#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]

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.

[iwriteloveletters]

Cookie Cutter Love (Yan! Eren x Reader)

Hello hello!!! Cherub here, it has been super duper long since I’ve written but I’ve been sucked back into escapism and I wanted to try something new. Now I will add trigger warning but I’ll even say here, this one shot contains knife play, obsessive and unhealthy behaviors, descriptive mentions of cutting/carving, and semi graphic descriptions of the wound. If this is not your cup of tea, SCROLL!!!!! BLOCK!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE I AM AN ADULT AND I WILL WRITE ABOUT ADULT CHARACTERS DOING ADULT THINGS!!!!! And if you are in any sort of recovery please look away <3!! Prioritize yourself first! Anyways let’s get on with it! Enjoy <3

TW - KNIFE PLAY, CUTTING, BLOOD, DESCRIPTIONS OF A WOUND, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIORS, YANDERE TROPE, RESTRAINTS, HIGHLY SUGGESTIVE BUT THIS IS NOT FULL ON SMUT!!!!!

WORD COUNT - 1,278

Before you knew it you were being held in place. One moment you were at a party talking to a friend and now you’re bound to your bed, your wrists against the headboard and your legs forced against the bed. You only knew one person who knew how to tie knots this tight.

Your long-term boyfriend, Eren.

“Eren…” You shakily called out. Your breathing was picking up at a rapid pace, your chest rising up and down seconds apart from each other.

You knew Eren was possessive, somewhat controlling, and could become very sexually frustrated but this had never happened before. He had never pulled you out of a party just to relieve himself.

“Eren c’mon! This isn’t funny, these knots are too tight!” You call out for him once again, hoping for a response this time.

The door to your shared bedroom finally opens and the light turns on, there’s Eren with an irritated expression on his face. You see he’s holding something in his hand, you look down to see he’s holding a knife. One you’ve never seen before, it was a black hunting knife. Eren never hunted, you were sure of that.

“Eren, what the fuck?!” You began to struggle in your restraints. The knots were nowhere near to coming undone.

“What?” His irritated expression quickly turns into an empty, emotionless expression as he looks down at his hands, “oh this? Hm, you’ll see what it’s for in a minute.” He makes his way closer to you, taking the safety cover of the knife. “Just be still, ‘kay? I don’t wanna mess up.”

You began to quickly panic at the sight of the knife, it was sharp and threatening, only the worst thoughts came to mind immediately upon seeing it get closer to you. “No no no, what are you doing?!”

Eren shows some emotion once again in his face, a scowl quickly forms. “I don’t like how you were talking to Connie tonight.” He confesses, for months he’s been jealous of Connie, he hated the way he tried to make you laugh more than he did with the others. In Eren’s mind, he believed Connie wanted you more than anyone around him.

“What?! Eren, do you realize how insane you sound? Connie is our friend!” You laugh but not because you’re mocking him, you were extremely afraid and uncomfortable. He knew that too, and he seemed to relish in it too much.

“I don’t give a fuck, Y/N.” He takes a deep breath in and quickly out, as though he’s trying to compose himself. “He knows of our relationship but clearly has no respect for me. So I’m gonna show him you’re more than just my partner, you’re mine.”

He began to drag the blade against your thigh, not making any marks. Simply to get you used to the feeling of the knife.

“What are you going to do with that… please don’t do anything you’re gonna regret.” You say, your voice shaking with every word. There was no way out of this and you hated every second of it.

“You really haven’t figured that out yet?” He scoffed in amusement. “I’m gonna carve into you, I get so worried when my bite marks fade away. As if you’re not mine anymore, others will get the wrong idea and try to hit on you and that makes my chest hurt. This will ease my anxiety and give you an even better sense of belonging. This will be forever and I love that.”

Before you could say anything else he pierces into your skin.

“Ah…” That was all you could muster up, the knife felt cold against your skin for a brief moment. You could feel the warmth of your own blood spill out, leaking down your thigh. “Eren please don’t do this, please don’t!” You squeak.

He does this again, then again, deeper than the last each time. You could tell he was carving letters. You could feel the letter ‘E’ forming on your thigh, your thighs begin to tremble due to the pain. Your eyes are filled with nothing but tears, you couldn’t tell if you were aroused or still afraid at this point. You felt shame, you felt pride in his love for you, your head was cloudy due to both your conflicting thoughts and the pain of the lacerations itself.

