#semi graphic descriptions of wounds tw

[casino-lights]

so illario was in the final battle

and this was supposed to be a drabble, but I cannot be trusted to write Illario and Lidia succinctly. TW for a semi graphic description of wounds - I can't tell if it's not really that bad or if I just think the human body is neat so I'm marking that down anyway. no death or descriptions of the wounds being inflicted, though; this is fully set post-battle. the endgame spoilers are fairly mild though - just the location of the final fight.

if you saw my WIP Wednesday, this is what that snippet was from! I hope you enjoy it as much as these two enjoy arguing with each other. thank you for reading!

The dried blood matting half of Lidia’s bangs down against her split scalp didn’t bother her nearly as much as it bothered Teia. She fussed over her gently, blotting a damp rag against Lidia’s head and tutting like a disappointed mother.

“This is what happens,” she scolded between soft pats. “You always run ahead, and you always draw attention, and you always get yourself hurt.”

Absentmindedly, Lidia replied, “I usually work alone.”

“Yes, and this is why.”

“Mm.” The only sign she felt pain was a series of rapid blinks when Teia pressed against a particularly painful cut.

“If you would stop looking around, I’d be done faster.”

Lidia turned her head back toward Teia. “Is it still bleeding?”

“Not that I can see.”

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust of fallen Minrathous buildings off her thighs. “Then I’ll live.”

Teia gave up quickly. She was no one’s parent, no matter how much she cared. “Suit yourself. But Lidia?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve done immensely well. Not just here - since Lucanis’ return as well. House Dellamorte is lucky to have you.”

She smiled thinly. “We’re all just Crows today, Teia.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Speaking of Lucanis…”

Teia nodded her head in the direction of the raucous cheering and the gathered crowd surrounding a few figures climbing down from the rooftop where the final confrontation had taken place. They both saw the flash of a purple jacket at the same time, and a wave of relief washed over them as they shared a look.

“Vi is back a ways, checking the fallen for ours so we can arrange the funerals,” Teia continued softly. “Since you’re upright, could you see to them as well?”

“Of course. Tell Lucanis not to worry about us and just take care of himself if you get a chance to talk to him.”

Teia nodded, and Lidia turned away. She hugged her cape around herself like a blanket as she snaked her way through what was left of the Minrathous streets, hopping over and ducking under various bits of debris that cluttered the city. She caught a few of her fellow Crows out of the corners of her eyes as she passed - most bloodied, bruised, and limping, but alive - and they all shared reassuring smiles with her once they noticed her. We lived, said their grins. We won, and we lived.

She saw Viago leaning against a mostly-intact building, heaving a deep sigh, and she called out to him. He lifted his eyes to her as she approached, but his lips were pulled down into a scowl.

Quietly, Lidia asked, “Is it that bad?”

“We lost just over twenty,” he answered, voice low and solemn. “Not as many as I expected, but… less than ideal. Most were fledgelings, but there’s a small handful of master assassins.”

She felt a selfish desire to ask anyone I know? but stifled it. “Do you need anything? A hand with the bodies? A cart?”

“A cart,” he agreed with a nod. “Though I don’t know if we could get one to the eluvian with the state of Minrathous. We might have to carry them through on stretchers.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “Which means we’d need able-bodied volunteers, a relatively clear path back to the mirror, enough stretchers to make for less back-and-forth, a cart waiting in the Crossroads…”

“Maybe we can ask Lucanis if he knows a clearer route?” Lidia suggested softly.

He blinked, then sighed with relief. “You saw him?”

“Teia and I. He looks alright. Reasonably unharmed.”

He nodded again, more slowly this time. “It's nice to have some good news, at least.”

Lidia looked past Viago, into the building, and saw rows and rows of white linens draped over bodies. A cold, sick feeling gawed at her stomach as she counted them, and she wondered how many more would succumb to their injuries or simply hadn’t yet been found.

Another fear gripped her, too. She scanned the bodies again, making note of the taller ones. From the shoes she could see, none looked more distinctive than the regular steel-tipped Crow boots. Though some were burned beyond recognition. She felt guilty, searching for just one body among the two dozen lying before her, and guiltier still that she was looking for him at all. 

But she hadn’t seen him with the other Crows. He should have been with Teia, or Lucanis, or even here pestering Viago endlessly. She shouldn’t care. He didn’t deserve it. But she asked anyway.

“Viago–”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“No, but you have that look on your face.” Viago sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where Illario is. Teia saw him last.”

Lidia frowned. “She didn’t mention anything to me, and I was just with her.”

He pulled a hand down his face before pausing to smooth down his beard. “I did not see him among the dead, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have no idea where else he would be right now.”

“Well, he isn’t with Teia, and he isn’t with Lucanis, where he was supposed to be.” 

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a pair of Crows carrying the mangled corpse of one of their fellows into the building. Viago sighed again and raked his fingers back through his hair. 

“Dammit. One of Teia’s fledgelings.”

Lidia looked back at him, horrified. “I thought you told them not to come!”

“We did,” he answered, voice pained and eyes closed. “But you of all people should know that doesn’t stop them from wanting to prove themselves.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling himself to write another name on his list. After a moment of silence and a nod at the two Crows as they left the building, he sighed again and said, “Go home, Lidia. We’ve been sending the ones who can walk back to the Diamond for now to care for the ones who can’t.”

“Teia told me to help you.”

“And you can help me by going home,” Viago snapped. “And tell them to put a cart in the Crossroads. And station some people with it in case we need them to carry stretchers through the streets.”

She frowned, but gave a single nod of understanding before turning away. They were all Crows today. And she knew better than to question an order from a Talon.

She was welcomed by the warmth of Trevisan air once the cool, watery feeling of the eluvian faded. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the flurry of scents that always filled the Cantori Diamond. The smells of spices, wine, and smoke wafted up from the casino floor, but the familiar chatter and laughter was replaced by eerie quiet, broken up only by the occasional groan or cry of pain.

Lidia’s eyes darted toward a flash of purple and she called out, stopping Chance in his tracks. He leaned back, peering at her curiously from around the corner, but smiled warmly as she approached. 

“Lidia! You made it back.” He touched her shoulder gently before bowing with a flourish. “Welcome home, my lady.”

She returned the expression as best she could despite her headache and festering worry. “Thank you. The Fifth Talon would like a cart prepared in the Crossroads outside the Minrathous eluvian along with some strong, uninjured Crows who can carry bodies back on stretchers if need be.” 

“It will be done. Any other requests?”

She glanced around, but saw no one else nearby. “I heard some of our wounded came through. Where are they now?”

“Using the card tables as extra beds,” he answered before frowning as he smoothed his moustache. “We’ve already lost three, and one more seems to be on his way out. The healers who stayed are all busy, and everyone else went to Minrathous. It’s… going to get better soon. I’m certain. Your arrival can only herald better tidings.”

Again, Lidia bit her tongue to keep herself from asking if the dead were known to her. Instead, she simply nodded to signal her understanding and left. 

As she descended the many flights of stairs separating the rafters from the casino floor, her brow furrowed as her concern compounded on itself. Every step felt heavier as she ran over the names and faces of her favorite Crows in her mind. Lucanis, Teia, Viago, and Chance were safe. Jacobus stayed behind in Treviso after Lidia begged him to - their argument consisted of shouting and frustrated tears, but ended with several forehead kisses and a warm, loving hug once he finally agreed to stay. But the others? Heir, Dolores, Cazi, Valerian? 

Illario?

She hated herself for worrying about him the most. He had not earned back that space in her head, and yet he’d stolen it again. He occupied her thoughts in various stages of injury, and images of him maimed or charred or exsanguinated flashed through her mind. With everything he put her through, everything he lied about, she knew she should be savoring the idea of him dead somewhere in Minrathous. But it haunted her, the thought of never seeing him again. It ached like a stone with sharp edges lodged in her chest.

I should’ve left Treviso entirely, she thought bitterly as she rounded the corner of the final stairwell.

The floor of the Diamond opened up before her, and she sighed at the state of it. About half of the card tables had wounded Crows perched on them - several with especially nasty-looking injuries - and a corner of the room was sectioned off with makeshift dividers. A few trails of blood - droplets, drag marks, or both - meandered off toward different tables. It would take days to get this place functional again. 

Overlapping voices from various healers and patients filled the room. Most were voices she recognized, and she felt a wave of relief as they registered one by one. And as one of them filtered in, her head turned immediately toward the sound.

“I know, quite heroic,” said Illario with a soft groan. “Maybe someday the heroism will outweigh the stupidity.”

Lidia spotted him on a table, shirtless and wrapped in bandages, with his hair swept over one shoulder and a healer tending to his right side. He moved sluggishly and only when told, but his posture was still straight and his voice was still clear. He looked… decent.

She chided herself again for being so worried. Of course Illario was fine. Of course he made it with only minor injuries. Why wouldn’t he? He always had demonic luck. Why worry about him, Illario the traitor, Illario the liar, Illario the cheater, heartbreaker, manipulator–

“Lidia?”

She looked back at him at the sound of his voice, realizing her fingernails were starting to dig into her palms. She grabbed a stray coin off an empty card table and turned it over a few times in her hand as she made her way toward Illario.

He smiled at her approach, winced as he turned too far, and gave a slightly smaller and surprisingly sheepish grin when she reached his side. “Stay right there,” he said, holding out his unbandaged arm. “That’s always been my good side.”

Lidia rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly say hello, or ask me how I am, or ask after Lucanis, could you? Do you even care?”

“I–” He hissed sharply and cursed as the healer pried something off his skin with a sticky sound. He leaned forward at the same time Lidia did, blocking her view of whatever was removed from him, and flashed another forced half-smile. “Of course I care, but I trust your delightful bluntness. I’m certain you would have told me the second you saw me if he was dead. I’m also certain you would look like you’ve been crying.”

She scowled and crossed her arms, angrily spinning the coin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re a bastard.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, but I never did get to know my father as well as I would have liked, so I’ll give you–” He cut himself off with another wince as the healer removed another piece from him. Once more, Lidia leaned forward to look, and once more, Illario intercepted her, this time by reaching for her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, pulling away from him.

He let his hand fall back to the table. “If there’s one thing I can say about you, it’s that you never gave me mixed signals. I always know exactly where I stand. I love this about you - have I mentioned that?”

“You have. A pity I can’t say the same about you.”

Before he could respond, his head surged backwards and he let out a pained cry as the healer unwound one of the bandages on his arm.

“Apologies,” the healer muttered, “but now that the debriding is done, I need to replace these compresses and apply the rest.”

“Sure,” Illario groaned through his teeth. “You’re the expert.”

Lidia took her opportunity and shifted her stance to see the extent of his injuries. She couldn’t stifle a small gasp, which seemed to hurt him more than anything else.

A splotchy pink burn blossomed across most of his right forearm and about half his bicep, and it continued across the corresponding side of his torso. For the briefest of seconds, he turned his head to look at her fully, eyes wide and pleading, as he inadvertently revealed the connecting burn across the right side of his jawline and down his neck. The moment passed, and he lowered his face and sighed quietly.

Raw, red, sticky-looking flesh was visible in a few places, and as the healer set a small bowl on the table to free his hands, Lidia finally saw its contents: a small pile of dead, mottled tissue. How long had Illario been here, having his skin peeled off piece by blistered piece? Most of the burns looked deep enough to go past the pain, but in some places they were angry and crimson, shining as if wet. 

The healer covered them one by one with bandages soaked in a healing solution as Illario tried to be still. “I told you that was my good side,” he muttered, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Lidia tucked the coin into her pocket and hoisted herself up onto the table beside him, legs kicking off the edge. “So… what happened?”

His eyes fell to the uninjured hand he had resting in his lap. “Magefire.” His voice sounded low, unenthusiastic - a far cry from the initial charm he laid on so thickly. “But this lovely gentleman here–” he motioned lightly toward the healer– “has assured me the wounds are not fatal. Just scarring. You’re crushed, I’m sure.”

Her headache throbbed dully, reminding her not to take his bait tonight. Instead, she said, “I’m just surprised you got hit at all. You’ve always been the luckiest bastard in Antiva.”

“Well, this time, I left Antiva.”

“Which you have done before, and you know what I meant anyway, idiot.”

He shrugged with his good arm, still refusing to meet her eyes. “Lucanis and I were cornered, and I stood in front of him. Foolish thing to do, I know. But I suppose I was trying to make up for something he would probably tell me not to worry about anyway. He was fine last time I saw him, if you’re concerned.”

“I’m not. Unless he tripped over something during his victory march, he’s alive and well…” She trailed off as she looked him over again. His right arm injured, mostly on the outside; his right side burnt while the left half of his body remained untouched; only the lower right corner of his jaw and cheek scorched… he shoved Lucanis behind him with his left arm and shielded his eyes with his right.

“Then I’m sure he’ll give me a stern talking-to for trying to protect him in the first place,” Illario said wearily, finally glancing up to her. “Who knows, maybe all I really achieved was making the First Talon look weak in front of the others.”

“Or making yourself look even more pathetic.”

“Which would just be impressive at this rate, no?” He breathed a soft, humorless laugh. “Illario Dellamorte, the Crow who lost all his dignity in record time. They’ll sing about my failures someday.”

As the healer left to attend to another patient, Lidia touched Illario’s leg, the weight of her hand pleasant and warm on his shin. “If nothing else, it was brave.”

He gave an indecisive tilt of his head. “It was also stupid.”

“More than one thing can be true.”

He gave a wan smile. “Lucanis probably would have been fine if he hadn’t been babysitting me in the first place.”

“Knowing him, he fought harder with you next to him.”

He studied her face, his eyes searching hers for a moment. “You’ve blood on you,” he said, nodding toward her hairline. “Your own?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s not the answer to my question.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is mine, but I’m still alright.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Venatori.”

When she did not continue, he deadpanned, “The picture you’ve painted so far is vivid.”

“Don’t vex me, Illario.”

“Am I not allowed to ask for details? To be concerned for you?”

She glared at him. “Now you’re concerned about me?”

“One concussion makes another more likely,” he reminded her in that insufferably knowing tone of his. “And I would hate for my hard work in facilitating your recovery from that first one to go to waste.”

“Yes, but whose fault was my first concussion?”

Indignantly, he flattened his hand against his chest. “I accept no responsibility for the actions of previous targets.”

“But said previous target would have been asleep if it wasn’t for you playing hero.”

“Must we always revisit that night?”

“You brought it up!” Her head ached as she raised her voice, and she massaged her tender scalp gently as she closed her eyes.

His teasing smirk faded to a soft frown, but he replaced it with a subtle smile before joking, “And here I had hoped you would be kinder to me now that you’ve seen the extent of my injuries.”

“Not a chance. My skin is still crawling from being this close to you,” she answered while making no attempt to move farther away.

He arched a brow smugly. “Well, I suppose, as you said, more than one thing can be true.”

“I am… glad… you made it,” she managed reluctantly. “I was looking for you among our dead.”

“Hoping to see me with my skull split, were you?”

Her hand slid up and his uninjured one met her halfway. They locked gently at his side. “You would deserve it, but… no. I was hoping I wouldn’t see your boots.”

“Oh? And I would have thought you’d only know me by my gloves.”

I would know any part of you, her mind brought forth. She blanketed the thought and tucked it away to be scolded later.

“I suppose I’ll be escorted back to the villa and left there to recover,” Illario mused aloud when she didn’t answer his quip. “I wonder if it’ll be too much to ask for Caterina to let me stay in my own room again. And I’m sure Viago will be just as thrilled as you are that I survived.”

“He’s busy. I’ll take you.”

He sighed fondly - if a touch sadly - and stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Do you remember the last time you took my care upon yourself? I don’t suppose you’ll be making me pastina this time.”

Lucanis’ wake. She made a hot meal every day and shared it with Illario in silence as they sat in his bed and he stared into the fireplace. At the time, she had no way of knowing that his grief was doubled by guilt and only compounded by her kindness. She did not regret it, not even now, and that frustrated her more than anything else.

She hopped off the table and pulled lightly on his arm. “On your feet, Dellamorte. Come on.”

He swung his legs over the side of the table and winced. “Where are we going?”

“Home. I’m not letting you take up space in the Diamond when others may need it more.”

“I won’t argue with the promise of a more comfortable seat,” he responded with a grimace as he rose to his feet. Looking down at their hands, still entwined between them, he added, “Though we could stop for coffee on the way…”

“The owners of Café Pietra could be lying under rubble in Minrathous right now.”

“...So, no?”

“No.”

She pulled him out the Diamond’s front door and they started the long walk back to Villa Dellamorte. Out of habit, Illario walked at her side so she was safely between him and the buildings. She pretended not to notice, but heat rose in her cheeks all the same.

At a side street, she directed him to turn, and when he gave her that quizzical where are you taking me look, she explained, “We have to stop at the market.” 

“For what?”

“Pastina, idiot,” she said pointedly, as if it should have been obvious.

He smiled and leaned against her, further entangling their arms. “I don’t deserve you, cara mia.”

She glared at him sideways. “No, you don’t. And don’t call me that. Lucanis would be cross with me if I let his brother starve, that’s all this is.”

Neither of them knew if that really was the extent of it. But for once, he neither questioned nor corrected her. 

She held his hand the whole way home, and they sat in silence as they shared a bowl of pastina on his bed. For a night, that could be enough.

[illunicae]

You Can See the Stars

I've wanted to do a part two to When the Lights Go out since I first published it and I finally got around to it. Obviously this will have so much angst, but there is a little fluff mixed in there at the end. Also I might do more stories sent in this timeline so I'm calling the collection There's Always More to Lose. (Also found on Ao3)

Pairing: Rise Donatello x Female Reader

TWs: Semi-graphic description of wounds, Character death, The Kraang apocalypse, Mentions of past character deaths, Blood and injury, Death

The days passing were a hellish blur. You never left your room: there was nothing for you out there. You hardly ate: the soup Mikey had brought you earlier sat abandoned on your bedside table. Your skin was dull: you were withering away. Your eyes never shown with that once familiar youthful spark: what light is left in your life? Tear tracks were a permanent feature on your cheeks, even after your tears stopped falling. 

The photo clutched in your hands made your heart twist in a devastating way, yet you couldn’t look away. You were frozen. The picture wasn’t that old, only taken a year ago by a stealthy Michelangelo determined to document the fleeting moments of peace in this world. 

A young Lenore sat on her father’s shoulders, the brightest grin on her face as she waved to her mother. Her mother was sporting her own carefree grin as she looked up at her daughter. One of Donnie’s hands was wrapped around Lenore’s ankle to keep her balanced while atop his shoulders; the other was extended toward his wife, where she grasped it in her own hand. The glow of pure admiration in his eyes as he looked at his wife went unnoticed by her in the moment. 

The scene was pulled slowly from your hands and you're brought back to your desolate bedroom. Only this time you're not alone. Your eyes rose to meet Leo’s worried gaze. In his large hand he held the photo like a delicate flower petal, his gaze only flickered to it momentarily and his heart broke more. 

Leo and Mikey were extremely worried for you, hell the whole resistance  was worried for their commander. The blue branded leader understood your grief, but only to a limited extent. When they lost Donnie, he was there with you while you grieved for a husband and he for a brother. But now you lost a daughter, a child. He knew he could never truly grasp a mother’s grief.  Leo wanted to fix things. He wanted to take away your pain, your grief.

He wanted to carry it for you, but that was an impossibility. All he could do was make sure you didn’t fall apart. 

The bed dipped as he sat next to you. You hardly moved. Leo thumbed the delicate photo before he sighed. 

“You need to eat.” When he didn’t get any indication of a response he continued. “I know it’s hard. I’m not going to sit here and say I understand, because I don’t. I could never understand the type of grief that hurts you. But I do know that neither of them would want you to waste away like this. Hidden from the people who are here to help. So please, (Y/n). Eat something, just a single spoonful.” Leo’s voice trailed off, a slight desperate edge to it as he gestured to the warm bowl of soup Mikey brought in, though you never noticed. 

You shakily exhaled. Your stomach twisted into an ugly knot both repulsed by the idea of food and craving it. How long had it been since you ate?

Eyes unseeing, you looked at the bowl. 

“Just one bite, for her.” Leo spoke, softly urging you to take it.

Shaking hands reached for the bowl. Leo felt relief wash over him as you brought it back to your lap and lifted the spoon with a shuddering hand. Your lips touched the edge of the spoon and the small amount of soup disappeared. Once again you exhaled shakily. 

“Thank you.” Leo whispered with relief. It was a start, so he let you return the bowl to your bedside table. He wasn’t going to let his best friend fall apart.

“Leo.” Your voice was scratchy from disuse, raw from nights of long sobbing, and soft from fear of disrupting the small bout of silence. Leo almost didn’t hear it. He wouldn’t have if he wasn’t paying such close attention to you. 

“I’m here, (Y/n).” He looked at the side of your face as you were still facing the far wall, not looking at anything in particular. 

