#stop casm

[burned-lariat]

Oh God GirlPeter is getting attached to her demon spawn. I'm not gonna buy this attempt to humanize her, writers. You will not try and give us Casme after what she did to him!

[starlover2]

PLEASE HELP

🚨🚨I MUST ASK ONCE AGAIN FOR THE FUTURE OF A FREE AND EQUAL INTERNET I AM BEGGING YOU TO SIGN THESE PETITIONS, DONATE, SHARE TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW, THIS IS SERIOUSLY THE VERY LAST CHANCE!!!🚨🚨

I do not care how busy you are right now, I implore you to take 15 minutes and sign all of these petitions and spread awareness. Share these links absolutely everywhere, Facebook, Instagram, Tiktok, Ao3. everywhere!!

Because if these bills pass:..

Say goodbye to fandoms...

Say goodbye to fanfiction/fanart...

Say goodbye to LGBTQIA+ safe spaces...

Say goodbye to private messaging...

Say goodbye to proper sexual health education (including info about safe and healthy abortions)...

I am not exaggerating...

DM me for more questions.

[lokidoctorpugs-wenclair-brainrot]

Yoko: ya know it's pretty difficult to get out of bounds in this game

Wednesday:...what...

Yoko: oh ou-

Wednesday: no no no, yoko I know what out of bounds means my old friend group introduced me to games and their terms and your girlfriend, divina, got me back into them.

But what I have a problem with is you saying it's difficult to get out of bounds in mirrors edge Catalyst of all games it's simple really, I actually think it's so simple that it's not a case of Me being better then everyone, all though admittedly all the ways you can get out of bounds are a bit finicky and some require a lot of patience, that most people don't have I on the other hand do have said time and being a masochist probably helps

Yoko: oh! So what's one way to get out of bounds

Wednesday: So you head to the big tower that you leaped off to the side of one of the big white boxes there will be a support beam with a split down the middle there's a ledge that's hard to see with that you can use it to get on the road and wall climb to get to the top of the box after you go up get inside the guard Railing and you'll see something that's meant to be wall climbed on you will try and get on top of the white railing next to it, this may take a few tries but once you do you can jump and pull urself up to the next section after that the next step is way easier, there will be a black bar facing a wall you want to grap on to that and then jump to the black bar adjacent to that one, after that you can just pull urself up and jump to the platform were you will see the building wall and a white wall,

What you want to do is wall run then wall climb then press the button to jump and turn around to wall climb again then jump and turn around again and you should grab on but it doesn't always work once you get on top you want to start heading to the side you couldn't get to before here you have 2 options Im going to lead you through the easy one.

you will carefully get down and follow the narrow path until you see a casm it's super finicky and will take a few tries to land with out dying in this casm but it can be done once there go across but be careful the hit boxes are a bit wonky since your not supposed to be here after that you can jump and roll to a platform then you can go down said platform until you hit a death barrier. And that's it

Yoko:

Enid: we are playing games tonight willa

Wednesday: okay if you insist

Divina: I'm so glad I got you back into games

Lynda gleets: *knocking*

Enid: come in!

Lynda: hey I was told this is where My old friend group the "Crew of the unknown." Was meeting u- oh hi Willa

Enid: what!

Lynda: what do you mean by that

Enid: oh I just didn't realize you called her Willa that explains why she was so apprehensive about me calling her that.

Lynda: ...oh... Well I guess we can all wait till the others get here

*sits kinda close but kinda far away from Wednesday all at the same time*

(Yoko and Enid through text)

Yoko: so like we can agree that Lynda and Wednesday are exes who still haven't gotten over everything right?

Enid: 100% but I swear if Lynda lays a hand on Wednesday im gonna lose it she already seems more uncomfortable than I have ever seen her in my life, and I live for this girl

Enid: WITH YOKO WITH!!!

Yoko: and it seems the battle for Wednesday heart is between you, Xavier, and Lynda

Although between you and me I don't think Xavier stands a chance the only signs Wednesday gave him are stop signs

Enid: first off I don't love her, we are just good friends

Yoko: Honey, Dear, Bestie, I'm sorry but Denial isn't just a river in Egypt.

[survivors-adapt]

Merci lands her ship. On the quiet planet of Bogano.

She ties back her wild brown hair.

“Bex, watch the ship. If I’m not back in half a day come get me.” She tells her BX droid.

“Yes ma’am.” Bex replies.

Merci heads out walking against the glaring sun.

@a-merciful-end

Cal spots her landing from a lower ledge within a casm, going over to one of the wires and helping BD1 up onto it, holding onto his little legs as they go up the wire quickly, stumbling on the higher ledge only a small drop from where she is. "I'd stop there if I were you," he says as he force jumps up the ledge and nods his head to the muddy clearing ahead of her, "there's a big, angry toad looking thing under that mud, it'll try to eat you. What brings you to Bogano?" BD1 sits on his shoulder, painted black with pink stripes, matching his pink Pancho with black stitching where holes used to be. "We don't get a lot of visitors here on Bogano... you here to see the Binog? He's probably the most popular thing here"

[fictional-love-is-my-life]

Will you write for how bay Optimus, wheelie, nitro Zeus, bee, and hotrod would react to seeing a femme bot in pursuit of an enemy while on cybertron post war, but while chasing them they come to a huge wide casm in cybertron since its still damaged, and there's no bottom . It's just exposed to endless space if you fall. The con transforms into flight mode to cross and escape. But the femme doesn't have a flight mod, so she has a choice whether to give up and stop or jump and make it to the other side somehow. She chooses to jump, and it's one of those nerve-wracking, heart-pounding horrifying moments where it looks like everything just stops and time is still for a long time, and it looks like shes not going to make it. But she ends up making it.

Optimus:

He comprehends her plan before she even launches, and he yells out asking her to stop. He should have trusted in his Autobots and believed in their abilities, but he was doubtful that she would make it. And he wanted to stop it before she fell.

He's so relieved and glad when she does make it. He tells her he is glad she is safe, but he also tells her off for not appropriately calculating the risk. He warns her to be more careful and more aware of her surroundings. Saying that it is ok to let a con go free if it means she is safe.

Wheelie:

He's usually always got something to say, usually some snarky comment. But watching her jump the chasm leaves him speechless. He just watches, his optics following her with his mouth wide open. If he could breathe he would have been holding his breath.

When she does land he doesn't shut up about it. 'You idiot, you could have killed yourself. You're lucky you made that. Primus was on your side, but don't let it go to your head, you ain't no flying car. Don't do it again.'

Nitro Zeus:

He wants to see her fall, hoping that she doesn't have enough momentum to get across.

When she does he's disappointed, yet he's also impressed. He didn't believe that she could, so he's genuinely shocked and slightly in awe that she did and with such grace as well.

Bumblebee:

He would have told her to stop. Not believing she could make it, but when she jumped he had no other choice than to root for her. Cheering her on and praying to Primus that she makes it. He wants to cover his optics, but he can't look away, he has to know what happens.

He's elated when she safely makes it across. He plays a loud cheer and hoots at her. Once he catches up to her later he applauds her, giving her a big pat on the back. He's amazed by her, saying she keeps him on his toes.

Hot Rod:

His spark drops, he can't believe she jumped. He wants to race over there and use his time gun to help catch her. He's terrified, watching as she travels through the air. He doesn't realize he's frozen in his spot, only able to move in relief after she safely lands.

He had to take a second to compose himself, he was so worried she was going to fall. Afterward, he complains to her about making his spark stop out of worry.

