word to me this entire patrol. But now you can’t seem to shut up.” Ava’s tone is harsh but her hands are gentle as they grip onto the front of Beatrice’s t-shirt. “That should slow the bleeding. Maybe I can buy us some time. They won’t come looking for a few hours–” 

“Ava stop.” Beatrice manages to catch Ava’s hands, hates the way they threaten to slip away between her own red stained fingers. Still Beatrice holds fast, and really this would be so much easier if the edges of her vision would stop blurring. “I have to tell you something, and I need you to promise me you won’t speak until I’ve finished.” 

“Beatrice there isn’t time.” Ava protests, and Beatrice can see it’s a losing battle, understands it really. Even now Beatrice finds herself caught between this moment, and a dream, a time when Beatrice’s curses were interrupted with inappropriate laughter, and the rising swell of grief. We’ll lose our minds together. 

It was so many years ago, and yet here Beatrice was. Once again watching love turn someone to insanity. Except this time Beatrice can stop it, can quell the rising tide, be the stormbreak she couldn’t before. 

Beatrice’s good hand slides along the curve of Ava’s arm, finding its way to the knape of her neck. It catches there, fingers tangling in the hairs that have escaped Ava’s ponytail. It seems silly now, their fight earlier, thinly veiled jealousy rearing its ugly head in both of them, Ava jealous over a girl Beatrice hadn’t spoken to in weeks. Beatrice, already steeling herself for the next time Ava makes up with Michael. They’ve been doing this dance for years, too afraid to speak plainly lest it ruin this. 

“Bea.” It escapes in a sob, Ava’s breath warm against Beatrice’s cheek. 

Fingers press against the knape of Ava’s neck, and Beatrice closes her eyes, unwilling to see the rejection she might find, or even worse, a reflection of herself all those years ago. Ava’s lips are soft, gentle, as if Ava’s worried she might break her. But Beatrice has spent years damming her own want and desire, and the soft press of Ava’s lips is enough to send the whole of it crashing down. Beatrice’s fingers are no longer gentle, as she surges forward, as much as the press of Ava’s body will allow, nipping at Ava’s bottom lip. 

Beatrice swallows a gasp against her lips, as Ava’s palms press flat against her chest, as if torn between returning the kiss, or pushing her away. Beatrice retreats, opening her eyes, expecting to find rejection. Instead Ava is afire, eyes wide, stuck somewhere between desire and grief, the two twisting together until Beatrice can hardly read the difference. Beatrice doesn’t make it far, only softens the press of her fingers against Ava’s neck when the tension of indecision seems to snap, and it’s Ava this time who closes the gap, molding their lips together. 

Beatrice's head bumps painfully against the wall, but she’d do it a hundred more times to keep Ava’s lips against her own. Ava’s hands cup along each side of her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw. And fuck immunity, fuck dying, because Beatrice is sure that there’s nothing she wants more than to fade into oblivion like this, with the press of Ava’s lips against her own, and the thud of her own heartbeat filling her ears. 

Ava’s hand slips down along her neck, and Beatrice hisses from between clenched teeth at the sharp wave of pain that rolls through her. But Beatrice doesn’t want to lose this, the starstruck look in Ava’s eyes, or the clench of her hands in Beatrice’s tattered shirt. So Beatrice smirks,” if I’d have known that would shut you up I would’ve tried that years ago.” 

“You should’ve.” Ava doesn't miss a beat. 

“Who’s being funny now?” Beatrice pauses sucking in a breath. The weight of years of secrecy, of hiding was a tough vow to break. Especially when so many people had paid the cost to keep it so. 

“I don’t want you to die.” Ava’s voice is soft, tears glistening even in the dim light of the basement, and Beatrice hears it again, an echo of the past, I cannot watch you die. We’ll go together then. 

“I’m not going to turn Ava.” Beatrice flips her arm displaying the fully healed tattoo on her arm, biting back a laugh when Ava scowls. 

“Really? You want to show off your stupid tattoo now?” 

“Not the tattoo, the burn. I’m immune, Ava.” It falls flat, and Beatrice presses a hand to Ava’s cheek forcing her to look at her before she can withdraw much. “I’m serious Ava. The only people who know are Mary, Shannon, and Suzanne. I was bit back in the QZ, that’s how I met Shannon and Mary. It was a long time ago, they were worried how people might react so that’s how I got the chemical burn. I’m going to be fine.” 

It’s not much, a flicker of something, hope, in the softening lines of Ava’s face. “Swear to me.” 

Beatrice doesn’t look away, simply brushes her thumb across the remaining trail of moisture along Ava’s cheek. “I swear. Assuming we make it out of this, I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay then.” Ava glances around, frowning slightly as she straightens up, as if just now recognizing the gravity of the situation. Ava extends an arm to Beatrice, who takes it with a grimace allowing herself to be pulled upright. “Don’t think bleeding out will stop you from having to talk about that kiss.” 

Beatrice laughs, ignoring the way the world seems to tilt beneath her as they look for an exit. Because of course Ava would take this in stride, and god Beatrice would do it again, throw herself into the jaws of a monster if it meant spending just another day with her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[sergeantsporks]

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 33/38: Reunion

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6 , Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17,  Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32

An alternate universe in which Evelyn managed to save Caleb after his confrontation with Phillip. The two of them escaped to present day through time pools, and have been using time pools to secretly rescue grimwalkers just after Belos attempts to kill them. The story follows Darius' mentor as he adjusts to his new life, as well as changes to the course of canon.

Ao3

“Jason?” Phoenix whispered. He took one faltering step towards the hill, then another, Belos and Petro all but forgotten.

Jason flew down the hill towards him, and Phoenix’s own feet picked up the pace. “How did you get here?” Phoenix half-laughed, half-cried, “When’d you meet up with her? Where’s…?”

Jason didn’t answer, just sprinted full speed, and Phoenix realized, too late, that he was not slowing down.

Jason slammed into Phoenix, tackling him to the ground. One moment, Phoenix was upright, and the next he was staring at the sky, half wondering how he’d gotten here and gasping for air. Jason sat on his chest, his knees pinning Phoenix’s arms to the ground. Tears filled Jason’s eyes, but his voice didn’t wobble even a little bit when he spoke.

“Hey—Phoenix, you’re going to be okay, I promise you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Phoenix wheezed. Jason sitting on his chest was making it hard to regain the breath he’d lost in the contact. His arms rippled uneasily, but didn’t transform.

“I don’t know if you can hear me in there—”

“Yep. I can hear you.”

“—but you have to fight back, you have to—to—wait a second.” Jason grabbed Phoenix’s face in his hands, squinting. “Your eyes aren’t blue.”

Well, that was… random. “Nope.”

“You’re not possessed,” Jason said slowly, “You’re—you’re just Phoenix.”

“Just me,” Phoenix agreed.

Jason climbed off of him, letting him sit up. The tears in his eyes slowly started to drip down his face, and Phoenix reached out, his fingers stalling. “Uh—permission to t—”

Jason threw himself at Phoenix again, this time in a hug, burying his face in Phoenix’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. “I was so worried,” he sobbed, “This whole time, I wasn’t sure if you made it out of the head okay, and then I saw you and I thought—I thought Belos had gotten you, I thought he was controlling you—”

Phoenix hugged him back, tears streaming from his own eyes. “I’m okay,” he promised, “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. And you’re okay.” He pulled back from the hug. “Wait, how did you know that Belos could possess people?”

Jason blinked, rubbing his eyes. “How do you know it?!”

Before Phoenix could answer, a griffin squawked, and talons closed around Phoenix’s chest, dragging him away from Jason and pinning him down again. The griffin hissed, puffing up all its feathers.

“Got him!” the girl from before—Viney, Phoenix remembered, that was her name—cheered, “Good girl, Puddles!”

If I had a snail for every time today, Phoenix thought dizzily, although this time, his view of the sky was obscured by the griffin’s angry, puffed up face.

“Wait—no—my bad, Viney, he’s fine. It’s Phoenix.” Jason came around, pushing Puddles’ side. “Get! Off! Of! Him!”

“Oh.” Viney whistled, and Puddles climbed off. “Whoops! Sorry! Hi, Phoenix!”

“Hi.”

Jason helped Phoenix to his feet. “So… home?”

Phoenix shook his head, turning around. “Belos—he’s going after the Collector, I have to—”

Maybe it was leftover from clawing his way out of the collapse, maybe it was how much he’d used the curse in the last day, or maybe it was the fading adrenaline, but whatever the case, Phoenix blacked out for a second, wobbling on his feet, and nearly fell over. Jason caught him, wrapping one supportive arm around his waist.

“Whoa-oh. Nope. You need to go home.”

Phoenix shook his head. “But Belos—”

“Everyone else went to the head,” Viney volunteered, “Willow, Luz, Gus, Amity, Hunter—they’re already on their way.”

“And they know Belos is out there,” Jason assured him, “They’ll be on the lookout.” He was already steering Phoenix back towards the woods. “You definitely need to take it slow. Have you been up all night?”

“Pot,” Viney coughed. Puddles scooped both of them up with her head and dumped them on her back, Phoenix in front and Jason behind him. Viney put one hand on Puddles�� neck. “Just point the way, Jason. And make sure if Phoenix passes out, he doesn’t fall off.”

“Wait,” Phoenix protested, “Dagger—he’s trapped, and he’s hurt. We have to go back for him, too.”

“Puddles and I can get him after we get you two home safely,” Viney volunteered, “Puddles can only carry so many people, though.”

“See?” Jason soothed, wrapping his arms around Phoenix, “You can take a break. And you can tell me what happened—why are your arms like that? Why do you know Belos can possess people? How did Dagger get trapped?”

“That’s… a long story.” Phoenix caught Jason up on everything that had happened since he’d run to the human realm while Puddles plodded along through the trees. “…so now Belos is on his way,” he finished, “And I’m worried about the Collector—if Belos can possess people, he’ll go after the biggest target with the most power, won’t he?”

Jason’s jaw hung open. “We have a baby sibling?!” he sputtered.

“Congratulations,” Viney told him.

“Wow,” Jason said faintly, “A baby sibling. Guess I won’t be the youngest anymore—well, I guess Hunter technically was already the youngest, but I’m… not sure he’ll be staying with us.”

Ghost wasn’t the thing Phoenix had expected him to focus on, but it felt like a relief that he was—they’d handled all of this before. Ghost was the only shocking new thing. Phoenix nudged Jason. “What about you? How did you guys get back? How did you know Belos could possess people?”

Jason didn’t answer, just rested his chin on Phoenix’s shoulder, staring pensively at the forest.

A sick, squirmy feeling started in Phoenix’s stomach—but Viney had listed all of the kids as going to the head. Surely they hadn’t… “Jason?”

Jason hid his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against Phoenix, “You told me to protect them, and I tried, I did! But I—”

Panic seized Phoenix, and his arms responded, changing to mud. Phoenix pressed his arms to his stomach to keep them away from Puddles. “Jason—what happened?!”

“Um.” Jason took a deep breath. “Well. Um. Belos-sort-of-possessed-Hunter-and-he-sort-of-kind-of-died-a-little-bit.”

“What?!”

“He’s okay now!” Jason said hastily, “He’s—well, he’s alive. No one died permanently—Flapjack’s a bit banged up, but they’re—I’m sorry, Phoenix, I’m sorry, I know you wanted me to look after them, but—”

Phoenix took a deep breath.

They’re all alive.

Calm down.

The human realm—no, Belos—didn’t kill any of them.

And if Hunter’s alive…

That means Petro’s still in there.

I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.

“Hey,” he interrupted, “It’s okay—Jason, it’s okay.” He checked his arms to make sure they were solid again, then twisted around to wrap his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Viney coughed. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Jason flapped a hand. “It’s just a little concussion, don’t worry about it.” He sighed. “I wish you’d been there. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all. You would have done a better job protecting them than I did.”

Phoenix almost laughed at that. He’d done nothing but make mistakes here—at least Jason had managed to get everyone through Belos and back home. Meanwhile, Phoenix had left everyone he should have been protecting behind.

“Hey,” Phoenix said firmly, “You did great. No one could have predicted that Belos survived and went with you—and if I’d gone with you, probably all of…” he gestured at his arms. “…this… would have happened in the human realm, and we would have been mobbed by a bunch of scared, angry humans.”

“They’re not so bad. Dad…” Jason opened and closed his mouth a few times. “It’s changed,” he said finally, “It’s not the same as from Dad’s stories. Most of the humans were alright. Like Camila—oh, she’s gone up with the kids, by the way. Don’t worry, I didn’t let them go alone.”