Tears you thought had long since dried up began bubbling at the lip of your lids. “I failed.” You uttered, soft, raw, and scratchy.

“What?” Leo held the photo a little tighter. 

“I failed!” A gasp burst from your lungs as a few tears rolled down your cheek. You turned to look Leo in the eye and he could see the pain, despair, and grief swirling around. “I promised him I’d protect her. I promised HIM!” You sobbed.

Leo understood then.

He had made a similar promise.

Your body shook with forceful sobs as you fell forward. Leo lurched to catch you. Your head hit against his plastron, but you didn’t seem to care. His arms came up to wrap around you as you cried.

“She was supposed to be safe with me. I was supposed to keep her safe.” Tears poured more freely down your cheeks as you repeated your phrases and sobbed. Leo held still, offering himself up for whatever comfort he could provide. His flesh hand rubbed circles onto your back as your tears wet his chest.

“It’s not your fault.” He whispered. “You did what you could.”

You pulled away enough to look him in the eyes but not leave the embrace. You shook your head. Leo cupped your cheek with his hand and wiped a tear with his thumb. You grabbed his wrist with one of your hands, the other rested atop the photo Leo was still holding. 

“Who am I if I couldn’t protect her?”

✧*

The pair of you had stayed like that long into the night. Leo didn’t want to leave you alone, and you didn’t have the strength to insist you wanted solitude. When you finally decided to leave your room, Leo helped you when your legs refused to hold your weight. 

“One step.” Leo had instructed softly. “Take it one step at a time.”

You sighed and after a moment you were able to walk on your own, but Leo still kept close to your side as you wandered out into the hall. The few resistant members you passed whispered to each other, but you didn’t hear it. You didn’t want to hear it. You had seen it all before, when you lost Donnie and everyone treated you like you were delicate glassware. You supposed you looked even more fragile now without your little light by your side. 

Few of the members held a bit of hope in their eyes seeing you up and about again. They didn’t say anything, but their silence spoke plenty. You didn’t spare anyone a glance, you were determined to get to the mess hall where Leo insisted he get you some proper, warm food. 

Unfortunately your path took you past the memory wall. 

Seeing it out of the corner of you eye, you froze. Leo stiffened beside you. He knew they had put up new photos for everyone they lost in the battle four days prior. He could see the photo they put up for Lenore from where he stood in the hall.

You were looking into the room, your eyes unfocused.

“You don’t have to go in there. Don’t force yourself. We can just walk away.” Leo reassured with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

You took a deep breath and stepped toward the wall; you had to face the wall at one point or another, you couldn’t hide from it forever. And while Leo had said not to push yourself, something was calling you. There would never be closure, not truly, but you had to start somewhere.

You’ll start with the photos on the wall.

Leo trailed after you slightly worried, but he did not stop you.

Looming ominously, lit up with a dozen candles, the wall towered over your form. It seemed to stretch on for miles, but you knew that was impossible, deep down you still had hope to believe you hadn’t lost enough people to fill miles of walls with photos though your grief surely felt limitless. 

It’s a well worn arc, your eyes drift across the wall. You looked at it countless of times. Your eyes first landed on the pair of expertly crafted sais to your right perched on a small shelf with a red ribbon and four candles. Your gaze traveled up the wall slightly to the various photos pined. Raph was smiling brightly in the first pic, his grin sharp and his eyes warm: he’s younger there, not as worn down with scars and still filled with inextinguishable hope. The next photo was of Casey: in typical Jones fashion, her grin was a little crazed as she wielded a titanium hockey stick high above her head. A second, smaller picture was pinned right under it of a tired Casey holding a small bundle in her hands. You couldn’t look at that photo for long and quickly avert your gaze to a very familiar object.

The violet battleshell was hung up on the wall, unused.   

Breath catching in your lungs like every time, you could only stare at the shell. Sometimes your fingertips would brush the smooth surface, but this hour your hand was heavy at your side. You could still feel the heavy clasps on your shoulders, a phantom weight that followed you constantly. Tensing your shoulders got rid of the feeling momentarily as you moved your gaze on. You could feel the sting as you looked at the photo of Donnie, he’s half asleep with a makeshift mug in his hand, maybe there’s coffee in the mug, you don’t actually remember. Coffee was a delicacy in the resistance. 

The next few photos are new. 

Pain pricked your eyes. You brought yourself there, you had to look. A soft exhale passed your lips as you lifted your gaze to look at the new photos. The first photo nearly pushed the tears over the lids of your eyes. Lenore bore a bright smile while sat at the edge of a roof. The desolate landscape stretched behind her, you could almost make out what remained of central park: a sad sight really, but the way the sun was setting made it glow almost ethereally and Lenore herself was haloed with golden light. She was so happy in that photo, almost carefree.

What life would she have had? In a world not ruled by grief and terror, would she have gone to school? Make lots of friends? Sneak out of the house to go to parties?

You blinked, there was no use worrying about questions with no answers. Twisting painfully, your heart thudded against your ribs as you saw the next photo, smaller than the first and nestled next to the battle shell. 

Lenore wore a lab coat, like her father. Both had goggles perched on their heads as they leaned over a piece of tech. Not just any tech, a battle shell–to fit a smaller shell, to fit Lenore. Lenore was biting her lip excitedly as she helped move tech into place. A proud smirk rested on Donnie’s lips as he watched his daughter work. Neither seemed to notice the camera. The photo was taken only a day before Donnie’s death. It’s the last photo you have of the two of them together. 

A tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at that photo, you hadn’t even realized you were crying again. 

They never finished the battle shell.

A strangled gasp broke the silence as you could do nothing more than stare. Leo’s warm hand came down to rest on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. You leaned into the small bit of comfort. 

“How am I supposed to go on?” You asked, your voice soft and distant and broken.

Leo swallowed, “You take the future one day at a time. One hour, one second if you need to. You keep moving forward, one step at a time. And know that everyone here will help you.”

✧*

You were in the lab. It wasn’t the first time you'd been in there and you hoped it won’t be the last. You had spent a lot of time in here after the death of Donnie, but you kept moving forward, for your daughter. Now you sat alone in the dim lab.

The unfinished battle shell still laid out on the table where Donnie and Lenore where once working on it. Lenore couldn’t stand the thought of finishing it without her father, even if it meant she would have been still standing here next to you. A thin layer of dust had collected on the tools left exactly where the pair had put them down when you had come to fetch them for dinner. None of you knew in that moment that it would be the last night you spent as a whole family.

If you looked hard enough you could still see your husband and daughter sitting around the table, muttering technical terms back and forth. 

Your thumb brushed over the cold metal, clearing some dust from the small engraved logo on the shoulder of the small battle shell. It’s been about a year since you lost Lenore, and a little over since you lost Donnie. Four short months was all it took for you to lose both the love of your life and your precious little light. 

“For you, my little light.” You mumbled softly. You looked around at the various screens and tech piled in the lab. “For you, my love.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned and left the lab, pausing briefly at the doorway to look over the empty space. 

Taking a deep breath you turned, letting the doors close and lock behind you. You'll be back. That’s what you kept telling yourself, but deep down you knew. Tomorrow is your last stand against the Kraang. 

You’ll either win or lose.

You don’t believe you’ll return to that lab again, but you’ll go into battle with determination. You will give it everything. If that’s not enough, then you'll see your husband and daughter again.

Muscle memory brought you to the rooftop exit of the base. It’s not a very tall building you've holed up in, but the roof still provided a half decent view. You didn’t care much for the horizon though, your eyes were always on the sky. Looking for the stars you so loved. 

But the world was too broken. The stars were hidden away. Though some nights when you couldn’t sleep or the eve of battle, you liked to pretend that you could still see them when you sat up there on the roof of the base. Usually you sat alone, wishing for something different: for a world not torn apart by a war, a world where your daughter could just be a kid, a world free from this pain. 

On a rare few occasions, Donnie would join you and you'd lay on your backs just staring at the red sky trying to catch a glimpse of the beauty beyond. Your hands would interlock and you would think back to that night you first showed Donnie the stars. 

You were 14. You were young and the world hadn’t been destroyed yet. You both had no idea what was waiting for you in the future, but it didn’t matter because all you cared about was there and then. You didn’t even know how much you mattered to each other yet. Your hands sat only an inch apart as you laid on your backs staring at the sky. Both of you wanted to slide your hand across to bridge the gap. Both of you were too afraid to do it. How little this moment would matter in the coming future. How many times you would return to this night.

You exhaled softly, you mind peaceful as you admired the sky above you. The glittering stars illuminating the field you found yourselves in. The city noise was only a distant hum.

“You know why I like it out here?” You asked softly. Donnie hummed and turned his head to glance at you. You were still watching the sky and he could see the stars reflected in your eyes. He could see your smile as you explained. “When all the lights go out you can see the stars.”

✧*

“Commander (Y/n), you’re hurt!” CJ shouted worriedly. 

The slash across your shoulder and above your heart throbbed painfully. Blood was gushing from the wound, staining your cloak a dark maroon color. You waved the boy off. “I’ll be okay.”

You weren’t sure how much of that was the truth. You and Leo shared glances, and you took notice of the blood pouring through the fingers of his prosthetic from a wound in his side. 

The howl of a kraang hound broke the two of you from your small stare off. You reacted quickest and sliced the hound deep with your sword, leaving the beast as a twitching pile of gore at your feet.

“Come on. We gotta move.” Leo instructed, and you all began sprinting up the hill. 

Leo stumbled, but CJ was right there to throw an arm over his shoulder and help Leo. You kept your palm on your own wound as you kept pace with the boys. 

All around them death and destruction ruled. You tried to keep focus as you sprinted. Briefly your mind wondered where April ended up. Oh you hoped she’s okay. Your head spun, the blood from your shoulder seemed like a river. Stay awake. Stay awake. 

You made it to the top of the hill. But you were far from done. You stumbled as did Leo and CJ in front of you. You could hear the kraang hounds behind you all. You all flinched, bracing for pain that never came, instead a familiar voice shouted.

“Bad doggies!” With relief you looked and saw familiar glowing golden chains protecting you all.

“Impecable timing little brother. Very dramatic.” Leo appraised. You could only dryly chuckle in relief as you let your head fall back against the red dirt ground.

A few feet away the boys were talking, but you couldn’t hear any of it over the sound of ringing in your head. Until Leo uttered the words you grew to fear: “That’s it. The Kraang won. The resistance failed.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek. So that's it? Was it all for nothing? 

You whimpered in pain as you sat up, across the way you made eye contact with Leo. The two of you seemed to speak with only your eyes. There was still a dim glimmer of hope. An impossibility really. One final shot.

When he spoke up there was resolution in his voice. “It isn’t over. We still have a ninja’s greatest weapon: hope.” Leo turned toward his younger brother. A smile on his face despite the circumstances. “That and a badass mystic warrior. Mikey we need a time gateway.” Leo requested, falling serious and somber once again.

Mikey’s eyes widened slightly at the request. “It’ll take everything I have.”

“I know, but this is our last chance. It’s our only chance.” Leo stated. You three adults all shared glances, each weighing the request in your own minds.

Mikey didn’t ponder the request for long before he nodded with determination and flew over toward an open spot to summon the gateway.

“Wait, what’s going on? Where’s he going?” Casey asked as you all watched Mikey.

“CJ you have to listen to us.” You said as you rose to kneel next to CJ and Leo. “The Kraang first came to our planet through a mystic doorway.” You explained.

Leo placed the picture of his family he was looking at earlier face-down on the ground and picked up a charred stone. “The key to open the doorway looked like this.” Leo sketched the image on the picture before picking it up and handing it to CJ.

“Why are you telling me this?” CJ asked, a worried edge cutting his voice.

“Because Mikey’s about to send you back in time to the day that the key was stolen.” Leo stated.

“Wait, he’s gonna what!?” Casey exclaimed in disbelief, his eyes were wide with thought of the impossibility. 

You placed your non-bloodied hand on CJ’s shoulder, he’s young and this is a lot to put on the shoulders of someone his age, but it’s your only shot of giving another timeline a chance. “The people who stole the Key opened the doorway for the Kraang. You have to find it before that happens.” You said softly, that day all those years ago flashing memories in your mind. 

“Find the Key. Stop the Kraang.” Leo’s voice was stern as he looked at the young teen.

CJ pocketed the picture with a frown, “But sensei–”

Leo cut the boy off with a hand to CJ’s shoulder. “Say it!”

“Find the key.” CJ repeated solemnly. “Stop the Kraang.” Both of you gave the boy a soft smile as you leaned back. CJ looked to be on the verge of tears as he looked between the two of you. CJ clutched the wrist of Leo’s prosthetic arm desperately. “I don’t want to lose you.” He mumbled.

With a soft sigh, Leo shook his head, “Casey, it’s not about me–”

The sentiment was cut off as a bright red light flashed down upon you like a spotlight from hell. Three large Kraang mechs loomed over you injured rebels. CJ jumped to his feet, revving his chainsaw hockey stick. You and Leo followed suit, but at a slower pace due to your wounds.

“They found us!” CJ shouted as he got ready to fight off the army. You could feel your heart shattering. You were out of options. 

Another light shone down on you from a mech crawling over the mountain of debris you were just using as cover. You were surrounded. This wasn’t a fight you could win. Realizing this Leo looked toward his brother, “Mikey.” 

The situation was daunting, Mikey only spared a glance at his arms cracking apart with golden light. With a shout, he willed more power to the portal. 

Noticing what was happening, CJ shouted. “Master Michelangelo, no! You're gonna—” He reached his hand out as Mikey glanced over his shoulder. Mikey winked with a smile before throwing the last of his strength into the gateway. The light was blinding. Your heart ached for you friend who was there one moment and gone the next in an explosion of brilliant golden flakes. The specks of light drifted past you remaining as you all stared in varying levels of grief. 

 Stark against the desolate landscape, a golden mystic portal beckoned you closer. It flashed and pulsed with Mikey’s magic. You took a deep breath. This was it. 

“When you’re done saving the world, do us a favor.” Leo set a heavy hand on CJ’s shoulder. “Grab a slice!” He shouted and threw the teen toward the portal. CJ stared wide eyed as he watched the two of you get farther from him. You and Leo offered one last reassuring smile before turning your backs to the portal.

“For them.” Leo stated with a tight grip on his sword.

“For all of them.” You repeated and you two dashed in opposite directions to protect the portal so no Kraang followed CJ to the past. Your wound screamed at you, blood pouring free of obstruction. But you didn’t back down. This world may be done for, but thanks to CJ another timeline may have a shot. 

You choked on air as something slammed into your back. Leo had looked over with wide eyes full of horror and grief. Glancing down revealed the sharp claws of a kraang mech jutting from your stomach. You tried to take a breath but couldn’t. You couldn’t feel the scream that ripped from your throat as the kraang threw you across the battle field, blood spilling in an arc following your trajectory.

When you finally stopped rolling, you looked up just in time to see the portal blink closed. You did it.

Your eyes locked with Leo’s before a blinding red light descended on both of you. You expected pain, but there was nothing. When you opened your eyes you felt nothing. Your body didn’t feel heavy.

You could rest now.

You looked up at the sky. You laughed without breath as you took in the beautiful sight. The battle field fell away, replaced with ribbons of color dancing and weaving through the sky. You sat in a thin layer of water. Was this the after life? It didn’t matter. 

“Mama!” A familiar voice shouted.

Your eyes flew wide as you turned to look, standing there was Lenore. She was glowing as she smiled, actually glowing as her ninpo surrounded her like a thin aura. You immediately jumped to your feet and ran toward your daughter. Lenore giggled excitedly as she too sprinted toward you, water splashing with each step she took.

The two of you collided roughly, but there was no pain, only relief and you hugged your daughter tightly. “My little light. My lovely Lenore.” You murmured as you cried and held your daughter close. 

“I’m here mama. I’m here.” Lenore hugged back just as tightly.

You sobbed with relief as you couldn’t say anything more than a few inaudible murmurs. Lenore was the first to pull away, much to your dislike, but when Lenore gestured to the figure standing nearby your heart leapt into your throat.

“Don?” Your voice whispered.

He smirked, a familiar sight. “Hello, love.”

You ran to him, heart soaring. He caught you as you leapt through the air. His arms caged you to his chest as he spun you around. “I love you.” You sobbed into his shoulder as you stopped and just stood in your embrace. 

“I love you to darling.” He responds, running a hand up and down your back in a soothing manor. 

You peeked to the side and pulled away just enough to reach your arm out and pull Lenore into the hug as well. “I missed you. I missed you both so much.” You said as you held your family close.

“We missed you too mama.” Lenore squeezed both you tightly.

“We’ll never have to be apart now.” Donnie stated as he pulled away slightly to cup your cheek and wipe away your tears. Lenore removed herself from the hug to smile at you both before rushing over to greet her uncles. You stayed glued to Donnie’s side as you saw Leo and Mikey surrounded by Raph, Splinter, April, and Casey. 

With a soft grin on your face, you looked back at your husband. He was already staring at you with a look full of admiration. His thumb rubbed idly across your cheek as he smiled. 

“You know why I like it here?” Donnie asked softly. You raised a brow in question. He just grinned. “When the lights goes out,” the dancing lights faded from the sky as Donnie lifted your chin slowly to get you to look at the sky. Your eyes widened as the lights were replaced by thousands of stars all glittering and twinkling. “You can see the stars.”

[color-coded-cryptid]

how kyoya got his scars: a headcanon

tw/cw for gang attacks, semi-graphic/detailed descriptions of violence, mentions of knives

kyoya and kakeru, ages 10 and seven, were taking a late night walk

maybe to get ice cream or another treat, or just for the hell of it

kakeru runs ahead, and kyoya thought it was fine since he could still see him, but a group of high school/college age boys made their way out of a nearby alleyway

they weren’t planning on doing anything, but when kakeru crashed into them by accident, they got mad

they grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, hoisted him up in the air, effectively asphyxiating him

kyoya obviously saw all of this, and he just had to save his brother, so he ran up to them with vigor

an angry expression painted on his face, he yelled at them to let kakeru go, offering himself as a punching bag

“i’m older, i can hold out longer, you’ll get a real beating in with someone like me!”

or something along those lines

the group, the delinquents, the outcasts, thought about it

this kid didn’t know what he was saying, but he was confident

that’s respectable as hell, they thought

so they threw kakeru off to the side, and grabbed kyoya instead

“you’ve got spunk, kid, but it’s misplaced. after this, you’ll know who not to mess with!”

they grabbed his neck and pinned him to the ground, along with his arms and his legs and a hand pressing on his forehead, ensuring he couldn’t move an inch

with kyoya bound and restrained, they grabbed their knives, and carved into his cheeks

it was getting late, and the street lights were starting to turn on, so they left

they feared kyoya’s screams in pain and kakeru’s desperate pleading would attract attention, and they didn’t want to get caught

kyoya’s face was drenched in red, his bottom eyelids were sliced in half, there was blood in his eyes, he was scared to open them

kakeru helped him up—with one hand grabbing onto his brother’s for dear life, and the other planted firmly over his eyes, kyoya let kakeru lead him home

they were both in a frenzy, kakeru more so than kyoya, since the older of the two was still in shock, still living in the moment of the attack

he barely registered the handhold, but as soon as it was broken, he felt alone

he started to panic, feeling as if kakeru left him for good, as if his attempt to save his brother was for not

kyoya became very resistant to touch

kakeru was the only one who could touch him, grab him, hold him, and not bring about horribly terrifying memories

every thought about the event made his wounds burn, more than they already did

even after they scarred over, they would burn

his parents hired a therapist for him, and thankfully, it helped

he wasn’t plagued by haunting nightmares every time he closed his eyes, and he was much better about being touched

he still didn’t like it, but it didn’t scare him anymore

being grabbed on the other hand, well.. that was a different story

nobody but kakeru was allowed to grab him (although he allowed his parents to from time to time)

that transferred over to his teenage years

although it’s a lot more manageable now, kyoya still didn’t allow anyone to grab him

if touch happened, then it happened, and he would just yell at whoever caused it

if he was grabbed, his body would tense up and his fight or flight response would kick in, often times leading to kyoya pushing or punching or kicking the person away

by the start of his adulthood, he’s better with it

he prefers not to have it happen, but it doesn’t make him uncomfortable per se anymore

kyoya is healing

he learned not to care about his scars back when he was a young teenager, being the leader of the face hunters will do that to you

but now that he’s an adult, he can view them in a brighter light

he sees them as an accomplishment of sorts, showing off to everyone that he was able to protect his little brother, and he didn’t die trying

he survived, and he’s going to continue surviving

[nevermore-grimes]

I would also like to give some unneeded context that I think just enhances this little scene:

TW: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence under the cut

Aerith dragged Nevermore, Thor, and Loki back to Earth to investigate Kuchisake-Onna's (The Slit-Mouthed Woman's) sudden appearances in Japan, so this fight took place inside a tiny Japanese hotel room.