[anyathefandom]

So here are my thoughts on Monday's episode😌:

The minute marshall and Spencer made eye contact she immediately tried to get out of there😂

There goes my cute demonic baby!🥰

Why can't the writers understand that if their not going to give Esme consequences for her crimes then at least let her feel guilty for hurting these people instead of her trying to skirt them blame all the time.🙄 I won't like her more but I would've been like "Well at least she feels remorse 🥴"

Not Esme saying karmas a bitch. Like please tell me these writers don't think Esme being surrounded by people she doesn't trust is the karma she deserves.🥴

So now they got Joss finally admitting they don't know each other like that beyond fucking. Yeah them writers be reading them tweets.😂

Okay what we're not going to do is this "old Esme" crap because their legit the same person. She still is as whiny and terrible at taking responsibility as ever.🤷

Why tf do they have Liz talking about facing no consequences when Esme's ass is the poster child for not facing any.🥴

Sidenote: it just feels like these writers are trolling us and it's not cute.😒

These Spencer and Marshall scenes are hitting. No notes. 10/10. Might fuck around and become a marshall stan.🤭

Now Cameron Steven Webber why the fuck would you tell that girl about the plan🤦

Got all my faves acting stupid around this girl.😩 Like I would say William kind of did us a solid by ducking out but we all know now that he's coming back this summer so we already know their probably going to still purse the casme route and were about to witness our boy acting extra wild about this girl.🥴

Sick of the words "Baby brother"🙃

Esme's whining again about how she can't go back in time to undo it all and I'm sitting here going "Girl things would be simpler for you if you'd just apologize to people and stop being annoyed that they don't fuck with you for good reason 🤷"

Cam is bringing up the parallel's between Franco and Esme and yeah their definitely still going to do casme when he comes back.🤦

SPRINA IN THEIR COUPLE ERA LETS GOOOOOO

That kiss got Trina spinning. Whew I can practically see the cartoon birds flying around her head.😂

I rather joss be off screen getting horny from talking about sonny then see her trying to soothe her guilty conscience about how she fucked over cam. Like girl just shut up talking about the break up unless you ready to tell the full tale of what really happened.🙃

Cameron with Esme at the beginning of the episode: 😈 demon time is a go!!!

Cameron at the end: *Feels the spirit of his mama take hold of him* Hmm what if I try to connect to this troubled soul 🤔

And they got Esme talking about she was starting to like him. Yeah casme is coming.🙈 That baby is going to be Ace Webber soon😭

Extra bitter still that casme is tainted for me because the chem is still there.😩

He done invited this girl to the party. Boy....the fact this party is going to be all about Esme instead of cam .🤦

In summary: Josslyn stop talking about the break up like girl even cam ain't bringing that shit up, Cam will be cool for the summer but we ain't safe from Casme, Liz will always be loved by me so fuck that talk about consequences especially when Esme and those blondes be skating, I might be part of the marshall fan club now, and Sprina are finally an "Us".🥰

[thefactualsphere]

Backwards. A few steps of altered heels against metal catwalks and carcinogenic tiling. A young woman with thick mops of curly hair tied up on their head allows herself to fall off the edge of that metal platform, the wind accelerating behind her and the wind sweeping across her jumpsuit. She times it, mouthing the numbers to the rhythm of her heart to keep focus.

one... two...

she spins forward to look at the ground she was pummelling to.

Three, four..

She shoots off that bright, spiraling orange glow that shifted around the fabric of reality, tearing open the world at her disposal.

Five...

She zips through the casm she had torn open, gaining enough momentum to fling herself up from a blue portal on the other side up against the top of the wallm

Six.

The button she had set up is fizzled, and it is dropped onto a pathway by the door's button- the woman, however, is busy flying into the tube of swirling blues and purples that pulls her into it's gravitational pull- Taking her to her destination.

Seven.

She placed the cube onto the button and it opens with a chime and she walks forward to the elevator.

Eight.

The test subject plops to the bottom of the elevator floor, her back against the glass as her chest heaves and she struggles to bring in oxygen to her aching lungs. It was been eight hours since she has been awoken from her cryopod, and she was being pushed very, very hard for not having ever seen one of these devices before- She barely even had enough stamina for running, and that simple robotic voice just kept putting her through more and more... She was fatigued, aching and absolutely terrified of thinking about doing another chamber.

To her relief, the elevator stops right at the door of her personal chamber. Must be done for the day.... Did she pass?

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FIAT LUX

written for @sterekdrabblesgonelong using the @sterekdrabbles 23/11/22 challenge words that were: PART, MATTER and SPOT with the end-of-month theme of HONESTY.

sterek fic, MATURE, 2245 words, post-nogitsune stiles, stiles stilinski has PTSD, heavy angst, imagined body horror, healing, getting together, falling in love, POV stiles.

READ IT HERE ON AO3

.

"Hey, you good?"

Somebody spoke. Stiles remembers that. He also remembers thinking, at the time, how it sounded a lot like Derek's voice.

He'd been right. Of fucking course he'd been right. 

Stiles was scrambling to process what had been said to him, alongside trying to figure out what exactly was happening to his still-wobbly sense of self.

"Stiles? Are you okay?" 

Stiles couldn't answer. Couldn't get any sounds out of his strangled throat, nor force his suddenly arid mouth to move and make the right shapes needed for words.

Everything was muddying all over again, his mind and body becoming a wasteland in a heartbeat. He was barren, a damned apocalypse. Truth be told, since his possession, Stiles was just an empty shell, only pretending to be human. And now his memories were flashing before his eyes, having once again become a trailer for his fucked-up, one-man indie zombie movie. Although—no, actually. No, that wasn't right. This wasn't a trailer. The Horrors were back in full, movie-length, and were now playing out their incredibly specific brand of Existential Dread right before Stiles' glassy eyes in all of their glorious, terrible technicolour.

Spawn of the Dead: Double Feature!

Grab yourself an extra large bucket of Salty'n'Sweet and settle in for the midnight showing.

How, though?

How the hell could the parasitic evil which they'd ended—it absolutely had gone, it had!—be so inexplicably here? Like, right here and now, delightedly wrapping one crooked hand around Stiles's stringy neck while using the other to dig into Stiles's already bent-way-out-of-shape psyche, sinking its dirty claws in all the way again until Stiles couldn't think or see straight or even speak.

How could the thing they'd destroyed still have him so very firmly in its clutches?

In his peripheral there were now only blurred-out, bony digits where his fingers were supposed to be; Stiles couldn't stop the violent shaking as he looked down at his hands and felt bile rise in his throat that tasted of reams and reams of filthy bandages rapidly climbing his esophagus, in a far too-real scene from some disgusting, stop-animation nightmare.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, fuck no. 

It was here. Even if it wasn't really; it was. Here, crippling each of his faculties, one by one with a sickening sort of ease, the ghost of it shutting down his capacity to process his surroundings, to operate his body correctly, to function as a human being, even if only a pretend one. It was too quickly obliterating his ability to just be.

To be Stiles.

Void.

Oh, God. 

No! No! No! No! No! No! No! 

Breath became cement in his lungs. 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Re-appeared and yet not, the spectral memory of the Nogitsune was once more burrowing its way beneath pale skin and fragile bone, digging a six-foot deep grave ready to bury Stiles's power to answer a simple question and say No, no, I'm not okay and I really need some help here, and so very easily quashing his in-vain attempts at doing anything at all about this runaway train of a shit-show situation.

Chaos.

He'd lost control again. 

This time it was aftermath. Or aftershocks. Or afterburn or afterbirth or some other after-metaphor for absolute guilt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Can you hear me, Stiles?"

Stiles wasn't really there anymore.

Stiles was spiralling, fast, due to that broken part of his soul ripping apart all over again and gaping open, a casm, a disgraced depiction of his abject shame for his past actions that now flowed out from the ghoulish wound like spilled wine. He looked down to see invisible gut-shot viscera tumbling out of him, staining his shirt and shoes like claret on crisp white sheets and instantly soaking into his skin and muscles and right through to the marrow of his bones, infiltrating his forever-infected anatomy in a strange sort of self-perpetuating vicious cycle. His heart, full of holes, was leaking its last vestiges of goodness, draining right out of him, his body now just a humanoid estuary. Other Stiles Juices added to the polluted mix—tears and adrenaline and cortisol, all becoming a veritable hurricane in his brain and chest and belly, swirling around viciously, dangerously—until it had drowned out his voice and drenched his autonomy in a chorus of non-existent Let me in! Until he'd lost his will completely to a bottomless whirlpool of contempt.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Oh, Void had truly left its mark. 

