#wails and sobs and screams and falls over and crumbles to dust

[brainrot-stitch]

Pixel puff part 2!!!!

[bowieandqueen11]

Strawberry and Black Tea / Sanji Imagine

Request: for the fluffy sanji request-- maybe sanji and the reader end up sleeping in each other's rooms one night because its hard for them to sleep apart. reader gives sanji a good night kiss and he just falls into a lovesick puddle on the floor.

Something short and sweet because this idea is so so lovely, thank you anon!! :)

Warning: mentions of child abuse!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

It was the Iron Mask that had left Sanji with such a distaste for the dark.

Even now, lying tossing and turning in his bunk on the Going Merry, the dark starlight that creeped through the lone porthole seemed to do nothing but shroud his eyes in a long-suppressed misery. It reminded him far too much of home. Of his father. Of nights spent trembling in dank corners: nothing but the touch of flimsy cobwebs against his outreached hands, and the ratchet of his own voice cawing off the empty stone chamber to ease the frightened child.

Until his paranoid eyes couldn’t tell of the receding monstrous shadow shrivelling up the tower was the receding form of his father, or the unyielding loosening of shrill’s death fingers rasping uneasily across the stone wall by his cage, finally come to fulfil her promise to take him away.

She grew closer and closer, until her liripipe seemed to crow through the bars as she leant down through the shadows to kiss his forehead.

He started scrambling back desperately along the dirty dust, still too young and inexperienced with the true hardships of his life to try and face them head on. Instead he buried his head into his crossed arms, tried his hardest to calm his panting breath, closed his eyes and squeezed. It was the only way, he thought in that tumultuous moment, it was the only at he would be able to hold onto his sanity. To pretend it was you. To pretend it was you. To believe it was you.

A rat scurried out of a hole between cracked shackles, sniffing the air as it noticed Sanji cowering in the corner: the same boy who had showed the rodent such kindness only e weeks before, feeding it leftover scraps of his mother’s favourite crumble, trying his best to clear the dish before his father realised it was missing. The poor thing ran over to Sanji’s shoe, it’s tiny claws pinching into the forgotten prince’s skin as it raised its little body up closer to him. But to that child - oh, that poor child - it was like bony fingernails biting into his bone and extruding coarse chills straight to the bone.

She had come. The wrong person had come. So he did what any young child would do. He started screaming.

He screamed your name. He screamed for his ma, until the screams died, choked by the wails sticking in his throat. Then he whimpered, clawing at the metal screwed against his cheeks until his fingernails were left stunted, jagged, bloodied.

He thought about how alone he was, but realised quickly that wasn’t what made him so sad. He thought about you: how you would react, how heartbroken you would be when his father announced to the world that the young Prince has perished in a terrible accident. He imagined your tear streaked face as you would watch the faux funeral procession parade in a cheerful solemnity down past the main market and into the sea, stealing away into the alleyway and seeing how alone you were.

Most of all, he felt guilty. Guilty that this was all his fault. That he had proved his brothers right. He was weak. He had destroyed his mother. He had ruined you. He was weak. And so he crumpled into a ball, falling onto his side and allowing the sweet embrace of the shadows to lap over him.

His cries had quickly fallen into pitiful whimpers. Then quiet sobs, jolting his body forward in convulsions that had left him gasping for breath every few minutes or so, only broken by the almost angelic sound of the iron wrought door being shoved unsteadily open, and the pained whisper from the top of the stairs. ’Sanji? Sanji! Where the- ow- are you?!’

'Y/-Y/n?' He clambered to his knees, and shoved his arms desperately through the bars, as if he could levitate you down towards him. 'I'm here! I'm here - please! Y/n!' His little fists began to bang on the bars as he scraped up to lean on his knees. 'Help me - get me out, please! She's going to kill me!'

It took you less than thirty seconds to scale down the remaining steps, nearly flying chin first down into the dirt. You didn't care though: not when Sanji's fingernails sliced desperately into your skin and burrowed into the meat of your arm, tugging your forehead against the cool metal of his own. You did your best to cup his face between the clunky mask, pressing your fingers down to his neck and pulling him even closer to you. 'It's alright - it's alright. I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here, Sanj. We're going to run, we're going to get away.'

He refused to let you go, even as you bit your lower lip in concentration and wiggled into your pocket to pull out a stash of bobby pins you had pilfered from Vinsmoke Reiju when you had slipped into the castle. Poor Sanji nearly flies backwards onto his behind when you finally manage to click the locked gate open, yet the realisation hardly seems to dawn on him; he's leapt on you in a second flat, knees knocking the wind out of your stomach as he tumbles his torso against your awaiting hug.