Viney gave Jason a skeptical, “let them?” look, but didn’t say anything.

“Still.” Phoenix shuddered. He couldn’t imagine being trapped in the human realm AND discovering the curse—he’d been lucky that Caleb hadn’t panicked and had come after him here. Maybe Jason would have done the same—but adding that on top of Belos?

Jason heaved a deep breath out. “I thought I saw him.”

“What?”

“Before Belos possessed Hunter, I was seeing him everywhere—well, not him, him, but flashes of blue eyes, mud where it shouldn’t be…” Jason stared off at something only he could see. “But it was never there when I looked again. Maybe I should have looked harder, and then…”

Phoenix squeezed his shoulders. “He was toying with you—letting you see him and disappearing.” He felt queasy at the thought. “He… likes to play mind games.”

“I know that.”

“I know you do. I guess just… don’t be too hard on yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

“Okay.” Jason gave him a grin, but it was an exhausted, pale imitation of his usual smile. “But only if you promise to do the same.”

Phoenix ruffled his hair. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

Puddles perked up, twisting her head back and forth, then surged through the trees, picking Viney up in her beak, despite her yelps and commands to stop. As far as Phoenix could tell, she was heading the right way, but how, he had no idea. The house loomed up towards them, and too late, Phoenix remembered…

“The barrier!” he yelped, “Puddles—”

Puddles soared easily through it. The pendant on Phoenix’s chest glowed fiercely, vibrating and shattering the moment they all passed through from the effort of extending to so many people. The griffin sat down, dumping Phoenix and Jason off her back, dropped Viney, then immediately pounced on the next grimwalker she saw, purring.

“Oh, no,” Viney groaned, “Puddles—”

The grimwalker—Joseph, Phoenix realized, pushed at Puddles’ face, confused and on-guard, but then shook his head, delighted.

“Hey, you!” Joseph wiggled his other hand free, taking Puddles’ face in his hands and wobbling it back and forth. “You’ve gotten too big to sit on me, girl! How’d you find your way here?”

“I’m sorry!” Viney apologized, pulling on Puddles’ neck, “I don’t know why she’d…”

Joseph squirmed out of Puddles’ grasp, springing to his feet. He headlocked the griffin, rubbing her beak while she playfully tossed her head, yanking him from side to side. “Hi! Nah, it’s fine, she and I go waaaaaaaaay back.” Joseph clucked. “Lucy! You’ve got a visitor!”

Lucy emerged from her coop, squawking at Puddles. Puddles squawked back, and Joseph released her so that she could run to the bigger griffin, tucking herself under Lucy’s wing with a soft cluck.

Viney’s jaw dropped. “You’re—” she sputtered “—Puddles’ breeder! I knew she came from this area, but you—hi!”

“Hi!” Joseph stuck out his hand. “I’m Joseph. Puddles, huh? That’s a good name for her. Since she’s—”

“Always splashing in mud puddles,” Viney said in unison, pumping Joseph’s hand up and down, “Yeah! I’m Viney, by the way.”

“Nooooooooot a reunion I was expecting,” Jason commented to Phoenix.

Joseph did a double take. “Jason?!” He rushed forward. “Uh—Permission—”

“Yeah.”

Joseph swept Jason up in a hug so tight Phoenix could swear he heard Jason’s back pop. “HEY!” he hollered, setting Jason back down on his feet, “PHOENIX CAME BACK! AND JASON’S WITH HIM!”

The door slammed open, and in a blur of tan and gold, Mole tackled Jason to the ground in a hug Tears streamed down Jason and Mole’s faces, and they clung to each other while more grimwalkers flowed out of the house and pooled around them.

Viney tapped Phoenix’s shoulder. “I’m going to go find Dagger,” she murmured, “Do I need one of those concealment stones?”

“Basket out front,” he replied, “Bring a few.” He pointed the direction he and Dagger had walked. “He’s that way—in a cave. Be careful, it’s collapsed in there. And I don’t know how long we have until those spies are back up in the air.”

“Got it,” Viney promised. She whistled sharply, and Puddles perked up, trotting away from Lucy to join her.

“Hey,” Jason said softly, patting Mole’s back, “Hey, I’m okay. I’m back. I’m okay. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I know it must have been hard.”

Mole sniffed and let go, clambering to his feet and helping Jason up. He stood aside to let Cherry have a turn at a hug, but he didn’t go far, hovering over Jason.

Sam helped Phoenix to his feet, his eyes darting over him analytically. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“You used the curse, didn’t you? I’m guessing you didn’t catch Petro? And where’s Dagger?”

“Yes, I did. It went… better than expected. Viney’s getting him. Um. Let Auric know we might need him.” Phoenix swayed on his feet, dizzy. “It is… so much worse than Petro getting away. Where are…?”

“Jason!”

Caleb and Evelyn hurried across the yard towards the gathering of grimwalkers. Evelyn’s hands fluttered over his face. “Are you hurt?”

“Um—a little bit, but Viney did a really good job—”

Evelyn wrapped her arms around Jason, kissing the top of his head. “Ooo, I’m just glad to have you back.”

“Everyone’s home,” Caleb agreed, “Or… almost everyone.” He joined the hug, but pulled back before Evelyn to give Jason a long, searching look. “Jason, are you… okay? I mean—the human realm…”

Jagson detached himself from Evelyn. “It’s actually not that bad, dad! Well—no one but Camila knew we weren’t human, but really, it was okay! I…” Jason looked at Caleb for a long moment, and Phoenix thought he saw a glimmer of distrust in his eyes, followed by guilt. “I… learned�� a lot.”

What’s that about?

Evelyn sized Phoenix up. “Is everything alright? Where’s Dagger? What happened to the two of you? Where did you find Jason?”

“I…” Phoenix wobbled, searching for words. Last night crashed around him in a wave of simply too much, overwhelming him with everything that had happened. “I…”

Jason quietly slipped one arm around Phoenix’s waist, holding him up. “We’ve… got a lot to tell you.”

Xxx

Sam shook his head. They’d gathered in the living room and finally, Phoenix was able to sit down. His treacherous legs promised that he would not be able to get up for a few minutes.

“Even if Petro did feel like he ‘owed’ Belos, Belos tried to kill him, and he knows that,” Sam started, “Yelling at us for being traitors is one thing, but letting Belos take control of his body? Why would he risk going back to him? I don’t understand.”

“I do,” Auric said quietly. Viney had brought Dagger back, and Auric had insisted the grimwalker be kept in the temporary hospital so he could keep an eye on him. Viney assured them that he’d be fine in a few weeks with consistent healing sessions, but for now, both of Dagger’s legs were set in thick plaster, and a myriad of bandages covered his body. Auric pulled a curtain around Dagger’s bed, hiding him from view.

“My death was an accident,” Auric continued, scratching at his neck, “I mean—Belos didn’t do anything to save me, but he wasn’t trying to kill me; just give me a ‘reminder’ to hold my tongue. I moved, and it was worse than intended. I know better than to think he cared now, but if he’d showed up in the first couple of weeks I was here and told me he was wrong and wanted me back… I don’t know if I would have refused.”

“Especially given the reason Petro died,” Jason piped up, “If Belos preferring Phoenix was the reason Petro died, then now that Phoenix is out of favor…”

“There’s no reason not to go back,” Sam sighed, “I suppose. Still. I gave him a little more survival instinct than that.”

Phoenix remembered how Petro had been willing to bring that cave down on both of them, and how he’d declared that there was nothing left for him after killing Phoenix. “I’m… not so sure about that, either.”

“Okay, fine, I’m wrong about everything forever. Geeze.”

Caleb didn’t say anything, just stared at his own clasped hands in front of him, his face pale and sickly. Phoenix couldn’t imagine how he was feeling—he’d been relieved that Belos was dead, but now the threat had returned. But his brother was back, too—did he feel happy at that? Or was it just exhausted anxiety all the way down?

“…Dad?” Jason said tentatively, “Belos—Phillip was… obsessed with bringing you back. What… happened?”

Caleb’s eyes snapped into focus, darting from side to side. “What do you mean? You know what happened. I’ve told you. He couldn’t accept that I changed—that I loved a witch.”

“No, I mean… the real version. Not the easy version. Phillip said you left him—is that true?

A heavy, thick silence fell among the other grimwalkers, and Phoenix watched Caleb carefully for an answer. He’d never considered the other side before—Belos had been evil, that was that. But come to think of it, maybe there was more to the story.

“He’s—” Caleb sputtered, “I—it was… complicated, I—Phillip manipulates people, Jason, you know that, I’m sure he made it sound much worse than—”

“Than it was? But it was bad? Dad, we can take it. If he’s back, if he knows you’re alive, if we’re going to be dealing with him head on now, we need to know the truth. We need to know what happened. Why he can’t move on. What happened? I don’t think he’s being honest, but I don’t think he was completely lying, either. Good lies have some truth to them—so what happened? Did you abandon him?”

“I… Well… it was…”

“Dad.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?!” Caleb burst out. Phoenix flinched at the sudden noise, and even Jason looked taken aback. “What do you want me to say?” Caleb repeated, “That I was sixteen, and stupid, and in love, and I made a mistake that I’ve been paying for ever since?! That even if I had the chance to go back and do things differently, I don’t know if I would, because that would mean losing Evelyn and losing all of you, and maybe that’s selfish, because I could have saved so much pain for so many people, but damnit, maybe I’m just selfish!”

Caleb buried his head in his arms. “Maybe I’m just selfish,” he repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. I just…” Caleb heaved in a ragged breath, and Evelyn put one hand on his back. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I messed up. I should have taken him with me, or explained things better, but I didn’t. And I—I always planned to go back for him, but then… But isn’t it worth it?” he pleaded, dragging his gaze back up to Jason, “If I hadn’t—then you, and your siblings—but so many people got hurt because of me—”

Evelyn took his hand. “Phillip made those decisions,” she said softly, “Not you.”

“You were sixteen,” Jason said dazedly, “That’s… that’s how old Hunter is.”

Caleb looked away. “I guess. Phillip was only thirteen.”

Jason slowly walked closer to Caleb. For a second, he didn’t do or say anything, and Phoenix just watched, his own emotions surging in waves. Could Caleb had stopped all of this? Would it have mattered? But… Phoenix wouldn’t want to lose anyone in this room either. He wouldn’t want to have never known Darius, or Jason, or Mole, or anyone—did that make him selfish? Not that what Belos had done was good or that all the good made up for the bad, but… he was glad for some things that had come out of this. Were those things worth it? Was that even a judgement worth making, or would thinking about it just drive him over the edge?

Jason wrapped his arms around Caleb. “You were only sixteen,” he said softly, “Maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you did something stupid and selfish. But you never could have known what would happen afterwards. You never could have predicted just how far it would go. I know you never meant for this to happen.”

“But it did.”

“But it did,” Jason repeated, “Hey—what’s that you’re always telling us? That what’s happened is done, and the best we can do is try to move forward and make it up?”

“I’m not sorry I exist,” Sam declared, “I mean, I know it meant the death of several members of endangered species, which is not an ideal method of existence, and I’m sorry they died, but I’m not sorry I exist. Despite everything bad that led up to it.”

Caleb took a deep breath. “You’re right. All of you, thank you, I just…” his hands opened and closed helplessly. “I played a part in this. Whether I meant to or not. And I don’t know if I can ever make up for it.”

Evelyn squeezed his hand. “We played a part in it. If you have blame, then I share it.”

“So do we,” Cherry piped up, “All of us helped Belos. All of us played some role. But Belos himself is still the main problem and the one we need to deal with. For the Isles, and for our own protection. Right now is when we need to stick together and stand against him the most. He might have gone after the Collector first, but we will be next, especially you, Dad, so we can’t break apart now. No more self-loathing. No more blaming.”

Venari’s eyes lit up. “Are we going after him?” they breathed, “Are we finally taking the fight to him? Can I go this time?”

“Not without a plan,” Cyrus chided, “If we go in unprepared, he’ll stomp us.”

“And he’s still got control of Petro,” Caleb added, “We need to figure out how to separate the two.”

Sam made a face. “Do we, though? Seems like it would be easier to just—”

“Yes. We do. Like Auric said, it’s only been a couple of weeks—he needs time.”

Sam held his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’m guessing it’s my job to figure that situation out?”

“I can help,” Jason piped up, “Since I’ve been the closest to… um. The thing.”

“Me, too,” Phoenix agreed, “Because of…” he gestured to his arms.

Sam pointed a finger at him. “Notes on that forthcoming!”

Oh. Hopefully good news.