“Almost there, my love.” He sighs, his eyes locked and focused on your thigh.

He pressed deeply once again, this time it was the letter ‘Y’. This letter felt excruciatingly slow for you, as if he knew what he wanted to do this time. He found a new technique.

He finally pulls the knife away from your skin and places the bloodied blade on your bedside table. It was covered in a deep, rich crimson. It almost blended in with the black blade itself.

He lowers himself to your thigh, giving it a few licks as if he was trying to clean it up. Or maybe even savor the taste of you he’d never considered before.

You shiver at the action but luckily it’s over before you know it. He lifts himself back up and simply admires the fresh wound. A wound of ‘love’ he would refer to it from now on.

“You look perfect…” He says as he unties you from your restraints.

You both sat side-by-side one another in silence, you were still misty-eyed and trembling.

He pulls you onto his lap and cradles you in his arms, stroking your head and shushing you.

“I know it hurts but I had to do it, you’ll like it I promise. I saw the way you were reacting to it, this felt intimate huh?” He grinned to himself, to him this was the best idea he’s ever had since starting your relationship. Of course, besides stalking you for an unbearably long time and learning to sneak his way into your life. But this was a close third for him.

Meanwhile, you look down at your thigh; you notice that some cuts were deeper in a few lines, it was very noticeable in the letter ‘E’ but it could easily be explained by the fact he was learning how to cut deep enough just for scarring. The skin was splitting apart and scarring either way, some cuts were simply not as deep as the others.

“Hm, do you like it?” His fingers hover over the area, not wanting to touch or irritate it.

You hum in slight satisfaction. “I think I can learn to like it.”

He laughs quietly as he presses a kiss against your forehead. “I told you you’d like it! Just trust the process I promise. And maybe if you like it that much, I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

You roll your eyes playfully, not wanting to admit your possible newfound interest in whatever this was. You wanted to feel disgusted and angry with him a little longer.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’m not too happy about this. This was violent and aggressive.”

Eren nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s aware, but he doesn’t care for the most part. He instead removes you off his lap to get cleaning supplies for both his knife and your wound.

After everything was wrapped up and clean, he treated you to a late night meal from your favorite place and let you pick what you’d both watch to bed tonight.

“Next time, ask.” I look at him and then my bandaged thigh.

Eren chuckles, “I will I will.”

For now, you will convince yourself this was a one time thing but for Eren, this was going to occur again.

In other news, I hope if you made it this far I hope you enjoy. I will probably never write smut but this was a fun way to dip my toes into other aspects of the yandere trope. Again, the block button exists and I hope you utilize it if you don’t enjoy this type of content. My goal is to just write what I think people may enjoy, never to upset or trigger anyone. - cherub

[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..."

[robinrites]

Day Four: Safer With You

Happy whumptober day 4 :)

Crossposted on ao3 (zthewriter108)

Jaskier has been injured while on a job with Geralt, but is too embarrassed to speak up and resorts to treating himself, but he's no doctor and can only do so much.

Prompts: Dead on Your Feet, Hidden Injury, Don't Pass Out, Waking Up Disoriented

TW: Semi-graphic description of an injury

As the sun set, Geralt and Jaskier began to settle into camp for the night. Jaskier finds himself waiting until Geralt has settled into his trance-like sleep for the night. Once he is certain the Witcher is asleep, he scoots closer to the fire, then lifts up his shirt. His eyes immediately land on a bright red splotch seeping through the bandage he’d crudely wrapped around his torso before he and Geralt had set out that morning. Jaskier does his best to carefully pull off the old bandage, but he can’t help but wince when it sticks slightly to his skin. 

Jaskier glances over at Geralt again, just to make sure he hasn’t been woken up yet, he knows he’d never hear the end of it from Geralt if he mentioned he got injured on their last mission. Jaskier shoves the dirty bandage back into his pouch then pulls out a small container and new bandages he had gotten earlier before they left down. I just need to run to the market to see if they have any new bath salts, he’d told Geralt, knowing that Geralt wouldn’t want to come if it was for something as boring as bath salts. Jaskier carefully opens the tin, then grabs some of the salve inside to put on his wound. 

The second his hand touches where the beast had stabbed him, the area that is slowly getting more and more disinfected, he lets out a cry of pain, which he quickly cuts off. Geralt stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. He sighs in relief before grabbing a spare shirt to shove in his mouth to stifle his cries of pain. Though it only takes him minutes to finish spreading the salve, it feels like hours have passed and by the end of it, tears are falling down his face. 