Kuchisake-Onna had actually attacked Nevermore days prior to this, so she really said this out of pocket shit with a Glasglow smile (which, if you know anything about The Slit-Mouthed Woman, you might recognize the Glasglow smile as the wound formed by cutting a victim's face from the corners of their mouth to their ears).

And I'm not even joking with you when I say that this fight ended with them sparing each other and sitting down for a cup of tea. Thor, Loki, and Aerith literally came back to them sitting down in a torn-up hotel room and cozily chatting over afternoon tea, as if nothing had happened.

Why have I never shared this, yet? Lmfaooo!

Clint, mid fight with Nevermore: Why do you keep romancing death like this? Nevermore: Hey, man! My relationship with death is purely sexual. I haven’t committed to that shit yet. Clint, muttering: You have issues…

[iceepsy]

The Keyblade War. Part 5. The end.

The last is Ira. A world of forgotten dreams.

Edit: had to remove the links

With that last strike, shale crushing bone, Ira knows that the war is over. It’s in his gut. It’s in the way the wind silently blows through, echoing the deep canyon, mocking him. It’s in the look - the hurt - on Aced’s face as the boulders fell. It’s in the last words he exchanged with Invi, brisk and professional. It’s in the last glances he shared with Gula and Ava before they all parted ways.

Ira’s breath hitches; Aced’s face rings of shock. It’s unforgivable; he let his anger overtake him. He immediately regretted his actions, but now, he can only accept the consequences. He closes Aced’s eyes and mouths a prayer to whichever god or master listening. How much darkness must be in his heart for him to kill an old friend? Never had he thought the hours (days, years) he spent pouring over the book of prophecies would amount to this ending. Ira carefully moves the cracked conglomerate crushing Aced and gingerly lifts him up, throwing his companion’s arm around his shoulder. He’s reminded of those years ago, seeing the brawnier man clutching against the brick and mortar buildings of Daybreak Town. “Gula,” Aced whispered, “has known all along there was a traitor.” Even Gula’s obsession and methodical examination of the lost page was unable to prevent this tragedy.

“The darkness will prevail and the light will expire.” The Master was right. As he always was, despite his eccentric ways.

Aced’s limp despite Ira’s grip. He can only hope the others made it out alive. He has to believe even when faced against such a miniscule probability. He has to believe. To keep his light. That said, he tries to ignore the piled bodies of the keyblade warriors, some even younger than Ava and Gula, littering the landscape. 

Ira finds Ava in a cove, not far from his fight with Aced. At first, he saw pink, relieved she was only resting. He hobbles towards her while half-carting half-hauling Aced. He whispers another prayer for defacement of the dead. Upon closer examination, his head peaking into the crevice, Ira’s heart breaks. Ava sits against the wall, her head limply flopping forward. Only half of her treasured mask rests precariously in her open palm. The other half must have long since been destroyed. He tries lifting her head in hopes for a small miracle. For Ava to stir. Instead, he’s met with the sight of her pained expression and the feeling of slight resistance from her contracted muscles when he tries to smooth her face into peaceful sleep. 

Ira fights back tears. What did she go through to cause her to have such nightmares? He shutters and stops the train of thought. He had secretly hoped of the six - five - foretellers, Ava would be the one to make it out. And not him. Ava, their ray of sunshine. Ava, and her fierce loyalty. After the traitor incident, Ava refused give up Gula’s location. He’d catch her sometimes, head tilted, staring at him. She’d soon rapidly turn her head, embarrassed to be caught. Ira didn’t know what she was thinking; Ava hides everything under a laugh and a smile. He had only hoped she realised it was only in best intentions that the truth of the traitor needed to be revealed.

He pockets her mask and lifts her body with his other hand. Groaning under the combined dead weight, he continues forward.

He makes it to the middle of the battlefield where the five of them first met, surrounded by their union members. It must be an omen for the center and four outreaching paths are cleared of debris, keyblades, and fallen warriors. Ira sets Ava and Aced down before he himself collapses from the strain. On a better day, he would have wondered about the perfectly formed sigil and it’s relation to the prophecy. However, the prophecy has been told and he needs to find Gula and Invi.

Invi was the hardest to find - or to say the least - all of Invi was hard to find. Despite the horrors he experienced during his training, nothing prepared him for the smell of charred flesh and the sight of Invi laying like a ragdoll. Ira is reminded of the explosion he heard hours before. Ira would rather fight thousands of shadows, fight the darkness of his own heart, than come to terms with Invi’s death. At least shadows don’t rot, waiting to be buried, when killed.

He doesn’t want to limp closer and see the state of his longest friend. Ira holds his breath. Like with Ava, Invi’s mask was blown in two. The exposed left side of her face was partially blown off, exposing the soft tissue underneath. The blood has already drained from her face, giving her a ghostly-pale complexion, and gathered at the bottom of her body. It leaks, spreading across the dried ground. Ira takes a step back, unable to hold in his nausea. One arm has been blown off; her other limbs have been twisted in unnatural angles. Bile forms in his mouth. He runs to the closest rock before throwing up.

He finds her arm blown several feet away. It’s stiff and it doesn’t feel right touching it. It’s sacrilege. Ira tries to reattach the arm but healing magic does not work well on the dead. Carefully, he tries to move Invi’s other limbs into a better position for carrying but it’s difficult with her body setting into rigor mortis.

Ira looks at Invi, head cradled against his shoulder, her good side facing him, and thinks back to feather-light touches, surreptitious glances, and whispers he knew would amount to nothing but enjoyed nonetheless. He admits to wishing more than once for heated, impassioned nights that never came. Their relationship had always been kinesics cues layered over a rouse of professionalism. For as long as he’s been a keyblade wielder, Invi has always been by his side. She was a silent, sturdy presence who kept him grounded. Really, he couldn’t wish for a better partner. And now, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Who will he awkwardly try to make laugh, leave bookmarked sections of poetry for, or ask for guidance on public speaking? Invi looks to be smiling when she died. Ira can only hope she’s in a better place.

He brings her back and lays her next to Aced.

He finds Gula last, at the other end of the canyon. Like Ava, he’s sitting in a small alcove, his hands placed neatly on his lap. Unlike Ava, Gula looks to be peacefully sleeping. It’s only when Ira called and shakes the young man’s shoulders that he realizes Gula has been long dead.

Ira’s relationship with Gula was unfortunately never the same after his talk with the younger man. Stubbornness must have been a trait in all of them; he remembers raising his voice, stuttering, reasoning his actions were justified, desperate to get information out that could prevent the darkness. At first, though he admitted his role, Gula remained mum. As hours dragged on, Gula relented and talked about the page. It was a terrible explanation filled with vague mentions of a sigil. Ira remained stupidly unconvinced, “Lies!” he exploded, “Where is your proof? You must know more!” It was only when he saw the fright in Gula’s eyes that he let the leopard forteller go. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he should have apologized.

Gula has extreme burns on his face, and traces of them on his hands, where the skin did not heal properly. Ira can only imagine the fight he’s been through. It’s the tell-tale signs of Ava’s magic, though it’s curious why she only healed his hands. 

Ira places him next to the youngest foreteller. He knew how well the two got along; Gula’s crush was the worst kept secret of the Daybreak Town Clocktower. Maybe the afterworld would be better.

With everyone found, the realization sinks in. Ira collapses, his knees suddenly weak. Given how careless a leader he was, why is he the only one left? Given how careless a leader he is, maybe he does deserve such a fate? 

Ira sits down in front of his dead companions, staring over their bodies at Kingdom Hearts.

___

Epilogue

Luxu heaves a sigh as he stares down at the sight beneath him. Ira sits down next to his - no, their - dead friends. How often he wished to join them, talk with them, and interact with them again. Ava sought him once before the war started, but it was as said in his copy of the book of prophecies. Their blades would clash in a resounding sound, indicating the unravelling of peace and the start of the war.

The sixth apprentice summons the Master’s keyblade. The book had written none would be alive. If Ira still breathes, would he have to kill him? Luxu really hopes for that not to be the case. The Master only told him to be a watcher of the events, but a prophecy is a prophecy no matter how it’s carried out. If they deviate, then Luxu has to step in and fix it, or so he was instructed. So far, he hasn’t needed to interfere. The other’s books did not tell the full story; only he and the Master know of the events to come. “It’s for the best,” the Master told him in an unexpected moment of solemnity. 

He looks across the night sky. The scattered keyblades form a perfect outline of the sigil; the Master’s plan is proceeding smoothly. The thing Gula had tried to summon was but a pale comparison to the real Kingdom Hearts. None of them ever knew what it looked like and Lux was a poor substitute to real hearts. The fake is already fading from the sky. The real one…he hopes will never appear. “Are you satisfied now?” he asks into the air. The blowing wind only continues to tease him. Maybe. Maybe.

Gripping the Master’s blade, Luxu descends to finish the prophecy.

[jerboagoat]

Folie à Deux

I don't usually post my fics here, but since this is for an exchange I figure I might as well!

She had told you once that they were all in your head.But they couldn't stay there forever.- CONCEPTUALIZATION - Welcome. Today we will share with you a short exploration, explanation, and introduction of… Well, us! Your good friend Harry has a lot going on in his head. We have a lot we want to say to you… But will you be able to hear us?

For @scribblemakes, for the Disco Elysium Secret Santa 2022! Have a happy holidays, I hope you like this. :)  I tried to keep it a bit more lighthearted than I usually write, so hopefully I did that well enough, haha.

TWs: canon-typical or lighter Most Things, including suicidal ideation and implied/referenced drug use. also includes semi-graphic description of internal organs, but like, only in metaphors?

read here on ao3, or under the cut!

CONCEPTUALIZATION - It started with one, long before you could remember (even if you could remember). 

INLAND EMPIRE - One with long, spindly limbs and a glowing light in its chest, that loomed over you like a radio tower, with not an antenna but an oculus atop its skinny neck; a vast, circular gap in reality for a head. The rounded shape gave way to a spiral of patterns, spatters and speckles of violet and lilac, resembling…

EMPATHY - A distant galaxy, flush with beings you didn't yet know.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - A lighthouse, on the horizon. Guiding your voyage— no, inspiring it.

DRAMA - A thrumming projector! What self-lit vignettes could it show thee?

HALF LIGHT - The dark blood of a gunshot wound staining the wall…

PAIN THRESHOLD - L'appel du vide. Go on.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Oh, oh, let me try. A Kron's disc. Invented in the central Occident, a shallow glass dish, primarily used to culture and grow bacteria. It can also—

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Alright, alright, maybe cool it with the fun facts? We're trying to weave a cohesive narrative, here. Back to The Oneiromancer. The first, but far from the only, the—

ENCYCLOPEDIA - But the term oneiro—

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - Zip it.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Yessir.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Anyway. Let's continue.

INLAND EMPIRE - I came to you when you were young, too young to know fact from fiction. You looked up at me and saw not delusion, not illusion, but prelusion. A beginning and nothing less. I spoke to you, then, and you listened. I told you of the others.

EMPATHY - You were lonely, so lonely, even then.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Of course you wanted to meet us.

PERCEPTION - It was then that you saw, truly saw, the world as it was. We lived around you as much as we lived within you. My vapors filled the air, bounced off of every surface, sent the information back to your ears, your eyes, your mind. Your senses heightened. The pale itself reflected.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Like echolocation, but with fog. Is there a word for that?

ENCYCLOPEDIA - May I?

AUTHORITY - You may.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - There isn't.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Great, thanks.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - And with your newfound sight you wanted, more than anything, to learn. About the world, about yourself, about us.

EMPATHY - You were young, so young… You didn’t know any better. 

ENCYCLOPEDIA - I was smaller then. My pages were simple, limited in their language as you were in yours. But my library is ever-growing. You hungered for knowledge. Every blade of grass, every cracked stone, every creature, every human… You wanted to know. You wanted to…

CONCEPTUALIZATION - See, now you're getting the narrative voice we're going for here.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - You wanted to learn.

PAIN THRESHOLD - And learn you did. Of scraped knees and breaths lost, superficial burns and gaping wounds. You were six years old when you first closed your fist around a radiator, blissfully unaware of the pain to come. I greeted you then, sharp and screaming, and I pierced your flesh. We've been inseparable ever since, haven't we?

ESPRIT DE CORPS - All of us have. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No matter how lonely you get, you are a live wire, a raw electric current, a being made for and by connections. Always have been, always will be.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - We met the day you (all of you, don't flatter yourself) came up with the name— The Fifteenth Indotribe. Yours, his, hers, theirs. Your first introduction to teamwork. You spoke in codes, conjured behind dumpsters and scrawled in the wet mud below crumbling gutterspouts. I told you where they were, how they were, who they were, until there was nothing left to tell. I've grown in the time since. Colleagues, fellow teachers, partners, allies, even enemies… I've memorized their faces, made them my own, and told you their stories as they happened. The—

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Hold on. Someone just said something.

YOU - "Huh? What?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs, sitting across the table from you, and repeats himself. "What does all of this have to do with you running halfway across Jamrock and back just to track me down and drag me here?" He pauses. "I'm not sure where here even is. I haven't gone this far south often enough to know it well."

YOU - "I didn't have to track you down, I knew where you were! That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

KIM KITSURAGI - He crosses his arms, resting them on the table. "And how, may I ask, did you know?"

ESPRIT DE CORPS - That would be my doing.

YOU - "One of the, uh… voices in my head. Told me."

EMPATHY - …He seems… unimpressed.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes. That would be because I am."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Oh my god! He can hear us!?

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can hear you, detective. Especially when you shout like that… Doing a silly little voice like that doesn't make you inaudible. You do know that, don't you?"

DRAMA - Don't listen to him, sire! 'Tis not silly. Thy voice art imposing, impassioned, im—

KIM KITSURAGI - "Im-becilic?"

YOU - "Hey!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sorry… I couldn't resist. Really, though. I don't see what these stories—or voices— have to do with you knowing where I am at any given moment. Or why I happen to be here, now. You still haven't explained that."

INLAND EMPIRE - You had to be. You both have to be. You’ll see soon enough. This is his only chance to understand. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "Understand what, exactly?"

INLAND EMPIRE - You'll see. Soon…

CONCEPTUALIZATION - …But we have a bit of time to wait, don't we? Let's get the rest of our introductions in order. Where did we leave off, again?

SUGGESTION - We were discussing childhood friends, but Mr. Cloak-Of-Many-Faces over there started rushing through things a bit.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It was relevant information! I'm all about the cop stuff now. I hardly do anything else, and you expected me not to talk about it?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - I expected you to adhere to the narrative progression we're establishing! Timeline order! The big guy hardly remembers most of this, we have to at least try to make it make sense.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Challenging: Success] - Across the table, a stifled chuckle… "The big guy…?"

EMPATHY - But he's willing to humor you, for now.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - We'll take it. Who's next? Indotribe fifteen. Go.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I'll go. Your comrades were fast. You were too. You ran with them, as far as your legs would take you… And I ran with you. Leaps and bounds across sidewalk gaps… Sometimes I would guide your legs with my own, your arms with mine. You could feel parts of you that weren't there, and you could move with them. Sometimes I ran beside you. The first time you sat in a motor carriage I followed from outside, and you watched me twirl and leap and climb faster than you had ever gone before. You spent the next few days convinced your calling in life was scaling buildings and jumping from roof to roof.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - There's a word for that. It's called parkour.

SAVOIR FAIRE - I believe the word is actually "cool as hell."

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - That is three words.

SAVOIR FAIRE - Here's two more! "Fuck", and "off!"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Settle down, you two. Keep the story going!

INTERFACING - The carriage itself stuck in your mind after that, too. It would be a long, long time before you would get to have one for yourself…

VOLITION [Legendary: Success] - Don't think about it. Don't.

INTERFACING - …But you found comfort in running your hands along the cold metal sides of the ones you saw parked on street corners. Many times you were chased off with a shout from their owners, people who knew themselves and their vehicles to be better than your smudged fingerprints. But many more times you weren't, and you could slide around to the back and inspect the engine. Together we would study the shapes of tubes and rivets and vents. Later you would practice twirling a pencil in your hand when you had one. When you didn't, you practiced the art of—

REACTION SPEED [Medium: Success] - Wait. Maybe we shouldn't say that in front of Kim… He's a cop.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] - You're a cop.

KIM KITSURAGI - That breaks him. Finally, he lets himself laugh. Quiet but achingly genuine. "Yes. Yes you are."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - That warm feeling in your chest… Is it yours, or his?

KIM KITSURAGI - He takes a moment to collect himself, then clarifies: "You don't have to worry, detective. If I was going to arrest you for something you did in your teens, don't you think I would have done it by now?"

YOU - "Oh. Fair point."

INTERFACING - Well… Stealing. I was just gonna say stealing. You did that. A lot, actually. Were pretty good at it, too!

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - A slight roll of the eyes, and an even slighter smile.

RHETORIC - You fancied yourself a heroic thief, the kind they tell stories about. Or at least that's the tale you and your friends spun together on late nights. You were the lowest of the low, then, but you would beguile and outsmart those in power, scrape by, until one day you were on top of the world… And then what? You'd spend hours on the debate. Take it all for yourselves? No, share your spoils with the downtrodden! What sort of world would you build? Anarchy, that you all would run.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - An oxymoron, but…

RHETORIC - That wasn't the point. The point was talking, talking with people who understood you. Your peers. Forming your worldviews. Molding them together.

INLAND EMPIRE - It swallows itself, over and over again, but can never consume…

RHETORIC - There was no end goal, then. The Indotribe is gone. But the words, the thoughts? They live on.

EMPATHY - Even if you can't remember them.

SUGGESTION - In the end, you got hooked on talking. Nobody was safe. Strangers, friends, enemies, men, women, and all in between… The more years passed, the more you spoke— And then the less you spoke. You learned which words you needed and which could go unsaid. My flowing tendrils stretched out from your skull to reach all those you met, to learn all you could. Siphoning knowledge and secrets from an unbroken connection between minds. You relished in it.

EMPATHY - The world was out there, and each and every person had lived a life just as beautiful and disastrous as your own. You'd stop people in the street just to ask them where they got their coat, where they were headed, who they were going to meet. A few times you asked to come along. Once someone agreed. An old Graadian woman heading home to an empty house. Her children had aged and gone, her husband had done the same. She had been making a stew. She served you some, warm and bubbling.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It was far too thick, far too salty, and a little undercooked, but you scarfed it down like life itself depended on it.

EMPATHY - People. Connections. You met people on city streets, in buildings big and small, on rooftops, in parks, at bus stops…

VOLITION [Godly: Failure] - Oh no, no, don't…

EMPATHY - I burn like incense. I live in the shape of her. Which of us came first? Did you mold me to fit her curves, or was I always this way? Did I always hold myself so close?

INLAND EMPIRE - Always, always.

EMPATHY - Kim, don't. Don't move your arm. Don't interrupt… We want to stay in our thoughts. In the memories.

INLAND EMPIRE - You met at the bus stop. Do you remember? Do you remember?

YOU - "I… I…"

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Godly: Success] - You remember what you were at that bus stop FOR! YOUR GOD-DAMNED MOTHER-FUCKING GYM-TEACHING JOB! RISE AND GRIND, BOY!

VOLITION - Oh, thank god.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - You LOVED that damn job! We both did! Dodgeball, kickball, running the mile, even climbing that old scratchy rope. We did it all together, my arms wrapped 'round yours. Not that you needed the help back then! Man, those were the days. What happened to you, son?

EMPATHY - Oh, wait, wasn't that… You're trying to remember…

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Success] - The first time someone else acknowledged us.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - OH MY GOD, I FORGOT!

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh?" His eyes widen slightly.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Failure] - There's something happening with his expression, something familiar, but… You can't quite place it.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - I got it wrong, son, I wasn't always by your side. When you had the kids spread out in lines, doing push-ups 'till they dropped, I'd help you keep their postures in check. One of them, a little skinny blonde kid towards the left corner… He was younger than all the rest. I think he skipped a few grades? Maybe he was book-smart, but he clearly had no clue what he was doing in our class. He wasn't going down far enough to lock his elbows properly. So I pushed down on his back and—get this—the kid just dropped like a sack of potatoes!

KIM KITSURAGI - He adjusts his position in the chair and nods for you to continue.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - There! Barely, just barely, he's smirking! He’s… amused.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Host Almighty… He doesn't believe in us.

KIM KITSURAGI - "No no, I… I believe that you believe all this, and I know that sometimes these… 'voices' are useful, but…" He struggles to find the words, too caught up in steadying his own expression. "I mean, I think that's just a coincidence, no?"

EMPATHY - He's trying, desperately, for your sake and his, to keep his voice level. Sometimes you lower his guard too far for your own good.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - IT HAPPENED! I remember now, too, uh, he shouted! Little guy yelled out something like "What the fuck!?" as he went down.

AUTHORITY - You were never one to stop the kids from swearing in your presence, but the way his profanity echoed through the gym's high ceiling meant you had to do something, even if only to keep up appearances to the rest of the school’s staff.