“Once you’re done with Sam, we’ll need you back, though,” Cherry said, “You’re the only one who’s been in the Archives.”

Phoenix gulped. Right. This meant… facing the Collector. Would they give him long enough to explain?

Sam tugged on his arm, dragging he and Jason through the hallway, Mole following close on Jason’s heels.

“So!” Sam said briskly, “I ran some more tests! And based on Jason’s testimony, Phoenix, you were very lucky.”

“Huh?”

“Right.” Sam waved his hands around. “You know how… sometimes, after one of Uncle Pip’s ‘attacks,’ sometimes he’d leave goop lying around that never went back to him? Stagnant stuff. We had to clean it up sometimes.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Okay, and I’m sure we all remember how that goop is part of him, and it’s… alive.”

Jason’s face twisted up in disgust. “Yeah.”

“In layman’s terms, the stagnant stuff was dead. Gone. Belos couldn’t control it, it wouldn’t absorb back into him. And the stagnant mud had key differences in it that differentiated it from the ‘living’ mud. The most obvious one being stagnation versus movement, but also some differences in viscosity, reactions to magical stimuli and… hostility.”

“How did you test living stuff?” Jason asked, “Wouldn’t you have to get it directly from Belos? Wouldn’t that be… incredibly risky?”

“Not important! The point is, Phoenix, your mud isn’t quite like either things. Just like how it’s adapted to your nonmagical body and lack of palisman consumption, it’s changed in other ways to be distinct from its original form. You’ve got something new. But the good news is, according to tests, it’s more like the stagnant mud than the living mud, so I’m guessing what infected you was stagnant mud, rather than living mud. My other evidence for this is… well, you and Jason have both seen what happens when living mud gets into someone’s blood.”

Phoenix and Jason shuddered in unison.

“Exactly. And since you haven’t gone all…” Sam held his fingers up next to his head like horns. “…I think it’s safe to assume I’m correct. So. Living mud possesses you, stagnant mud curses you. Neither is good, but you did, in fact, get the milder option. The other thing I wanted to tell you is… the mud died.”

“What?”

“The mud. In the jar. I kept feeding it, so it should have been fine, but it stopped moving, and it hasn’t responded to any stimuli or food since. It seems to be dead.”

“So…?”

“So it can’t survive without you. Or—maybe without a living host in general? I’m not intent on infecting other things with this to check if it could survive on a new host, but it certainly can’t live on its own. It doesn’t have a strong will, or… really much of anything in the way of thoughts, I think.” Sam took a deep breath. “That’s all well and great for you, Phoenix, it means you’re not going to get possessed randomly, and we don’t have to worry about your curse wandering off. However, it is absolutely terrible news in terms of figuring out how to get Belos out of Petro, because it’s not even approaching the same situation. So… I’ll be taking Jason and going. Bye. Go help them map the archive house.”

Sam pulled Jason into his lab and closed the door after Mole, leaving Phoenix outside alone. Phoenix heaved a sigh and started back down the hallway to the living room, a deep, weary feeling settling in his bones. Viney fell in step next to him.

“Hey. Wow. So, this is… a lot more organized than Hexside. Which, to be fair, if someone, cough, cough, Boscha, cough, cough, had listened to us, might not be the case. But still.” Viney waved a hand down the hallway. “Griffin farm? Sustainable garden? Scheduled rotations of varying chores and tasks? Very impressive. Not my style, exactly, but it’s definitely working to keep you guys together and fed. Jerbo and Matt would love to see it. We’re uh…” she scratched the back of her head. “Well, let’s just say, the few kindergarteners here seem a lot less feral than ours.”

“Feral?” Phoenix echoed.

Viney shuddered. “We’re still cleaning up locker guts from the walls.”

Suddenly, Phoenix was INCREDIBLY grateful for Clara and Ram. “Hey—how is Jason? Really?”

“Oh.” Viney hissed in. “That head wound was… no joke. I did a lot of work on it, but when he got to Hexside, he could barely stand. Honestly, if I could, I’d have him on bedrest for a couple days.”

“And the other kids?”

“Fine. Good. Had a bit of a mishap with Kikimora and some sleeping smoke bombs, but Jason seemed to have the worst of it. Well. Except Hunter, from what I hear, but he’s… good? Now?”

Phoenix nodded absently. Despite her assurances, he felt sick to his core. He’d sent the kids to the human realm to be safe—and to be fair, from what Jason had said, they would have been, if it hadn’t been for Belos sneaking through. But they’d gone through so much, and with no one there to help them. Hunter had died—Phoenix couldn’t even imagine how he must be feeling. Although, he reflected with a dark sort of humor, at least now, he fit right in with the rest of them. “Killed” by Belos and left for dead—not a single one of them had escaped that fate.

Well. Except Ghost, who didn’t even know Belos existed at all.

“You good?” Viney asked, “You got kind of quiet there.”

“It’s just… a lot to process. And not much time to process it. It’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

Somehow.

Xxx

Phoenix stared at Cherry’s ceiling in the darkness. Despite how bone-tired using his curse had made him, and how his body felt like he could sleep for months, his mind didn’t seem to get the message. Worries about the kids, about Jason, about Dagger, and about the Collector drifted through in cycles, relentless. And a small, irrational part of him was almost certain Belos was going to slime his way into the house while everyone was asleep.

That small, irrational worry wormed through his stomach and heart, and finally, Phoenix got up, quietly leaving Cherry’s room and wandering down the hall, checking every window and door. All of them remained locked, and there was no sign of Belos’ mud anywhere.

A light shone into the hallway from under Mole’s door, creating a rectangle of yellow in an otherwise blank black canvas. Phoenix wandered towards it, rubbing his eyes. As he got closer, he heard a muffled sob.

Jason.

Phoenix slowly pushed open the door, but didn’t enter. Jason and Mole sat on the floor, Jason’s back to the door and his face buried in Mole’s shoulder.

“He’s going to come for me,” Jason hiccupped, “He said he’d—he’d come back to get me. He’s going to—he’s going to—”

Mole made gentle shushing noises, patting Jason’s back calmly, but when he looked up, his eyes burned, meeting Phoenix’s gaze with barely-contained rage.

Something inside of Phoenix’s chest snapped in two.

Of course Jason hadn’t gotten out with nothing but a head injury. Of course Belos had left him with a haunting parting shot—of course he had. And of course Jason was putting on his best face, pretending it didn’t bother him. Of course, of course, of course. Phoenix’s hands twitched helplessly. He wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that despite everything, Belos had followed them to the human realm. It wasn’t fair that Hunter had gotten killed. It wasn’t fair that those kids had all gone off to face Belos and the Collector alone. It wasn’t fair that Jason had gotten hurt and was anxious over Belos coming after him. It wasn’t fair that Caleb making a mistake had cost this much. Phoenix started to tremble, the anger that he saw in Mole’s eyes sparking in his own chest.

It wasn’t fair. It never had been. But they’d survived this long, against all odds. They would keep surviving. And maybe, hopefully, if they played their cards right, Jason wouldn’t ever have to worry about Belos again. Hunter wouldn’t have to worry about him. The whole Isles would be safe from Belos, and all the things he’d planned.

Mole frowned, putting one hand on the ground, and Phoenix realized that the trembling wasn’t him. No, the whole house was shaking, like a bonequake had started underneath them. Mole and Jason both leapt up, and with Phoenix, the three of them ran through the hallway. Tired, but alert grimwalkers poked their heads out their doors, confused. Caleb and Evelyn already stood at the door, Evelyn pale.

“The barrier,” she murmured, leaning on Caleb for support, “Something’s at the barrier.”

Caleb reached for the doorknob as if in a trance, slowly turning it and pushing the door open.

The barrier shuddered, sending ripples of energy that shook the house. The griffins squawked nervously in their coop, their cries rising in cacophony with the booms from the barrier.

The Collector floated just outside it, surrounded by his stars. He knocked on the barrier, sending another one of those waves through it.

No…

Phoenix knew how deceptive those simple knocks were, how powerful the Collector really was. No matter how stong Evelyn was, that barrier wouldn’t hold.

“Knock, knooooock,” Collector said, “Helloooooo? You’re supposed to say ‘who’s there’! Anybody home?”

“He found us,” Caleb whispered, “How did he…?”

Phoenix squinted at the Collector. His eyes weren’t blue, instead glowing their usual yellow and orange. Despite the definite threat, Phoenix heaved a sigh of relief. At least Belos hadn’t gotten to them.

Ghost toddled up, chewing curiously on one fist and looking up at the Collector. “Who dat?” they asked, putting one hand on Phoenix’s leg for balance and waving at the Collector with their other, “Boo! Am Dhost!”

The toddler’s voice seemed to snap Caleb out of his trance, and he whirled around. “The Collector is here,” he said sharply, “Evacuation plan, now. Refugees and injured first—Viney, do you think you and Puddles can lead them back to Hexside? We’ll use the griffins where we can, but I don’t think we have time for a round trip—most of them will have to walk.”

“Y-Yeah,” Viney said shakily, “I can do that. But the stars—”

“Go out the back. Keep the house between you and him until you’re safely in the forest, and sneak around their forces.”

“I’ll keep the barrier up as long as I can,” Evelyn promised, though another knock made her eyelids flutter. “If they’re focused on the barrier, then they won’t notice you slip out.”

“Everyone, go,” Caleb ordered.

Grimwalkers fluttered into motion. Joseph ran out to the griffin coop, reassuring the frightened animals and leading them around to the back of the house. Phoenix picked up Ghost, running to his old room. Clara and Ram huddled in bed, blankets wrapped around them.

“Phoenix? What’s going on?”

“It’s the Collector. You’re going to be okay, just get out quick and quiet. Lucy will give you a ride.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Phoenix promised, but he already knew in his gut that it was a lie. “I… just go on. Joseph will take care of you.” He almost handed Ghost to Clara, then stopped, turning and walking back towards the front door. Jason still stood close behind Caleb, watching the barrier flicker red while Evelyn slumped against Caleb. The barrier wouldn’t stay up for much longer, Phoenix knew. But they still needed more time.

“Jason,” he whispered, “I need you to take Ghost out of here. Keep them safe.”

It was the exact same trick he’d used to get Jason to go to the human realm and leave him behind, and based on the sad, tired look, Jason gave him, Jason realized it, too. But he took the toddler without argument.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn whispered.

“They know me,” Phoenix whispered back, “I can distract them—talk to him.”

Caleb caught his arm. “No! They’re angry with you—you’ll be killed!”

That was a possibility, and the thought of it made Phoenix’s determination waver. But he shook Caleb’s hand off. “They need you. Both of you. Get out of here.”

Phoenix closed the door behind him just as the barrier went out completely. Wisps of Evelyn’s magic still lingered in the air—hiding the refugees as they snuck away, if Phoenix had to guess.

“Collector!” he called, “Uh—hi?”

Collector’s face lit up. “Phoenix! Hey! I missed you!”

Well, that was… better than the reaction that Phoenix had expected. He waved, then quickly tucked his hands in his pockets as the curse started to respond to his tension, shifting uneasily. “Yeah, me too. I’m—look, I’m sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I was just… scar—”

“Ah, bup-bup-bup!” Collector shushed, “Don’t worry! I’m over it!”

Phoenix blinked. “You—you are?”

“Yeah, sure!” Collector swooped down closer. “Man, you ran off for this place? I mean, it’s fine, I guess, but it’s not as cool as the archive house.” He shrugged. “Well, if it means so much to you, we can come back here sometimes. Use it in our games!”

“No!” Phoenix took a deep breath. “No. I… don’t think I’d like that very much.”

Collector tilted their head. “You… don’t want to come back to play here again?”

“No. I mean—well—I don’t really want to play here. No.”

The house was already compromised, Phoenix knew that. There was no way the family would come back here. But still, he couldn’t stand the idea of it turning into a Collector Wonderland and being used as a set piece in a game.

“Okay! Well, I guess that means we don’t really need it anymore!”

Too late, Phoenix realized his mistake, just seconds before a blast of energy pulsed out from Collector’s pinky.

“No!”

The house crumpled like it was made of children’s blocks, but with a horrible, crunching, tearing noise. The walls folded, and so did Phoenix’s legs, sending him to his knees.

“No…”

Not a single stone or beam was left standing. His room—Jason’s library of a room—Sam’s lab—the dining room—Achsah’s room—all of it, gone.

Please, Phoenix prayed, although he didn’t know to who, please let them have all gotten out in time. Please.