Jaskier forces himself to look at the injury, just to make sure that he is doing all he should be doing to treat it. Just below his right pectoral lies a deep stab wound, roughly 4 centimeters (Author’s Note: I’m American and have no gauge for how big a 4 cm hole is, but just imagine with me that it’s about the size of a golf ball. Thanks, end A/N). Sharp red lines spread from the hole outwards across his chest. Jaskier fights back bile when he notices a tinge of green present in the injuries as well. He sighs, knowing he’s done all he can to treat it at the moment, or at least until they go into town next. 

Jaskier picks back up the bandage he’d pulled from his bag, then carefully begins to wrap it around his torso again. He finishes wrapping himself up, then tucks the end of the bandage into the edge of it to secure it. Jaskier then carefully slides back on his shirt, then lays down, allowing sleep to finally come over him. 

The next morning, Geralt seems to be on a mission, in spite of the fact that they have yet to receive a new job to do. He wakes Jaskier up with such urgency, for a split second he fears they’re being attacked. When he sits up the world spins around him, before slowly beginning to focus on Geralt in front of him, his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“You okay, Jaskier?” 

“‘M fine Geralt,” He mutters, in spite of the fact that he is currently the opposite of fine. “Just a little tired, tha’sall.” Geralt stands up, shaking his head, but before he can turn away Jaskier holds out his hand, “Help me up?” 

Geralt pulls him to his feet, catching him when he seems to wobble. “Jask? Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Gods Geralt, you worry like a mother, has anyone ever told you that?” Jaskier weakly laughs, mainly to himself. “Like I said, I’m just tired, didn’t sleep well last night, the uh,” His mind races for an excuse, “the trees were too creaky last night. Acorns kept falling on my head, hard to sleep like that.” He sees Geralt giving him the look, the one that means, ‘I can just drop you off at the next town if this is too much for you’ and he panics. “But like I’ve said, I am a-okay, just give me a few minutes to shake the groggy off.” 

After Jaskier takes a minute to coax the bile to go back down his throat, and tells the world to stop spinning for at least a couple hours, he smiles at Geralt. Geralt looks him up and down, then frowns, but if he notices anything is off he doesn’t say anything. 

“Would you like to ride Roach today, Jaskier?” 

Jaskier forces another laugh, “Why would I need that? Plus you’ve said Roach doesn’t like me so, I think I’ll pass.” 

“I just- I thought I’d offer, since you are tired.” Geralt shakes his head, then hops up onto Roach’s back, “Nevermind. Ready to go?”

“Psh, I was waiting on you.” Jaskier smiles, lightly shoving his shoulder into Roach playfully. This move catches him off balance, he stumbles into Roach slightly, disturbing the horse, but a quick look shows Geralt didn’t take notice-- or he didn’t care. Jaskier hopes it was the former. 

As they walk, Jaskier swings his lute around to his front, hoping the music will help take his mind off the pain. He hums a tune, on and off, trying to rotate through his songs but mainly sticking with everyone’s favorite, “Toss a Coin”. By the end of his fourth time singing the song, he finds himself barely able to stay upright. He tightens his grip on his lute, as if that could hold him to reality, help him stay awake, but he feels himself slipping more and more. Jaskier forces himself to look up, where the sun sits directly above his head. A laugh escapes his throat, first he gets stabbed and now the sun dares to mock him too. 

“Jaskier?��� Geralt slightly tugs on Roach’s reign, getting him to stop so he can look at the bard. Jaskier leans against Roach’s side, his legs shaking from the effort of holding himself up. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier slurs out, his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably. “I don’t feel so good.” Somehow, maybe it’s that Witcher agility, but somehow Geralt is off Roach, catching Jaskier in his arms before he can hit the ground. Not that Jaskier notices, he’s asleep before he even knows he’s falling. 

Geralt lowers Jaskier to the ground gently, then grabs his pack from Roach. His eyes scan Jaskier for any sign of injury, then he notices the bandages peeking out from underneath Jaskier’s shirt. 

“Fuck Jaskier,” He whispers even though he knows Jaskier can’t hear him, “What happened to you?” 