And so there he was. Just a stricken, hyperventilating five-foot-ten jagged fissure wearing his clothes and his face. A mask was all that was left of Mieczysław Stilinski: Stiles, just a stupid boy in the body of a not-quite man, who was suffocating in the mould and the rot of himself.

The intangible had brimmed over and drip-drip-dripped until it was gushing freely and spilling right out of him and onto the floor, becoming an epic tidal wave of oblivion that would splash and tarnish and permanently stain everything and everybody around Stiles, all that he loved. 

Again. 

Only this insanity wasn't invisible, not to him. It was a vivid Hieronymus Bosch knock-off. A never-ending bloodbath painted in brushstrokes of the richest of colours. Stiles was an oily waking nightmare, a moving tapestry of his own creation that was playing over and over and over on the glitched-out loop that was his faulty VHS mind.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

"Don't step in it," he'd whispered. 

He doesn't remember if Derek had answered. He doesn't remember much of anything after that. 

Derek, just like everybody else, was poisoned by Stiles's toxicity. Forever marked, just as Stiles had been—because of Stiles.

Stiles, with his bony hands that hid those undetectable tattoos in blacks and blues and mauves that were the inky Rorschach contusions of all his loved one's cuts and bruises; Stiles, with his immortal pattern of dead leaves that twisted along the gnarled branches of his inner Lichtenberg tree; Stiles, with his fear-induced awful decisions that had lead to the lives of so many being taken; Stiles, with his murderous intent—borrowed or not, it made no fucking difference in the end; Stiles, with all of this horror; Stiles, with his blackened soul that was now only recognisable as death.

Yet, in stark contrast, his haemoglobin-bright red ravaged veins were very much not dead. He felt them, now, itching beneath the surface of his skin, unreal yet so real and becoming vine-like, pulsating and stretching out their long creepy creeper-fingers to reach down inside of him, clawing their way back home to the black hole that was his centre. And they were growing. He could feel them swelling in his arms and his legs and his face. Alive. Becoming stronger and stronger, they traversed alongside his nervous system like a road map, journeying through what was left of his tattered existence and getting so big and so fat they too were branches and were somehow both choking him and splitting him clean open—Stiles, roots and all—his thoughts and actions reduced to nothing more than a fractured glass pane in an already damaged photo frame which threatened to crack and turn him into thousands of thousand-year-old shards of nothing but absolute destruction.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

Out, damned spot. 

Maybe Derek had said more words. Begged and pleaded for Stiles to talk to him, to make sense of things for him. For Stiles to tell him what the hell was going on.

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! 

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

ten? 

Or was it eleven, or twelve that time? 

Too late. 

Rip. Tear. Shatter. 

Stiles had collapsed under the weight of his own mistakes.

*

When something in his brain managed to press the pause button on the horror show, there was only numbness.

Nothing. 

Then remorse had once more seeped through his pores like a poisonous gas, a hazy mist of it eventually filling him and triumphing over delirium because, after some time—minutes, hours, days, maybe—Stiles was finally able to communicate again.

Well, sort of.

There were four words he had to offer.

"It's all my fault." 

And as he'd made frantic attempts to once again count his uncontrollably shaking fingers, he'd whimpered those words on repeat, for an indeterminate amount of time and in a thousand different voices, none of which sounded like his own.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothree—start again.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseven—shit.

"It's all my fault."

onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine—

"Hey, I've got you."

Derek?

If he wasn't dreaming, it meant Derek hadn't left him. He should have. Stiles was to blame for so very many terrible, terrible things.

But Derek had stayed and minded him, regardless.

He took Stiles in, after that. Fed him. Forced him to wash. Watched him as closely as he ended up holding him, in a way that he shouldn't. In a way that nobody ever should because Stiles was a travesty. Undeserving. But Derek? Derek was good and so Derek did it anyway. And those big arms folding around Stiles broke Stiles all over again, broke him impossibly more. Only it was a different kind of break this time around. Maybe not gentle so much as it was firm and necessary. A resetting of bones.

Then, somehow, slowly, painfully, Derek helped to put Stiles back together again, which was nothing short of a Herculean feat.

That Humpty Dumpty Stiles, he'd spent weeks sobbing and going mute, sobbing and going mute, and sobbing and sobbing and shouting and shrieking and screaming the loft down, bringing his feral nightmares back to life and out into the open and into the here and now, into Derek's already too-difficult world.

Stiles was just a transparent bag of those reset bones. Fused with fear and sorrow and so much sin, glued up all wrong, and held together with tears and snot and guilt and shame—and an ancient, evil-tainted love; a love possessed. 

Until he wasn't. Until there were hints of a new kind of love shimmering around the edges of their lives. Something quiet. Something lighter.

A love made up of Stay here with me and Stay another night and consistently screaming into the dawn but never any pity nor judgement and whole days of silence and then communication via eyebrows and heartbroken Fuck Yous and last-minute notes left on the refrigerator door and second and third and fourth, fifth, sixth chances and just being there and Shut Ups with no real heat behind them and listening and listening and listening some more and sandwiches left untouched until there were sandwiches half-eaten and finally sandwiches scarfed down at the speed of light again and conversations with thumbs-up and thumbs-down and Don't Call Me Dude and comfortable silences and unexpected classical music afternoons and awfully bad puns and quality time spent alone together and Wanna watch the Discovery channel? and smiling eyes and crappy paper planes and precarious mountains of hot buttered toast and stolen borrowed too-big Henley's and thrifted old sci-fi novels and English to Latin dictionaries and games of PSYCH! from opposite sides of the same room and eyes being rolled into the backs of thick skulls and gallons and gallons of Dirty Chai Lattes and a far too-kind and outstandingly stubborn asshole's absolute forgiveness and furtively holding hands in the dark and weighted long looks that said I know, it's okay—I'm broken too and the silent question of Do you want me? and the tactile answer being Of course I do, you idiot. Of fucking course I do. 

It was a love that made Nogitsune love never, ever love. A real love that shook its head softly at such dreadful affection.

Werewolf trumps Demon, every damn time.

* 

Stiles might not be able to laugh—at least not properly, not yet. He's getting there, though. The quirk of his lips today is bigger than yesterday's meagre twitch. And who knows, tomorrow could even bring a grin. Stranger things, right? 

There's still pain. Stigma. Suffering. Still so, so much work to do. Only now it's manageable. A touch easier.

Derek's touch.

There are many more hard days and nights to come, Stiles knows that, but he is nothing if not single-minded and he's making steady progress. Every day, he's mending. Thanks to Derek and Stiles's determination, the fissure that he'd become is closing up and he is no longer infected with quite so much self-doubt. There's scar tissue, sure. How could there not be?

But Stiles is healing.

He's being replenished and renewed, little by little, bit by bit, and at long last he's finally finding his voice again. The right tone, a familiar pitch—and it's strongest in those times he utters a particular word. It's a name, actually, so often spoken as a mantra, or mouthed delicately like a prayer.

"Derek?" 

Of fucking course. 

"I'm here."

No more counting fingers. 

As it happens, Stiles Stilinski is finding his way back to his life and to himself with the help of Derek Hale, sometimes stumbling and yes, often having to crawl from the oppressive blackness, dragging himself through it using only his non-existent fingernails and stubborn will, barely making it out alive by the skin of his teeth.