'You came', he heaved out between sobs, shoving his grimacing face into the throbbing pulse point on your neck, 'you came back for me... why would you come back for me.'

The absolute dejection in the final warble of his desperate plea made you bite down on your tongue so harshly, you had to shove it against the roof of your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from spluttering on blood. 'Because, Sanj... because you're my best friend. And I love you. And we made a promise, didn't we? We're going to go find the All Blue, but we're only going to do it together. Not one without the other, right?'

He head bobs quickly, desperately. Shaking fingers latch tighter into your back, and although he wants nothing more than to grab onto your fingers and fly to freedom up that winding staircase, he slides his legs to the side and comes to sit awkwardly on your lap like a frail bird. The soft tip of his nose tickles the shell of your ear as he whispers: 'like black tea and strawberry?'

You snort, but nod your head against the side of his curls, tightening your grip around the shaking expanse of his spine. 'Yes chef, like black tea and strawberry. Even though that sounds absolutely disgusting.' His laugh- god, his laugh was so warming, even if the sound cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up. What was less welcome, though, were the few pearly tears that slipped past the cracks slats covering his eyes and began to trace down an old bruised hollow that lay sharp and gaunt on his neck.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry-', he starts to panic again, one eye blinking open as he stares into the inky depths of the umbral shade gathering over your heads. 'This is my fault. It's my fault we have to leave.'

'No.' You grab onto his shirt, nearly making him wince, but both of you refuse to unlatch from the other. 'No. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault, and I don't want you to think that for a second.'

The authoritativeness behind your shaking words was almost enough to make him believe you.

He nods slowly, but you can tell he's doing it just to placate you. 'I love you too, by the way', he sniffles, finally leaning back enough so he could wipe what he deemed as an unsightly amount of snot away from his nose. More than you know. More than he could even put into words. More than his young, frightful heart could even yet understand. He's too bashful to look you in the eye, instead skimming his eyes quickly over the torn threads of his kneecap, but finally allowing himself a respite of calm in the knowledge that the love he had been so desperately begging for hadn't abandoned him.

Before the adrenaline could rush out of his body, he leant forward with his head still bowed, and kissed your cheek as best he could in the darkness.

You hadn't left him. You hadn't: you never would. The revelation seems to shift the world around him, coaxing him into believing the sweet twilight sleeting across his eyes was sunlight instead; even though he still felt like his life was spent as a coin flipping through the air, so unsure of where it will land - of where it belongs - of the choices it will wrought, it felt a little easier afterwards, knowing he would eventually land. That it was your hand that would catch him.

He still hated the dark. And he still loved you more than life itself. Which is why you weren't surprised to find yourself running around your room at nearly one in the morning, trying your best to discreetly gather your bed sheets and sneak off towards the boy's cabin.

Before you could even finish gathering your pillow into your arms, the melodic rapt of Sanji's knuckles had rung out through the door. It took you less than thirty seconds to slide across the planks and fling it open, but it took the poor chef a lot longer to catch his breath and try to look more put together; he was doing his best to look suave by the way he was leaning his elbow against the doorframe, but the wind swept hair gave away the fact that he had come running over the side of the ship to get to you. The soft pant of his breath, the ruddy cheeks, the slight spasm of his abdominal muscles through his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, the scratch of his teeth against his inner lip line: you knew his tell-tale sings, his idiosyncrasies far too well. The man was flustered beyond belief, even if he did his best to cock his head and beam down at you.

What really gave it away - what really, really gave it away, though, was the fact that he literally had to clasp his hands together in front of his chest and wring them to stop them launching forward and grabbing onto you with the cloying, overwhelming power of eight octopus tentacles.

You almost have to shove your hand against your mouth to stifle your laugh at the way he flicked his head back to move the hair away from his eye: to anyone else, it would have seemed like an innocent tick. But he knew, and more importantly you knew too, that it was just so his glistening eyes could wander across your face, as if the lines and marks of your face mapped out the most beautiful treasure in all the seas.

'Well, my strawberry, I hope I didn't wake you from your beauty sleep. Not that you need it! But I, I was hoping, if you were to grace me with such luck, that I may come in-'

Before he can even finish, you've grabbed the knot of his tie and have hauled him across the door line like a fisherman reeling in his hook. Sanji goes flying, landing safely in your open arms, and flopping his back down pleasantly into your hammock. Sanji's eyes widen as he comes sliding down the material towards you, headfirst, stopped only when his chest does the job for him. His arms thump clumsily around your back, using his fall as an excuse to pull you as physically close to him as he can. He huddles up against you, his hand spreading across your shoulder blade and guiding your ear down to rest comfortably just above his right pec. You flush, pretending you don't feel the firm ripple of his tense muscle: don't hear the pounding shudder of his tell-tale heart.