He gently lifts Jaskier’s shirt up and over his head, then sets it on the ground beside them. Blood stains the bandage and Geralt has a sinking feeling that if he were to touch the bandage his hand would come away bloody. He gently peels it off, doing his best to ignore Jaskier’s unconscious whimper when the bandage slightly sticks to his skin. Geralt scans the injury, immediately taking notice of a tiny dot in the center of what appears to be a stab wound. 

“I’m sorry Jaskier,” He whispers as he digs into the wound and pulls out a bug, most likely a parasite that wasn’t helping any. 

Geralt squashes the bug between his two fingers, then wipes it off on his shirt, knowing Jaskier would lose it if he found out Geralt put bug guts on his shirt. Geralt pulls his bag closer, then begins to dig through the contents until he finds what he’s looking for, a healing tincture and a medicinal ointment. Geralt gently grabs Jaskier’s chin and forces his mouth open, putting a couple drops on his tongue. He then pours a small amount of liquor from his flask over his hands, and the tiniest bit over Jaskier’s wound, trying his best to ignore the way it causes Jaskier to squirm in pain. He quickly begins to spread the ointment all over the wound, which results in the entire container being emptied. Geralt sighs, knowing that’s the best he can do until he gets Jaskier to the next town a couple hours away. 

He shoves all of his medical supplies back into his bag and reattaches it to Roach. Geralt gently wraps Jaskier’s shirt back around him, then lifts him onto Roach. Jaskier stirs slightly, but thankfully doesn’t wake. Geralt quickly scans the area to make sure he hasn’t left anything important, then jumps up onto Roach behind Jaskier. 

“Tt tt.” Upon hearing this Roach takes off. 

Geralt can’t help but feel like he is racing towards the sun. His heart is pounding with worry for the bard, for Jaskier, and he knows that the further the sun has set, the closer they are to town. Geralt keeps glancing at Jaskier the whole ride there, hoping that he’ll wake up and be completely fine, but he knows that won’t be the case. 

The second they arrive in town, he shouts to the first person he sees. “Please! My friend, he needs a doctor! Where is your doctor?” The farmer quickly spouts directions off at Geralt, so fast anyone who wasn’t a Witcher would’ve needed it repeated. “Thank you.” Geralt tosses a coin to the man before darting off. He rides to the front of the cottage, barely stopping Roach before he hops off and picks Jaskier back up in his arms. It takes all his self control to not kick the door down. 

“Can I help you sir-” The doctor begins but when she realizes Geralt is holding a person, she stops herself. “Bring him back here for me.” He follows her through her small clinic, then lies him down on an empty bed. “What happened?” 

“Gods if I know.” Geralt runs a hand through his hair nervously, “He was fine and then he collapsed and I found a giant wound on his torso.” The doctor moves Jaskier’s shirt up so she can see the bandage. 

“Shit.” She removes the bandages and turns away for a minute. “You don’t know what did this?” 

“No, I’m a Witcher so I’ve seen all kinds of monsters but never one that did this.” Geralt takes in a deep breath, “Can you help him? Money really is no problem-” 

“Stop,” She kindly interrupts, “We can worry about all that later, what matters is getting him well. Keep an eye on him, let me know if anything changes, I need to mix up something that I think will help.” 

When she returns, she instantly notices that Geralt is holding Jaskier’s hand, but ignores it. She sits next to him and begins to plop a goopy mixture of herbs and various plants onto his chest. “This should help.” Geralt instantly notices that Jaskier’s breathing sounds better. The doctor glances outside before looking back at the pair in front of her. “I need to be getting some rest, and it looks like you could use it too. Come wake me if anything changes in his condition?” Geralt nods solemnly. “Good, I’m in the room three doors down.” 

The next morning when Jaskier wakes, all he feels is dazed. He dizzily looks at the walls surrounding him and starts to panic when he doesn’t recognize where he is. Jaskier goes to pull his hands closer to his chest for protection when he realizes that Geralt is holding his hand. He blushes, then takes a deep breath. If Geralt is here, then it must be safe. He reasons, fighting the urge to wake his Witcher up. Then Jaskier notices the lack of pain. He glances down at his abdomen and notices a weird goop all over him, and figures it must be the reason he doesn’t hurt anymore. Jaskier smiles, then lays his head back down on the pillow. His stomach feels all warm inside and he knows it’s not because of infection. Later, Geralt might deny that he cares for Jaskier, but at this moment, Jaskier knows it to be a fact. Maybe someday I can tell him how I feel and maybe he’ll feel it too. 