Yet he knows, now, that he'll conquer that darkness. Because he's not alone anymore. There's help at hand, in his hand, where Stiles holds a candle that burns just as brightly as the Sun, the Moon and the Truth, and won't ever blow out—not while shielded by the shape of the 'wolf.

Fiat Lux. 

Let there be light.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Day 5 of Benthan Week 2022 - Fake Death

Ethan Hunt doesn't accept death easily, but what happens when he's faced with it head on? @benthan-week-2022

Words: 6605

Ethan watched him run. Run around the corner with the drive in hand and a hasty smile on his face. His hair flapping as he ran down the clean white stairs and to the reception desk. It all seemed fine.

But his pace slowed as he neared him. His eyelids dropped lower over his eyes.  The drive clattered onto the tiled floor, his hand flopping limp.

He'd almost reached them when he hit the ground. The thud reached Ethan before he knew what he was doing. Benji's head lay in his hand, soft hair caressing his fingers, thumb stroking his hand by the time he came to and realised what was going on.

"Ethan-" 

Benji's voice was frail, faint and frightened. The air barely tickled Ethan's hand as he pulled him up so his head rested on his shoulder. Neither knew what was going on.

There was no blood. No bang of a gun or knife poking out his back. Just a thud and his eyes drifted closed. No goodbye. Just gone.

"Benji." He whispered back, too late. "Benji, wake up."

He didn't know what happened or why he- don't say it, that'll make it real. There wasn't any blood so why was he- again, don't say it. 

He ran his index and ring finger down the rough material of his suit jacket, felt the smooth skin getting colder and paler in his touch. He found the pulse point and he stopped breathing.

No pulse.

His head dropped an inch or two, closer to Benji's face and felt no breath on his face. The rise and fall of his chest has stopped.

"Benji wake up," he said, louder this time. "Please."

Luther, whom he hadn't noticed getting closer, placed a hand on the shoulder that wasn't holding Benji's head. He didn't shake him, didn't move him, just stood.

"Ethan, we need to go."

Ethan didn't say anything. The words swam through the air before reaching him. He was thankful for the delay. He didn't want to hear the words, because they made it all too clear that Benji wasn't sleeping. 

"We need to get to a hospital."

Ethan nodded. He didn't blink. Didn't want to breathe as to change anything. 

"Yes, they'll figure out what went wrong." Ethan whispered.

'And fix him' he didn't add. He knew it sounded crazy. That he was really- not that. But saying Benji was anything other than asleep, or at most gone, would end him somehow more than he already had.

He nodded, hooked an arm under Benji's knees and fully embraced his head and torso with the other. Ilsa grabbed the drive, Will stopped the van outside the doors as they hobbled out. They were alive, at least. 

Although Ethan was still on the floor in the entrance hall with Benji. 

"What ha-" Will started.

Ilsa shook her head and got in the passenger side. Ethan distantly heard her low voice explaining. He heard her stop, wavering in her words, then Will's simple 'Oh'.

Luther opened the back door and let Ethan climb in. It was simple and bare but he couldn't care less.

He settled on the chipboard floor, careful not to jostle Benji too much, and set his gaze on his unmoving form. 

He couldn't see his crystal blue eyes. There were wrinkles from years of laughter marking his face. His skin was almost sickly, growing ice cold. He traced a finger along his cheekbones, rubbing the smooth skin of his cheek and the ridges in his dry lips.

Too cold. Too empty. Not his Benji. Physically, this was the same man that he'd kissed, cuddled on a Sunday morning and had given pleasure to in the depths of night. But this body was too cold and still to be his Benji. 

He pushed him back up onto his shoulder regardless. His hair was still soft, at least. The clothes on his body seemed too big for him, he’d shrunk. This body that served him left an empty casm within minutes.

Everything was dampened. He tried to focus on the world around him but couldn't. His vision was blurred if he tried to look anywhere but Benji. 

His stomach dropped. A sense of deja vu washed over him. This was all too familiar. Far too close to '96, when everyone he held dear was lost in one night.

Memories flashed in his already crowded mind. Jack's face, or lack thereof. Sarah bleeding against a metal gate. Hannah's burnt body among the burning rubble of a car. And now Benji's cold body in his arms.

His arms squeezed around Benji tighter, like a child with a comfort blanket. The smell of his aftershave, sweat and Benji's familiar musk floated to him and eased the knots in his chest. Part of him didn't want them to loosen. That meant easing the pain and the pain was the only thing he had left of Benji. 

In an attempt to distract himself from the still body in his arms, he didn't want to admit that Benji wasn't just still and cold yet, he peeked through his eyelashes at the others.

Luther had his eyes closed, head back against the side of the van taking deep, shuddering breaths. He'd known him the longest out of anyone in their little team and knew he didn't break like this for anyone. But Benji wasn't just anyone, they'd been disavowed countless times and saved the world from destruction practically on a daily basis together. That was excuse enough to break down. 

Will drove with his eyes set on the road. But when Ethan looked closer he saw his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel and knots of tension from clenching his jaw.

Ilsa had her head against the window. He could probably relate to her feelings the most. She was the top agent of the MI6, had sacrificed impossible things for the cause and tried desperately not to start believing what Solomon Lane preached despite working closest with him for two years. And when she'd finally got people to care about, to call her family, she'd lost one and no-one knew why. 

Returning to Benji, he held him tighter, tighter and tighter. Tight enough to break. Putting all his will into warming his empty body, forcing the soul back inside and begging any gods to return Benji to him. Hadn't he done enough good to get that? Had he really done enough bad that he was worthy of this pain?

That's all he felt. Pain. Not strong and piercing. Not forceful, shattered porcelain and ripped body parts.

It was slow and leaking. Tingling all over and threading into every part of him. A sick symbiosis that left him dazed and forgetting that the before was filled with happiness and life and not just a ploy to torment him.

He felt like he was underwater. Deep in the ocean, chained to the ocean floor with thick steel anchors. A cursed man left to a cursed fate. 

The waves kept coming, kept plowing overhead. Cold had reached his bones. Shivers ran all over. No air reached his lungs as the familiar ache took over. But he didn't black out. No release for him. 

He was blue. Murky darkness and an iciness that just couldn't be shaken off. 

Part of him longed to feel what you'd expect to feel in grief. Sadness. Flooded by tears and not this awful black hole within him. He begged to feel lonely rather than deserving, wished to just have one normal thing even if it was the worst thing to have. 

He didn't hear the doors open. Didn't see Luther get out or the others crowd around, staring at him like a zoo animal. Didn't see the blue flashing sirens against the night sky and jumped when Luther spoke to him in his patient but not 'I'm tiptoeing around you' voice.

"Ethan, we're here."

He turned his head gradually. Every muscle in his body was tight. Pain, the physical kind, seemed to buzz within him. His feet tingled from sitting on them. A high pitched whine surrounded him as he tried to listen and focus.

Outside the van was a white porter's bed. Hospital staff with tired faces stared at him. Everyone was so close. So expecting.

"Sir, we need you to give us the body."

Body. Not even a name. No memory or life. It made his stomach churn and the flooding rush of nothing came again.

He didn't move. Benji's body slipped off his shoulder. He rushed to lift him back up, couldn't be separated from him yet. He was already gone, still couldn't say what it actually was, he didn't want his body to go too.

"Sir-" 

His head darted up. 

"We need to move his body, your van is blocking the entrance for ambulances." 

The nurse speaking to him looked tired. Her patience was worn thin, and the drizzling rain on her wrinkled scrubs. The bright flash of her purple patterned hijab almost hurt his eyes, too bright and positive for now. 

"Okay." He managed to say.

He moved, feeling robotic as he did, from the van with a vice-like grip on Benji. This would be the start of the end. Time to say goodbye, even if every inch of him screamed otherwise.

Laying him down on the bed felt wrong. This wasn't their bed. He wouldn't be comfortable here, in a full suit. The rain raised his arm hair. Benji was already cold and would turn freezing in this weather.