“There we go!” Collector said cheerfully, dusting his hands, “Don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Why?” Phoenix murmured. It wasn’t the best thing to say for a distraction, he knew, and he ran the risk of angering the Collector. But his mind had gone numb, tumbling down with the walls of the house, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh, well, it wasn’t totally my idea. He suggested it would be a good way to keep you with me! You know, so you wouldn’t miss this place! Aren’t you happy?”

“He?” Phoenix whispered, “Who, King?” That didn’t sound right—maybe King was upset he’d been left behind? Still, it rang false.

Collector burst into a fit of giggles. “King? No way. You played a good game of hide and seek, Phoenix, aren’t you wondering how I found you? My new friend told me where you were.”

“Uh?” Phoenix tore his eyes away from the wreckage of the house long enough to see one of Collector’s stars slowly drift down.

Collector did a cartwheel in the air. “Guess what? I found another grimwalker friend! Isn’t that crazy cool? And it’s the guy who was so good at statues, too.”

Phoenix’s heart thudded in his chest as the star came fully to the ground. Petro smirked, and gave him a little wave. Belos was hiding his presence well—not a trace of green streaked Petro’s face.

Collector shrugged. “I know you said sorry, but just to make sure you don’t freak out, because I know you don’t like heights, and I think you’re a liiiiiiitle upset about your playhouse…”

Before his words could quite register in Phoenix’s circling mind, the Collector flicked a star at him. Phoenix’s bones seemed to collapse underneath him like a ragdoll—or, he realized with mounting horror, the world dotted with blue sparkles like the spots left behind from a bright light, a puppet.

Petro leaned over to keep his face in Phoenix’s fading range of sight, grinning. “Night, night, little bird.”

[butchkaramazov]

a shade darker than red: alternate ending

@ioverep @butyoupaintedmegolden @someonefromawarmclimate @chanda-chamke-cham-cham @musaafir-hun-yaaron @prettymuch18

“Do you know the name of that star, Renu?” I heard Paro say. Her voice was quiet, and I felt her elbow nudging mine.

“Which one?”

“That one. The one we call the evening star.”

I swallowed. “It isn’t a star,” I said. “It’s Venus.”

“And that one?” Her voice was raspy from the smoke.

I squinted, trying to find where her finger pointed. “That one’s probably Pollux. I’m not sure.”

I heard her hum. Another smoke.

“Where will the evening star be on sixteenth October?” she asked.

I pursed my lips. “I don’t know. You could look around.”

Paro hummed. 

Silence.

“I know,” she said, as if after careful consideration.

“What?”

“I know where she’ll be on the sixteenth of October, Renu.” The way she said my name made my heart jolt.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Where will it be, then?”

“Delhi,” Paro lowered her voice to a murmur. “She will be in Delhi on the sixteenth of October.”

I stayed silent. What was she on about?

“She will be in Delhi,” she continued, “because��because the evening star is you, Renu.”

I furrowed my brows. “Paro, I don’t understand—”

“I know you don’t,” Paro cut in. There was a slight tremor in her voice. I leaned in to touch her shoulder but she pushed me away, her touch as gentle as ever.

“Renu, I know you—” she paused, choking on her own words— “I know you don’t—don’t feel the same way, but—but I just have to let you know. Before—before you go.”

I had been fantasising about this moment in my head for days, weeks, months, years. I had thought that maybe, I would collapse on the floor, crying, and tell her, through the tears that choked me, that yes, I loved her too.

One problem: I had never thought it would really happen, not even in my wildest dreams. I was definitely not prepared for this situation.

I turned to look at Paro, her tears glistening in the pale moonlight. “Tell me,” I murmured, surprised at my steady voice. “Tell me, Paro. Let me know.”

Paro forced her eyes off of mine. “You’re—you’re my evening s-star, Renu,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I—I didn’t—didn’t know what I was—I was feeling until Baba had—had a talk with me last w-week, and I—”

She paused, closing her eyes. “I—I think—I think I’m in love with you.”

I couldn’t speak. I felt my face heat up and my hands could’ve been mistaken for a puddle of sweat.

Paro mistook my silence as something else.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stuttered, stumbling away from me, hands outstretched. “I’m sorry, let’s just—let’s just forget this—this happened, I—”

To Paro’s surprise and to mine as well, I chuckled, stepping forward.

“Paro,” I said, as gently as I could. “You do realise that taking back your feelings is a coward move, right?”

Paro stared. I never was good with my speeches. This time, however, words were at the tip of my tongue.

“Such a coward move,” I continued, my tone becoming slightly teasing. “Especially when I feel the same way about you.”

Silence.

Silence.

Silence, and then a punch in my gut.

Before I could complain, I felt Paro’s body slam against mine, her head tucked in the crook of my neck. “You—” I heard her muffled sobs, “you absolute jerk.”

I bit back the impulse to laugh and raised my arms instead, slowly rubbing circles against her shivering back.  It was like my body was made to hold hers.

She raised her head, her forehead nudging my jaw. “God,” she whispered against my chin. “You’re lucky I love you.”

I inclined my head slightly towards the right. “Would you have killed me otherwise?”

Paro seemed to consider it. “Probably.”

Before I could counter her claim, I felt her lips make their way up to mine. It was soft and cautious, like she was merely testing the waters.

Paro. She tasted of tears and sweat, her heavy breaths warming my lips.

Without warning, she pulled back.

“Was that okay?” she asked me, her lower lip trembling like she was about to cry again.

I smirked, pulling her in for another kiss.

“More than okay,” I mumbled between her lips. I felt her smile against mine.

This one lasted a little longer. I could almost hear Venus hum in approval.

“Good,” Paro said, pulling away. “Because you’re gonna have to get used to it.” I grinned, and she still looked at me like I was the stupidest thing she’d ever seen. Her stupid thing.

this was stored in my drafts for like. months, so enjoy

[crimson-calligraphyx]

8: Just Pretend

Noah

It's been a few weeks since I've seen Olivia and the thought of her well-being was constantly on my mind. Sure, I've checked in on her through text here and there, but it was always the same response: she's doing okay, she's just been working longer hours and didn't have time to hang out. I wasn't buying it, but there was no use in trying to get the truth from her through texting.

The boys and I decided to jump online and play Fall Guys, which was helping me get her off my mind for a bit. This game could be frustrating at times, but it was all in good fun. We just shit talked each other and laughed when we would push each other off the edge to make it to the next level. Of course, there were times where I wouldn't time the jumps right and the floor would collapse underneath my character, resulting in me yelling obscenities and the boys laughing at me.

"Yo, you hear from Liv at all lately?" Ruffilo asks. I sighed as the question distracted me, causing me to fall off the edge again. "Yeah, here and there. She's been busy with work I guess, picking up people's slack more so than usual." "Damn, that sucks," he sympathizes. I purse my lips and nod dejectedly, the thoughts of her being unwell infiltrating my thoughts again.

We begin another round of Fall Guys when my phone started to ring on the desk. Olivia's name was displayed on my screen, and my stomach churned with anxiety—she's only ever contacted me by text, never a phone call. I slide my headset off my left ear, holding my phone in place with my shoulder as I accept her call. When I heard the despair in her voice, I knocked the headset completely off my head in panic. "Liv, what's wrong?" She was wailing, fumbling her words. The only thing I could make out was 'I need you' or 'I need someone'—I couldn't tell exactly what was being said. "Shh, shh, Liv," I try to calm her down. "I'm on my way, okay? Leave the door unlocked so I can get in." With that being said, I hung up and put the headset back on briefly. "I gotta go, that was Liv and-and she didn't sound good." I could hear Nick say something as I turned everything off, but I didn't want to waste any time explaining it to the guys.

When I made it to her place, there wasn't a single light on, and that right there freaked me out. Did she end up leaving before I got here? Did I take too long?

As I fumbled around to find a lightswitch, I could hear her sobbing from across the house. I tried my best to follow the sound without stumbling into anything as I still couldn't find a damn lightswitch. After bashing my shin against the coffee table, I finally reached the entryway to the kitchen where her cries were coming from. I ran my hands against the wall, sighing with a hint of relief when I was able to flip the light on.

When I saw her, I felt my heart rate triple with alarm. She was crumpled on the floor, a pool of a dark liquid around her. Her back was against the cupboards, her arms wrapped around her legs as she screamed into her knees. I got down to her level and immediately scooped her into my arms. She clung to me, embracing me tight enough to push the air out of my lungs while sobbing into my chest. "Shh, Olivia, I'm here," I tried my best to console her, running a hand down her back. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head against me, "Wine," she mumbles. I knit my eyebrows in confusion, not understanding what wine had to do with anything. "What—oh," it clicked that she was referring to the puddle around her. The sight of the shattered wine glass behind her calmed my nerves a tad since it confirmed that it wasn't blood around her.

I had to get to the bottom of why she was so distraught. I gently pried her from me, holding her by her shoulders as I looked at her. Her eyes were incredibly puffy, cheeks flushed with mascara running down them. "Olivia, what happened?" "My-my," gasp. "Dad," gasp. "Dad died." Her voice cracked on the last word. My heart shattered for her. My own eyes welled up with tears, knowing the exact pain of losing a parent. I watched her lips tremble and her eyes screw shut as she continued to break down in front of me. I pulled her back into my chest and wrapped my arms around her, hoping she could feel the sympathy I had for her. "I'm so sorry," I whisper in her hair as I ran a hand through it. "I've got you, I'm not going anywhere. Let's get you out of the kitchen and into clean clothes." I feel her nod her head against me.

When I finally got her up off the floor and into her bedroom, I couldn't convince her to change out of her clothes. Instead, she just scrambled into bed, burrowing herself in the covers. I sat at the edge of her bed behind her as I watched her body quake, unsure of what to do. I couldn't bear to see her like this and continue to hear her cry, it was extremely painful for me to witness. Knowing that this was jumping the gun a little, I kicked off my shoes and laid down behind her on top of the covers. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into my chest, hoping to act as a security blanket.

This was something that I always did for my ex, and I prayed that this would help console Olivia, too.

Olivia

I woke up to the sound of someone snoring softly behind me, their body pressed tight enough against my back that I could feel their chest rise and fall from their breathing. Feeling weight on my side, I looked down, my eyes meeting the familiar ink on Noah's arm that's currently draped over me. Smiling, I relish in the comfort and warmth of his body while I could, knowing that this wouldn't last forever. There was something so alleviating about his presence, and if I could, I would have him around indefinitely. I was so grateful for him; there wasn't enough words in the English dictionary for me to express that.

He begins to stir, breathing in heavily as he removed his arm from me and stretched. I frowned and turned onto my back, even though I was expecting that to happen sooner or later. He then rolls onto his back, putting both his hands behind his head, eyes still shut as he steadily breathed for a moment or two. "Morning," he mumbles without opening his eyes. "How are you feeling?" I smile gently, my heart swelling at the fact that he cared enough to ask. "Better, thank you." He chuckles quietly, "No need to thank me; that's what friends are for." I felt a pang in my chest, my smile shrinking at the word 'friends'—I should've known better. He is so selfless, he would've done this for anyone—and I did admire him for that.

I found myself gazing at his tattoos, taking in how the morning glow accentuated the color in the ink. The shades blended in so well, the details so precise; it really was a true work of art. I don't know how long I stared at his arm, but I could feel his eyes on me as I continued.

"What are you thinking about?" he ponders, turning towards me and props himself up with his elbow. I mirrored his position, watching his mouth curl up at the corners. "Just thankful that I have a friend like you. I mean, I have Victoria, but she didn't answer her phone," I say softly. He hums, nodding his head as he takes in my words. "I'm sorry she didn't answer your call." I shrug, "It's not the first time, honestly." His mouth twists, disappointment in his features. "Then I'm glad you called me. Dealing with the loss of your dad by yourself is gut-wrenching, and I wouldn't want anyone going through that alone." I grinned, "See, that's why you're a great person, Noah. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He flashes me a sheepish smile, hanging his head slightly. "There's another thing I was wondering." He picks his head back up, eyebrows perked up in curiosity.

"I was wondering if your tattoos have any color to them," I say, even though I could clearly see that they do. I was just curious as to what he would tell me. "Yeah," he nods, "mostly red, I think." I tilt my head to the side in questioning, "You think?" He chuckles, "Mhm. I can't see color anymore; it's been years since I could." I sit all the way up and sit cross-legged, still facing him, intrigued. "What do you mean you 'can't see colors anymore'?" He sighs, "It's a long story, but remember that ex I mentioned before?" I nod. "Believe it or not, I was in love with her and I could see color because of it. It was the most amazing thing I've ever witnessed, and it was humbling when the colors started to fade back to grey." "I knew that when you're in love, you're supposed to see color—I didn't know you could lose it." He nods sadly. "Yeah. I got really sick with a rare illness called Hanahaki Disease, and let me tell you, that shit was debilitating."