[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.”

[ashthewaterghoul]

“What if Qui-Gon Survived”

Chapter 15

TW - somewhat graphic description of blood at the end

Anakin was still concerned about his Master, but managed to push his feelings aside to take down a Trade Federation ship, for which Obi-Wan appraised him for and Padme discreetly squeezed his hand in pride. The three’s collective concern had risen back when the ship with Qui-Gon had disappeared from sight, the moment was disturbed when they caught on to Count Dooku’s trail.

“Shoot him down!” Anakin ordered.

“We’re out of rockets, sir.” The pilot replied.

“Follow him!” He suggested.

“We’re going to need help!” Padme said.

“There isn’t time, Anakin and I can handle this!” Obi-Wan shouted above the sound of the engines.

Dooku’s droid entourage suddenly turned around and started firing at the gunship. One blast rocked the gunship so much that Padme fell out along with one of the troopers.

“Padme!” Anakin yelled out for her, “Put the ship down!”

Obi-Wan feared that Anakin’s attachment to Padme could interfere with this battle, and it now has. He knew the only way to get him to go with him to Dooku.

“I cannot take Dooku alone, I’ll need your skill with me if we are to catch him!” It wasn’t a lie though.

“I don’t want to leave her!” He said with a shaky voice.

“What would she do in your position?”

Hanging his head, Anakin replied: “She would do her duty.”

Obi-Wan placed a consoling hand on Anakin’s back. The gunship had a tense atmosphere now, more then before. When they landed at the entrance of the hangar, they looked at each other and walked in.

Dooku was preparing his ship, when he saw the Jedi walk in.

“You’re going to pay for all the Jedi you killed today.” The younger Jedi he knew to be Anakin Skywalker stated. The other Jedi, Obi-Wan, then started to use hand signals, presumably laying out a plan.

“Of course, Obi-Wan.”

Before they had time to initiate it though, Dooku blasted a flurry of lightning their way, only to be blocked by both. Perhaps taunting would help him?

“As you can see, my Jedi powers are far beyond yours. Now, back down.”

“Never!” Anakin said, saber in the ready position.

Dooku proceeded to get his own saber out, and let the crimson blade attack the blue and green ones in front of him. The duel commenced, flashes of red, green and blue making it difficult to see which blade needed to be blocked, for all the men, resulting in Anakin and Obi-Wan nearly striking each other. When their three blades were locked together. Dooku let out another taunt.

“Master Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker, you both disappoint me. Qui-Gon holds you in such high esteem.” The mention of his old padawan’s name caused a rush of emotions to rise up the Padawan’s face. His attacks became more aggressive, more frequent, he was forgetting to block. Dooku used the moment to taunt again, “Surely you can do better.” He said as he pushed Anakin back with the Force, making him hit his head against the wall.

Obi-Wan barely had a moment to process what happened before the red blade came his way. As Obi-Wan fought the Count, Anakin was starting to come to.

Dooku managed to strike Kenobi’s arm and leg knocking him to the ground. He raised his saber, ready to take out part of the padawan lineage he left behind, but not before Anakin jumped over to protect his friend.

“Brave of you, boy. But I would have thought you had learned your lesson.”

“I am a slow learner.” Anakin quipped back.

Obi-Wan called his saber over.

“Anakin!” He shouted, throwing the saber over.

The fight continued, Anakin flawlessly adjusting to two sabers. Anakin cut the power wire, plunging the hangar into darkness, the momentary distraction allowed Anakin an advantage. The two still fought, but as it looked like Anakin was losing, a yell at the entrance saved him.

“DOOKU!” The usually calm voice of Qui-Gon Jinn yelled out, Master Yoda walking in with him, glaring at the fallen Jedi.

“Master Yoda, Master Jinn. You have interfered with our affairs for the last time.” He said disparagingly. He pushed Anakin back, his head hitting the ground as he landed by Obi-Wan’s feet.

Hands outstretched, Dooku pulled a generator off the wall, and threw it at the little green Jedi, who pushed it back, Dooku retaliated by pushing it to his old padawan, who threw it to the ground. Next, Dooku pulled a piece of the roof down on top of the two, but they easily pushed it aside.

“Powerful, you have become, Dooku. The dark side I sense in you.”