But before he could jump in and reclaim Benji's body, Luther lay a hand on his shoulder. Will drove the van away and the world seemed to start moving again.

"Take care of him." He trembled.

"We will." The nurse said and walked away.

Another nurse pulled him into the ER. He didn't see her face, though, because his eyes couldn't look away from Benji, who was looking less and less like himself with every second.

~~~

"What's your name, sir?" The nurse asked.

He'd been placed on a bed, the thin privacy curtain pulled but the busy hum of the rest of the ER filled his head. It used all his energy to pay attention, so his response was lackluster, her words foggy in his ears.

"Ethan," he said, his voice raspy. "Ethan Hunt."

"Okay, Ethan, how old are you?"

"Erm, 58."

He was too old for this. Sure, people rarely retired at his age in the modern world, but his job wasn't the usual job. Too much running and dodging bullets and maniacal villains for someone facing 60 in a few years.

"What's your date of birth?"

She gently pushed his chest. A spike of dulled pain and a gasp, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realise was his, told him his ribs were broken. 

"You have three broken ribs," she said, writing it on a form next to her. "Date of birth?"

"August 18th, 1964."

"Where were you born?"

"Madison, Wisconsin,"

"Parents' names?"

"Nathan and Margaret Hunt."

Why so many questions? His head already hurt, so much pain in every way possible. All the questions had taken his mind away from Benji, how cold he'd be, lonely and possibly still scared. Maybe that was the point.

"Who was that man you were holding out there?" 

She was smart, getting him to talk, taking him mind away from the vast nothingness that threatened to consume him. 

"Benjamin Dunn, goes by Benji."

"Who's he to you?" 

Her eyes flicked up from where she rubbed her fingers along the vertebrae in his neck, going down towards his hips. He noticed the bisexual flag pin on her landyard. 

He loved Benji, would do anything for him. Ethan was fine telling friends, fine around Benji's family and alright with holding hands over the dinner table in a restaurant. 

But telling a stranger seemed daunting. Maybe it was growing up in a small town in the 70s. Even after over thirty years he could still hear the ranting priests preaching about the vulgar sin of homosexuality, could still feel the sick rumble of guilt and raging blush on his cheeks when he saw Han Solo in Star Wars or the first time he kissed Jack.

He looked at her again, again at the tiny enameled pin and sighed.

"He's my partner, at work and home." He smiled.

"How long have you been together, now?" 

"Coming up to five years,"

She smiled, "My girlfriend and I are coming up to four."

One of the knots in his chest eased. The happy memories of Benji flooded him. Light for a moment. Benji's smile, his laugh, the confusion when faced with a problem, it all came back.

They melted too fast, though. The smiles disappeared as he remembered he'd never see one again. Never make anymore memories. Never feel the weight of his body on his as they slept, or wash his hair with his wonderful smelling shampoo. 

The nurse stepped back, finished with examining him. She scanned her notes again.

"Apart from some broken ribs, your physically fine-"

"Physically?"

"But I saw your reaction times and behavior outside, and I think you're in shock," she said. "That's why I've been asking you so many questions, Benji seems to be very close to you, and this is going to be a difficult time so I tried to make you remember good things."

He could only nod. She cared and tried. But the black hole just consumed it. Because Benji was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Gone and never coming back. But he still couldn't say it.

The realisation dawned on him, nonetheless. His body went tingly, numb. Shockwaves rippled through his body. It all went blank, his mind, the good times, the bad times. Black hole consumed everything, finally. 

Benji was gone, and Ethan not far behind.

~~~

He came to surrounded by darkness. Parts of his vision were a lighter red, where some light shone brighter through his eyelids. He tried to open them but felt them glued shut. What was going on?

Seeping cold shivered all over him. The kind that made him wonder if it was actually something cold or wet?

Everything was still. He tried to focus on a specific sound, figure out where he was, but nothing. There was a general hum of a room, heating that was barely on, lights shining behind his eyes and electricity.

One eye opened. Then the other.

He saw a turquoise tiled ceiling and LED strip lights. To his left, despite his neck creaking, he saw shining metal cupboards filled with rectangular drawers. His right had cluttered desks and windows, closed off by closed shutters. 

The last thing he remembered was the mission. He had the drive, which contained everything they knew about a poison and its antidote, was running when his body shook, shuddered and he dropped. He was wearing a suit in those memories but, looking down, he was stark naked, only covered by a thin sheet. 

His head was groggy. This didn’t make sense yet he couldn't place anything that could help. It was like he'd been asleep for years, felt like sleeping beauty but without the kiss.

A shuffle from behind the glass woke him from the slob. He darted up, spy instincts kicking in. The sheet fell to the ground

He glanced down at what he’d been lying on, just a metal table on wheels. A plate, metal too, was on a desk next to where his head had been. He snatched the sharpest tool he saw, a scalpel. God knows what would've been done to him with this.

Someone came around the corner. He formed an action stance, ready to move and attack. He may be a tech genius but he'd passed the field agent exam for a reason.

Someone in a white lab coat, halfway through a sip of coffee, stopped on his way to the table.

"Who are you?" Benji shouted. "Where am I? And why am I naked?"

He didn't reply. There was a splash and he dropped his coffee on the floor.

"Answer me!" He repeated, less bite to his words now, more confusion.

"S-sorry, I'm Andrew Dwart, Pathologist at the City Hospital." 

His eyes were wide. He gulped and wiped his hands on his coat.

"Sorry, I'm not usually this flustered, I'm just not used to the people I work with talking back."

Benji lowered the scalpel. He knew what pathologists did, worked with blood, helped to identify problems, worked with the dead. But that meant- no, it couldn't be.

"What do you mean?" He asked. 

"Well, you came to me, came to the hospital, dead. You were dead on my table until five minutes ago when I went to get a coffee," he chuckled awkwardly. "I'm glad I didn't get to doing anything."

It all clicked. Why everything went black, his strange surroundings. He was in the morgue of a hospital. Presumed dead. That only left why?

He dropped the scalpel on the metal table. The clarity ceased and confusion set in. An almost overwhelming realisation of his own mortality, flashbacks from the two other times he'd almost died and the swirling confusion took over.

"Dead?"

~~~

"Well, your bloods have come back." The doctor walked in with a file in hand. "There's an abundance of an unknown chemical in your blood that must've recreated the effects of death."

Benji sat on a hospital bed, partially clothed in the usual gown. The crew only half looked at the doctor. Their eyes more naturally fell on him, considering almost three hours ago he was dead.

"Somehow it managed to lower your heart rate and breathing to undetectable levels, lower your body temperature yet still keep you alive," she said.

"How?"

Benji was no doctor, not a scientist. He knew tech. Not bodies.

"We don't know yet, but my guess is that it must reduce breathing rate, and your heart rate to boot, to such a low level that you fell into an extreme coma, but we have no evidence,"

It was strange, to be so close go death yet so far. It was a controlled torture. But something that controlled, being able to calculate his body like he hacked computers. Someone being able to do that using an unknown chemical, it threw him.

"This kind of thing has been known in some animal species, some kinds of frogs have been known to hibernate in winter and allow themselves to freeze-" she looked at Benji. "But you’re not a frog."

He laughed, "No I'm not."

"Well, we have your bloods, so can investigate this further, and have been observing you for a while now, and you've shown no other side effects so I'll discharge you. Rest, I don't want you back to work for at least a week to stay safe. But if you feel any side effects, straight back, okay?" She said.

He nodded, watched her fill in forms as she left. The air conditioning chilled his skin. Goosebumps rose on his arms, hair standing on end.

Luther came forward and smacked him hard on the shoulder. He had a relieved smile on his face but his eyes were tinged red.

"It's great to have you back," he said. "Almost lost you there."

He tapped his hand, "Good to be here, nothing like being presumed dead to make you want to live your life."

"Or be reminded of your own mortality." Will spat with the same fatigued ease he always had after a mission, but he heard the heartfelt tones in his voice.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Ethan flinch. He'd been quiet since Benji came in. Hovered over his shoulder as the doctors ran tests and scrambled their brains to try and come up with any idea of how Benji 'came back to life'.

He hadn't had time to focus on why he was acting so ominously in amongst the rush of the hospital. But, the doctor had said a week off, and the IMF would surely give Ethan the time off too. So there was still plenty of time to dwell on that.

But not then. As a nurse came through with his clothes, and he was desperate to get into something warmer.