I gasped and covered my mouth, astonished that Victoria had been telling me the truth that night. I felt a pang of guilt as I recalled my disbelief, laughing in her face.

"I was losing the ability to breathe, and I was always so weak from the lack of oxygen," he continues. "I'd have really bad episodes and would cough for hours, days even, and one time I cracked a rib from coughing so hard. Eventually I figured out the cause of my shortness of breath—there were flowers growing in my lungs." "Oh, my God," I mumbled through my fingers that were still pressed against my mouth. He laughs, "I know, sounds ridiculous, right? You know what caused it?" I shake my head 'no', even though I did know. "She didn't love me anymore. Unrequited love is taxing, and not many people believe it until it happens to them or someone they know." I drop my hands in my lap, wringing them together in anticipation of the story continuing. "So...how did you get better?" He swallows, searching for words. "I had to just pretend that I didn't love her anymore. It was a constant battle, but eventually it worked. The only downfall was losing the ability to see color completely."

I stared into his eyes for a moment, clearly seeing the truth behind them. They were glossed over, signifying that this was a painful story for him to tell. I give his shoulder a reassuring rub, a caring smile on my face. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. You didn't have to go into detail, it seemed like that was hard to tell." He sits up fully, shaking his head. "No, don't apologize. I can't change the past, you know? I lived through it, so I'm gonna tell this story because it's a part of who I am." "That's very brave of you, Noah." He shrugs, "I guess," he laughs. "One more question; what was your favorite color?" He brings his hand to his chin, tapping it with his index finger with a quizzical expression on his face. "You know, at the time it was definitely red, but if I think about it now and can remember the colors accurately... I'd say blue takes the cake."

|Chapter 9|

[spinchs-field]

dont worry i can send in some anon hate... youurre.... GAY !!! and. plot twist! YOU LOOK LIKE A VAMPIRE !! OH !!! SICK !!! BURN!!!!!!!!!! IN !! THE SUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh and i think ive said this before but ive saved that picture edit you did of one of your weenie dogs winning a dog show and look at it sometimes. which is unrelated but i thought you should know cause i just reme,mbered

CRIES AND SOBS AND WAILS AND SNIFFLES AND COLLAPSES INTO A PUDDLE OF MY OWN TEARS AND PUNCHES THE FLOOR AND CRIES

i do remember you showing me that you saved the image of Odie winning the West Minster dog show! he's a very talented dog and he definitely won in real life. don't look it up though every source lies because they're jealous that he won

[seaphoam-writes]

A Father's Duty (14/?)

A Father's Duty on AO3

Summary: An encounter with a quantum fissure leaves Picard with more responsibility than he asked for, but he'll do what he always does—his duty.

Chapter 14

It’s dark, their quarters are filled with smoke and—and fire. The flickering light illuminates the room in a confusing dance of shadow and bursts of orange.

Louis is sitting on the floor. The ceiling collapsed. There’s debris everywhere. Furniture destroyed.

Someone’s lying next to him.

Maman.

Her eyes are open but she’s…she’s not looking at him. She’s covered in blood. So much blood. And his hands—

He lifts them and looks at them. They’re covered in blood too. His blood? One of his eyes won’t open and that side of his face feels wet.

“Nella! Louis!”

Uncle Will materializes from the dark and the smoke and the fire. He picks Louis up and it hurts. Louis screams, not because of the pain but because they’re leaving maman behind. But his screams don’t wake her up. She’s getting farther and farther away, and then he can’t see her anymore.

Tears blur the vision in his other eye and he can’t see anything anymore. Uncle Will is clutching him tight. Too tight. They’re running and the bouncing makes the pain worse. His head, his chest—

“Data!”

Uncle Will’s arms loosen and he’s transferred into someone else’s arms. They’re just as strong but they don’t squeeze him as much.

“Take him,” Uncle Will says. “Get in an escape pod and get him out of here. Take him somewhere safe.”

“Sir?”

“I SAID GET HIM OUT OF HERE!”

They’re running again. Somewhere behind them, Uncle Will’s yelling, but he’s getting farther and farther away too, just like maman.

“Louis!”

His father’s voice. But his father isn’t here. His father is on the Borg ship. His father is never coming back.

“Louis!”

Louis blinks. It is his father. Louis isn’t with Data anymore, he’s sitting on the ground. There’s no fire or smoke, but he feels hot, feels sweat inside his collar and down his back. There’s no smoke but he feels like he can’t breathe. His chest hurts, a throb in his side but also a sharp pain in his heart.

Papa, aide-moi!

Help me!

He tries to speak, but his own heartbeat chokes him, and before he can stop it, he vomits.

-/-

Picard blames himself. He let his guard down, got comfortable, distracted, and it’s his lack of vigilance that got them into this situation: he’s never had a panic attack himself, but he recognizes the symptoms.

Deanna hands him a towel and he takes it, uses it to gently wipe Louis’s mouth and chin then lays it over the puddle he’s practically kneeling in.

“Louis,” he says, firm but gently. “Louis look at me.”

Louis focuses.

Where was he? Picard can’t help but wonder. What horror was he just reliving?

Were he to speculate—

No.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is calming Louis down. Picard has only a vague sense of what he needs to do. The breathing, he thinks, needs to be addressed first. If he can slow Louis’s breathing, he can slow his heart rate as well.

“Louis, I want you to listen to the sound of my voice. Can you do that?”

The only response is a blink and a twitch of his head that might be a nod.

“Ok, I need you to take a deep breath. Like this—watch.” He models breathing in long and deep through his nose, holding it, then letting it out slowly. “Do it with me. In…hold it…out.”

It takes several iterations, but eventually Louis is breathing along with him. Gradually his trembling stops, gradually the tension eases from his face, from the fingers gripping his shins.

“Good, good,” Picard encourages quietly. “Keep going. In…out…in…out…”

He’s aware of Beverly joining them, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Louis. She kneels next to him and removes her medical scanner from her pocket, passes it through the air around Louis’s head and then his chest.

“Let’s take him back to your quarters,” she orders quietly, tucking her tricorder away.

Picard decides he’ll carry the boy. He doesn’t know if Louis is small for his age or if 8-year-olds are just small in general, but it takes less effort than he expected to lift Louis off the floor and hoist him onto his hip.

Outside, Guinan’s waiting to guide them to her office; it’s adjacent to the bathroom and it has a second door that leads directly to the corridor. From there, they walk to the Turbolift.

No one speaks. Picard concentrates on Louis’s chest pressed to his, the heart beating alongside his own.

Head resting on Picard’s shoulder, Louis whispers, “I missed you.”

He knows he’s not the version of his father that Louis misses, but still he tightens his arms, brushes his cheek against Louis’s and says, “Je suis là.”

I’m here.

Back in their quarters, he goes directly to the bathroom and sets Louis down. Beverly follows. They work in tandem to get Louis out of his vomit-streaked clothes, cleaned up, and in another outfit. Picard murmurs directions to Louis in French. The boy’s attempts to help are clumsy and lethargic but Picard accepts them, recognizing Louis’s need to feel some measure of control.

When they’re finished, Beverly gives Picard a pointed look. “You should change too.”

He considers his stained shirt and pants, nods tiredly in agreement. He expects Beverly to withdraw, but instead she guides Louis to sit on the edge of the tub, which he takes to mean that the only privacy he’ll be allowed is her turned back.

Suppressing a sigh, he crosses to where he keeps his clothes in drawers, removes what he needs, then retreats further into the bathroom, hoping Deanna has more respect for his person than the doctor does—she does, joining them only when it’s clear Picard’s dressed and presentable once again.

Beverly’s kneeling in front of Louis, tricorder out. “I’m just going to check your vitals,” she’s telling him.

After a moment, Louis’s brows scrunch. “What are my vitals?”

“Temperature, pulse rate, and respiration rate,” Beverly replies. “Your temperature is—”

“Température,” Louis pronounces. “It’s how warm my body is.”

“Yes, exactly.” She’s smiling a particularly fond smile that Picard, uncertain if he’s ever seen one quite like it on her before, memorizes and stores it away for later. “How about pulse and respiration? Do you know those?”

“Non.”

“Your pulse rate is also your heart rate; it’s the number of times your heart beats in a minute. And your respiration rate is how many breaths you take in a minute.”

Examination complete, Beverly closes her tricorder.

“Am I okay?” Louis asks softly.

“Your vitals are all within normal parameters. How do you feel?”

“Pas bon.”

“Not good,” Picard translates.

Beverly puts her hands delicately on Louis’s knees. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My stomach and my head.”

“Do you feel dizzy?”

Louis’s gaze flicks up to Picard, who supplies, “Vertigineux.”

“Oh. Oui.”

“Do you feel like you could eat something?”

Louis pales at the suggestion. “Non.”

Beverly turns to address Picard. “He should rest. And then he should eat something. The after effects should already be dissipating, but if he doesn’t feel better within an hour I can treat the symptoms directly.”

Picard nods, gathers Louis, and gives him a nudge towards the bedroom.

“Allez. Au lit.”

To bed.

But Louis resists the hand Picard has between his shoulder blades. “No. I don’t want to sleep.”

He shakes his head frantically for emphasis, and Picard understands. Louis is afraid he’ll dream, afraid he’ll be plunged right back into whatever memories seeing Will dredged up.

“You don’t have to sleep,” Picard reassures him. “But you should lie down and let your body rest.”

“Non.”

“Captain.” Deanna is standing near his desk now. “Why don’t we all play a game together? It would be a fun…distraction.”

A quick glance at Beverly confirms her support for Deanna’s suggestion.

A distraction. Right.

“How about a card game?” he proposes. He moves his hand, runs it once through Louis’s hair before settling it on the boy’s shoulder and repeating his proposal in French.

Louis nods. “D'accord.”

Deanna and Beverly prepare the coffee table for cards; Beverly moves the anatomy book and Louis’s drawings to Picard’s desk, inspecting the drawings with a small smile.

Despite how drained he’s beginning to feel—he assumes from his own adrenaline crash—Picard takes the opportunity to appreciate that smile, appreciate her reaction to something Louis created, before filing that smile away alongside the one from earlier.

It seems wrong, somehow, to indulge in any emotion other than his worry for Louis.

They play a round of Kings in the Corner, which they have to teach to Louis; he catches on quite quickly, and when they reset, he demonstrates a creditable shuffle.

(Picard will have to…discreetly ascertain how skilled the boy is at poker.)

The adults carry the conversation—well, Deanna and Beverly carry the conversation. Picard has mentally retreated somewhat. He feels at a distance from everything that’s happening. Louis is behaving similarly, responding when necessary but otherwise disengaged.

Patience, Picard reminds himself. Don’t be angry.

He’s not angry with Louis, of course. He’s still angry with himself.

And yet he feels helpless, too. Helpless in the face of the boy’s trauma. Trauma he has an acute sympathy with.

He remembers the first time they encountered the Borg after he recovered from his assimilation; the flood of terror, completely overwhelming. Inevitably that fear gave way to anger—his own trauma response, he supposes, a nigh uncontrollable rage. He’d managed to overcome it in that instance because he couldn’t deny the Hugh’s individuality, his innocence…but Gul Madred—if Picard saw Gul Madred now, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from committing an act of extreme violence.

No matter how vigorously he may insist to the contrary, Picard's not recovered. Neither from his assimilation nor Gul Madred’s torture.

He knows this.

Knows this, and doesn’t want Louis to be like him, doesn’t want Louis to be afraid or angry like he is. Doesn’t want him to be alone in his pain.

Laying his cards down, Picard turns to Louis. The boy is rigid, holding himself very carefully folded inside his own personal space, but it takes only one hand laid gently on Louis’s elbow to get the boy to face him, one squeeze of his fingers for the boy to take the invitation, to surge into his arms with a force that nearly knocks Picard backwards.

Louis’s arms circle his neck. His chest is pressed to Picard’s, his heart once again beating beside Picard’s. Picard clutches the small body close.

“I’m not the father you lost,” he says, in French because he wants no misunderstandings. “But I am a version of him. I am…him. And I’m going to take care of you. You’re not alone, Louis. Whatever makes you sad, whatever frightens you…we can face it together.”

-/-

Beverly doesn’t understand what Jean-Luc just said, but she sees the effect his words have on Louis, an immediate draining of some inner tension, an unclenching of something long held clenched unbearably tight; his face crumples, and a single tear slides down his cheek to cling to his jaw.