“I’ve become more powerful then any Jedi. Even you, Master Yoda.”

He unleashed another wave of lightning at Yoda, who easily caught it and pushed it back, Dooku once again deflected to Qui-Gon, who quickly got his lightsaber out to block it. The next round went out, and Yoda caught the blast, and seemed to absorb it, showing his many years of experience and knowledge.

“Much to learn you still have.” He stated.

“It is obvious that this contest cannot be decided by our knowledge of the Force, Masters,” Dooku said, once again igniting his weapon, “but by our skills with a lightsaber.”

Yoda pulled his cloak to his side, and called his saber to him from his belt, igniting it. The three fought, with all the strength their advancing ages allowed. Qui-Gon got pushed backward, disorienting him, this moment of his confusion, allowed a window of opportunity for Dooku, he used the Force to push Jinn to the ground by his Padawans, the impact knocked him out.

Obi-Wan and a semi-conscious Anakin voiced their concern, “Master!” they simultaneously shouted.

In a moment of saber lock, Yoda said: “Fought well you have, my old Padawan.”

“This is just the beginning.” Dooku used in hand to rip a pipe from the roof and fall onto Anakin, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. This caused Yoda to break the lock and stop the pipe and move it out the way. The distraction worked as Dooku ran onto the ship and got away.

Filled with regret, Yoda called his cane over, steadying him once again. At that moment, Padme Amidala came into the hangar with a dozen troopers.

Anakin and Obi-Wan were holding Qui-Gon, a concerning amount of blood covering Anakin’s hand, all from a gushing wound on his head. Padme was happy to see her love alive, but the happiness faded when she saw the fear on the two men’s face, and the red pool they were in.

“MEDIC! NOW!” she yelled out, kneeling at Anakin’s side, trying her best to comfort him. His tears already leaving marks on his face.

You can view all chapters here

[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.”

[official-lucifers-child]

hey i was just thinking about how i should definitely tag trigger warnings but i don’t really know everything

could u make a list of things u tag and how u tag them?

(also i see cw sometimes, what is that opposed to tw?)

just trying to be more aware and make other ppl feel safer thanks!

okay so i just spent over an hour typing out a long response but my teacher closed the tab without warning so i lost everything and now i’m going to try to remember everything and retype it all

this response will contain lots of triggering terms, phrases, and talk that i cannot tag due to being on desktop. please, if you have any common triggers or are triggered more easily, scroll really fast past this, until you get to the next bold font at the bottom which will signify the end of the post. tread carefully.

so, first thing’s first: there is no defined, complete, finished list of tags, and there never will be. triggers can be literally anything and everything (which is okay and valid!!!!!), so such a list would be constantly growing and would eventually just include everything ever.

second thing: basically my initial rule of thumb was “death, disease/sickness, violence/gore, food, and requests”, so death in general, murder, killing, mass murder, suicide, diseases like cancer and sickness like throwing up, hospitals and surgery things, violence like punching, guns, knives, swords, injuries and wounds, battle and war (both of which kinda fall into all of the other categories), gore, blood and blood mentions, food, descriptions of food, pictures of food, hunger, talking about eating, making food, and then requests that i get for specific tags.

so you see how that’s already a bunch of things

but then it expanded. phobias and hate, homophobia and transphobia and ableism and racism and fatphobia and then abuse and manipulation and gaslighting and guilt-tripping, graphic descriptions of really anything, destruction like bombs and explosions, religion, christianity and catholicism  are big ones, general hate too.

and then how to tag triggers? well, there’s a bunch of ways:

tw [thing]

[thing] tw

[thing]

tw: [thing]

[thing] trigger warning

trigger warning [thing]

trigger [thing]

[thing] trigger

ways not to tag triggers include:

[thing] 1234567890 (or any other long random string of numbers)

[thing]//// or /////[thing] or [thi]/////[ng] (or any number of slashes or any placement of slashes)

[thing]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (or use of any punctuation that isn’t a colon)

odd placement of colons, like tw : [thing] or [thing]: tw or tw:[thing] (it’s just not proper punctuation or grammar and isn’t blocked by anyone so to tag something as that would be essentially just... not tagging it

tw; [thing] (semi-colons are not common. just don’t)

basically, just don’t add any extra symbols or punctuation and try to keep to one or two forms of tagging. i use both “tw [thing]” and “[thing] tw” just for extra safety and security, but if you’re just starting out i suggest using “tw [thing]” because it’s simple, commonly used and blocked, and doesn’t include any colons or punctuation that you have to remember.