~~~

The apartment block was quiet at three am. Lights from the street shone through the windows on either end of the corridor. 

He tried to step lightly on the creaking floorboards but the adrenaline from the hospital was wearing off and he became clumsy in his steps. The floorboards squeaked yet, when he looked at Ethan, his steps made no sound.

They unlocked the door. Benji felt himself ease as he realised he was home.

"Home sweet home, right?" He said. 

Ethan didn't reply. He hadn't spoke for the entire cab ride home. Had barely said anything at the hospital either. 

His face was hard to read, perfectly masked. All he could see was that odd calm. To anyone else this might seem good, having such a calm attitude around such chaos. But Benji knew Ethan better than that. He knew this was all a facade, his way of keeping the people he loved at just a distance that he wasn't being malicious but not too close as to burden them with his pain.

Benji had been fooled in the beginning. He'd enjoyed the cloud of security. Still drunk on Ethan's charm, lulled and satiated by his stunning good looks, marvelling intelligence and willingness to protect him. He didn't release it was a way to assure himself he wasn't being a burden to people.

He thought he'd told him he wasn't, thought he'd convinced him to give in a little and let himself be vulnerable. But apparently not enough.

"Have you eaten?" Benji asked him.

Ethan shook his head.

"I'll order something, somewhere's got to be open, right?"

He tried humour but got nothing. It was starting to worry him.

"I'll make something." Ethan said with little tone in his voice. "Omelette?"

"Sounds divine." He smiled. "I'm going for a shower, alright?"

Ethan nodded and turned left into the kitchen.

Benji shrugged and began to undress in the bedroom. He was already shaken from the night's events but Ethan being so cold, even if it wasn't meant to be malicious, was shaking him up further.

Making his way to the bathroom, he sneaked a glance at Ethan. He couldn't tell much from with his back turned but he noticed the difference. Ethan whistled when he cooked. But not today.

It was like the Ethan he loved wasn't there, the man he'd fallen for had disappeared and this cold shell remained. All he wanted to do was hold him, cradle him in the soft darkness of their apartment.

But Benji was also starting to feel grimy and sluggish. He turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray. 

The heat melted down his shoulders, worked out the muscles that had built up from hours of sitting hunched on a hospital bed. His mind drifted as the sound of the shower filled his head.

He took check of himself. His chest, arms, legs, head. All okay. He was safe. He was at home and home was safe. 

Mentally would be a different story. This was just another experience to add to the roster, another choice for his nightmares. But he knew he had people there, Ethan, Will, Luther, Ilsa, who could support him. They'd tell him otherwise if he ever started to think he wasn't worth it. Which just added to the question of why Ethan was acting so distant?

After getting out and dressed, he rejoined Ethan in the kitchen. The omelettes were on the table and when the smell hit him he realised how hungry he was.

"Thanks," He said, sitting down to eat.

Ethan just nodded. He focused on the omelette as if it was an impossible task. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes steely, cold.

"How are you, then?" He asked.

"Alright," he said. "Tired, it's been a long day."

Benji lay a hand on his and smiled. Ethan's facade cracked, ever so slightly, and he returned a warm smile. It wasn't as vulnerable and honest as he wanted, but if that's all he could manage in terms of intimacy then he'd take it. 

But he could tell he wasn't doing okay. And Benji knew Ethan better than to believe his lies about his wellbeing.

"You sure?"

"Benji, you're the one that needs to be worried about, you've been through a lot today, are you okay?"

Oh no, he thought, he's not getting out of this that easily.

"I'm tired and shaken and scared at how easily I could die and am yet again being faced with my own mortality, but I know I'll survive it, I've got through it before, and as annoying as it is that every time I start to get somewhere in terms of recovery something else comes along to cause more trauma, I'll get through it again." He said.

He placed down his knife and fork. Now he'd eaten, gotten warm and comfortable, his head was clearing. Not entirely free of everything from the night but enough to think clearly about what he wanted to say.

"You will," Ethan said.

He gave him another smile but this one was less warm. This was the charming one he used to dazzle people on missions, people who had no idea who he was and were easily fooled. Benji wasn't easily fooled.

"You didn't answer my question?" Benji repeated.

Ethan got up, darting so quickly his chair scraped across the floor and clattered backwards into the cupboard. He picked up the empty plates and set them in the sink. His back was straight. Uncomfortably bolt upright, yet his hands were shaking. 

"It's alright if you're shaken up by this Ethan-" Benji got up more slowly, not wanting to set him off any more. "Even by IMF standards, this is pretty insane."

"I'm fine." Ethan said.

"You don't seem fine Ethan,"

He tensed further. The shaking in his hands was spreading to his forearms. Benji could see the muscles in his neck tense. The cold sweat forming on his skin shone in the low kitchen light.

"And that's okay, it's okay if you're not okay,"

"Not okay about what?" His voice was low but not threatening.

"About what happened tonight, I'm certainly not, and that's alright. We go through extreme things in our line of work and are taught that we need to deal with it all, but if you can't, that's okay." He said.

He stepped closer, like he was approaching a wounded stray cat, and lay a hand on the small of Ethan's back. He flinched. Actually flinched. How bad was this?

"The IMF may tell you that you need be okay with murder and world-ending scenarios, but no human was made for that, so when we can't deal with it, it's natural and okay," he uttered, made his words soft. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you can just be human, just be human with me, yeah?"

Ethan trembled under his hand. His entire body shook as he restrained himself from something. Breaking? Being honest?

He turned to him with his jaw set. His body shook like the earth in a storm. Grounding yet terrifying. Something meant to protect turning itself onto what it cared for. 

"I'm fine." He said.

The steely indifference returned and was strong, thick. Whatever was hurting Ethan was hurting him badly. And Benji knew what it was, he'd died tonight, had died in front of his friends for no reason. That would shake anyone up.

But no, what had Benji perplexed was why Ethan was hiding it. Why was he so reluctant to talk to Benji? It wasn't like it was unprecedented, rather the contrary. 

It was scaring him, not because Ethan had put on his game face, but because he only hid this much this severely in the early days of their relationship or when it was really bad. 

"No you're not." Benji barked. 

Ethan left the kitchen. Didn't listen to Benji. He went to slam the door but he caught it. He may be insistent on pushing Benji away but Benji could be stubborn sometimes too. 

"Yes, I am."

He went to go into the bathroom, half opened the door when Benji laid his hand on his and closed it. He didn't want to be angry and he truly wasn't, he just wanted Ethan to talk to him.

"No, you're not."

Ethan met his eyes and shook off his hand. He didn't turn away, though, which was a start.

"Why is it such a big deal?"

"Why?" Benji scoffed. "Because I'm your boyfriend and I love you and I know you're hurting and I don't feel comfortable seeing you deny it."

Ethan tried to calm himself, tried to put on his facade again but softer this time. Yet Benji could see the cracks in the way his eyes misted with tears.

"I'm fine." He said, trying to hold his voice steady. "Are we done here?"

Benji gulped. Ethan was good at distracting him, good at the give and take and good at controlling it. Not in a malicious way, to protect himself, a coping mechanism. But that didn't mean it was a healthy one, or that it was easy for him to break his ease.

"No."