SUGGESTION - You told him to stay after class for extra reps, and, in between your usual teacherly chants, you probed for information.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - "WHAT IN THE HELL HAPPENED BACK THERE, SON!?"

PERCEPTION - The distinct feeling of a hand, square in the center on his back, firmly pushing down. 

INLAND EMPIRE - There was no other way to explain it. One of us had broken through. We were real.

KIM KITSURAGI - His brows furrow. "Still… I can't say that's proof of anything."

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - IT HAPPENED, GOD DAMN IT!!!

VOLITION - No, no, don't punch the walls. This place is dilapidated enough already.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Don't worry. Doesn't seem like it left a mark.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course it…" He takes a breath. "Nevermind. I'm sorry if I frustrated you. You can go ahead and keep telling your story."

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Yes, yes, the story!

AUTHORITY - The kids were extra rowdy the next class you had with them, jumping as they always did at the chance for a bit of good old-fashioned mockery. As far as they were concerned the poor twig had simply slipped and face-planted on his own. Amusing, but mostly unremarkable. But the ensuing shout turned a medium-tier mishap into something every kid in class saw. You had to shut it down. That's where I came in. Kids, especially teens, can be brutal, but we always managed to wrangle them in the end. All we had to show them was that, in their eternal struggle for dominance over their peers, in the endless game of social status, you were not the loser, not the winner, but the judge himself. You stood taller with me by your side, and we ruled our empire together. That kept them in line.

REACTION SPEED - It kept them in line… most of the time. They couldn't truly respect you if they didn't test your limits from time to time. I helped with that. A whispered insult to your pride shot through the air? I'd help you catch it, and send it back two-times over in an instant. It got you in trouble once or twice, when the more spoiled kids would run home to their parents and complain. But the rest of them lived for it. Just another game. Each time they passed you the baton your vision would blur with me and your body would move before your mind. Hey, think fast!

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Impossible: Failure] - Whuh— Hey!

REACTION SPEED - Aw, come on, that was an easy one.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - If you'd just given me more warning… Ugh, I know that's not your style. No more metaphors. You know all your tossing and throwing is no good if you can't aim, right? And you can't do that without me. Not balls, not boules, and certainly not, oh, I don’t know, our gun? That's a situation where I'm much more useful.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - You work better in tandem. Sacrifice one and you'll miss your mark, sacrifice the other and you'll be too late to shoot in the first place. 

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Hm… Fair enough.

ENDURANCE - It was only after someone convinced you to change career paths that I truly flourished. You had kept yourself healthy before, kept yourself in shape. But in shape doesn't mean unbreakable, and for this job, that was what you had to be. You started at the bottom of the barrel, climbed your way out, built up your stamina, made yourself harder, denser, more and more. So we could take anything.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Challenging: Success] - Did you say take anything?

ENDURANCE - Yes. Yes I did.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Heh. Okay. Good. Just checking.

LOGIC - Alright, that's enough, you meatheads. It's my turn.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] - Ha ha, ha. Meat.

LOGIC - Quiet, you. Don't you know there's more to life than hitting, getting hit, and taking hits? Especially since we started this job. Finally, we had the chance to make use of all those little shards of humanity we'd been collecting all those years. That was your next addiction. Of course, you were still learning along the way, but now your knowledge had a purpose as pieces in a grand series of puzzles to solve. You finally, finally began to see the value in me, and you built me from the ground up with all the pieces left behind. Sometimes I would crumble, your logic would fail, and you took it as a challenge. You found something better. Not always the truth. That's simply the nature of things. Incidentally, this was around the time you rekindled your childhood passing interest in entroponetics. 

INLAND EMPIRE - Maybe not the best of timing. It all did a bit of a number on you.

LOGIC - It's no wonder you started listening to him more often.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Who, me? What's so wrong about listening to li'l ol' me?

EMPATHY - A slight grimace from across the table. He already dislikes this voice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh, come on, Kimmy, I'm probably your biggest fan out of all of us! 

KIM KITSURAGI - His grimace deepens.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Ugh. Alright. Maybe I don't always steer us in the exact right direction. But can you blame me? Your body wants what it wants. I don't think you'd count as human if you weren't thinking about sex and drugs and sex at least some of the time.

LOGIC - You said sex twice.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Yes.

VOLITION - Alright, this one is useless. Can someone else do his description so we can get this over with?

INLAND EMPIRE - It digs into your skin like veins, sending its nerves through your bloodstream. Tendrils like arteries sprout from its shoulders. Its exposed brain sags out the side of its skull, prime for any addictive influence. A wire like a battery runs through its back, charged with electric current ready to burst. It sings to you in the dark hours of legs and arms and hips and breathing quickly—

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Hell yeah I do! Booyah!

VOLITION - Okay, that's good enough. Let's move on.

EMPATHY - This part of the story isn't much better, though…

VISUAL CALCULUS - To make a long, long story short, you were stuck in the past. Rebuilding the same structures, replaying the same scenes. The revolution was over long before. I helped you solve cases, sure… I crafted scenes and played them back for you. My mind's cubic eye projected its vision onto yours. But you got so lost in those events far come and farther gone that you neglected the present. Eventually "someone" realized that there was still a future ahead. And that that future could be brighter. Without you. Yet you only got more lost. You only saw how things were, how you thought they should have been…

VOLITION - I kept you going as long as I could. Confidence, even false, was all I could offer you. We built our walls together. I tried to keep you safe, keep you standing… but walls built to keep the outside out are just as good at keeping the inside in. I couldn't keep the others from dragging you down… And in the end, I couldn't keep the world out either. I'm sorry. It was my fault.

INLAND EMPIRE - We'll spare the gory details this time around. Tonight is not a night for suffering.

HALF LIGHT - Before the reset, the only thing you had left was your instincts. It doesn't matter what kind of animal you are. They all understand, deep down, what it's like to feel hunted. What it's like to be the hunter. That fatal dichotomy was all we had left, us two. The only choices; fight or flight or fight. So? We grit our teeth and fought. Fought everything. People, objects, concepts, ourselves, all of it was a threat. It was you against the world. Frankly, it still is…

EMPATHY - But there are little pockets, moments in between, where the world doesn't seem so scary.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Shining stage lights on the floor like light through trees.

DRAMA - There are infinite people in this world, sire, and you could be any one of them. You could be all of them, individually or all at once. You rebuilt yourself from the ground up with the faces you had left behind, and you shared them with me, let me make them my own, borrowing them whenever you needed! Take any face you need. I shall keep thine safe 'til the performance is over.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It is an impressive performance, I have to admit." The soft half-smile has returned to his lips.

YOU - "Wait. Which one?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His mouth opens, then closes. It takes a moment before he tries again. "…This one? I don’t know, I’m still not sure what the point of all this is, but… you are doing a pretty good job portraying all these different characters."

EMPATHY - He still doesn’t understand. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The lieutenant is far too practical to accept something like us without empirical proof. He has to see it for himself, with his own eyes.

VISUAL CALCULUS - But how? I’ve been trying, this whole time. It works so well in this mind…

LOGIC - You know that isn’t how it works. 

YOU - "Maybe it’s not meant to be… Maybe I should just give up."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No, we can’t! It has to work eventually. Surely something will get him to see us! Maybe even touch us.

VOLITION - But it could just as easily be impossible. We have to accept that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Is the gap between us truly too wide to bridge?

INLAND EMPIRE - She never believed in us either…

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Across the table, at a distance that now feels much too far, Kim holds his pen tightly. Should he interrupt, try to snap you out of this? But what would he say? He’s never been good at these things, he didn’t think…

REACTION SPEED [Challenging: Success] - Wait. His pen? …Has he been taking notes this whole time? Why?

HALF LIGHT - To mock you. Or worse, to prove what he’s always known: you’re utterly out of your mind, and a danger to the world around you.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - No. He trusts you… Right?

ENDURANCE - Your breathing quickens, and you start to feel sick. Are you going to pass out?

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] - Calm down, Harry. Take a deep breath… There. Air, sweet air, fills your lungs. Take a few more breaths for a few more moments. Hold your head up.

KIM KITSURAGI - He gives you those few moments. Finally, when your breathing steadies, he looks back into your eyes, and takes a breath of his own. He lets it out slowly before he speaks, almost hesitant. "…I liked that voice. Which one was that?"

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] - Uh, um… Um… Oh, I don’t know, uh…

VOLITION - Really? I thought you out of all of us would be able to handle a simple question.

COMPOSURE - Listen, you have no idea what it’s like to meet your idol! The person you’re made from! You’re just a crown! You wouldn’t understand!

EMPATHY - Kim’s face changes, subtly, from emotion to emotion. Surprise, confusion, then amusement… Then confusion again, as he thinks further.

KIM KITSURAGI - "...Made from?"

YOU - "Yeah. Made from?"

COMPOSURE - I didn’t used to look the way that I do. I stayed small and neglected for most of our life… You wear your heart on your sleeve, for better or worse. You always have. Someone like that had no need for me. I hid on walls and in shadows. Tried to straighten your back when I could. But, um… When we woke up… 

EMPATHY - Let’s just say you were very impressionable.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Like a baby bird, newly hatched. Imprinting not on the first thing you saw, no, but the first thing you heard. The perfect choice.

COMPOSURE - I may have taken… a bit of inspiration. Sorry.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I… still don’t know quite what you mean. But… It's fine. If anything, I suppose I’m flattered."

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] - ACK! HOW

CONCEPTUALIZATION - ARE

EMPATHY - YOU

ESPRIT DE CORPS - SO

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - COOL!?!?!?!?

KIM KITSURAGI - He covers his face and laughs, quietly.

EMPATHY - We’re embarrassing him… Maybe we should stop.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - No, we’re almost done! It’s my turn.

KIM KITSURAGI - Through another half-breath half-laugh, "There’s even more of you?"

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Yes, of course! I’m the only reason any of this made any narrative sense. I’m the artist in us. Your life is a story, Harry, and it’s up to us what we make of it. What you make of it. See how much you’ve grown since you hatched? All these voices, all doing our best to help you fly. How many metaphors do you need? I hold them all in my hand, contained within a single point, outlined in a frame. Blues and reds and greens, traffic lights and racing through them. I know there’s a way to make ourselves known. Here, tonight. I hope this was all a good opening act.

YOU - "...Opening act?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing.

INLAND EMPIRE - It’s time. Go up to the roof.

KIM KITSURAGI - You glance at each other. "Are you sure?" he asks you.

VOLITION - You are.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - None of us truly know why you are here, in this old, abandoned building, down in Jamrock’s southern reaches. But we know it is for a reason. There’s a staircase down the hall to your left. It’s time to climb.

INLAND EMPIRE - Watch the third step. The wood is rotting through.

ENDURANCE - Your heart is beating fast in your ears. Hold steady.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) - The old wood creaks below your feet as you skip the faulty step, but the others hold you firm.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Finally, you reach a small landing at the top of the stairwell. In front of you is a door. The door is a metaphor. That’s a simple one. I’ll let you figure out the rest.

YOU - Turn to Kim and nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - He nods back.

EMPTY ROOF - The sky is the first thing you see. When you arrived here, it was a blurred palette of red and purple and gold; now, it is black, flecked with stars. The air is cold, and the roof is small. Simple asphalt. Only a short dark metal railing lining the edge.

YOU - Step forward.

SHIVERS - Before you can lay your palm on the rail, a gust of wind sears your eyes with cold. You squeeze them shut in reflex, and you hear…

I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE.

I AM THE CITY.

…

TONIGHT, IN TWO MINUTES AND FOR TEN MORE, THE CITY WILL CHANGE.

IT WILL BE BEAUTIFUL, AND IT WILL HURT. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT, AND YOU DO NOT HAVE TO.

I HAVE BEEN AFRAID FOR AS LONG AS I HAVE BEEN— MY END WILL NOT COME TONIGHT. FOR NOW I AM SAFE.

BUT YOU ARE NOT. I HAVE SEEN YOU. I HAVE SEEN YOU TOGETHER. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. YOU CANNOT PROTECT MY VEINS ALONE. THERE ARE NO TRUE WALLS WITHIN ME.

TONIGHT YOU STAND AT THE BASE OF MY SPINE AND LOOK ACROSS ME. I MOVE AND SHIFT LIGHT TO DESCRIBE THE CITY TO YOUR EYES. YOUR ORGANS, MEET MINE. GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER. 

I HELD YOU WHEN YOU WERE BORN, AND I LOVED YOU. I HOLD YOU NOW. I SPEAK TO YOU, AND YOU HEAR ME. YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD ME BEFORE.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE WORK TOGETHER.

WHEN YOU LIVE, I LIVE.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You squint an eye open to glance towards Kim. His mouth is open, but he is not speaking. His eyes are wide. He looks at you, and breathes, near-silent with awe.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can hear it."

YOU - (Nod, then look upwards.)

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL?

KIM KITSURAGI - His pupils are wide. "...Yes," he whispers.

YOU WOULD SEE IT EITHER WAY.

SHIELD YOUR EYES. THE FIRST BURST IS THE BRIGHTEST.

GREY FLARE - You barely have time to raise a hand to your eyes when the world erupts into light, so bright for a moment that it shines through your defenses, staining your eyelids in rich shades of red. In the same millisecond, you are struck by something else— Sound, deafening in your ears. A voice— no, voices. Layered one on top of the other until you can barely tell there are words. For a moment you think you hear a laugh. Someone complains about the weather. Another is reading a child’s storybook aloud, voice full of affection. Beneath it all, someone sings, "For you, I am returning…" Wind whips at the slowly fraying edges of your coat, until…

PERCEPTION - Just as quickly as it began, the sound fades to a quiet hum. Your skin loses its scattered vibrance. You see darkness once more, so you lift your eyelids and part your fingers.

GREY FLARE - The city has gone dark, and the sky is lit up in grey… Is that grey? On closer inspection, it’s white… No, black… No, neon reds and greens and blues and yellows… No, it’s all of them, isn’t it? New ones, even, colors yet unnamed. Monochrome or polychrome, your eyes can’t identify the shapes they see suspended in the air. Whatever they are, they’re bright and flickering, shifting through the sky, swirling and moving in waves. It’s hypnotizing, but you tear your eyes away to look at your partner.

YOU - "What is this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - His gaze is fixed upwards. "…I think it’s a pale storm. I’ve heard of them, but… I never thought they could be visible from this far outside… It’s incredible." The look on his face is one you have never seen before.

EMPATHY - Hopefully you’ll get the chance to see it again.

INLAND EMPIRE - Don’t worry. You will.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - You drink it in for a moment longer regardless.

YOU - "By the way… Do you believe me now?"

KIM KITSURAGI - He is too transfixed to spare a glance your way, but he hears you. "I… I think I might."

YOU - (Look back up and smile.) "I’ll take it."

[softcallofdutyimagines]

The Bad Ending | Woods Didn't Survive the Crate

Welcome to the first installment of my Halloween month one shots! The title is pretty self explanatory, as they all will be.

Let's be honest, that's a long time to be deprived of water.

Tw: major character death (obviously), heavy angst, and semi graphic description of wounds

Not a single ray of light pierces the rusted out crate he's wasting in.

The only way he has any sense of day or night is when the metal all around him becomes too hot to lean on. Burns cover his back and shoulders, with no chance of relief or healing. Can't see them, but God can he feel them.

Pain doesn't bother him too much, but nothing could prepare one for the stench in this place.

Mutilated, piled up corpses of his fellow troops lay all around him in the pitch black dumpster. The darkness is disorienting enough, but how he's gotten so use to the smell is anyone's guess. He's been here for so long, he hardly notices it most of the time.

It's only when the sun microwaves them all inside this living hell that he feels the urge to be sick.

If only he could manage even that.

Woods lifts his arm off the hot metal and drops it onto his lap. He's been in here for days easily, perhaps almost a week.

No food.

No water.

And his skin... His skin feels tight, too tight, at all times. Like he's covered in plastic and itching to tear it off already.

What little water, if any, was left in the canteens on the corpses of his friends has all been consumed.

His mouth is completely dry to the point that he can feel the leathery texture of his tongue and all that it touches. His pores are burning, surprisingly not just from the heat. He thinks his body is trying to cool off and just sweat, but he simply has no more fluid to give.

He feels mummified in his own body.

Last time he checked, he could tell apart each rib just with his fingers. He's never been this skinny in all his life. Even his muscles seem to be gone, wasted away like everything else in this mass grave.

Wood's head falls back again the metal walls. He's too tired to hold it up anymore. His back is starting to singe from the heat, but he hopes maybe he'll go under again and get to escape it all.

Every day he's been holding on for rescue. Mason would never leave him. Not like this...

He doesn't know how much longer he can hold on, but hope is all he has left.

His eyelids drop, and his chest starts to heave. Fuck, he doesn't even have enough in him to cry.

Those same words echo back to him over and over again. Not like this, not like this... After all he's been through. After all he's planned out for his life. This is how he goes out?

Alone, while nothing but the tortured bodies and nightmarish memories of the past few months to keep him company.

A stream of liquid crawls down his cheek, and for a moment he almost feels hopeful that he isn't as dried out as he thought. A thought that's quickly squashed when the stream reaches his mouth. It's sour, thick and metallic tasting.

Blood.

But... once in a while, every now and then, he has a good dream. That one dream that takes him away from all the suffering...

Damn. As if he hasn't lost enough of that already.

His head starts to feel heavy again, like he's been awake for far too long. He lays back against the hot metal, but it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it usually does.

His dreams are filled with nightmares, nothing new there. All flashbacks of torture and brutality he and his squad suffered. Voices of the dead, and the smells of them too, haunt him constantly.

"You're gonna be alright, Frank"

The one where the rusty, fucking door opens. Where sunlight comes in, and just for once the sun is a welcome sight. It's warm and comforting instead of the fire that constantly scalds his skin.

There's no more reason to be afraid.

Alex came back for him, just like he knew he would.

That's what he says. Every time. And every time, he knows he means it. Mason would never let him down.

But the dreams keep coming, and every time they're just that. Dreams.

Every time, he wakes up to his tight, blistering skin and the rancid smell of the fallen.

Every time, he wakes up to pitch blackness, so much so that he often questions whether or not he's actually awake.

And every time, he knows more precious time has been lost while he slowly wastes away.

Come to think of it, he hasn't felt much of anything at all lately. Even his tongue hasn't been bothering him.

He's been falling sleep more often lately. Or maybe he's been passing out. What little track of time he's been able to keep seems to have totally vanished. He hasn't felt his back being fried in quite some time now.

Funny how that's the only way he can keep track of the daytime.

The only thing keeping him awake is the feable shivers jolting through him. When did it get so cold?

He's pretty sure he's never called for help out in the field in his life. But by now, it's too late. His throat is so dry, it hurts just to breath. Speaking isn't much better.

He can hardly get a word out. It's the same one every time.

"M-Ma... Mason?"

For the first time since he got stuck in this box, a thought occurs to him. Maybe help isn't coming.

No. No, he can't give up. Not now. This can't be the end, he's not going out like this. He just has to hold on...

Just a little longer...

The door scrapes open as it always does. A blinding light floods in, just as it always does. Mason coughs and gags, clearly not as use to the corpses as he is. You know, by now he's nearly forgotten they're there.

He's having that dream again. The one where Mason saves him. Except, it seems distant, even in his own mind. As if the whole thing is taking place under underwater.

Sounds seem muted and far away. Colors are dull, and the face that he knows so well looks less and less like it should every time.

"Frank? Oh God, Frank!"

A tiny breath of relief, although he knows the whole scene's a lie, escapes him at the sound of that voice. Mason's voice sounds a million miles away, but Frank would recognize it anywhere.

This is always his favorite part.

Suddenly, another voice pipes up, "Over there!"

Woods tries to turn and see who it is, but the light is too bright and just the simple act of turning his head chokes him, his throat is so dry.

Mason wades through the bodies and holds either side of Woods' head in his hands. Woods suspects this is still a dream. It must be, because he can't feel a thing.

"Hey! Hey, stay with me Frank, stay with me! We're going to get you out of here"

Alex slides his arm behind Woods' back only to yank it away just as quick. His sleeve is soaked with blood and fluid from bursted blisters. Otherwise, his friend's skin feels like leather, it's been burned so badly.

How long has he been laying here?

Mason fights against the bile making it's way up his throat and tries again. Once he's got a good grip, he has to tear the Sargent off his metallic perch.

He tries not to notice the scorched fabric and flesh now hopelessly fused to the metal that's left in Frank's place.

At long last, he's carried into the sunlight. Woods was hoping it would get rid of the constant chill he's been having lately.

Mason rushes over to show Frank's condition to Hudson. He doesn't remember this part of the dream...

Hudson displays no emotion as he checks Woods' temperature, but the urgency and shock are radiating out of him is palpable, "We need to get him to evac. Now"

Woods can hardly make out the words Hudson's speaking. It sounds like nothing to him, just gargled murmurs. He's so tired, he just needs to rest...