Jean-Luc holds him, their arms tight around each other, heads touching, chests rising and falling in unison, as if their bodies are aligning, each reaching some sort of equilibrium with the help of the other.

Beside her, Deanna lets out a soft sigh of relief. The sound seems to rouse Jean-Luc; his gaze meets Beverly’s, then he addresses Louis in English.

“Now, the three of us are very worried about you. We think it would help you feel better if you got some rest. Will you please lay down? I promise I’ll watch over you.”

Eyes still closed, Louis nods into Jean-Luc’s shoulder. “Oui, papa.”

Jean-Luc stands with Louis still in his arms. Beverly expects him to take Louis to the new room she glimpsed when they came in, but instead he takes Louis to his room. Deanna discreetly excuses herself, but Beverly stays and follows Jean-Luc, unable to help herself; she’s drawn to the two of them, to the sight of that head of golden brown hair nestled against Jean-Luc’s neck, to the sight of how tender Jean-Luc is with Louis as he lays him down and tucks a stuffed fox beneath the blankets with him.

Her chest aches, and it’s partially remembering Jack tucking Wesley in and partly remembering when Jack was no longer there to tuck Wesley in and it’s the thought of that little boy with Jean-Luc’s eyes having both his parents ripped from him—the sudden fear that Jean-Luc could easily be ripped away from him again—

Beverly swallows past the burn of impending tears in her throat and crosses Jean-Luc’s quarters to the replicator, where she directs the computer to prepare two of Jean-Luc’s aunt Adele’s hot milk toddies, which she carries back to Jean-Luc’s bedroom.

“Here, drink these,” she instructs. When both father and son have taken their glasses, Beverly brushes her hand against Jean-Luc’s shoulder. His eyes find hers, his attention piercing.

“I’m going to go back to my quarters and change,” she says. “I’ll come back after.”

Abruptly, there are fingers covering hers—she apparently still has her hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder. He squeezes them, and his thumb traces a line across her palm once, twice.

“Thank you, doctor,” he says. His hand lingers on hers, tightens, and for a split second—

No, she growls at herself. Jean-Luc Picard was not about to kiss your hand.

She slides her fingers from his grip, turns to Louis and smiles. He smiles back, a smear of milk foam on his upper lip that’s just…adorable.

As she nears the doorway she hears the sound Jean-Luc makes when he sips his toddy and realizes there’s whiskey in it, nearly choking on his surprise; she turns, and parries his glare with a wink before taking her leave.

-/-

When asked if he would like to be read to, Louis requests Sherlock Holmes.

Picard’s barely two pages into The Adventure of Silver Blaze, idly wondering if Louis has ever ridden a horse, when he glances up from the book and sees Louis is asleep. He continues for several more pages, just to be certain Louis is well and truly asleep, then he closes the book, sets it on his bedside table, and joins Beverly on his sofa.

They sit and chat, the whiskey Beverly put in Picard’s milk toddy still warm in his belly. They talk about work and what she ate for dinner and something amusing one of her nurses told her—innocuous subjects.

The hours pass. Picard loses himself in the sound of Beverly’s voice, in the comfort her presence provides. Will sends him a message, apologizing for his existence, essentially; Picard replies that his apologies are unnecessary, that as soon as it’s possible he’ll meet Louis, that Louis referred to him as “uncle”. Guinan visits to check on Louis, and Picard explains to her the entirety of the situation.

“I’ll admit,” she says, “I was imagining his origins were something a little more…romantic.”

Picard can only offer her a grim smile.

Eventually, the hour late, Beverly departs. She keeps her distance this time when she says goodnight, and Picard wonders if he overstepped earlier, if he let his hand linger on hers for too long, if he somehow let his desire to bring that hand to his lips show.

He vows to do better in the future. He must. For the sake of their friendship, too precious to him to risk losing.

His bed occupied, he dozes on the couch—only to be shaken awake what feels like seconds later, his eyes barely focused before Louis speaks, the boy’s statement sending a cold wave of alarm crashing through him.

“Papa, I want to see Data.”

[littlegoldenbirdie]

Point of No Return

This is my version of what happened when Ugin's spark ignited. I know this isn't what really happened, but...

“UGIN! NO!” The green dragon didn’t hear, merely continuing to thrash in pain and blind panic as the light continued to erupt from his body before it seemingly consumed him… a mere millisecond before the brown dragon tried to bodily tackle him to safety and ended up almost eating dirt. “…B…brother…?” The brown dragon looked around in horrified shock, not seeing his brother anywhere. “No… Ugin, don’t leave me…” Tears flooded his eyes for a long moment before he clutched at his own chest as Ugin had done moments ago, falling to his knees. Panting in pain, he stared seemingly blindly into nothingness. The scenery before his eyes seemed to turn into clouds, clouds that parted as he watched, revealing a tranquil place of still waters, just waiting for him… waiting for him to let go…

“No! I… I won’t! I am Nicol Bolas and I refuse to die! Not yet! Not ever!” He threw every ounce of willpower he had into pushing the vision away, clinging to what had to be life. The heat in his chest died away, extinguished by the sheer force of his will as he writhed in agony on the ground. The pain subsided and he panted for a long moment before looking up again. Hadn’t there been a battle going on, against the humans who had already taken so much from him before this horrifying moment of even worse loss? He could see a small group of humans, weapons in hand, just watching him. Ugin’s words came back to him; the words he had been saying right before this happened, before he had wanted his brother to help him with the spell he had planned. “M-my brother… wanted me to make peace with your kind…” The words stumbled out of his mouth, sounding a lot more uncertain than he would have liked. His hands curled into fists as his strength returned, given back by sheer rage as it rose up within him. “I think I’ll wipe you out instead!” The last word dissolved into a throat-rending roar as he charged at them, tears streaming down his face as he lost himself in the wild, mad urge to seek vengeance for his brother no matter the cost.

An unknown amount of time later, he collapsed to his knees as the rage left him utterly spent both emotionally and physically. The few humans to escape his wrath were long gone, leaving him alone with his loss. He could still feel the place of still waters in the back his mind, and he spent a short moment wondering why it was still there. Hadn’t he already fought off the death that had claimed his brother even as he watched? Somehow managing to stand despite his utter exhaustion, he stumbled a few steps before collapsing again and catching a glimpse of his own face in a nearby puddle. He was drenched in blood, most of it human but some of it his own from gashes he hadn’t felt, obliterating the tears he had felt himself shedding in defiance of the promise he had made as a pup in Arcades Sabboth’s village. Looking at those gashes, he watched as a truly frightening smile took shape on his reflection. “They can’t hurt me anymore,” he whispered before an odd little giggle came forth as he poked at a particularly deep cut on his cheek and marveled at feeling nothing from it. “They can’t hurt me, but I can hurt them!” He crowed those words at the top of his lungs before starting to laugh, a deep, resounding cackle that resounded throughout the area.

He laughed for quite a while.

---

I dunno if he said goodbye to his sanity or what. But losing the only person you ever really had isn't good for one's mental state.

[majoranna]

Celebrations, séance, madness, mysticism with sound and movement

- notes on death, grief, art and life

march hit hard with the quiet celebration of women, engulfed in the first year of commemoration of my mother's death. How is mid march finding you?

I'm talking about death. It's weird to talk about it because we know nothing. It's like, the most real fantasy. But I've met him. ☄

He is the strongest force I´ve met so far, a very intense guy, and you´ll very unlikely to ever be the same, after meeting him. Before Death was Illness, and she was suffocating, very very scary, and the longer time you share with her, the smaller scale of perception you seem to have. They often come hand in hand, and they turn you upside down and inside out and at the end you are left with utter chaos.

Is it chaos though, or does it only seem so for a second, until we realize is it instead a peek over the edge from where one sees the Order of things the first time in their lives? 

Things never make sense at the beginning. Reading the first pages, you wonder what's all this and where will it take you? The first movements, finding the ground under your feet, recognizing your spine is rusty and your shoulders are sleeping. Wondering, how this is going to be a dance? Mixing colors, drawing lines, disliking what we see, feeling lost, and wondering, to what end is all this making happening at all? That is when you decide to just wait, and see. To continue until you find out. I see that as a moment of saying yes to my own life. 

On the 9th of March, 2023, leaving my office, heading to see my boss, I collapsed onto the bottom of the big orange lino staircase in the Opera House, as my sister rang me on the phone. She said "Szia" , and her voice landed in my body as warm light and expanding space. I knew what she'd say, and I am not even sure she actually said anything else. We cried together gently, listening to each other sob, and then she said "I'll go back to Mum ''and we hung up. My tears were pouring like rain as they do now, as I write, reliving the moments that are still very much alive and present with me.

Do you remember where you were on that Day? 

I went up to the office and the first person I shared my grief with was my boss. I don't think she knows but she's done something real that day. She showed so much compassion, and strength, through her hug and humanity, I will always be grateful. She told me to go home, and I did, because she said so, not because my mind or my body had any idea what one is supposed to do, when they become aware of their mothers death. It felt a little like the movie scene, im thinking specifically of the one in Rogue One, with the meteor landing and fire pouring over the horizon, as you hold on to someone you love, and everything burns. Except I seemed to have been very much left alive. So I did what the alive people do when people die.

I went home to the Hungarian countryside, and took care of paperwork and payment and inheritance. Bureaucracy. Madness. Insanity. At the end of the month I buried my mother, not the way I wish it would have been, but the way it was. In my mind she isn't buried yet, although at least I do not await her homecoming in my dreams anymore.

After her actual funeral I got really gross drunk on pálinka (a strong hungarian schnaps) and sweated a puddle in my dream afterwards. No joke it looked like I pissed the bed but from my entire body. 

It starts with the ashes, but the aftermath was not a burnt out world and no life. Instead It was matter, plentiful and in tiny pieces. All the matter I've ever interacted with, parted in no way from my being,  was spread in every direction until the eye can see and the mind can comprehend, way beyond the outer bodies reach. It is expanding space, lights playing, sounds twirling and you, you are all of this. there is no you and.. there is just incomprehensive sensations, which you are.

I took some time off here and there but basically I just kept working as much as I could. It felt like being frozen. I freeze up now, as I allow myself to remember, to tap into those feelings again, from a distance far enough in time, that they are so small I can hold them again. The dream journey of this period of grief was indescribably beautiful, a reliving of a relationship through the most alive fragments of my mother in me, one by one becoming the lasts, the last time we hugged, and the last words we spoke, and the last time I heard her voice. My semi-conscious sleeping mind, was such a beautiful place to be, as I could not possibly have imagined, because I could still be with her. Revisiting the memories of the dreams is still so painful I do not wish to let myself too close, as I am afraid, they take me further out to the edge of the galaxy, from where is no way back.

After 8 months or so, I finally realized, I need to stop, and exit the frames I used to operate within. I have changed so much inside, I could not have the outside be a constant reminder of my previous self. She, whom I was clinging to, whom I missed dearly, and I would have given anything to be her again. The Anna I was, before she met Death. We weren´t always best friends with her either of course, when I was her, but all I could see, and feel was the weight of life now being so real. Her lightness, silly irresponsability, ability to laugh and play and make love, felt like concepts I wasn´t sure I could ever relate to wholeheartedly again.

But the only thing that was crystal clear from moment one, was that I was never going to do anything, only what I can do wholeheartedly.

So I quit my job, I made space.

https://www.behance.net/gallery/170665713/Abstract-Mixed-media-Landscape

https://www.shutterstock.com/shutterstock/videos/1016277991/preview/stock-footage-big-bang-the-origin-of-the-black-hole-bright-futuristic-composition.webm

☄ I apologize here, I do not intend to say men are somehow in any way more identifiable with death than women are, I wish to make the point that I think death is far enough from being human, as to not be given a gender. But I try to write authentically, and this sentence came to me this way. Same with Illness being she. Maybe I feel that way cause it was cancer eating my mum. dunno.

[sophdrafts]

Snippet from “The Devil’s Temple” by me :)

She didn’t know what else to do on the polished marble floor of the temple of her ancestors. So, her hand slipping a bit in the puddle of her tears, she pushed herself up. The golden hues of the walls held no shine, the eternal torches were subdued, the murals flat, and the only sound above the fountain of tears were the clicks of her dark boots as she strode out. No longer questioning whether she belonged there or not.

The answer was most certainly - not.

Her dark hair, her dark clothes, and her knee-high boots always clashed with her golden beliefs. No matter how hard she tried to believe it, it never fit right. So she pushed herself, even as she wanted to collapse on the road, she wouldn’t.