'I'll take that as a yes, ma chérie.'

Distracted by the way your arm falls around his stomach, idly reaching up to curl back the stray edges of his fringe behind the corner of his eye again, his legs inch closer... and closer... and closer... until his left one has plunked down above your own. You have to bury your head into his neck to stop yourself from laughing at how incarnadine his face spreads, warm pink waves radiating off his cheeks as you lift up your knees and slide your free leg in between the heavy weight of his thighs. Bless his heart, it must have taken some exertion to hold it the way he did, making sure not to place his full weight on you, but just enough that the contact was physically there.

'You know', Sanji starts, once he has calmed his heart from beating so rapidly he feared it may have flopped out through his throat, 'Zeff used to give me a kiss goodnight.'

You lift your head to stare at him incredulously. 'No he didn't. I was there for only... uh...', you lift the arm hanging over the soft skin of his bellybutton to ostentatiously count on your fingers, waving them in front of his face. 'Hm, look at that - fifteen years!?'

He leans his head down until his chin is tucked into his neck, and does his best to try and hide the way his lips are warbling into a grin; he tries to play it off as him finding your antics amusing, as he strokes his fingers tenderly over the warm cotton on your shoulder, but inside he's just so beyond giddy to know that you remembered. To know that you had been together so long. To know that after all this time, after all the two of you had been through, he would gladly dredge through the unspeakable caliginosity again, if it meant he could always arrive at this moment. If it meant, no matter what his life threw at him, he could spend every moment of it by your side.

Even if the shadows are juddering up the walls of the girl's cabin too: even if your stroking fingers can't mask the memories of death's sharp knuckles stretching out across the walls. Even if he were to land, right now, in the waves: if he were to capsize and drown, he would be happy. He would be happy, because it was your hand instead. Your hand.

Too timid still, too apprehensive to admit that which had been a heavy weight holding down the flight of his sweet heart, he hides his love behind canorous tease.

'Yeah, well, Zeff did it when he could be arsed. Which I’m pretty sure was never.'

You snort, and he delights at the sound that he had drawn out. His vice like grip on your side tightens, but you decide better than to tease him for the way he begins squirming himself against you. He finally settles properly on his side, the bridge of his nose so dangerously close to yours that you can feel the shallow warmth of his breath brush over your bottom lip.

'Well-', he starts, trying to distract himself from your proximity. He was failing horribly, of course, because his eyes kept falling down to stare blankly at the seam of your lips. 'This does sure beat sleeping on the dungeon floor, even if we do have to put up with Luffy's snoring.'

'Hm, the dungeon wasn't too bad. Cosy', you say teasingly, letting your finger dance down the shell of his ear, pointing the tip against the jut of his chin and lifting his gaze with a smirk.

'How'd you figure that, sweetheart?' The feel of your finger against his skin, no matter how miniscule the touch, was enough to make the fibres of his body burn with such a want that it almost scared him.

'Because... it was the first place you ever kissed me.'

Sanji starts, eyes widening as he feels his limbs turn to stone.

He can't hide in the shadows anymore. Now, he has to come into the light. Has to let himself be free.

'Yeah, well strawberry', he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue, and folds himself further down the hammock so his knees are drawn warmly up against your own. The shaking of his torso is only overshadowed by the widening of his eyes, so full of deep wonder the dams might have burst and drowned you if he hadn't spent so years cautiously restraining himself. You draw a finger down the pulse point of his neck, and he feels that resolve weaken.

He feels like that frightened boy again, but he knows it has to be now. He knows he's been lucky to have had the luxury of borrowed time, but the bell has tolled: the bill has come due, and now he must admit the truth of his life - of his soul - of his heart, for he doesn't know when it will become too late.

He wanted to kiss you. God, he had wanted to kiss you so badly for fifteen years it hurt. Now, now he was going to create his own light: he was going to thrive, in spite of it all. He was going to allow that child to live. The cage was open. He was free. His choices were decided by nobody now but by his own ruling, his own compassion, and he had wasted far too many years training himself to be sceptical, precise, composed.