Mason shakes him abruptly, he seems so... small as he lays limply in his arms. He calls his name, once and then again, all the time more urgently.

"Stay with me!"

There's something different in his voice. So raw, and yet so far away.

Woods cracks his eyes open. The light is so bright out here, he'd nearly forgotten what the sun looked like. He must have forgotten what the jungles is like too, everything seems dull and desaturated.

His vision is hazy, and everything seems to be floating and doubled. He feels weightless, even as his dry, cracked throat closes off again as he turns to look up at his friend.

"A-", Frank croaks. It takes all his strength just to lift his arm. He wants to reach for Mason's face, but he can't get it to rise more then a few inches from where it hangs. "A... Alex..."

Tears stream down Alex's face. Why does he look so worried? He's just so happy that he can see his friend's face so clearly again, at long last. He was afraid he'd forgotten what Mason looked like too.

"Sh, don't talk buddy, save your strength... We-we're al... almost there"

Frank's head drops. Save his strength? That's a good idea. God, he's so tired from just that. So, so tired...

He's glad that this dream was a good one, he's never had one so vivid. It's almost enough to hold him over until the real thing comes along. When Alex comes for him, he'll be waiting.

His eyelids fall shut, a strangely serene smile on his cracked, purple lips, even as Alex shouts his name and begs him to stay awake.

He can't hear the gunshots whizzing through the jungle. He can't feel the torn, bleeding chunks of skin dangling from his irreparably burned back.

Everything is so quiet.

Mason will save him. He just has to hold on...

"Frank! Frank, wake up! Please, not like this- Come ba..."

[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Promise?" - One-Shot

Summary: Will and Nico are in Tartarus, and Will's hurt.

TW: slightly graphic description (just cuts); SPOILERS: Tower of Nero

Word Count: 1595

Read on AO3

Heat pulses in the air, boils over Will’s skin, strips him of his stamina. The world is tilting around him, and he can’t find a place to keep himself steady. His knees fall to the ground. He’s helpless, tired, done. He just wants to lie down and never get up again.

Distantly, a desperate voice calls his name, but he can barely comprehend what it’s saying. He’s drifting from consciousness, drifting from reality. Exhaustion pulls at his eyes and he has to fight to keep himself awake. It’s possibly the hardest battle he’s had to deal with, even after going against a countless number of monsters.

The voice is louder now, calling to him, but he’s falling into unconsciousness. The ground rocks his body back and forth, but he doesn’t have the energy to stand up.

And soon he gives himself up to the darkness. He’s done.

~

Ever since Will’s collapse, anxiety and guilt has been eating at Nico’s heart like a parasite. He knows that Will will be alright - Bob and Damasen told him so - but even then, he can’t help the churning in his stomach, the nervousness in his blood. Every time he looks at Will lying in the bed, with his curls plastered to his forehead and gashes all over his body, with his eyes scrunched in pain, a spiked rope pulls at Nico’s heart and makes him lose his breath.

Lucky for both of them, Nico was able to fight off the dracanae just in time for Will to pass out. He tried to call the blond’s name, to keep him awake for just a few more moments, but he was falling too far. Just as the last dracanae fell, so did Will, and for a few very long moments, Nico almost believed he’d lost his boyfriend forever.

Then Bob leaned down and picked him up, checked up on his breathing, and assured Nico that he was alive - just barely.

So together, with Will dangling over the shoulder of the Titan, they ventured further through the boiling depths of Tartarus, down to the small house of Damasen. All the while, Nico’s heart thudded in his chest. He and Will had barely eaten anything, and while Nico didn’t even have the appetite, he knew that if he didn’t get something soon he’d be pretty much useless.

Now, as Will and Nico reside in Damsen’s house and Bob helps the other giant to make food for the boys, the son of Hades finally takes the time to destress. He knows that this relief from the depths of Tartarus will only be short-lived, but he’s grateful to have it anyway.

He just needs the time. He needs. He needs. What does he need? He needs space. He needs to think.

Being back in Tartarus hasn’t been easy on him. But Nico supposes he was expecting that anyway.

There’s a constant buzz underneath his skin, simmering over his muscles, and he just wants to run, run, run from here. Why is he here? Why did he do this? Oh, yes. It was Bob. He needs to save Bob. Bob. Bob. Bob.

Nico’s mind feels on edge, curling in over itself. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here.

Taking a deep breath, he steps over to Will’s limp body, taking his pale hand into his own. Heat emanates from his body, and not the comfortable kind - it’s feverish, red, painful. Gazing up at Will’s face, Nico’s breath hitches. Sweat gleams over him in the firelight and a greenish tint has come over his skin. His curls no longer look soft and golden - they look pale and bleached, like he’s been dyeing it over and over. His body has thinned out so much that Nico is almost convinced even a puff of air will blow him away.

Will whimpers in his sleep, begging for mercy from all the new nightmares, all the new fears. He looks so pitiful. Tears prick Nico’s eyes.

The son of Hades runs his hands over the gashes on Will’s body, starting from the bandages on his shoulder and forearm. The blond flinches and hisses, so Nico lets go, afraid of causing him more harm than he needs to. Instead he turns to the slashes against his torso, running his fingers over the ripped fabric of his orange CHB T-shirt. Blood soaks through them, green tinging the edges of the wounds. Nico grimaces.

Nico sighs and rests his head against Will’s shoulder. The heat of his skin spreads into the son of Hades, down to his very core, and his heartbeat quickens even more. He sighs. “I’m sorry, my love,” Nico whispers softly, pulling his fingers into the dampened curls on Will’s head. “I hate seeing you like this. You don’t deserve any of this pain.”

Will doesn’t answer. But as Nico speaks, the crease between his eyebrows lessens its strain, just for a little bit, and a trickle of relief drops into Nico’s body. At least he’s still semi-conscious.

Nico stands and releases his hold on Will. He starts wandering around the little cottage, soaking up the terrifying familiarity of the place. The glow of the fire, the scorching heat, the scent of smoke and meat. His eyes land over Damasen and Bob, and suddenly he remembers why he’s here.

“Bob,” he says, but his voice is scratchy and dry. “Oh, gods, Bob.”

The Titan looks up, fixing his silver eyes on the son of Hades. Seeing him, a wave of emotions flows in Nico’s stomach, catches up to his chest, rises up his throat. He rushes over.

“Bob, listen,” he chokes out. “You have to come back with us. I… I’m sure that you’re the one who’s been calling to me. I’m here to take you out of here. You… you don’t deserve life in Tartarus.” Then Nico fixes his stare to Damsen, who’s watching Nico with pitiful eyes. “You either. You both deserve the outside world. You both deserve to see the sun, breathe fresh air, to… to live.” He staggers forward, forcing urgency into his voice. “You need to. You helped us, and now it’s our turn to help you. Will you come?”

Damasen and Bob turn to each other, carrying a conversation between their eyes. Bob’s mouth curls into a frown.

“Nico,” he says, almost as if tasting how familiar the name is in his mouth. “Tartarus is hard to get out of. Bob isn’t sure… The last two demigods tried and failed. It is not worth bringing Bob up.”

Dread trickles down Nico’s throat. He blinks. “What? But… weren’t you the one sending me the voices?” Confusion pricks his head, threading itself into his thoughts. “Who else could it have been?”

Before either Damasen or Bob can reply, though, a soft moan echoes from somewhere behind. With a start, Nico realizes it’s Will. He jumps and rushes over, anxiety pulling his hard into a chokehold.

“Will!” he exclaims, placing his hand over the blond’s bicep. “Hey, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Will groans. “Pain,” he mutters. “Help.”

Nico presses his hands to Will’s curls in a hurried attempt to try something to soothe him. “Is there anything you want?” he asks. “Like, something you need?”

“I want… up.”

It takes a moment for Nico to realize he means to sit up. He entangles his right hand with one of Will’s own feverish ones and uses his other arm to guide him into a sitting position. With a lot of struggle and hissing from the blond, the boys manage to get him into a more comfortable position.

As soon as Will’s sitting up, he groans and holds a hand to his head. “Ow.”

Nico bends on his knees and balances his fingers over Will’s jaw, tilting his face just a little. “How are you feeling?”

Will only offers a hum of disagreement, which Nico takes to mean he doesn’t feel good. “Nico, it… hurts.”

“Your cuts?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah, I know. But we put salve on them the moment you got here. It’s much less now than it was then, trust me.”

A look of doubt flashes across Will’s eyebrows but he says nothing more. He only pulls into Nico’s body, looking for some kind of refuge from the cruelty around him. Nico wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, and for a second Will’s found himself in bliss again, safe from the world around him. He rests his aching head against the son of Hades’ shoulder and sighs. Nico’s own skin feels feverishly warm, but at this point, Will doesn’t care. He just needs to know that he isn’t alone.

“Nico?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry you had to go through any of this in the first place.”

Nico’s body flinches at his words. Then gentle fingers slide down Will’s back. “It’s okay. At least this time we’re together, right?”

“Nico?”

“Mhm?”

“Don’t let me go here. I promised you we’ll ride or die together, and that’s what I intend. Just… don’t leave me, okay? And I won’t leave you. Promise?”

“Promise.”

“One more promise.”

“What?”

Will raises his head, his glazed eyes trying to catch a hold of Nico’s. “We’re only riding. We’re not dying. Promise me that.”

Guilt flashes against Nico’s face. “Will, I-”

“Even if you can’t promise, at least lie. Make it sound like the truth.” Hot tears scorch Will’s eyes. “Please,” he urges.

Nico nods and pulls Will to him again. “We’re not dying. We’ll make it out of here, my love. I promise you that.”

[willadisastercry]

Pidge is less okay than everyone thought... and that’s okay

Tw: detailed description of a panic attack, unintentional self harm (not intense or graphic)

Shiro and Lance are the only one’s who seem to be able to help when Pidge has an anxiety attack, they’re also the only people who know she even actively has them. But Pidge has overworked herself all week, not getting enough sleep or even bothering to eat much before today’s mission. So when she faces a hitch in an attempt to acquire possibly crucial intel that could put her family back together, she can’t steal her nerves quick enough before this one comes on and nothing seems to be working to calm her down this time.

“Really good work out there today, guys. Relax and rest a bit before we regroup later to discuss.”

Pidge had barely noticed Shiro was even speaking, too enthralled in the prospect of what could possibly be contained on the drive she’d secured with galra intel from today’s mission.

“Awh, come onnn Shiro. Can’t we just call it a night? I’m so wiped.”

Flight plans, prisoner logs, cargo shipment details, the possibilities were really endless and anything could get her one step closer to finding her father and brother. She couldn’t get complacent now.

“Would you rather wake up early tomorrow morning—“

“NO! No, forget I asked. Ugh,” Lance urged before huffing in frustration as he sprawled himself across the couch in the common room, everyone else already following suit and nearly entirely atop of one another.

They all seemed content to remain like that, but Pidge felt like there were bugs crawling under her skin. She didn’t want to relax, she didn’t know if she could.

Her heart pumped erratically in her chest as she felt more and more useless sitting on a couch relaxing when she could be analyzing the data that just might help her find her family.

“Anyone else have—“

“I’m going to go ‘relax’ in my lab,” Pidge announced resolutely.

“Uh, Pidge, you know the whole point of relaxing is ya know, not doing anything, right?”Hunk asked as Keith shifted to allow him to release her from under the weight of his arm where it fell in their semi dog pile onto the couch.

“I need to start my diagnostics on the encrypted files I retrieved before they corrupt,” Pidge’s words were pointed and direct.

“Lone galra cruisers don’t usually have tech guys, it’ll take some time to relay the news of the attack over to hq and even more time for them to properly investigate and figure out what we got away with... you’ve got plenty of time Pidge—“

“Well, we weren’t exactly stealthy and they could have failsafes already initiated ready to go at any moment! It’s crucial that I review and decrypt as much as I can before all of our work goes to hell—“

“I thought we were sorta clean with it...” Keith muttered deep in thought as he reviewed their performance over in his head.

“Woah, slow down,” Lance interjected everyone, “if you’re still mad at me about not catching that last sentry before you were done cleaning out all of the files from the server then, I get that, but you don’t need to be so—“

“Guys, guys! We’ll discuss it later, for now everyone’s only job is to chill out, and Pidge, you can go work in your lab as long as you promise to come to the meeting later with a cooler head, deal?”

“Yeah, whatever. Deal,” she gruffed before taking off towards Green’s hangar to retrieve the usb from today’s mission.

“Jeez,” Hunk sighed as he fixed his headband back into place from where it had slipped down.

“And I thought I could be hot-headed...” Keith mused almost in awe but also worry because why was Pidge this worked up over some data that may or may not even be helpful?

“I was still down from a blast during hand to hand with the second wave of sentries...” Lance stared at the floor, his face full of hurt as he recalled his moment of error in battle that he was certain causing Pidge’s mood.

“...I didn’t see the last one come up and when I did he’d already blasted the control panel to shit.”

“It’s not your fault Lance, the mission couldn’t have gone smoother. We did what we set out to and that’s all we can focus on for now, let’s just give her some space to cool off and wait for the meeting to dole the rest out.”

The boys agreed and stayed in the common room for several more minutes talking about how weird Pidge was being before finally heading off to get cleaned up.

Pidge wished she could get washed up, but she had so much work left to do. She was typing away furiously as she produced line of code after code, determined to not let up before she was done.

Her legs pumped restlessly against the floor while she worked, her entire body practically vibrating with nervous energy.

She just needed to configure a base for her decryption software according to the firewalls in this particular ship’s files so she could finally let it run and—fuck.

The altean computer screen wavered and then sputtered as it began rebooting.

“Nononono, no, NO! You’ve got to be kidding me...”

She could throw up.

The processor had overheated before she could get the last few lines of code typed to initialize her software which meant when it cooled off she would have to start from the beginning and by then... by then there could be nothing left to decrypt.

Panic swelled in her chest, the heat spreading as quickly as it appeared.

This could have been what leads her to her father, to her brother. And if she failed she could be what breaks her family... for good.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until the strain in her chest brought her out of her staring competition with the blaring red across the screen in front of her.

Inhaling sharply, she clutched her chest. The initial breath hurt and so she breathed again to see if it would hurt again, and it did.

Shit, why does it hurt? Slower. Breathe slower.

But she couldn’t. She took another. And then another. And then she was breathing so fast none of her heaves seemed to alleviate the tightness that wrapped around her lungs and crawled up into her throat.

“Aha, fuck.”

The panic came on so quickly it almost made her nauseous.

The harder she tried to return her breathing to normal the deeper she seemed to plunge. But she still had work to do. And she had to be cooled off for the meeting or Shiro wouldn’t let her return to her lab.

She needed to, in her own words, calm the fuck down.

She’d done it before, managed to bring herself down from this point. But that was with Lance by her side to gently guide her breathing to something steadier and with Shiro holding her so tightly it was hard to find a good enough reason to remain so tightly wound.

And she was just very rude to both of them so she couldn’t ask for their help after that. Pidge had never done it by herself before, but she would have to at least try to now.

So she closed her eyes and forced herself to take in a large enough breath so she could count her inhale, hold it, and then exhale, but even doing that had hurt and seemed to just make deepen the ache.

“No... why... why isn’t it... working?!”

Her chest felt too heavy to do it, too tight and she couldn’t seem to manage the counts without making it worse. Her lungs would tighten up and ache before she reached the end of the time she was supposed to hold her breath which caused her exhale to be several rapid inhales instead.

Oh god.

She pushed herself away from her desk, in the process pulling the keyboard out as well as knocking over a pile of electronics that fell to the floor with a clank that jarred her now insanely sensitive ears.

There was too much input. Too many things making it impossible to do this on her own.

She scrambled to shut the radio off, but her eyes were blurry with tears and she couldn’t find the correct buttons, increasing the volume and switching it to a station of static instead.

She let out a scream she didn’t know she was holding back as she sank to her knees, clamping hands over her ears to try and block out all the noise that was now overloading her senses.

It was like everything had been dialed to 10.

The whirring of the computer processor as it worked, the cool air being pushed into the room from a vent over her head, the steady beeps and ticks of several different machines and... and the door of the lab opening followed by footsteps.

“Pidge?”

Keith.

“Pidge, hey... what happened?”

His voice was so loud.

“What’s wro—“

“Shh,” she begged, voice barely a whisper over her ragged breathing.

“Okay, okay,” he placated as he closed the distance between them.

“I can be quieter... and maybe if I turn this off, how’s that? Better?”

She nodded, removing her hands from her ears once he’d gotten the radio off. She hadn’t noticed when she’d started shaking but her hands were trembling so badly she had to hold them to keep them remotely still.

“I’m gonna sit with you, is that okay? Alright, do you think you can tell me what’s happening right now?”

She thought about it for a second and concluded that even she didn’t know.

She’d had anxiety attacks before, Shiro had been the first to name it for what it was. They were mostly inattentive ones where she’d dissociate, sometimes she would get worked up and hyperventilate, but it was only ever fleeting, short, over in a couple minutes. And other than that she’d always had some sort of an answer to nearly everything anxiety related. Except now.

Because right now she did not know what was happening, only that even her own heart pumping was so loud it made her want to disappear into a blissful cloud of nothing. She didn’t like not knowing what this was and why she was feeling it, and that realization seemed to break what little progress she had made in containing it.

“Wait no, it’s okay, you’re okay!”

But she wasn’t. She was so far from okay.

“Pidge, you’re safe. You just need to breathe.”

She knew that already and she’s been trying, but the more she tried and failed the more she became aware that there was nothing she could do on her own to stop it.

“This happens to me too sometimes, I know it seems impossible but you can do it. We can do it together, yeah? Okay, I need you to take a really deep breath for me, I’ll go first.”

And he did. He inhaled audibly and urged her to follow. And she tried, but her chest hitched and she choked on the air she tried to bring in.

Keith wanted to soothe her and placed his hand on her arm but she jolted so violently at the touch that he tore his hand away as if he was afraid he’d burned her. She met him with desperate eyes, sincere with frustration and impatience.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m helping much.... do you want me to get someone else? Hunk? Or maybe—“

“Sh-Shiro or Lance, p-please...”

Her hands were in fists on her lap and they were beginning to go numb, a tingle spreading from her wrists up to her shoulders and a similar one moving up her legs. She hated when that happened.

She hated feeling so much emotion when her body felt so stuck, so not there. Because she was there and she was struggling and now was not the time to go ghost on herself.

“I can’t-I can’t stop it, I just want it... to stop.”

“This feeling isn’t permanent, it’s just your body reacting—it’ll stop,” he moved his hand from the floor to her knee and she flinched again but let it remain there.

“I’m going to be right back with someone, is that okay? You’ll be alone for only a minute...”

She nodded through a strangled sob. Her mouth was starting to go dry and so she didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

Keith squeezed her bouncing knee before taking off in a dead sprint. Pidge surrendered to the heaviness of her eyelids and closed them for a moment as she vaguely wondered how he would describe the predicament to their friends and how exactly he’d realized something was awry at all, relishing in the prospect of focusing on something other than her own panic for a moment.

But the relief didn’t last long because when she pried her eyes open to see if someone, anyone was back yet, the world tilted.

She watched in horror as objects seemed to wane out of focus while others seem pulled into hyper detail, the floor stretching out in front of her in an unrelenting wave of movement, the little dots of static that you usually see when you blur your vision or just before you pass out were now moving so quickly she could cry. Correction: she was already crying, but she couldn’t stop full on hysterics now.

She didn’t know when she had scooted herself against the leg of the desk but was thankful for the support, thankful for something to remind her that she was on the ground, in her lab, in... space.

The way her chest contracted as her mind continued to do its own whirring, continued to think about all of the things she couldn’t possibly control but felt compelled to try to caused her a whole new type of distress.

It was too much.

She squirmed as she tried to get away from herself, from this feeling, throwing her head back hard enough to hurt as she wailed, but it didn’t because she couldn’t feel anything. It was like her entire body had shut off an entire sense and the others were thrown completely out of wack because of it.

And she didn’t know why she was crying exactly, there seemed to be too many reasons and not any all at once, but she gathered that it was one of those instances where now that she’d started it was going to be really hard to stop.

Those were really the only circumstances under which she cried, especially now that she was in space with a ship full of teenage-ish males and two very parent-like aliens, after going so long without crying at all only to lose it over absolutely nothing and somehow end up crying about everything.

But this was sort of different. Because she felt so much more wrong than just an overdue cry.

She didn’t have much more time to deliberate this because there were voices pulling her out of her daze. Shiro was knelt in front of her and Keith was back.

“There you are.”

Shiro moved one hand to her shoulder and she shrunk under it, her eyes wild and fearful as she could feel the weight of it, but nothing more.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s just me,” he said as he moved to sit beside her against the drawers of the desk.

“Keith said you were getting really overwhelmed, so I’m here if you want—oh!” Pidge had rushed forward to bury her head in Shiro’s chest and his arms closed around her securely.