Ethan let out a long sigh. His calm exterior wore thin but he didn't go cold again. His hand shook and Benji's stomach sank when he saw the growing fear in his eyes.

"Really? Why can't we drop this? I'm tired, it's been a long day, the doctor told you to rest," Ethan raised his voice but there was no anger in his words. "I'm fine, you're the one who was hurt tonight, so why can't we just drop this?"

Benji saw the tears well up in his eyes as his own stung. He knew his face was lighting up red. Both their hands shook but Benji clenched his to give himself that last push of confidence.

"Because you're scaring me." He stated and felt all the determination and annoyance leave him.

Ethan too, dropped all resolve. A tear trickled down his face, now frozen in shock. He looked both older than he usually seemed but younger than his years. 

"I'm scared at how easily you've turned back to old habits, and I know progress isn't linear, but even when things got tough in the past five years and you've distanced yourself, it was never like this." The tears flooded Benji's face. 

"I'm scared because I know how much this hurt me and the others so it must've hurt you too but you won't admit it. I'm scared because you've never stopped talking to me before and I'm scared for you, because for you to go so far back within yourself, to protect yourself, then you must be so hurt and I'm scared because I never want you to hurt that much and feel that I, that someone, can't be there for you."

He held his fingers as Ethan continued to freeze. He didn't even seem to be breathing enough. And it made Benji's gut drop when he realised that this is what it was like for Ethan. Which made him realise why Ethan had pulled away so much.

"I can't say it," Ethan whimpered. "Don't make me say it."

Benji stepped closer, took Ethan's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. He reached for his hand and grasped it in his own clammy grip. He moved it over his heart, laying it flat out and made sure they could both feel the pulse. 

"It's okay," he whispered back. "You're safe, I'm safe, we're safe here and it's okay to say it."

It was just them. Just them in the universe. So much pain that was bleeding away to comfort and catharsis.

"I can't."

Tears were falling down Ethan's face. He trembled like a leaf in the wind. 

"Why?"

"Because that would make it real."

Benii kissed his forehead and smoothed his fingers along the stubble on his cheeks.

"But it was, for a little while. And you need to say it so you can heal and move on." He said. "Okay?"

Ethan didn't reply but closed his eyes. His hand pressed on Benji's chest. His breath caught in his mouth in a hiccup.

"You died."

And that's all it took for him to collapse into tears on his shoulder. His hands enclosed him in a tight embrace, rubbing up and down his back, gripping his t-shirt into his fists. His sobs began to fill the air, full and heartbroken.

Benji wrapped his arm around his back and lay a hand on Ethan's neck. He held him there as if nothing else mattered, because, in that moment, nothing else did. Pressing his thumb into the base of his scalp, he shushed him gently, stroked the short hairs there and listened to Ethan whimper as he wet his shoulder with his tears.

He'd never known him to cry so hard before. It was such a switch but one he should’ve seen coming. He didn't blame himself too much, for once, because tonight had been hard on all of them. But Benji realised that he'd fallen into the comfort of Ethan's strong reputation a little more than he'd intended to.

"Shh, shh, let it out," he whispered. "It's alright, honey, I'm here, okay?"

Ethan nodded and pulled up slowly. His dazzling eyes were red from crying. Red blotches covered his slippery looking cheeks. There was a tremble to his lips as Benji caressed a rogue strand of hair off his forehead, his hair was sticking to his moist face and would no doubt annoy him soon.

"You don't have to talk about it if it's too much for tonight, okay?" He said. "I know I didn't make it clear that I just wanted you to admit that you weren't fine and I'm sorry, I could see the cracks forming and didn't want you to think you had to hide them because I was the one who died."

Ethan still flinched but less so than before. He could see the bags under his eyes and the sag of his skin. They were both even more tired than before.

"You were so cold." He said. "So cold and still and empty, you weren't you and I had no idea why."

He said his words slowly with deliberation. Every syllable was taking effort and that was okay. Benji was proud of him just for admitting that something was off, so this was just extra.

"There was no blood, no weapons, no fight, you just fell and died in my arms without saying goodbye." His voice faltered, a fat tear rolled slowly down his face. "It was like Jack all over again, he was alive one second and dead the next, then Jim, then Hannah, then Sarah, and my body stopped feeling, just like that night, shut down and went into emergency mode as if I was being disavowed all over again and had to go on the run."

He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. He'd stopped whimpering now but his lip quivered as he brought up the courage to speak.

“You were so still, not yourself and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t bring you back to life, couldn’t find out who did it and punish them, I couldn’t even mourn you properly as I couldn’t feel anything,” He said.

Benji nodded, cradling his hands as he spoke. Part of him wanted to know about what had happened, he hadn’t been there to experience it, that was the whole point of Ethan telling him. But hearing him speak of it, the memories so raw in his mind, was making the slight security he’d managed after accepting that this was going to be hard, melt away. 

“Ilsa and Will and Luther they all dealt with it normally, Will was tense, Ilsa was defeated and Luther was tired but I felt nothing. There was pain but I was underwater, far away from it all, I’d take a few moments to hear things after they were said, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to accept that you were dead, I couldn’t say it, couldn’t let them take you when they didn’t know who you were because they’d just be dealing with a body and that would mean you were-”

He hesitated, “That would mean you were dead and I didn’t want you to be, I couldn’t deal with it if you were, so I didn’t want to let you go because they’d prod and cut and you’d be cold and uncomfortable and I couldn’t deal with that, not after you’d just collapsed. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Benji looked up from where he was stroking Ethan’s palm. He lay his hand on his cheek again and felt the growing stubble on his face.

“Well, I’m comfortable now,” he said.

Ethan nodded. He took a few deep breaths as the tears on his face dried. Gradually, as Benji began to realise that it was closer to four o’clock in the morning and his fatigue was starting to consume him, Ethan collected himself.

“They were so focused on me but I was still in shock and didn’t feel all the injuries they said I had. I almost didn’t want to break the bubble and stop saying you were just gone because I know that would cause me more pain than I could handle." 

Ethan lent into the touch for a moment then pulled away, "And I guess that's why I was so distant, because admitting you were fine would mean having to admit you weren't fine and I couldn’t deal with that, so I just didn't deal with any of it at all, and I'm sorry."

He pressed his forehead to Ethan's and exhaled slowly, "Thank you for the apology," he said. "And we can deal with this together, okay? It won't be more pain than you can handle because you won't have to deal with it alone, so won't have to handle it by yourself."

"We can get through this together," he whispered.

Ethan nodded. His eyes were scrunched shut but for the first time all night, he actually had a sense of peace around him. 

It was these moments that Benji loved. The peace in the heartbreak and pain. Because despite the despair, it gave them more understanding, a chance to learn and grow closer. 

Benji pulled away and rubbed his eyes. His growing fatigue sank into him and he sagged onto Ethan.

"Bed, I think?" Benji stated.

Ethan nodded, giving him a kiss on the cheek before going into the bathroom. Benji blinked slowly and shuffled his way to bed, climbing into its warm cocoon and half falling asleep in moments.

Just as he was drifting off, Ethan slipped in next to him, crawled up him until his head was nestled in his neck. He heard him exhale, felt his breath tickle the hairs there.

"Can you stop wiggling," he said, laughing.

"Getting comfy," Ethan mumbled.

Benji's hands rested naturally on the base of Ethan's head. He carried on rubbing the short hairs there as he felt Ethan's muscles relax. His breaths grew deeper until he could feel he was asleep. 

"Love you," he whispered, giving him one final kiss and closing his eyes to sleep.