She could see the noblemen and women peeking out their windows. Sure, she was making a racket. Why not see what the fuss was about.

She kept her stride even and her head high. Until the bright light of lightning flashed across the sky, followed closely by the rumble of thunder. Of course. And a moment later, rain poured, soaking her clothes, weighing her down. As if the gods wanted to keep her from leaving. As if they cared. As if they cared enough to punish her for walking away. Well. She’d die before going back there.

She lifted her eyes to get her bearings. She had marched without caring where she was going. Until she saw the unmistakable statue of her enemies down the alley. She had mixed up a turn and arrived at the devil’s temple, as it was so affectionately called. The god of the derelict, the god of those who only cared about themselves, the god of the evilest among them. She rolled her eyes. Only the uneducated really believed such things. She marched up to the staircase. Wide. Dark. And just her favorite color - blood red.

But before she reached the first step, a figure slinked out of the shadows and slipped behind her. “Oh, dear princess, did you think you wouldn’t be recognized?”

She gritted her teeth and turned around, her dagger glinting in the light from the torches. Burning bright despite the downpour. “I wouldn’t try me tonight, you piece of shit.”

“Oh,” the high male voice said in delight, “the good princess has a tongue on her.”

“And a blade. And the knowledge of how to use it.”

“Naughty girl. I think you need to be taught a lesson. You may rule from on high, but you’re in the streets now. There’s a different set of rules.”

“Really?” she asked dryly. “Seems to me that whoever is the most powerful rules the street. I don’t really think you have a chance.” She shrugged and, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed more dark figures appearing. She was being reckless but she wasn’t stupid. She turned and ran up the steps. With both hands on the doors, she pushed forward and fell into the temple. The doors slammed shut behind her of their own accord. And she twisted around to see a round room with a large fire in the middle, it cast the entire room in red.

It looked like she was alone. She couldn’t hear anything from outside. It was eerily silent, and the silence seemed to push through her skin and her heartbeat began to calm. At least here there were no rules. She didn’t have to clean up or dress a certain way to be here. She slowly placed her palms flat on the floor and pushed herself up. Never taking her eyes off of the fire. It seemed to dance as she moved closer. Its warmth pulled her in. At least the devil was more welcoming to guests. She almost laughed. But then collapsed again on her knees and sobbed.

“Mmm,” a dark, deep voice spun around the room before skittering across her goosebump-covered skin. “What are you doing here, my love?”

She couldn’t find the courage to open her eyes but her sobs subsided, because of fear? No, that wasn’t it. Curiosity.

“So sad? Who hurt you?” The voice hummed with dry humor. She felt a finger slip under her chin and pull her face up. “Open your eyes.” Soft, cajoling, persuasive. Just like all the scary stories said. But she couldn’t resist. Her eyes squinted open to see the face of a man only inches away from hers. “What are you crying about?” the question was rhetorical. She froze as he leaned forward and licked a tear from her face. “Mm, anger.” He licked again and her stomach flipped. “Oh, and hate.” The third lick was a tear down her neck and she had to restrain herself from stretching towards him. “Revengeeeee.” He drew out the word, tasting it, savoring it.

She shivered as he drew back slightly and met her eyes, “How may I be of assistance in your endeavors, beautiful one?”

She scoffed at that. And he gave her a small smile. “Do you not believe me?”

“Doesn’t the devil lie?” Her voice was scratchy and soft.

The rumble of a chuckle erupted from his chest. “Don’t mistake me for your other gods that make promises they don’t keep.”

“They’re not my gods.”

An eyebrow lifted. “No?” He looked her up and down pointedly. And she winced. She was certainly dressed like someone dedicated to the gods.

“Not after today.” She said firmly.

“Hm.” He leaned back and looked at her, considering. “Prove it.”

“How?”

“Take it off. It’s offensive to me.”

She scoffed. “Didn’t know the devil was so sensitive.”

“Is that what you think I am, little one?” His head cocked to one side. “The devil?”

Her fingers hesitated as she unbuttoned the coat of arms. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I won’t say anything else until that’s off.”

“Are you a man?”

“No.”

That was enough for her. So she stood and unbuttoned the coat, shrugged it off, and dropped it on the floor. The only noise in the room was the rustling of the fabric and, strangely, the drops from her wet hair as they landed on the floor. She was still soaking wet.

The fire warmed her bare skin as she stood before him in only her underclothes.

“Throw them into the fire.”

She didn’t know why she was following his orders, but she felt tied to him. Safe. In a way she hadn’t ever felt before. She didn’t have to be “good” or “perfect” for him.

She gathered up the clothes that always felt so restricting and stepped past him, throwing them into the fire. She turned around.

“Sad?” He lifted a brow in question.

“Relieved.”

His eyebrows raised and he handed her a cloak to wear around her shoulders. She checked the fabric for any markings or symbols like her old clothes and found none. Her eyes flicked to his. He was wearing a smile.

“You learn fast.”

“Always did.” She swung the cloak around her and immediately felt enveloped in warmth. She sighed and leaned forward to squeeze the water out of her hair. “So what now?”

“Whatever you want.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“What do I have to do to get what I want? Sacrifices? Devotion?”

“Oh no, I don’t demand devotion. When you give it to me it will be of your own volition. Not to get something from me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. It will take time to unlearn everything you’re used to.”

He stepped forward and put a hand on her flaming cheeks, her face always got hot when she cried. His hands were surprisingly cool to the touch. Relieving what she knew would be red streaks down her face and around her eyes.

“You won’t ever cry because of me.” He said firmly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

A full smile stretched across his face. “We’re going to have fun.”

[24hlevi]

can i just say that i've just finished reading that angst headcanons/imagines/scenarios or whatever it's supposed to be called about the boys reacting to y/n dying and i'm just...i'm just a sobbing mess.

it's well-written so 1000/10 for that, but whY MUST YOU ATTACK MY HEART IN THIS MANNER???? i love your work, but my poor heart ack-

btw is there any possibility to ask for a request for a same scenario but for kazutora, mitsuya, and hanma? like for kazutora's part, imagine if it wasn't yknow who died but its y/n 🥲

omg you’re so nice first of all thank you 😭 and OMG YES

TR Boys Reaction To You Dying Pt. 2

Tokyo Revengers Boys (Kazutora, Shuji, & Takashi) X Gn!Reader

Genre: Pure Angst

Warnings: Swearing, Suicide (kind of? it’s what happened to baji did so idk what to label it as 🤷‍♂️)

Hanemiya Kazutora:

All Kazutora could think was that it was all his fault that this happened. He was too caught up in his own world that he didn’t even know what he was doing anymore. He didn’t even know you had shown up to the fight until he stabbed you instead of Baji.

“Y/n?” Kazutora asked, dropping the knife immediately when he saw you standing between him and Baji, blood dripping onto the ground below you. He completely froze, not knowing what he had just done or why he even did it. “Baby, are you okay?”

You held onto the stab wound, coughing up blood as you looked at your boyfriend. “I just wanted you…to stop.” You choked out before collapsing to your knees.

Everyone had stopped and was watching you by now, shocked that you had even protected Baji from both sides when your whole body landed on the car below you. Spitting blood out of your mouth, you laid on your back, staring up at the blue sky that was dusted with white clouds.

“Y/n!”

You heard multiple people yell your name, but you couldn’t even tell who it was until you saw Kazutora kneeling beside you. “Y/n! Keep your eyes open, okay?!”

You shook your head from side to side, raising your hand to put it on Kazutora’s face before quietly speaking, “Give it to me, the knife.”

“What? Why? Look, Y/n you just gotta stay awake okay?” Kazutora spoke fast, clearly freaking out on both the outside and inside, not even caring about the gang fight anymore.

“Hand it over, Kazutora.” You said his full name which caused him to go quiet, staring down at you with saddened eyes before handing you the knife that already had your blood on it. “Thank you, babe. I love you.” You told him.

“I love you too, Y/n.” Kazutora said to you.

You bundled up your shirt at the top, putting it in your mouth so you had something to bite down on before plunging the knife into your stomach and twisting it around, then pulling it back out and dropping it.

Kazutora wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him as you lived your last moments, and he couldn’t even say anything. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I always will love you.” Was all he said after you died.

Kazutora then took the blame for killing you, resulting im him ending up in jail again but he wasn’t angry about it. He was just sad. So sad that he didn’t even try to get out of jail and get back into the gang life. He just sat around, continuously saying,

“It’s all my fault.”

Hanma Shuji:

Shuji swore that he would never allow you to get hurt while he was away doing gang activities that he didn’t want you included in. That’s why he always had someone beside you and a bodyguard to make sure you would always be safe. But even then, it didn’t work.

It was half past 1 in the morning when Shuji’s phone rang while he was with the other Valhalla members, beating up some random other gang member. Shuji stopped punching the other male, standing up straight and took his phone out of his pocket and opened it, answering. “Yes?”

“Shuji…”

Shuji’s breath hitched when he heard your shaky and quiet voice, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. “Y/n? Where are you, darling? Is something wrong?”

“I’m…at home. B-But someone..got in.” You tried your best to reply, but it was coming out shaky and slow. 

“I’ll be there in five minutes. I promise, baby. Okay? I love you.” Shuji told you before turning around and looking at everyone, taking the phone away from his ear. “Kazutora, you’re in charge until I get back, understand? As for everyone else, just do what you’re told.” He said to everyone, proceeding to then walk out and make his way onto the streets when he started to sprint down the different roads. 

Now he was just making sure that he made it to your place in five minutes like he said he would, which usually he would be able to do easily, but he was more determined now that he had heard something had gone wrong whilst he was away. Upon reaching your place, he saw the front door opened already and he quickly rushed inside. “Y/n?! Baby, where are you?!” He called out as he started to run through every room in the house. 

He finally made it to your room where you laid on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath you as you were taking shallow and slow breaths. “Y/n!” Shuji yelled out your name, going over to you and kneeling down beside you. He grabbed you and lifted you up, holding you in his arms as he checked for your pulse. When he felt it he let out a sigh of relief but it was very weak and barely noticeable which made him realize he probably only had a few more moments with you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. For not being here when I should have. I’m so fucking stupid, I should have just stayed here with you. I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry.” Shuji said to you, his voice cracking halfway through as tears welled up in his eyes.

You looked up at him and smiled lightly despite you dying in his arms. “It’s okay, Shuji. Don’t...blame yourself. I still love you.” You had never seen the boy cry before, that’s how you knew that he did really love you, that he wasn’t just saying it so he could manipulate or get things from you. 

“I love you too.” Shuji whispered out. 

Soon enough, your head went limp and your eyes were stuck open, all of the life drained from your face as blood dirtied the floor and Shuji’s clothes. “Y/n? Y/n? Wake up, please.” The boy pleaded to your now deceased body, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get you back. Not ever again. 

Shuji became what you would have never wanted him to become, a terrible person who killed anyone if they even looked at him the wrong way, and most importantly, one that drank all of his feelings after the day was over, crying to himself over your death still. 

Because he would never get you back. And he regretted that the most.

Mitsuya Takashi:

Takashi was the most important person in your life, just like you were to him. He had told you on multiple occasions that he wanted to be with you forever. And he thought it would really happen. Boy, was he wrong. So, so wrong. 

You two were walking down the busy street, eating street food while going inside stores and just admiring the night scenery. Everything was going perfectly normal, until it all changed within a few seconds. 

“Hey, babe?” Takashi said, looking over at you.

“Yeah?” You repled. 

“Do you wanna get married some day in the future?” 

The question that came out of your boyfrien’s mouth shocked you, and you didn’t know how to reply. You both were still teenagers, how the hell were you supposed to know? “Only if it’s you I’m marrying.” You aswered with a smile. 

Takashi smiled back and pressed his lips against yours before pulling away quickly after. “Same here.” He told you. 

Suddenly, car tires screeched on the black cement road and one zoomed around, an all black van. It’s windows opened and guns pointed out of them before they started to fire. Takashi quickly wrapped his body around you and covered you with his, not even caring if he would end up getting killed because of it. 

After the car drove off, Takashi looked at you and asked in a frantic voice, “Y/n, are you okay?”

You looked at him, then down to your side, shaking your head as you spat out blood. Takashi’s eyes widened as he yelled out your name, but you had collapsed onto the ground, grabbing at your abdomen where the gunshot wound was, blood beginning to soak through your clothes and onto the sidewalk below you. 

“No, no, no. Y/n! Stay with me!” He yelled, taking his phone out of his pocket and about to call the polce when you grabbed his hand, stopping him. “What?”