“I’ve got you, i’ve got you...” he gushed as he held her trembling frame, the tears still flowing freely and her chest still struggling under the immense pressure that had built in it.

She tried to ignore how trapped she felt, yearning for the usual ease that his tight embrace brought instead of this suffocating strain. She felt another scream bubble at the back of her throat as she let the weight of his arms take her somewhere almost worse, somewhere she wasn’t just struggling to breathe anymore, but now felt like she had absolutely no air to even try.

“Pidge?! Hey, talk to me, where you at?”

She pulled away from Shiro, his voice piercing her ears like a small explosion. He immediately retracted and searched her face for an explanation but it was just filled with fear as she drew her knees up to her chest, clutched her hands over her ears and tried not to give into the sobs until she had enough air to support such heavy crying.

But it soon became blatantly clear that she couldn’t get enough air in when her face had gone slack and her sobs had all but stopped except for the croak of her tired throat as she desperately tried to pull in air, the strong arms around her releasing completely now, more hands finding her back and tapping her shoulder.

“Pidge, you need to take a breath, the air is there. You’re—damnit it, you’re going to pass out if you don’t try. Is Lance on his way over? Okay, can you go get water and a...”

The rest was lost on her as black continued to impede her vision, Shiro’s usually warm and calming voice now just as sharp as the sting in her lungs and cut with worry. Tears still flowed down her cheeks to meet under her chin and continue down her neck, but they came silently, the hollow rasp from her throat as she struggled through irregular and rapid breaths barely audible anymore. She almost wished that she would just pass out already, let her body’s self preservation instincts break the unbearable cycle of panic it tortured her with.

But Shiro wouldn’t let her, he was just about ready to administer rescue breaths with how pale she had gotten before Lance arrived.

“Shit, Pidge, what the hell? You usually do so well with the breathing excercise I showed you... but it’s okay, this happens.”

Lance settled himself next to Pidge on the other side of Shiro and began to work one of her fists open, her hand was now lax for the most part, so it wasn’t hard and did the same with the other before putting his hand on her back while the other corded through her hair.

“I’m going to stretch your arm out so you can— damnit you’re really tensed up, do you think you can relax your arm a bit?” He questioned tenderly as he began gently easing her arm away from her chest, holding her hand while rubbing at the clenched up muscles as they released their tension.

“Yeah, just like that... you’re doing so good,” he murmured as he took her shaking hand up to his chest and pressed her pliant fingers down. After a minute she looked around lazily, her body still racked with trembling sobs before soft fingers were tipping her chin to meet a warm smile mouthing ‘hey’.

Shiro watched in a mix of awe and confusion as Lance handled Pidge’s crisis, ignoring the hesitation in his eyes because his voice was so steady and his so hands sure that it didn’t matter that he didn’t know in the slightest of what he was doing. He was just being him, this was his nature, to be able to read someone so well and provide them with such tenderness.

“Want to try and listen to how I breathe?”

She parted her lips as if to speak but a particularly pointed sob prevented it, Lance seemed to get the point though and shifted his legs around.

“I’ll let you settle in and you tell me when you’re ready for me to return the hug...”

Lance tugged on her other sleeve and guided into a cautionary embrace, his touch light and his hands remaining on her arms as she found the spot on his chest where she could practically hear his heart moving against his ribs, but... not quite.

Everything sounded muffled now, like she was under water but wasn’t prepared to take a deep enough breath before being shoved beneath the surface.

Except she was comepltely aware that she wasn’t actually under water. Like it was all a cruel joke where she was tortured while she watched everyone else around her breathe easily. Her mind still able to rationalize that even though she felt like she was, she wasn’t actually dying.

But Lance wasn’t flaunting the fact that he could breathe, he was trying to remind her how she could too. He squeezed her arms each time her hands tightened around the material of his sweatshirt, reminding her that she should be thinking about how his chest was working, pushing all the other junk in her mind away for now.

“Feel how my voice carries when I talk... how controlled each breath is... think about what you can feel and hear and touch... they’re things you can perceive... things you can control, don’t focus on what you can’t...”

Okay, he’s right. I can do that. Try to do that.

She shuddered through a round of hitches in her sobbing and pressed her face further into Lance’s chest, not even having the mind to worry about how wet it was getting with her tears.

Think about what you can feel...

She could feel the thumping of his heart even if she wasn’t quite hearing it at that moment, her mind making up the difference and leading her to imagine the sound it must be making each time it does... and how the air being pushed out through his nose must be whistling... and how the constant reverberations must mean he was... humming.

But then it stopped as he took a big breath and let Pidge rise with his chest as it expanded, sure to let it out just as steadily.

Her chest seemed to loosen then, her body rushing to take in as much air as it could before the panic spiked again.

“I’m going to hug back now, you let me know if you—oh, okay, I’m here, Shiro’s here too. You’re okay,” he ran his hands through her hair and pressed her tightly to his chest, his legs coming up to plant his feet firmly on either side of her as he began slowly rocking them back and forth.

It felt nice. He moved them carefully, slow enough that she could have been asleep in his arms and she wouldn’t have been disturbed, but also so securely that her mind couldn’t disappear the presence of his hands bracing her back and circling through her hair.

But the lull didn’t last long.

It wasn’t his fault, this is just how it went. When she got bad like this, the panic came and went in waves. If her body still had nervous energy left, it didn’t matter how much she managed to calm down, she would have to start from square one until there was nothing left in her to continue.

No!

Shiro was just as surprised as Lance when her voice cracked, the soothing sounds she was murmuring to herself as she worked her breaths closer and closer to normal broken by a wail.

Fuck!

Fuck you, fuck this, fuck—everything.

“-dge? Pidge?!”

“We’re still here, you’re still alright.”

“Give me a sec... there ya go, better?”

He’d turned her around so that her back was against his stomach and then held his hand up in front of her to show her before he closed it and lowered it to her chest, she knew what he was going to do and melted into him further as he began to rub gentle but firm circles over her sternum.

“Ahh... ahah, f-fuck,” she sobbed beneath him, she shuddered under the touch, her hands searching for something else, anything else to ground her and stumbling upon Shiro’s on one side and her thigh on the other.

She squeezed tight on both as she fought desperately not to slip again, feeling the way her body wanted to become light again.

Nope, we are just not doing that shit again.

She was so mentally done with this, but her body seemed to be losing energy too. She could feel it tiring, losing the warewithal to continue its draining overreaction. Turns out not having rested at all after their mission just to drop like this was a blessing in way, she was scared of how long she’d have been able to go if she wasn’t already worn out.

She forced her eyes shut and focused on Lance’s fingers, his knuckles pressing hard, but not hard enough to hurt. She’d almost wish he was. The rhythmic motion was heavenly because she couldnt ignore it as he kept the pressure there above her heart.

She gasped when she started coming back to herself, feeling the sudden shift when she seemed to be given the reigns back on her own breathing, sucking in huge gulps when she finally could control it.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good... listen to how I do it.”

Shiro was massaging the residual tremors out of her hand as he held it, the additional release of tension aiding in grounding her further.

She was faintly aware of the lab door opening but was too focused on not losing her pace, her breaths still manual and unsteady but a hell of a lot better than before.

“Oh...” it was Keith, he sounded worried.

She was confused for a moment before a hand was on her thigh.

“Hey,” Lance’s hand was at her wrist now. “Oh Pidge, don’t-don’t do that.”

Keith was trying to lift her fingers up but stopped when he saw that pearls of blood were starting to form beneath them and didn’t want his struggle with her to make it worse.

“Crap.”

“Pidge let—Pidge you gotta let go.”

The hurt in Lance’s voice stung. She wasn’t even aware she’d been doing that, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the iron grip, this peace was so tenuous and she couldn’t afford fucking it up.

When she didn’t respond Lance exchanged a knowing look with Keith who moved his hand under the palm of hers before both boys wrenched her hand up, surpressing how sharply he breathed when he saw the trail of red with sheaths of skin uprooted and purple crescents dotted about.

They sort of just stared, lost for a second, neither of them quite sure how to proceed.

“I got it,” Shiro offered as he took the offending hand from them, Pidge’s gaze still somewhere else.

There was a moment of silence before anyone talked or moved again.

“Pidge, hey. Keith brought water for when you feel up to it.”

Keith was kneeling next to them now, pouring cold water onto a rag and wringing it out before showing it to Lance.

“He’s got something cold to put on your face, maybe over your eyes? They must hurt...”

She blinked absently, silent tears making their way down her cheeks.

“This should help, ready?”

It took a second but she finally nodded and then the rag was descending on her swollen and bloodshot eyes. She jumped at first but he continued and once it was fully laid on it was bliss. The coolness calmed the angry puffiness and the pressure kept new tears from falling.

“I’m... gonna put something on your leg. It might sting, but it’s also cold so it’ll feel nice,” Keith said wiping up the small drops of blood that escaped the scratch wounds before pressing whatever it was down on top for a beat.

They weren’t bleeding much, the skin torn literally just enough to bleed. She also couldn’t really feel it, the area just felt numb and stiff. She hadn’t meant to draw blood, she just needed something that felt real to bring her back.

A spark of shame lit deep in her gut as realization dawned on her, she had hurt herself. Sure it was subconscious, but she still did, literally with Lance and Shiro right there trying to help. But she pushed those thoughts away.

She was far from perfectly fine, still working through the after shocks and residual anxiousness that followed. She sort of felt sick to her stomach and couldn’t stop swaying her leg back and forth as she lay against Lance, his grip as tight as ever, with Shiro still caging her unsteady hands in his.

Keith had gotten a blanket at some point to drape over her and kept removing the rag to re wet it with the cold water that she didn’t quite trust herself to drink yet.

“How ya feeling?” Lance murmured into her hair.

She hummed in response.

“Gonna take that as better, right?”

She nodded and then grimaced when Keith took the rag away once more and opened her eyes only to realize how much pressure had built behind them.

“What’s up?” Shiro asked when he noticed her face twisting up.

“My head hurts.”

“Hm, Coran has some sort of aspirin equivalent somewhere and... you could lie down, try going to sleep until dinner—oh! Hunk is making your favorite, he figured everyone needs a good meal after today.”

“Sounds nice,” she almost slurred, her head snuggling into the crook of Lance’s arm. She still shook as if she were cold, even with the blanket.

The three of them discussed something for several minutes but she tuned the conversation out, too busy relishing in how she could breathe again, only a small part of her worried about relapsing back into hysteria as the waves of panic returned smaller and smaller.

“Pidge? You awake?” Lance asked, trying not to eat her hair.

“Soooo, we were thinking of having dinner in the common room tonight, we think you should eat something before you turn in and we don’t want you to be alone just yet, also so you can be snuggled at all times... what do ya think?”

She smiled and scrunched her nose up with and enthusiastic ‘sure’.

“How bout I give you a lift?” Shiro smirked fondly as he squatted down and motioned for her to hop on his back.

They all had a good laugh at that, Keith and Lance joking about how they’ll never receive the same star treatment.

“I think it’s safe to say the meeting is rescheduled for the morning, sorry Lance!”

“Whateverrrr! The things I do for you, Pidge,” he laughed as they settled in on the couch, Hunk almost suffocating her when he was done serving their meal.

“I’m never letting go, I hope you are aware of that.”

“Not complaining, just... can I have my arm back? Thanks.”

“What was even on the drive—“

“We do not speak of... of that, Princess.”

“Pidge can run her diagnostics again before tomorrow’s meeting and then after that she’s on an electronic hiatus. Also everyone’s going to their rooms at curfew from now on, no exceptions. You people are humans and you need sleep!”

“But Shiro!”

“At curfew? Like at exactly curfew?”

“Yes Keith.”

“Space...“

“Lance. Lance, do not say it.”

“✨Space dad✨ has entered the chat.”

[illunicae]

When the Light Goes Out

Was rewatching The Last of Us and got inspired so I wrote this in a single sitting. (Also found on Ao3)

Pairing: Rise Donatello x Female Reader

TWs: Semi-graphic description of wounds, Character death, Passive suicidal ideation, Loss of a child, The Kraang apocalypse, Mentions of past character deaths

Plot: The world broke when you were just a child, but you learned to survive and every day since has been a constant fight. Despite the hell outside your door, you found solace in your husband, Donatello, and you had a daughter a few years into the apocalypse. You did not like the world you brought your daughter into, but you promised her one day the war would end. But hope is a dimming candle, especially when you're losing family left and right: including your beloved Donatello. What more could you lose?

or

Sarah's death scene from The Last of Us, but with you and your daughter instead.

"Mom, will I ever see the stars?" 

You looked down at your young daughter, barely the age you were when the whole kraang apocalypse started. Lenore's eyes sparkled with curiosity, but you could see the small flash of doubt and sorrow that seemed to cling to your daughter these months of late. You cupped your daughter's green-scaled cheek in your palm, swiping your thumb across the purple spot on her cheekbone. "Oh, my sweet little light, that is why we fight this war. Because when we win, I will show you all the stars." 

Lenore didn't quite look convinced. 

"And my little light, it is so beautiful. There are more stars in the sky than you can count. And they shine so brightly that it's like the sun never set, lighting the world with a silver glow where shadows spill secrets and the world is at peace." You pulled Lenore closer, and you two touched your foreheads together in a silent expression of love. "I promise. At the end of this war, I will show you the stars and tell you all their names."

Lenore sank into your embrace, and the two of you sat together on your small bed, listening to the workings of the resistance around you. This was the world Lenore was born into—a world where you constantly had to fight to survive, where food seemed to always be on the verge of running out, where the sun burns red, and the moon drowns in dark clouds.

✧*

"Look out!" Leo shouted, and you were on the move instantly, trying to reach your daughter right as the blast struck the ground. Your feet left the ground as the explosion scorched the very air. You could hear your daughter scream as she hit the ground. Your body ached, your ears rang, and your head spun.

You groaned as you felt a spike of pain in your side. No doubt, something grazed you. You came to your senses just as a kraang hound loomed over you. Its maw was wide and dripping with bloody saliva; the low growl in its throat seemed to shake your bones as you groped around yourself for a weapon of any kind. Like a tightening spring, the beast moved, preparing for the kill. 

The singing of metal through flesh caused you to flinch slightly as the hound yelped a pitiful sound before slumping dead with a familiar katana through its skull. You could feel the relief wash over you as you glanced up at Leo; gratitude was on the tip of your tongue, but it died as Leo's horrified look swept over you to something beyond. 

"Oh, god." His voice was barely audible above the sounds of war around you, but you heard it, and the fear it brought struck you like the blade he wielded. You flipped over to see what caught Leo's attention. 

The battle continued around you, but all you could see was the limp form of your daughter, Lenore. The bright and brilliant little girl who was always smiling despite the hell that resided outside her window. The little girl you would tear the world apart for. 

"Lenore?" Your voice was soft as your vision spun; the blast had knocked you clear to the floor causing you to hit your head, but your focus was zeroed in on the rapid rising and falling of Lenore's chest. All other sounds fell away as Lenore's rapid panting echoed in your mind.  

As fear and a cold grip of dread crawled under your skin, you pulled yourself up, and only then did you see the blood slowly soaking the already red earth. Alarm bells rang, blaring in your mind as you scrambled forward. 

"No. No, no, no." Your knees dug into the soft ground as you crawled desperately. "No, no, no." Like a mantra, you repeated the single phrase over and over. 

Lenore had landed on her carapace with her gaze to the sky as her eyes glazed over unfocused. Her hand clutched her side, where blood was freely pouring from the wound in her plastron. The dark ground drank up her blood greedily as if it hadn't had enough already with everyone the resistance had lost. You wouldn't let your daughter's blood feed the soil as well; you couldn't bear to sink your daughter down into the infected dirt like so many family members before her: Splinter, Raph, Casey…him.

No, you would not lose your daughter, too. You couldn't: you were still healing.

"Let me see, baby. Let me see." You begged, fighting to keep the thick tears from clogging your throat and silencing your voice. 

Looking into your daughter's eyes bright with pain as she focused on you instead of the hellish sky, you gripped Lenore's hand. The warm blood glazing Lenore's skin swiftly coated your own palms as you moved the appendage. The sight that greeted you threw a bundle of barbed wire down your throat. There was a large gash in Lenore's side, along with a crack and hole in her plastron where a piece of shrapnel tore right through her muscle and shell. Blood poured freely from the wound as Lenore cried out. 

"Shh. Shh, you're okay." You placed your hand over the wound to apply pressure in a desperate attempt to stall the bleeding. "You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, baby, I promise." The wound needed to be patched now, and you two couldn't stay there in the middle of the battlefield. 

You moved quickly as your heart hammered in your chest. You got your arm under Lenore's neck, but the movement jostled her, and Lenore cried out while attempting to fight you off, to push you away. 

"I know, baby. I know. I know. I know. I know." You kept pressure on the wound while trying to get your daughter into your arms. Lenore's arms flew up and latched onto your shoulder and your forearm. She cried out in pain as another movement jostled her. "I know it hurts, but we gotta get you back. We gotta get you home. I gotta get you up."

Lenore shook her head as tears flowed down the sides of her face. Her breathing was still sporadic and rapid as she cried.

"Momma."

"I know. I know. I know. I know. I know, baby." You could only keep pressure on the wound as you watched your daughter gasp for breath. "I know it hurts, but you're gonna be okay. Okay? You're gonna be okay." You threaded your arm around Lenore's shoulders and pulled her up. Lenore gasped and wheezed in pain while shaking her head. 

"I gotta get you home. I gotta get you home. I know, baby. I'm sorry." 

Lenore cried out again as you shifted to get her more in your lap. A small, bloodied hand left a trail on your cheek before Lenore grabbed around the back of your neck. Eyes screwed shut in pain, Lenore's breathing was getting faster and more shallow. "I know. I know. I know." Lenore whimpered.

"LEO, HELP ME!" You whipped your head up toward the slider standing a few feet away surrounded by more hound bodies. 

"(Y/n), we can't stay here." His voice was soft and heavy with an ugly mix of grief, pity, and authority.

Shaking your head, you pulled Lenore closer as her grip was becoming lighter and her breaths quieter. "Come on, baby girl." The limp arm fell off your shoulder. "Come on. I gotta get you home." You pulled your little girl closer to you and more fully into your lap. 

Lenore wasn't fighting anymore. 

"Come on, I gotta get you up. Lenore, we gotta go home." You held your daughter close as you cupped her cheek with your hand, only leaving a smear of blood along the skin that once seemed to glow with infectious joy. "Come on, baby. Come on. I–I can't–" Your breath wheezed out, a shaky exhale as hope dimmed in your heart in time with the light dimming from your little daughter's eyes. "I can't lose you too." Silent sobs shook your lungs as you clutched your daughter to your lap, blood soaking your shirt and cloak. 

"Oh, my little light." Your voice was soft and scratchy as the barbed wire in your throat tightened. Lenore's plastron dug into your skin as you hugged her tightly, but you didn't care. You held on, arms tight around Lenore's soft, leathery shell. Refusing to let go of your once shiny star, you began rocking back and forth as sobs were building in strength. 

Unfocused, dulled eyes stared at the sky above. No longer would they twinkle with mischief. No longer would they sparkle with that ravenous need to learn, much like her father. No longer would they shine against the dark, leading you to the hope against this never ending hellfire. 

The ground shook as the battle crescendoed. There were screams and shouts, gunfire and explosions: all of it white noise to your drowning heartbeat as you lowered Lenore slowly away from your chest. There was no movement from her body and no color in her skin. The overbearing urge to let a kraang find you and finish you off weighed down on your shoulders. Your whole fight, this whole resistance against the kraang, was for Lenore and children born into this unfair world. So that they may have a chance to see a world that is not torn apart by red skies and live a life that is not dictated by fear. 

Your fight was gone. Your reason was gone. 

What motive do you have now that your daughter will never see the end of this war? What could you possibly live for knowing that you'll never show your daughter the stars?

You gasped as a hand gripped your shoulder tightly, pulling you from the spiraling thoughts. You looked over your shoulder with unseeing eyes. Leo was shouting something, but you weren't hearing it. How could you over the rushing in your ears?

"(Y/n), we have to get out of here. You have to let her go." Leo's voice and the cacophony of battle rushed back to you in an overwhelming wave. Registering Leo's words, you shook your head, looking down at Lenore. Leo knelt down across from you and cupped your cheek with his palm, forcing you to look at him and not Lenore. "(Y/n), listen to me, she's gone. There's nothing we can do for her now."

A broken whine left your lips as you tried to look down again, but Leo wouldn't let you.

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)." He got to his feet and, in the same movement, lifted you from the ground, trapping you over his shoulder to take you out of the battlefield and back to base. 

"No. NO! Leo, let go. I need to bring her home. I have to bring her home! I can't leave her!" You screamed as you beat on the shell of your best friend. Leo just secured his grip on you while you thrashed.