'... If you may be so kind as to permit it... I think this beautiful ship might end up being the second.' He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He suddenly becomes hyperaware of it all: of the closeness of your thigh against his own: slick, naked, vulnerable below your pyjama shorts. Your warm breath, inching closer and closer to his trembling mouth as he juts his head back to look warily at you, so afraid he's messed everything up.

But then you surprise him; you rush forward, overwhelming and crushing in the way your lips pliantly slide over his own, licking against the inside of his bottom lip as it drops open, breathlessly.

He had been waiting for this - over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you back: heartily, heavily, with a slipping mouth awaiting your tongue, and clawing fingers coming up to rapt into your cheeks as if you were something fleeting: as if he were still spinning in mid-air, waiting for the shadows to snuff the light out again.

When you finally find the strength, the resilience to pull away, neither of you seem to be able to muster the courage to just finally admit the truth you had both always known. Sanji, instead, looks youthfully shy as he tries to hide his wanting - god, so longing gaze behind his fringe once more, although his tongue can't help but prod against his bottom lip as if in disbelief.

'Like strawberry and black tea, right?', he finally asks against the side of your mouth, nudging his nose against your own and smiling fondly.

'Like strawberry and black tea.'

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

NIGHTMARE

The air was heavy with thick hot smoke as screams of agonizing terror pierced the night. Bright flames devoured building after building, mercilessly destroying and killing everything in its way. Man, animals, objects. Everything crumbled to ash.

Magnifico stood on his balcony, eyes wide in horror and limbs frozen in panic. “No …” he uttered breathlessly, “No …”

His entire kingdom had turned into an inferno. In an instant he turned, stumbled through his room and down the corridors. 

“Myrah!” He hollered, “Myrah, where are you?”  A window to his left suddenly exploded and he gasped. More flames leaped onto rugs and furniture and spread down the hallways within seconds. “Myrah!” He cried once more, frantically searching for his wife. “M’fhíorghrá, answer me!”

Dashing from door to door, Magnifico dodged the growing fire and falling debris. But no matter how much he cried for his wife, he got no reply.

Fear and shattering guilt overcame him like an avalanche and he had to hold onto a wall. Right at that moment, one of the curtains crashed in front of him, cutting off his way. Magnifico flinched backward, coughing and shielding his eyes from the spitting flames.

It happened again. How did it happen again? 

In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly right outside his palace. People ran in all directions, wailing, yowling, burning. He recognized their faces, knew their names, remembered their former wishes. 

Before he could call out to them however, one of the stone pillars near him cracked, seconds from collapsing. He noticed a child standing below the crumbling roof, calling for its mother, and without hesitation threw himself at it, shoving it out of the way just in time. The pillar fell, the mother sweeped the child into her arms and Magnifico rolled to the side, hardly escaping being crushed. Dust and hot ash filled his nose and mouth and he coughed. The glowing heat made it almost impossible to breathe.

“Magnifico!”

Lightning shot through his nerve system at the sound of his soulmate's voice. She was there! She was alive! Within seconds, he scrambled to his feet and hurled around. His heart leapt in his chest for a second before being ripped into shreds. Myrah tumbled toward him, almost burned to the bones. Crying out like a beaten animal, he dove forward to catch her before she could fall and sank to his knees with her.

“No! No no no! My love ... my life! Hold on I’ll-” Magnifico desperately tried to recall his supernatural abilities to heal the wounds he knew were her sure death, but the blue light refused to surface. “Come on!” He growled at his shaking hands, “come on!”

“Ma-”

His head turned back to her, “Hold on, my love! I’ll fix this! I’ll save y-”

“Magn-” Myrah coughed, compulsing in pain and trying to move her lips to talk to her husband, but before his name could fully come over her lips, her strength left her, her eyes closed and her body went limp. 

“Myrah?” Magnifico breathed, “Myrah? Sweetheart?”

No response.

"No. Oh God, no! Myrah!” He gently shook his wife, utter panic flooding his being, “Please! You cannot - I cannot lose you too! Please!" Again he shook her, stroked her face and hair over and over and wiped ash, dirt and blood away from her cheeks, but her eyes stayed closed. The limpness of his wife cut his soul like a hot sword. His mind refused to believe it. Once more he shook her but to no avail. “No, my love! No! Wake up! Open your eyes, darling! Myrah!” 

Nothing. 

“No ....”

The queen, his wife, his soulmate was dead but he couldn’t accept it. How could he accept it? 

Her broken body tightly in his hold, he bent over with a choked sob. Tears came like a flood as his entire being was consumed by indescribable agony and he let out the loudest, most heart-broken wail a man could ever sound. 