i’m going to list as many tags as i can think of to give you some tags to remember/think of and examples of the tag form:

tw death

death tw

tw suicide

suicide tw

tw abuse

abuse tw

tw abuse mention

abuse mention tw 

tw manipulation

manipulation tw

tw gaslighting

gaslighting tw

tw food

food tw

tw food mention

food mention tw

tw pictures of food

pictures of food tw

tw self harm

self harm tw

tw injury

injury tw

tw injuries

injuries tw

tw wound

wound tw

tw wounds

wounds tw

tw blood

blood tw

tw blood mention

blood mention tw

tw gore

gore tw

tw graphic

graphic tw

tw body horror

body horror tw

tw gross

gross tw

tw unsanitary

tw vomit

vomit tw

tw throw up

throw up tw

tw throwing up

throwing up tw

tw pet death

pet death tw

tw murder

murder tw

tw killing

killing tw

tw anger

anger tw

tw angry

angry tw

tw yelling

yelling tw

tw caps

caps tw

tw capslock

capslock tw

tw cats

cats tw

tw cat

cat tw

tw dogs

dogs tw

tw dog

dog tw

tw teeth

teeth tw

tw dentistry

dentistry tw

tw cops

cops tw

tw police

police tw

tw police brutality

police brutality tw

tw police violence

police violence tw

tw violence

violence tw

tw bugs

bugs tw

tw insects

insects tw

tw bees

bees tw

tw bee stings

bee stings tw

tw bee sting

bee sting tw

tw birds

birds tw

tw water birds

water birds tw

tw butterflies

butterflies tw

tw guns

guns tw

tw knives

knives tw

tw war

war tw

tw christianity

christianity tw

tw homophobia

homophobia tw

tw transphobia

transphobia tw

tw racism

racism tw

tw ableism

ableism tw

tw fatphobia

fatphobia tw

tw hate

hate tw

tw anon hate

anon hate tw

tw chain post

chain post tw

tw reblog bait

reblog bait tw

tw loud noises

loud noises tw

tw flashing

flashing tw

tw flashing lights

flashing lights tw

tw depression

depression tw

tw anxiety

anxiety tw

tw panic attack

panic attack tw

tw negativity

negativity tw

tw self deprecation

self deprecation tw

tw fire

fire tw

tw car crash

car crash tw

tw hospitals

hospitals tw

tw hospital

hospital tw

tw needles

needles tw

tw needle

needle tw

tw surgery

surgery tw

there’s hundreds more but i’m getting tired of writing them all so i’m stopping now.

but you get my point? that the list of triggers would be endlessly long and just not plausible to try to put together?

basically, you’re starting out with tagging things. tag death and things related to death. tag sickness and disease, tag gore and wounds and blood and such. tag food. and tag requests. let people know how you tag, let people know that you’re new at tagging and will probably forget things. maybe even make a tag list for yourself that you slowly add to as you personally get more requests or more tags, that way you can reference it when needed. be accepting of all triggers, for no trigger is too weird or unordinary. just tag it. make sure people know that you won’t laugh at them or judge them for having “weird” or specific triggers.

(it’s also good to have a tag for things that you don’t quite know how to tag but could still be triggering!! mine is “possibly triggering” and “trigger possibility”, and it’s just saying that “hey this could be bad, so block this tag just for safety if you’re triggered but things” but i haven’t used it in a while because i generally do know what and how tot tag different things. you probably don’t if you’re just starting out, so yeah it’s good to just have a general tag just in case)

(also if anyone comes into my inbox or the notes of this going “people are triggered by X?????” i am just going to delete your comment and maybe even block you because yes, people are triggered by that, and you need to shut up. triggers aren’t all dark and serious, triggers can literally be funfetti birthday cake and fuzzy blankets. so now, before you go to type your rude, disrespectful, unneeded, and unwanted comment of “oh but i personally can’t see past the end of my nose so how could someone possibly be triggered by this thing??!!??!?!?!?!”, just shut up :) )

in conclusion, tag simply, be open and accepting of all triggers, and good luck!!

here ends the triggering post, i hope you were safe and i love you and you can keep scrolling in safety. i will be tagging this post with things as soon as i can!!

[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.”

[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.