"We have to go, (Y/n). If we stay here we'll die. I'm sorry." His voice was once again laden with a crushing mix of grief and authority. 

You fell semi-limp as you sobbed openly. You barely heard Mikey's or CJ's shocked voices as Leo called out the order to retreat. Deep down, you knew they'd be back to retrieve the dead once New York no longer feels like Hell-on-Earth, but you couldn't help but stare across the field at where your daughter lay, abandoned. You swore to protect her. You promised him she'd be safe. You failed. A once bright, shining star now lays dull and dark. 

A vibrant, beautiful light, now snuffed out.

[the-enby-doughnut]

Worlds Collide

Chapter 1:

TW: Self Depreciation, Fear, Semi Graphic injury description, mentions of death/killing

Nico's POV: All that was on Nicos mind was run, run as fast as you can. Get away from him, get away from his friends, run before you get even more hurt. A bit back he had heard a snap as his ankle got snagged against something and pulled on. He knew it was broken, but he knows he can’t stop running. If he stops they’ll find him. He can’t let them find him.

When he finally collapsed it was because he couldn’t run anymore; his leg had completely given out from under him. Before he could get a look at his ankle, he noticed the mushrooms and how green the grass was. Fuck, he was in a faery circle. Hopefully the fae who owned it would be kind and give him a quick death. After all, he had stumbled in by accident.

He heard a crackle as some dry leaves got crushed and he flinched slightly. “Hello? I thought I felt–“ he heard the fae cut themselves off as they presumably saw him.

“S-sorry, I did-didn’t mean to come h-here,” Nico stuttered, attempting to please them.

“Oh little mortal I’m not mad….”

“Please just- just make it quick- I know- know I owe you now- a- and–”

“I swear I will not harm you, but do you have something I could call you? I do not need your name.”

“I- I will give you my name anyways- My name is Nico Flores”

After he said that, the faery gasped and he felt a chill run up his spine.“Why- why did you do that- I give you freedom in exchange for me healing you.”

“Wh- what- why aren’t- aren’t you killing me…”

“Because not all fae are what the stereotypes tell you. I wish for you to live your life, and I will not interfere anymore.”

“I don’t have anywhere to- to go, just pl-please kill me or do something. Just please get it over with,” Nico was close to sobbing now.

“Would you like to come with me? We’re not supposed to take humans, where I come from, but I do believe you are a different case…” the fae murmured, brushing Nico's hair away from his face and wiping his tears away. Nico agreed, hoping this fae was as kind as he seemed.

The fae told him to not reveal his name to anyone except him before scooping him up. The world seemed to melt around him as they shimmered into existence in a quaint living room that smelled like lavender and sage, calming him.

“Do I have your consent to fix your ankle it um- it doesn’t look- doesn’t look good. How did you even manage that?” The fae's nose was crinkled up. Nico looked at his ankle to see the bone pushed out of the skin, which didn’t surprise him.

“I had to get away- h- had to,” Nico stuttered, close to tears yet again. He heard the faery sigh.

“How- how badly did they hurt you- How long did you run with it broken?”

“I- I don’t w-want to- to talk about it, b-but I ran on- on it for at least an- at least an h-hour.”

“This is going to hurt, when I put it back in place,” the fae said.

“Just hurry up please.” The fae reached out and quickly snapped the bone back in place, Nico screamed, and the world went fuzzy for a moment. Then, he felt the injury get warm almost, and after a few moments, it felt normal. He glanced and saw the wound was healed over with barely a scar.

“Thank you- I can- can I go to sleep now please?” Nico mumbled. The fae agreed, and Nico passed out, curled up on the couch.

Thomas’s POV: Thomas felt someone in his circle, what human was stupid enough to do that; the fae did have a reputation. So when he appeared he wasn’t surprised to see noone there, and he nearly left, until he heard a small whimper. He looked around for the source of the noise, noticing an injured mortal curled up near the edge. Even worse, the mortal thought he would kill him, just for stumbling into his circle.

When the mortal spoke it came out as pained gasps and stutters. He was definitely going to help this mortal, goddamn it. When he asked something to call the mortal, and specified it shouldn’t be his name, the mortal gave it anyways. Thomas was concerned now. Nico was the name of the mortal. He was shocked that Nico gave it to him, no human was that stupid.

He tried to get Nico to leave, to go back to his life, as long as Thomas got to heal him. He was even more shocked when Nico told him he had nowhere to go, so he broke a rule; unless a mortal asked, you were not to offer to take them. He offered anyway, and Nico said yes, so he took him home and healed him. About half an hour later, Roman knocked on the door. He opened it and immediately put a finger to his lips pointing to Nico.

Roman pulled him outside. “Why did you take a mortal Thomas! You know that’s against the rules.”

“You didn’t hear him Ro; he was so scared, and he didn’t have anywhere to go. He was hurt so bad he couldn’t even walk. He gave me his name,” Thomas choked out.

“He- no mortal is that stupid, Thomas.”

“I thought that too. he- I think he- I think he thought I was going to- to kill him after I got his name. I think… I think he wanted me too. I think he- he thought he was worthless…”

“Oh… I’d like to meet him then. Why- why didn’t he have a place to go?”

“N- he was hurt by people where he came from. When I asked why he had run after his ankle broke, he- he said he had to get away from them.”

“Oh no… call me when he wakes up; I permit you to break the rules just this once.” Roman said before disappearing. Thomas sighed and sat on the porch with his head in his hands. ‘What am I going to do now?’

Tag list: @psychedelicships @vann-cat @little-chaos-bitch @icantthinkofacreativeurl @rsitb-second-account

[unwhithered]

Jedi Musketeers + 12. "Look into my eyes, what do you see?" please?

I feel like this was probably from a romance prompt list but it’s been so long I honestly don’t remember? So we are going with Not Romance, Just Angst. (and also apologies it took so long)

TW semi-graphic descriptions of blood/wounds

“Look in to my eyes,” Aramis grits out between uneven gasps for breath, “what do you see, Padawan?”

Constance’s face, still round with baby fat, is as pale as the moon where it isn’t streaked with dirt and blood - his blood, which stains both of their hands. Thank the Force it isn’t hers. “I don’t know, Master,” she whispers in reply. Her watery gaze meets his, then darts away to look at his wounds, a pattern that repeats itself every few seconds. “I don’t know. Oh, Force, I don’t know what to do, I don’t--”

“Hush.” Aramis grabs one of her hands, laces their fingers together over the gaping wound in his thigh. Her hand is warm, or maybe his is just cold. He’s lost rather a lot of blood. “Look at me. You don’t see fear, do you?”

“N-no.”

“Because I am not afraid. I believe in you. What you see is trust.”

“Well, I am afraid and I don’t know what I’m doing,” she huffs. And someday - if he lives - they’ll have to talk about how she turns her fear into frustration, but right now he’s just glad to see a spark in her eye. She’ll need it.

“Let go of your fear, Constance. Trust in the Force. Trust in me. You can do this.”

He would offer her comfort in the Force if it wasn’t taking all of his remaining strength to contain his own pain. It’s all going to be pointless in a moment anyway. Aramis closes his eyes at the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting, grits his teeth as he feels Constance shift beside him, clenches his hands into fists when she moves them away from his wound.

“You can do this,” he repeats. And then everything is pain and burnt-flesh and the sizzle of his own blood boiling, and he howls.

[k1ngtok1]

@somethingfishysgoingon asked to see the thing so here ya go! I had to get rid of some because it was too long. Fun fact: the paragraph limit is 250.

Short summary: The armies of a kingdom wage war with an entity they call ‘the night’. No one knows what it really is, nor if it actually has any connection to nighttime, other than coming every day after sundown to lay waste to their armies.

Tw for descriptions of pain, semi-graphic violence.

Hope you like it!

(Note that they get longer as they go on, and they were written on discord, hence the seemingly random symbols)

And once again, a brave warrior falls, tripping over her comrades, falling over those who had been lost before her, spare shields and swords. The night senses her weakness, her weariness, and pounces, dragging her back into her lair like a jungle cat would a fresh kill. She will rise again tomorrow, wounded from the night’s battle, but for tonight? She sleeps with the beast.

———————-

This time, the warrior is quicker to fall than usual, tripping over her own boots, and face planting into the blood splattered mud below. She is one of the first casualties of this battle, her armor now dirtied and dented, her sword dull from use. She tries to push on to her knees, to do anything to escape her fate. She has more to live for, a family, friends... but the darkness cares not for loved ones. The darkness cares not for life. No, the darkness only cares for the blood of it’s prey.

The bodies of the fallen rush past as she is dragged. Pulled back towards the danger with no hope for escape. She tries to reach out for someone, anyone, to save her. To reach out their arm and say “*I won’t let you go*”

But her comrades continue to flee without her.

This is what they were supposed to do, she knows. To keep going towards the light, to flee the void that threatens to sallow them whole. She was the one who told them to run. But now... now she wishes there was someone to disobey her. Someone to reach out for her. But she knows it’s for the best, their lives matter more, one soldier lost is better than two.

The solider is lifted off the ground, a look of peace overtaking her face as she accepts her fate. She will be back in the morn. The sun will rise in the east and she will be free to fight another day, bruised and weary from the battle, but no less alive than she is now. She does not open her eyes, for she already has seen the beast for what it is, this is nothing new to her.

The night pulls her in once more, and she finally lets go.

—————-

The knight had survived most of the battle, slicing down tendrils of darkness with her short sword, bestowed upon her when she was raised into knighthood, a simple blade with a single jewel, a blood red ruby, correlating to her birth, encrusted into the hilt. She dodged arrows sent flying back towards her, unflinching when the night threw chariots across the battlefield, horses screaming as they sailed through the air, landing on the ground with a hard *thud*.

She wove between spears sticking out of the ground, trying desperately not to gag as the metallic stench of blood made it's way through her helmet, forcing its way into her nose. She forced herself to look away from the bodies on the floor, some looking as if they were only sleeping, as if they would wake up any moment. Others... others she wished not to describe.

She shook her head, now was not the time to stop. Now was not the time weep, not with the battle still raging around her, threatening to leave her bloody and broken like those beneath her feet. She refused to give the enemy a chance to harm her.

Her pace quickened, turning to run right for the wall of darkness looming over the ongoing battle, a void darker than the sky on a night the moon refused to shine and the stars refrained from sparkling. She rose her sword high, she refused to allow this darkness to take any more of her friends, her *family*. No, she would stop it, she *had to*.

She lowered her head as she charged, her limbs burning from the strain of carrying her heavy armor. The knight (It was Ironic, wasn't it? A knight facing the night) let out a battle cry, one filled with the pain and anguish of one who had lost a life's worth of loved ones, the tears finally falling down her face as she braced for impact. A silent prayer made its way through her mind, one of hope for her fellow warriors, one that pleaded to whatever gods could hear, let the others live. She let a small smile slip on to her face as she hit the wall.

She was gone.

——————

The darkness came without warning.

They were still preparing for battle, sharpening their swords with their whet stones and helping their fellow soldiers with their armor, adjusting the leather straps to fit just right. There were still younglings out in the field, squires helping to prepare the ballistas and chariots, providing water for those in need.

The darkness gave them no time to prepare.

Half protected soldiers ran around in a frenzy, the knight spotted one without pants who must had just gotten finished using the latrines, charging into battle nonetheless.

The knight grit her teeth, they were supposed to have more time. They were supposed to be given warning. But as she saw a squire be flung above her head, she knew the void would never give them that chance.

Suddenly, a shiver went up her spine as she felt something grab on to her exposed ankle. It felt like both everything and nothing at all. It was a tendril of darkness, connected directly to the main mass across the field. This is when she knew she had lost, when the darkness grabbed ahold of you, there was no escape, no cutting through its inky black.

The tendril lifted her up, up, until she was dangling above its black body. She knew there was no use resisting, but she did anyways. She had to send a message to her fellow officers to keep *fighting*. To go on without her. She slicked the tendril with her sword, the blade only going through the darkness before it reconnected with itself once more.

Finally, she was dropped, right into it’s disgusting, unseeable maw.

She would come out tomorrow like new to fight again, just like the day before. She would be stitched back together like Frankenstein’s monster, her scars staying with her for all time. She would rise from the ashes once more. But for now? For now she slept in the arms of the beast.

——————-

The battle was over quickly this time.

There were minimal casualties, the injuries sustained by the soldiers being small and easily healed. The people were relieved, their loved ones would be able to return home for the day, before going out to return to the same gruesome battle as before.

One solider however, was lost. She was trapped, wandering aimlessly through the dark woods that surrounded the kingdom, no light shining through the treetops as she used her makeshift torch as a guide. She hopped over fallen trees, trying to recall her training for a situation like this when she heard it. A sound like nothing and everything at all.

The void had come back for one. Last. Snack.

She turned around quickly, throwing the small flame at the source of the noise. It seemed to flinch at that, it’s ugly tendrils recoiling as she drew her sword, now unable to see in the unrelenting darkness.

And then, she felt something grab her by her torso. Something heavy and filled with negative energy.

After that? She didn’t know. Everything was just dark.

And that’s how it stayed until she awoke the next morn.

————————-

The darkness changed its tactics.

The battlefield was set, trebuchets and archers at the ready, all facing toward the forest the darkness called home, ready to fight to save their kingdom down to the last man.

But the darkness had other ideas.

It came from below, whips of inky black seeping out of the rabbit’s holes. It lifted up the manhole covers so it could slide up behind the back lines, slithering silently, taking down man after man, never leaving a trace.

The knight was poised at the ready, staring toward the forest with an intensity known to few. She was confused, the darkness should be here by now. She should be *dead* by now.

She turned around to bark orders at her soldiers, to tell them to go search for the night, but she stopped.

The night was already here.

All her men were gone. She stood facing an almost sentient wall of dark, towering over her short frame like a snake towered over a mouse, ready to strike and gobble her up.

There was no time to react, no time to draw her sword. Before she could even blink, the wall crashed over her like a wave. Drowning her beneath its inky waters.

When the wave receded back, returning down the holes it appeared out of, the knight was nowhere to be found. She had been taken along with it.

In a few hours, she would be gone until the next morn to repeat the cycle once again.

In a few hours, she would be preparing for another attack, sharpening her sword and polishing her armor.

In a few hours, she would be spending desperately needed time with her loved ones. Her friends and family.

But now? She was gone.

———————-

Tonight, they decided on a peaceful resolution.

The battle did not take place. No blood was shed on this night, the soldiers given time to return to their families, to spend time with loved ones that would have otherwise been spent in the fight against the darkness.

This does not mean the night went without food.

No, this means that a sacrifice was made. This means that there was one solider standing on the battlefield with her sword drawn, her expression dark and grim as she stared down the wall of evil in front of her.

The Knight stared up at it, her battle weary eyes glaring at what had been the cause of her death time and time again. Her grip tightened on her short-sword, anger running through her veins. She would show this monster no fear. She would show it no sign of the way her heart was pounding in her chest, telling her to *Run, run as far as you can. Don't let it catch you,*

The sword clattered to the ground, her hand limp at her side. It was no use. There was no fight to be had, yet the battle was already won. Lives would be saved here today, families reunited. A tear made its way down her scarred cheek as she smiled sadly.

She might not get to have the privilege of life... but others will.

She let the tension melt off her shoulders, a soft sigh making its way out of her mouth. She unclenched her jaw and rolled her shoulders back, letting the stress fall away from her body. It would be all right.

And with that, she strode forward into the wall of inky black in front of her, not to be seen until the sun rose again in the east the next morn.

——————

"*Ready your weapons, men!*" A gruff female voice shouted, "*Get ready!*"

The soldiers knocked their arrows and drew their swords from their sheaths, standing their ground, even as they looked up in horror at the sight before them.

A wave- no... a tsunami, a great tide of pure black, deeper than the darkest night, rose taller than even the mighty castle that stood behind them. It loomed over them like a dark, ominous cloud, threatening to destroy all that laid before it, leaving nothing in its wake.

And that is exactly what it did.

No soldier was exempt from its hunger for bloodlust. No man nor woman spared from their horrifying fate. Not even the king himself was safe.

The wave reached the tops of the highest tower, tapping the lens of the alchemist's telescope, before finally crashing down. White foam of stars blending in to the black wave like a painter mixing their colors.

When the wave cleared, there was nothing left but a single ruby encrusted sword.

—————————————

The knight was confused, her head tilted to the side as she stared at the night.

It was a dog.

A small husky like figure sat in front of her, its fur a black darkness dusted with stars. It looked upon her, unafraid of the weapons she and her armies held.

The knight, in all her years of battling the beast that came every evening, had never seen it do something like this. She knelt down to the floor, setting her ruby encrusted sword on the ground next to her. She signaled for her men to lower their weapons, something told her the night would not be a threat. She reached her arm out, her armored palm facing upward for the dog to sniff.

The night crept forward slowly, cautious in its movements as it made its way toward her. It sniffed at the outreached hand, before placing its head against it, nuzzling her as if they had never been enemies.

The night smiled, this was unusual, but she wasn't about to complain. She sat down, letting the dog rush into her lap and lick her face as she laughed.

That evening, everything was calm for a change.

—————————-

The dog was gone, and in its place was a monster.

A dragon, to be exact. A tyrant among lizards, made of the darkest night, and wings of swirling galaxies. It’s eyes glowed like stars, and it’s tail flowed like the northern lights. It was truly a sight to behold.

The knight smiled as she grabbed her sword. She had been waiting for this her whole life.

*She was going to slay a dragon*

The knight charged forward, her ruby encrusted sword held high as she ran. She vaulted over the beast’s tail, her smile never wavering. She ran until her legs screamed and ached, *and she kept running*. She jumped up that monster’s small arms, scaling its scales.

She made it up to the beast’s head, bracing herself against it’s horn. She was going to do it. This would be the night she finally *won*.

She plunged her sword into the dragon’s starry eye.

The dragon roared, flailing its head back and forth, and the knight was thrown off.

The funny part was, she wasn’t even killed by the dragon itself. Nor was she slain by the night. This time...this time it was gravity that finished her off.

As she fell, she smiled. She had given her friends a fighting chance at defeating the beast. That was all she ever wanted. The knight let herself go limp, awaiting the impact.

She didn’t get to live to see if they won.

———————

The dark had come in many forms. Solid tendrils that shot out to grab at their legs, a dog with no intention of hurting them, a mighty dragon Liquid a wave big enough to block out the moon, flowing arms coming from behind Things in between a wall of darkness, sacrifices to be made

But they had yet to see it come for them in the very air they breathed.

The darkness wavered back and forth with each gust of wind, it’s smokey body drifting listlessly in front of them. It shimmered like black glitter, bright stars decorating its curls.

The knight warned her men not to breathe, do not let it inside of you... but many didn’t listen. They let the smoke penetrate their lungs. They let it fester inside of the very organs that have them *life*... and let it rip it all away as they fell limp to the floor. It stole their breath for its own selfish cause.

She looked away, she would let her men have their final moments in peace, her last gift to them. She wiped a tear that had started to form under her eye, she could shed them later, now was the time for *action*

The warrior rushed over to one of the walls beside her, grabbing a lit torch from an alcove and holding it high for all to see. She would be a beacon of light in the darkness. She refused to let the darkness snuff out her light.

But the darkness didn’t listen to the resolve of mortals.

The night recoiled as it touched the fire, filling her with hope. Maybe they could win, maybe she would see her family, maybe-

But soon it had enough of her optimism. The smoke gathered before her, building a wall of haze. She closed her eyes as it flooded her with darkness, extinguishing her torch.

The knight tried to hold her breath. But alas...

*Humans would always need to come back up for air.*

———————

No one knew why they started fighting it.

Maybe it was fear of the unknown. Maybe it was out of curiosity. But it doesn’t matter now.

The darkness came with the setting sun like clockwork. The summer days were cherished for how long they were, giving the citizens and soldiers more time to rest before the next battle. The winters? The winters were feared. The winter was the dark season.

Winter meant death.

But that’s not important now. It was summer, they had no reason to fear the passage of time now, they had so much sunlight to spare.

But sooner than they realize, the night will come, and the battle will start again.

No one knows why they started fighting it.

No one but *me*.

Alas, you aren’t ready for that story yet, little one. You may never be ready. If one day, you are, I will tell you then, and not a moment sooner.

But for now? For now you should go fight for me. Go fight, and when your bones are tired and weary, when your muscles ache and your eyes droop...

Then you must rest, little one.

Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.

—————————

The soldiers were broken and weary, their shoulders sagging from the weight that had been placed upon them: to protect the citizens from the night at all costs. But these men had not seen a day without battle in all of their years. They are *tired*.

The night was a merciful being.

It carried the soldiers away when they finally gave up. It rocked them gently to sleep as they dropped their weapons, bows, swords, axes... all dropping to the cobble below with a dull *clang*.

One knight, however, refused to give in. She found ways to work around her weariness, kept pushing and *pushing*...

Until there wasn’t much left of her to give.