“Don’t. It’s okay.” You told him, a small smile on your face. 

“It’s not okay! I can’t lose you! We-We just talked about getting married some day!” The boy continued to yell.

“Maybe...in another life, we will.” You spoke barely above a whisper, your vision starting to darken and turn blurry. “I love you, Mitsuya Takashi.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” Takashi replied to you but you didn’t respond. “Y/n?” He reached his hand over and shook you gently, and when you didn’t move he looked at your face, then realizing that you were gone. He sat on the ground, and put his hands over his face, beginning to cry. 

Takashi cried and mourned over your death everyday, despite people telling him to move on. He just couldn’t. He would never be able to find someone he would love like he loved you. He knew that. So that’s how it remained the rest of his life. Lonely, and depressed. 

[shootingstarwritings]

Wrestling With Some Feelings

Wrestling with some Feelings

“Wh-What are you doing…?" Ahmed moaned as a trail of slime slid into his singlet. Just the very touch caused his body to react with an eruption of pleasurable waves. He collapsed onto the locker room floor, slowly humping the floor to get any sort of friction on his hardening dick. "Haa… aahhhh...haaa…! This isn't… right." Ahmed bit down on his lip before letting down another desperate moan. So caught up in this invasive bliss that he didn't even care when the slimy creature squeezed itself into his leaking cock. Instead, he welcomed it. Thoughts of championships and the thrill of victory soon vanished beneath a blanket of ecstasy. "Ah! Ahhh! H-Holy fuck, I'm—!"

Ahmed wasn't able to finish as his body yielded to the enigmatic invader. His vision swam and he felt dizzy until he collapsed on a puddle of his precum. Ahmed's body convulsed on the ground, unable to even call for help, until he suddenly became rigid, back arched as if mid-orgasm. Then, he relaxed. Slowly, he rose from the ground and took a peek inside his wrestling singlet. "Damn kid, you got a sweet-ass body," he said, stretching his body and letting out a satisfying grunt as something popped. His more reserved personality and mannerisms were completely gone, as though it was someone else entirely. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stay here forever. Just long enough to throw that match with Clay tonight. Can’t let my son lose that scholarship. You understand, right?” Adjusting his singlet again, the man in possession of Ahmed, Jerry, let out a sensual groan. “Ohhh, and maybe take advantage of this little body for a while. Not every day an old fart like me can be a young and sexy college stud for a few hours."

There was still time until the match, and considering how it would just be throwing the match to Clay, it wouldn’t take much effort. For now, Jerry could relax and enjoy what Ahmed's body had to offer. Grinning, he squeezed Ahmed's meat through the fabric and threw his head back in a low moan. "You're so lucky, being so sensitive. C'mon, let's get real acquainted."

Clay’s father had to struggle to keep his erection down as Clay seriously manhandled him the whole match. Each of Ahmed’s nerves seemed to be turbo-charged and Clay’s rough hands only seemed to aggravate that. With every slam and struggle—every time flesh met flesh with a flash of friction, Clay’s father found himself growing flushed. Didn’t even have to try that hard to throw, his over-horned body did the job for him.

Was it the spell or perhaps something more? Either way, soon Jerry found himself pinned to the mat with his son sneering down at him. The ref called the final point, and that was it. Jerry walked back to the locker rooms, ignoring the calls from his coach and friends. He couldn’t risk anyone catching on to his lack of disappointment.

To make sure the locker room would be empty, Jerry took an extremely long shower—checking his goods one last time before he would have to leave and return home to congratulate his son. Towel around his waist, he made his way over to the locker only to meet a meaty arm blocking his way. 

"Gotta say, kinda disappointed in your performance today, Ahmed," Clay said with a glare.

“Oh, Clay! Uh, wh-what can I say? Performance anxiety,” Jerry said, shrugging.

Clay tilted his head in confusion. “The hell’s happened to you? All jumpy and squirrely.” He took a step forward, cornering his father against the lockers. “You sick or something? Honestly looking real weird.”

Swallowing, Clay’s father said, “Um, I suppose you just have the magic touch,” he said, mind racing to come up with a lie that would be somewhat believable. “Body got all hot and cold with you manhandling me like that.” Jerry prayed that his face and ears weren’t turning as red as he thought they were.

Clay nodded to himself while squinting as if deciphering a difficult piece of text. "That so…?” Hoping that was enough, Jerry began to walk away. However, Clay slammed both of his arms against the lockers, pinning his father completely. “All you had to do was ask,” Clay whispered, his incredulous look turning into one of passion. Without a word, he leaned and kissed Jerry on his borrowed lips. Too shocked to even fight, Jerry leaned back and shut his eyes. What did this rush of passion mean? It was as if a dam had suddenly burst open.

Caught in this stream of passion, Jerry met Clay's kiss with equal aggression. It was as if he was possessed by whatever sentiments Ahmed had locked away deep inside of his subconscious. Either way, Jerry couldn’t even bother trying to resist the youthful hormones that danced in every inch of his hunky, borrowed body.

“Damn, you taste real fine,” said Clay, leaning away to stare at the giddy, bubbly mess that was Jerry. “Your lips feel so nice. Bet they’d be even better wrapped around my dick,” he said, slapping his thigh as he said so. Jerry glanced down and saw his son’s fully erect cock straining against the confines of the singlet. Wordlessly, he nodded and got down on his knees. The taste was so salty, but he didn’t mind it at all. Hearing his son’s pleasured moans and the cock threatening to unhinge Ahmed’s jaw was enough to get Jerry’s own dick hard.

“Make me see white,” Jerry breathed as he drew back with a pop. He spread his legs, trying to show as much of his ass he could. “Fuck me hard, Clay. I don’t think I can live without that cock inside of me once.”

“Say no more.” With a grunt of effort, Clay lifted Jerry up and placed him down onto one of the benches. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice and gentleman-y like.” Leaning up to steal another sensual kiss, Clay teased the rim of Ahmed’s hole with his cockhead. Jerry moaned and bit down on his lips. He took a few breaths, trying to relax, before just leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. "Hold on, relax," whispered Clay, using a finger to loosen him up. "Got some lube in my locker. Give me a sec."

“You have what?” Jerry exclaimed as Clay briefly walked off. “H-How often do you do this here.”

Once Clay returned, he just grinned and said, “Enough.”

Though Jerry wanted to continue asking his son, the finger that penetrated him had another idea. Jerry, nearly cross-eyed, immediately tightened as a reflex. He leaned back, moaning like a slut as Clay slipped in another finger. Then another. “F-Fuck, I-I’m fucking cumming!” Jerry shouted as his dick erupted with shot after shot of pent-up aggression.

“Damn, came from just fingering?” Clay grinned. “Hope you still got fuel in the tank, Ahmed. I still haven’t got a chance to shoot my shot.”

Breathing heavily, Jerry nodded as he spread his legs even further. Despite his climax abating, the sensual haze in his mind didn’t leave. Instead, he felt as though he could cum again and again that night. “I’m still not satisfied. Split me in half, Clay!” He moaned. Although the more logical part of Jerry's mind screamed and begged, he didn't give a shit. He just wanted this hunky hole filled and his son's cock was the one thing that could fix that.

Clay wasted no time. He spread Jerry as much as he cut and gave a slow, experimental thrust. When Jerry didn't scream, he slowly picked up the pace. "Mm, yeah. Nrgh, fuck yeah," he grunted with every thrust. There was no reason to go so quick that it would take away from the passion. As promised, he was gentle with strong, rhythmic thrusts. Jerry met each one with the same rhythm. Every nerve seemed to be on fire as Clay's cock filled him—as though Jerry was finally complete. With this body and this cock inside of him, he was reaching Nirvana.

After what seemed like a lifetime of pleasure, Jerry noticed Clay’s core tightening. His face was flushed and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. “I’m—nggh—I’m gonna blow my load. Want me to cum inside?” Jerry quickly nodded. Clay grinned. “Good answer.” With renewed vigor, Clay continued plowing into Jerry as he babbled nonsense. “C’mon, Ahmed. Scream for me.” He said, slapping Ahmed’s quivering thighs.

“Oh my god,” said Jerry, covering his face to hide the tears. He was elated and embarrassed all at once. His own offspring was smashing him and all he could do was moan and allow it to happen. It had been years since he had sex this good, and he knew that Ahmed felt the same. No, for Ahmed it was even more intense. Somehow, Jerry understood that Ahmed had never had sex before. Now, at that moment, Jerry was losing his virginity for Ahmed. With that in mind, Jerry could feel his climax swiftly approaching.

“I'm gonna nut! I'm gonna—MMM!" Jerry stopped as Clay suddenly embraced him with a long, intense kiss. Unable to handle the heat and the passion any longer, Jerry climaxed. Both of their bodies became drenched in semen, but neither of them cared. All they wished was to taste as much of themselves in that kiss.

Sorry, Ahmed, thought Jerry, lemme just stay in this body for a little while longer. I’ll leave tomorrow in the morning. Promise.

[whumpshaped]

prev

trigger warnings: nonhuman whumper, magic and hell and royalty setting with the devil as the monarch of hell, broken bones, dismemberment, blood, gore, hallucination, captivity, humiliation, dehumanization, manipulation, power dynamics

The Devil's eyes lit up when they heard the word 'deal', a wicked grin creeping onto their face as their other-wordly magic filled up the room. The human was forced into the centre with their hand extended, and the Devil walked over to shake it with force that made the poor thing tear up.

The deal wasn't any less scary the second time around, and they watched helplessly as the old mark on the back of their hand that had just disappeared a second ago was replaced by a brand new one. The Devil's sharp claws were digging into their skin, and they couldn't wait for the demonic chanting to be over and their hand to be freed.

But once it was over, the Devil didn't let go. They squeezed even tighter, and the human fell to their knees in pain, no longer held upright by the ritual magic. "P-Please, l-let go, it h-hurts..."

The Devil's grin grew even wider, unnatural and utterly terrifying. "Let go? I just got my hands on you, my little human. How can you expect me to let go?" They leaned down and gently caressed their cheek, delighted by the feel of fresh tears. "Beg more. Beg, and get used to it, because you're going to spend the rest of eternity begging on your knees."

"Wh-whatever I n-need to... to do, t-to please you, Y-Your Majesty, please... please j-just, my, my hand, please..."

"Humans are concerned about the most irrelevant of things, aren't you?" The Devil stood back up and ripped off the human's hand from the wrist with one fluid motion, tearing muscle and breaking bone like it was nothing. Blood came gushing out of the open wound like a grotesque fountain, spilling freely onto the carpet and disappearing into the already red fabric. The human screamed in pain, their overwhelmed brain going into shock as it struggled to keep up with the loss. They collapsed onto the ground, crying and twitching in a puddle of their own blood, unable to stop either the shivering or the agonized sounds that kept spilling from their lips.

"See, human, you don't know what you want." The Devil dropped the severed limb to the ground before stepping on it, grinding their heel down. And somehow, even though it wasn't connected to them anymore, the human could feel all the tiny bones breaking, and they howled in pain. "I let go of your hand, and do you feel any better? No, no you don't. Stupid little creatures like you can't make any good decisions. That's really the only reason striking deals with you is so fun."

The human squeezed their eyes shut, regretting that they had ever opened their mouth. They were sorry, they were so sorry for their insolent demands, they were sorry... When they opened their eyes again, they were back on their knees, their right hand perfectly intact and still held in the Devil's vice grip. They were right back in the moment after the deal had been secured, and the Devil was leaning down, caressing their cheek.

"Beg," they said quietly. "Beg more."

"I am g-going to spend the rest of eternity begging on my knees," they continued without thinking, their voice barely above a terrified whisper. The pain of having their wrist torn apart still lingered, making them wince, and they had no idea if this had been time travel, or just a hallucination. They couldn't comprehend the extent of the Devil's power. This time, however, they begged nicely, pathetically, without ever asking for their hand to be released.

"I wonder how long it will take for your mind to break." The Devil lifted their captive's hand to their lips, pressing the softest kiss onto the back of it. It burned, it felt like acid that would melt the flesh off the bones in a minute. "How long it will take before you're lost to insanity, and how many times I can bring you back until you really, truly break. I can't wait to find out."

tagging some ppl i think might be interested @lonesome--hunter @whumpsday @some-messed-up-writing-for-you @morning-star-whump @throwawaywhumper @sunnyvicky @shameless-dumbass @ha-ha-one @endlesscyclezz @trans-witch-cauldron @localvoidresident (dont worry i wont make this a series u wont get spam tagged but still sorry if this bothered u!)