I got the idea for what Benji was drugged with kind of from Amok Time in Star Trek, where a character takes a drug to fake death and save the day. I reread this fic in editing and it really is good, not to brag 😂. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

[melipetals]

@multibg continued from here ♥

She needed a distraction... what she had witnesses in the casm was still shaking her; the revelation of what, or who, the hilichurls once were. Are. Were? It was confusing. Frustrating. The vision of her brother, leaving those flowers behind for them.. the same flowers she was wearing in her hair.. Just what was Aether’s plan? Why wouldn’t he just ocme out and tell her, but instead let her wander across Teyvat with her eyes half closed? She couldn’t see what he was seeing and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Lumine knew she could count on Childe to accompany her if she wanted to rampage through the wilderness, raiding some treasure hoarder’s camps. She just.. didn’t know how to deal with her emotions right now. This helplessness wasn’t a nice feeling.

She felt a hand on her arm, stopping her from going to the next camp, and soon after, a strong pull. She stumbled from the force and found herself against his figure, looking up to him with a frown.She huffed at his suggestion and wiggled against his iron grip, but no use if she didn’t want to hurt him. “That’s stupid.. A little blood won’t kill me, I’ll be fine.”, she insisted stubbornly. Tea? That was the last thing she felt like doing right now. She wasn’t exhausted enough yet to be able to relax... or was she?

Removing her gaze from him and instead glaring at his chest in front of her, she stayed silent for a while. “You can go rest if you’re tired..”, she muttered. She could continue by herself, no problem.

[burned-lariat]

Maybe that's also why they haven't let Trina find out Esme drugged her. Surely Cameron would not want to be involved with Esme knowing she drugged one of his best friends.

Maybe? I mean, only one individual knows, and he hasn't said jack shit, and that needs to be remedied.

You'd be right, but that doesn't stop the show from trying to do Casme now anyway.

[verse-the-comic]

A thought, that occurs to me: based on some of what you've said about them on here and on Patreon, is Casme a "failed" creator?

Casme is technically classified as a mortal on the sheer basis that they're the endling of an extinct race, that being proof that they can indeed die. Their people were on the unusual side as far as creations go, though - they never got old, only stronger, and the fact that they relied on absorbing colors from other living things to grow meant that they could stop "aging" at any time and then continue a while later. Casme could be the same "age" as a 60-year-old human, as far as we could guess! Being a Hunter only makes them more unusual, their people's biology aside.

[wellthatwasaletdown]

Hi Mods - after seeing that one comment, I’m editing to add this is sarcasm, lol. Thank you. The cherries are for Olivia this time so she can stop pretending Cherry is about her. The egg with the green ringworm border symbolizes future HO baby and engagement - Harry’s putting a ring on it. The slice of cheese is Harry because he is 1) cheesy and 2) processed and manufactured. The swirly tornado looking cup is probably a metaphor for another old white guy who’s never seen sunscreen but he’s going to copy paste. Or it could be a woman having a baby or it’s about blm. One last clue this album is about Olivia: the first 2 letters in home are HO. This album is going to be so fake deep…like all his other albums. *This conspiracy theory was obtained wholly from sources inside my head. I credit my dear friends Sar and Casm for the inspiration. However, I still stand by my opinion that Harry is processed cheese.

###

Thank you, dear anon!

And I want to clarify that you were referring to Casm not to be confused with the famous (infamous?) and now, thanks to Harry, defunct CHASM.

[yandere-daze]

This is for someone on discord! Sometimes I do be in the mood for that angst 😔✊

tw reader dies, just general sad stuff

Fugo reacting to accidentally killing his s/o with Purple Haze

It was just a regular day for you two, you had been together for months now and were heading to a nice restaurant to spend the rest of your date together there

On the way though, you two were suddenly attacked by two people, seemingly former members of Passions before Giorno had reformed the mafia

The fight seemed easy enough and Fugo didn't see the need to call out Purple Haze at first, everything was going smoothly as you two had split up to each combat against one of the attackers

The fight seemed almost won until something unexpected happened

It turned out that the two ex-mafiosos did indeed possess stands, you two learned as one of them summoned their Stand

It was the one you were fighting and you were barely able to take a step back before the Stand now attacking you hit the ground with it's fist, creating a great casm in the blink of an eye

You were both shocked by the sheer power of this Stand as your heart started beating louder and louder, you couldn't help but start shaking

What if that Stand landed just one hit on you? You would be instantly gone if it can just destroy the ground like that!

The stand-user attacking you seemed to notice your shaking and decided to ridicule you for it

"Hah look at that! You're shaking so badly! You call yourself a gangster? Don't make me laugh! Does the little baby need their boyfriend to take care of them? You can't do anything on your own can you? How pathetic!"

The guy's words made you angry no doubt as you balled your hands into fists, ready to show him that he shouldn't have underestimated you

Just as you were about to step forward and swing your fist at him, you noticed your error though

The Stand stood right in front, ready to pulverize you in an instant as you weren't able to stop your movement in time

That's when you heard it, a low grumbling and hissing

Before you stood Purple Haze, ready to strike your enemy in an attempt to protect you from harm

But before you or Fugo could throw in any objection due to the sheer danger you were now in, it had already happened

Purple Haze hit the Stand in front of it, causing the capsules on his knuckles to burst and the deadly virus to spread

You could barely react before the virus had already consumed you in your entirety as you sunk to the ground, barely being able to whisper your last words before being gone in an instant

"I lov-love.. you...Fug-"

And then it was all over

The friend of the other ex-mafioso screamed it terror at the state his friend was in but Fugo wasn't able to hear any of it

All he could do was stare at the spot you were standing at just mere seconds ago

A place where now nothing remained of you

He felt the once warm feeling in his chest grow cold as the spot you once fully inhabitated in his body; his heart; shattered into pieces

His mind couldn't keep up and come to terms with what just happened but he knew it deep in his soul : you were gone now

You left this world

You were dead

And it was all his fault

It was his own Stand that had killed you

He was supposed to always be there and protect you , he promised you that!

You two had promised to always be there for each other , so how could this have happened?

How can he be so useless as to not even be able to control his own Stand? Why did he have to be so pathetic?

It reminded him once again how little of a grip he had on his own emotions and it drove him wild, he hated this loss of control, he hated the kind of monster his stand was, it brought up a great deal of selfloathing that he had once buried deep within him

This helpless feeling he had even as a kid, knowing that he can do nothing to change the situation now, that it was all over just like that

Not knowing what to do with his shaking hands, he tucked them into the pockets of his pants, only to come in contact with a little square box hidden within

Slowly withdrawing the box with trembling hands he reluctantly opened it, knowing exactly what it was

There inside the beautiful little box laid two rings

Today was supposed to be the day he finally proposed to you, you made him so happy and made him feel whole, he dearly wished to spend the rest of his life with you

He had planned everything down to the slightest detail, it was supposed to happen in the nice little restaurant he had carefully picked out himself

There was supposed to be candlelight and a beautifully decked table and as you two would have made direct eye contact, each of you showing such pure adoration in your eyes, he would have gotten down on one knee and asked you the question

"Y/n I love you so much, I can't imagine ever spending my life without you. Would you marry me?"

And then there would be tears gathering in your eyes, tears that were now running down his face in violent streams as he broke down and keeled over, the force of his emotions overwhelming him

He tightly clutched the ring in his left hand as he cried and cried while he used his right hand to punch the ground in pure anguish and frustration

Why did this have to happen to him? Hasn't he suffered enough? Why did fate decide to take his only happiness away from him?

He spent the next few hours there on the ground, cowering over the spot that you had once stood on, not reacting even once to the strangers that had come up to him time and time again to ask him if he was feeling alright

He didn't hear anything so he was left alone with his own hurtful thoughts

Not Purple Haze was a monster , he was

A stand was a representation of one's soul so was Fugo really such an uncontrollable and destructive monster after all?

He had been right to distance himself from everyone else before, he would only bring harm to those he cared deeply about

So from that point on he never opened up again

And all he could see in his dreams and his every waking moment was your smiling face and the last words you had uttered to him

" I lov-love ..you..Fug-"

And every time he would whisper back with a tear running down his face:

"I love you too y/n"