The darkness held her as she dropped to her knees, her sword clattering to the ground below. It wiped the tears she hadn’t even realized were flowing down her cheeks. She didn’t know why she was crying. She didn’t know anything anymore. She just wanted it all to stop, stop *stop.*

And so, the night helped her to close her eyes.

The darkness could be cruel, yes...

But it is not incapable of compassion.

———————————-

The gas was back, but something was...different. More sinister.

*Possessive.*

The knight was the first on the field, leading her armies to battle. She knew she would be quickly lost to the night, but she didn’t care, she would lead them to victory one day, and maybe this was it.

The gas decided that this was not the day.

It rushed forward, as if a powerful gust had been blown. The knight fell to her knees as it pushed into her airway...yet this time it did not steal anything.

It only grew.

It infected her with its deadly poison, turning her cells into something as dark as it was. It traveled up her spine to her brain, latching on like a mosquito does to a human. It replaced her mind with its own, her thoughts and memories, cherished and guarded closely, all gone, thrown out like trash.

As ‘she’ stood up with a wince, turning around to face her soldiers, her men, her *family*, her eyes grew dark. They swirled like galaxies, her blank expression transforming into one of *rage*.

It had acquired a vessel, and it would cause *chaos*

The knight would not remember how it used her like a puppet...a weapon, making her body draw her sword and attack those she held dear. She would not remember how she laid waste to the people she had known her whole life.

She would not remember...how could she?

She wasn’t alive to see it.

——————————-

The night was smaller this time.

It was gentle, singing it’s siren song for the men to just lay down for a moment, rest their eyes. It told them that they would awaken in a moment, they just needed a second of rest.

The knight tried to fight it, but the call...the call was too strong. She knelt down on the ground as her eyes started to droop, her body getting inexplicably heavy. She fell forward and closed her eyes.

———————————

The sky was darker than usual

Large storm clouds blocked out any of the moon's rays, no star every hoping to be bright enough to pierce through. The clouds rolled in over the battle field, leaving the soldiers to think it would merely rain.

The knight pulled out her sword, getting into a fighting stance...something wasn't right here.

*BOOM*

At that moment, a black streak of lightning came down upon a group of her men, shocking them until their heart pounded no more. She turned her head quickly toward the noise. That... that must have been a coincidence. That couldn't be-

And yet, it happened again...

*BOOM*

And again...

*BOOM*

*And again...*

*BOOM*

Group by group, her friends were struck down. The darkness was attacking from the sky! She turned around, moving to rush back into the city. She had to warn them! She had to-

*BOOM*

———————————-

It came like the plague.

It infected their water supply. Turned it’s deadly disease against the town. This was supposed to be a battle between solider and monster, but this time, the beast had gone for their elderly. Their young. Their loved ones. Everyone was affected.

The knight was posted at the bedside of one of her closest friends. Ze had come down with the illness, it made zem weak and frail, having barely enough energy to cough zir lungs out.

The knight rested a damp towel against zir feverish head. This was just cruel. She had started to get the impression that the night was almost a benevolent creature but... this proved otherwise. She wondered if the civilians died, would they come back like the soldiers did? She didn’t know, and that scared her beyond belief.

Suddenly, her friend shifted. Ze reached out to clutch her hand in zir own. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Before either of them could say anything, a final, shuddery breath was torn from zir lungs.

And that was it.

Another friend loved one civilian... gone.

And zey wouldn’t be the last.

—————————

They had granted her leave.

The knight sat atop of the roof of her small house in the city, having gotten up there with the help of a ladder around the back. For once...she felt at peace. She wasn’t going to die tonight, no. Tonight, that wasn’t her job.

She looked down over the battle field, far, far away, and felt guilt. Those men down there, being thrashed around by the monster they were destined to battle every night...those were her men. Her friends. She should be down there helping them! She should-

But, as she felt the reassuring hand of her friend be placed on her shoulder (unarmored. She was wearing civilian clothing for once), she sighed. Tonight wasn’t her time to battle. She was to take a break. It would be okay. They would return, just like they always did.

She leaned into her friend’s side. She...really needed this. The stress of everything had gotten to her. She felt as if she was Atlas himself, bearing the weight of the sky on her shoulders. She allowed herself to be held.

Everything would be okay.

———————-

The tendrils were back, but they were...different almost. Softer. Less hard, unforgiving darkness and more...fluffy. Like a pillow you could almost melt into.

They snaked across the ground, worming back and forth as they approached the fighters. Many of them ran, though the ones that stayed their ground were met with something they hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Comfort.

The tendrils wound up their ankles. As soon as they came into contact with skin, the soldiers went limp, falling over in the Night’s grasp. It cradled them almost like a lover would, or a mother protecting her young.

The knight fought against her tired eyes. She fought to keep her knees from buckling, but it was no use. She pitched forward and slumped against the tendril’s hold, her sword clattering to the ground.

As she drifted out of consciousness, she was positive that this was going to be the end. It was going to kill her and all those around her. But, as she closed her eyes...nothing happened.

Sometimes the night just wanted someone to hold.

——————-

I go and give the night a hug because I am tired and angy. My soldiers think I am crazy. Does this matter to me? Maybe. Am I going to do anything about it. Hell no.

——————

*Is that...a person?*

This was the only thought going through the Knight’s head as she placed a hand on the hilt of her weapon, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

But the night wasn’t here to attack, no. It stumbled, an arm pressed to its side as it slowly staggered towards her, a black ink leaking from an even blacked wound.

The person was just that. A person, yet their skin was a dark as the night, with freckles that shone like stars. Their eyes held galaxies when they were turned up to look at her.

“*...Help...*”

That’s what made the knight spring into action, ordering her men to prepare a stretcher. It doesn’t matter that this is what they have been fighting for as long as they can remember. The night was hurt, and she couldn’t allow it to keep suffering.

As the night staggered forward, almost falling to the ground, she caught it in her arms, lowering both of them to the soft earth below. As she turned her head upwards to continue her yelling, the night sighed.

It could finally rest.

When the knight would turn her eyes downcast, she would see their was no light left in their eyes. There was no breath being pulled into their lungs any longer.

For once, it met the same fate she always has.

———————-

You’re going to have to piece the story together. Bits and pieces of forgotten history being passed down by word of mouth tend to be forgotten over time. Make sure you snatch them up before they burn~

Mother night did not mean to be evil, no. She thought she was doing the best for those she saw as her children. She did not see hardened soldiers that would stand up at anything they threw at her, no.

She saw children.

She saw children that were resisting sleep. She saw children who were tired and weary, though she didn’t know that most of it was by her own hand. She saw children, and she saw them as her own.

But mother did not show her love in the kindest of ways. She wanted her children to be healthy, strong. She didn’t know how much it hurt them to make them rest at night, for a being as old as her does not bow to death the way humans do. Her children were not happy to be put to sleep.

And so...well...I think you can figure out how the rest of the story goes, can’t you. You’re smart, little one.

————————-

The rebellion was small at first, the night's children succumbing to her sweet slumber quicker than they do now.

But it grew.

Soon, the newly made 'humans', as they liked to refer to themselves as, created villages. They carved wood into tools, weapons they could use in their fight against their mother. Stone was stacked upon stone to make castles, fit for the greatest royalty. They built cities, empires.

And mother was not happy with how far they were pulling from her. She didn't want her precious children to stray far from home, she didn't want to see them go.

So she laid them to rest, time and time again.

But a human can only be killed so many times before it grows tired of it.

—————

Fire. Fire *everywhere*. That was all she could remember about that night. Black fire bloomed like deadly flowers over the wooden gates of the city, racing towards the defenseless citizens as the king's armies were taken down outside the walls. It lashed out like a whip, burning all it touched. It was horrible, the air filled with smell like burning tar as the knight did her best not to look down. She didn't want to have to see the charred faces of her friends, her *family*.

She stepped over one of the fallen, picking up their bow seeing as hers had crumpled to ash. How does one fight something that is usually weak to fire, when it itself is setting everything alight? Everything the night touched burst into horrid black flame.

She drew an arrow, aiming towards the wall of heat in front of her. She knew it was useless, she knew that any moment now, she would burn like her comrades at her feet. But she had to try. She had to do *something*.

She fired the arrow. It soared through the air like a bird taking flight, cutting trough the air with a whistle that could be heard for *miles*.

But it never made contact.

Suddenly, the arrow was gone, replaced with flame. Suddenly, fire was racing through her veins, causing her to cry out in agony. Was this what it felt like to burn? Was this what it felt like to have the fire chip away at her very life? Her soul crumbling around her as she was forced to watch?

She fell to her knees, unable to do anything as the fire raced up her arms, turning her borrowed bow to ash, her skin and flesh to char. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear, taste, smell.

All she could feel the dark fire running through her veins.

——————-

It was like a light switch, turning on and off. But this time...this time it was people’s lives that were being turned off.

She could see the life draining from her soldier’s eyes as they stumbled to the ground, collapsing face first into the mud bellow.

Why was this happening? The night hadn’t even attacked yet! This wasn’t right. No no no this wasn’t supposed to happen yet.

The knight couldn’t stop the feeling of weightlessness that ran through her. As if all her blood had been drained away. She wobbled, trying to stand up. She drew her sword. There had to be an enemy she could fight to end this, or at least go down trying.

But there wasn’t anyone else alive but her.

Her knees buckled as she pitched forward. Before she had even hit the ground, the light was gone from her eyes.

Out like a light.

———————————

What...what was that noise?

It was distorted, a deep, low grumble that you could feel rather than hear. It wasn’t speaking words, as far as the knight could tell, more garbled, broken apart phrases. As if it were all thrown into a blender and chopped up and thrown back out.

It was horrible to listen to, many of the soldiers had holstered their weapons so they could hold their ears through their helmets, but she forged through the pain. She could handle it, it wasn’t as bad as a trumpet to the ear (now *that* hurt).

But...the noise got louder. It was coming from everywhere. You couldn’t go anywhere to get away from it. Men left and right dropped to their knees to press their head to the ground.

The knight herself dropped her knees, refusing to cover her ears up. She had to remain vigilant, the night could be attacking any time. She couldn’t...she had to get up.

It was like a white noise, she couldn’t even register the sound anymore, just a faint ringing coupled with the pain, piercing through her brain from the sides.

She couldn’t look up to see the night before her, shapeless except for an ever shifting mouth, letting out the horrible sonic wave. No, she couldn’t look up because she had passed out, her eyes rolling back in her head as she collapsed with the rest of the others.

They were luckier than usual this time, they only passed out.

They didn’t die. They didn’t reset.

Ever wonder what effects that will have on their health when the morning finally came?

———————-

Things had been different recently. Calmer.

The night had gotten weaker and weaker. They were never able to defeat it, don’t be mistaken. But every time the knight went into battle, it was like she could *breathe* again. Her armor didn’t press down against her shoulders quite as hard, like her strength hadn’t faded, her sword wasn’t as cumbersome. Hell, she even fired an arrow into it’s gaping maw, despite not being the best of archers.

The night did not stop coming each nice, but now...now it felt like a dance, one of death and destruction, formed because neither knew how to stop once they had begun. It was poetic, dying and then coming back after the other had their fill, keeping the battle scars of every life wasted away, the trauma planted firmly in their brains until its roots grew deeper, allowing it to grow like a weed.

Things were different, some would almost say peaceful.

If only they knew how wrong they were

[katrandomwrites]

Look On No More

Phantom pain courses through Indrid’s skull as he puts his pencil on the torn-out notebook page. The first stroke brings back the memories of fire, blood, and the last time he was able to see the present.

Part 2 of Blinded by Your Light (Blind!AU Indruck)

Original Headcannon and Part 1 is available on my blog or at Katrandom on AO3

Somebody on AO3 requested the story of how my version of Indrid lost his sight. So here you go ;)

Takes place Pre-Canon.

TW: Semi-graphic violence and descriptions of blood and wounds.

Sylvain was thriving.

Indrid perched in one of the windows overlooking the garden, the sketch book in his lap slowly filling with images of the land and her citizens. A guard and messenger stood by as the Seer drew and waited for any pertinent futures that needed reported back to the court.

Futures passed by in his mind even as he put the finishing strokes of charcoal on the feathers of a swooping falcon. Mundane things such as a future in which he loses his pencil in the grass is quickly taken over by a future in which he catches it before it can roll off the ledge next to him. More pressing futures that’s he’s been tracking such as the impending storm next week are kept tightly held at the forefront.

Indrid silently cursed himself for not bringing a coloring medium for today’s work, the bushes had bloomed a day earlier than he’d last seen and he was tempted to just snag a bloom to press into the pages of his book. The likelihood of Janelle trying to strangle him for touching her flowers was rising the more the thought about is.

He sighed and placed the pencil back into its pouch. The time he had to enjoy the outdoors was sparse and ended far sooner than he wanted but his position in the Court demanded the majority of his time. The only way he’d managed to even get the time he had was an excuse to practice his drawings.

“Well,” Indrid said as he stretched his wings and reluctantly dropped from his window perch, “I suppose it’s time to-”

–

Screaming echoed up from the village as Indrid spoke and turned. His guard was gone and the remains of his messenger were smeared across the garden wall.  Fire sprouted from the windows of stables, people and horses screaming in terror from where they were within. The sky was red.

Indrid’s eyes widened, a ball of fire flew at him and panic filled Indrid before he remembered his wings. The ball set the grass where he’d stood ablaze as he took off into the sky and surveyed in the chaos below. The savage humans from the Outlands had finally broken through and were destroying everything in their way.

Activity was heavy in the main square of town, the screams grew more frantic as Indrid flew closer. Carefully, Indrid landed on the corner of the market building and watched helplessly as they set fire to his home. Ghosts wailed from the attics as Vampyres, Humanoids, and Sylphs of varied sizes were dragged from their homes and slaughtered in the streets.

A few humans took notice of his arrival and tried to alert the others before Indrid tossed off a round of magic bolts, turning the attackers to white ash on contact. Indrids wings shook from the shear violence of it all before something pricked up his back and The World Screamed.

Indrid launched off the building without thinking and sped towards the crystal; towards the Heart of Sylvain.

His mind blanked as deep rooted animal instinct took over, white hot bolts flew from his hands and he let out a blood-curdling shriek. His blood chanted for him to protect the Heart at all cost. The attacking humans tried to flee but either turned to ash or were eviscerated by Indrid’s claws.

Crude spears and swords pierced and tore through his wings and back with little effect until something hard collided with Indrid’s head and sent him sprawling against the crystal. His attacker loomed over him, war hammer in hand, before turning to the crystal and lining up for the final blow.

“N-no,” he tried to say only to find his mouth filled with blood. Indrid glanced down to see a spear protruding through his abdomen.

Sylvain screamed once more before her heart shattered against what was left of Indrid’s back and sending a blinding light across the planet.

–

Indrid dropped to his knees and shrieked in pain, barely registering that fact that the guard was calling for help. His breath was labored and his chest ached. He could feel something dripping down his face.

Footsteps approached.

“Indrid, can you hear me? Indrid, what did you- wait…”

Fingers brushed against his face.

Janelle

Images of her body broken against the marble floors of the castle shot into Indrid’s mind. The world grayed underneath the orange puddle of blood that surrounded her.

“She’s dead,” Indrid wheezed.

“Who’s dead? Indrid, what did you see?”

The Seer looked up at the blurring face of the Minister of the Arcane.

“Sylvain will die.”

And the world went black.

[monocerosaquae]

Small Drabble

tw: starvation mentioned. semi-graphic descriptions of violence/blood. graphic/semi-graphic depction of consuming an animal. I’m honerstly not 100% sure how to tag this but I’m trying my best.

Let me know if you think I’ve missed something that should be tagged!

Also a tl;dr if you dont want to read; Trying to survive the abyss is a *struggle* for a young boy and I get way too into exploring that idea.

He’s so hungry.

Time passes weird down here. Differently. Days felt like hours, minutes, sometimes months. Sometimes months felt like days. Sometimes he felt like he’d been here forever, like he’d been born into this void of darkness, sometimes it seemed like just yesterday he’d been playing with his siblings in the forrest.

At first, naively, he’d assumed things like hunger just didn't exist in this place. He hadn’t felt hungry yet. Survivial instincts had better things to focus on during what passed for the day down here.

But then he stopped to rest for barely a moment, to catch his breath, and the pangs had hit. So sharp and consuming he’d frantically checked his abdomen for a gaping wound.

Nothing but pale skin and prominent ribs greeted his inspection. He wasn’t impaled, bleeding out around a wicked blade or ragged claws, he was starving.

The Abyss wasn’t made for a human. It wasn’t accommodating. One must adapt or die in the face of this cruel, savage realm.

So he would adapt. Again and again, learning from mistakes, coming out stronger, tearing himself to shreds and reshaping the remains to fit this world and losing more and more of Ajax as he went. If he wanted to survive the monsters that lurked here, he had to become at least a little bit of one himself.

 Slash, tear, rend and rip through paper thin flesh, easier and easier the deeper he crawled. No longer could he tell where the viscera that coated him started or ended, were his clothes even still intact? He never bothered to check, fabric long ago losing any meaningful use aside from being ripped up into bandages.

Run. Scream. Slash, RipClawBite-

Thick, warm. A bitter rotten tang, like the fish mother left out to ferment, but not quite preserved enough to eat yet. Blood coated his tongue as he pried his teeth free from the flesh of his most recently felled foe. He breathes, rolls his tongue, smears the liquid across his gums and tastes. Swallows…

So warm...heavy and filling in his stomach...

It’s the closet he’s come to food in so long, something primal purrs and rears it’s head in interest inside him. Something dark and foreign, but so deeply instinctual, he can barely fight even it if he’d wanted to.

Something slithers out from beneath his skin as he dips his head, perched over his kill like a wild animal. Something that coils around him, coaxes forth the burgeoning darkness, shapes it to his advantage.

Newly sharpened canines sink back into it’s still warm meat, latch on and pull.

A chunk rips free with a sickening squelch that echoes on deaf ears, slick and dripping down his chin as he chews, a ravenous growl slipping from his chest.

Again. More. So hungry.

There’s little meat on this creature. He resorts to sucking at the fat, snaps a joint and gnaws at the bone until it splits, scrapes and licks at the marrow inside.

Sinew rips, tendons snap, bones crack...

...and the boy that once was Ajax feasts till there is nothing left but shards of bone and scraps of skin.

[foolsbangle-blog]

general information ( 1. ) - general appearance, scars and disabilities.

appearance. 

Therion has tan skin and naturally white hair. While most of his body is covered by his poncho mantle and scarf, what can be seen is easily described as lean with decent, but not overly accentuated, muscle definition. His physique is close to a gymnast.

The majority of his face is covered, either by his hair or the scarf wrapped around his neck. He rarely removes his scarf, and never restyles his hair, because his profession as a thief has taught him that being identifiable is always a bad thing.

Hidden behind his hair is.....nothing out of the ordinary. Just another lilac eye to match the one that can actually see because it isn’t being blocked by unruly hair like an emo child at an MCR concert.

THT SPECIFIC. His team tattoo is directly over his heart, which means 99% of the time it will be covered by both his shirt and his mantle, which is preferable for him as it doesn’t make his affiliation (as loose as he considers the term affiliation to begin with) completely obvious upon first glance.

scars. - tw for semi-graphic descriptions

The largest concentration of scars will be the wounds in the right iliac and lumbar regions of his body, while other scars litter the rest of his body in varying quantities; they seem to lessen on the right side of his body, and the ones present there are obviously from shallower stab wounds. The right side of his body appears to be covered in hemosiderin staining (the appearance of permanent “bruising”), as well as various cuts, all of them old but very obviously the result of deep wounds. The most prominent scar is what almost looks like a scarred hole in the right lumbar region, the result of a broken rib puncturing his skin after his fall. All of these scars on his back and chest are easily hidden by his mantle and shirt, although his shirt is open enough in the chest area that one may see a fraction of it if they pay close attention.

There are prominent scars on his right leg, and fewer but still present scars on his right leg, all of them from a mixture of various battles as well as the fall. He wears long pants at all times, so these will never be noticeable unless explicitly stated.

There are also prominent scars on his right arm, from protecting his head from the fall. They appear as one long scar, looking to almost be reminiscent of a scrape down his arm. This is also normally covered by his mantle; however, his shirt sleeves do not do well to hide it.

His face only has one scar, a gash near his right ear that is easily covered by his disheveled hair.

disabilities.

Surprising for somebody with as many scars as he does, Therion doesn’t have many, if any, noticeable physical disabilities. This may be because he has few, or because he’s gotten fairly well at hiding or ignoring them while honing his skills as a master thief. However, fatigue can result in a slight, barely noticeable limp in his right leg, the result of a wound that healed incorrectly.

Therion is still nervous about heights, more so about cliff faces than the actual act of climbing. It’s not strong enough to be a phobia, but he does have reservations about being too close to the edge of a cliff or other tall structure, accompanied by slight vertigo.