~

Myrah woke in an instant as she felt her husband cramp and twist in their sheets, flailing his limbs between breathless whimpering. Immediately she rose and reached out to hold his arms down. 

“Magnifico!” She called, “wake up, mi vida! ” 

His head tossed left and right and Myrah almost had to climb onto her husband to pin him down. 

“Shhht! Wake up! Wake up!” 

Suddenly he shot upright with a scream, his blue eyes wide as plates, his chest rising and falling in quick heavy breaths. 

Myrah sighed in relief. Now that he was awake, it was easier to get him out of his panic attack.

“All is well, mi amor. It was just a nightmare.”

Still disorientated and caught in the terror of the things his mind had played on him, he hyperventilated, sweat dripping from his forehead. The pain of losing his wife and the guilt of failing to keep the past from repeating was ever so present. He could still hear the screams, smell the horrible stench of burning flesh mixed with blood, dirt and fire. But even worse than the sight of the burned corpses, was his dead wife in his arms. The emotions overwhelmed him, nausea rose in his throat and he gagged.

“Magnifico! Look at me!” Myrah gently touched his face, “Look at me, my darling!”

Her husband flinched for a second but then slowly turned his head and she smiled. “There you go! Keep looking at me! Breathe with me! Deep breaths!”

Magnifico followed her breathing until his own had calmed and his pulse slowed down. 

“Well done, mi vida." She wiped his loose bangs and the sweat from his forehead and kissed his trembling lips. “I’m here. It was a nightmare.”

“M- …. Myrah.” He choked through his rising tears. “Rosas ... burned … people … my people burned … You were … I- I lost you! I couldn't-”

“Shhht!" Lovingly she caressed both his cheeks, continuing to wipe his tears and sweat. “It was another nightmare. I'm safe. Rosas is safe! All is well, mi vida.” 

He mustered her for a while, assuring himself he was truly awake. “Myrah?” 

“Yes, mi vida. I’m here.” She kissed him again, once more swiping his bangs away. 

She was real. She was there. It truly had only been another one of his raging nightmares. Utter relief flooded him and he sobbed. His head fell into the nape of his wife’s neck and she wrapped him in her arms. 

“Shhht! I know. I know.” She whispered, stroking his back as he cried. 

“Oh, Myrah!” He whimpered hoarsely, “I’m … so … tired!”  

Myrah felt her own throat tighten and her heart ache. 

“I got everything I could have ever dreamt of and more. Everything is perfect and yet … the past just won’t let me rest! I … I can’t bear this anymore!” 

His entire body trembled in her embrace. Her strong husband, who usually always carried himself proudly, now wept against her shoulder like a child. Right in this moment, he was no longer king but the boy once broken so many years ago. 

“Oh my darling, my life!” She breathed as she carefully lifted his face to rest her own close to his and combed through his dark silver hair.

“I know this is incredibly hard, it hurts terribly, and you just wish to forget, but it will get better. I promise you! And I'm here to help you in this pain. Each step of the way I will go with you, mi amor. Until the pain has faded into a scar and the memory of the past into yet a mere shadow. I’m here for you and I will be for eternity!”

The next time Magnifico woke up was early in the morning. As soon as his eyes opened, he turned his head to the side to check for his wife. And there she was. Deeply asleep. Her weight on his chest immediately filled him with relief and his pulse calmed once more. Gently, he stroked one of her auburn locks from her forehead and kissed it. Taking in her beauty for a few more seconds. God, he loved and adored her beyond comprehension. 

He must have fallen asleep in her arms after his melt down and over the course of the last hours their position had shifted. 

Carefully, he removed himself from the embrace, made sure she lay comfortable and then left their bed as quietly as possible. Throwing his thin morning robe around his shoulders, he passed the edge on which Julius was rolled up, sleeping as well, and fondled his head before striding out on the balcony. 

The sky was already turning indigo and the horizon, at the edge of the ocean, pale yellow. 

Magnifico closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still felt awfully tired. Exhausted. As if he'd not slept at all. 

The sweet singing of birds painted a stark contrast to the roaring sounds of terror that still gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. 

Why couldn't he just forget it? Why did his past still haunt him like a never tiring predator?  

Before he knew it, his eyes started burning again but this time, he refused to cry. Instead, he stubbornly forced himself to concentrate on the sunrise. 

A light breeze hit his face and made his loose bangs sway back. He closed his eyes once more, breathing in the salty air and savoring the scent of oleander and roses it carried along. 

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that he didn’t need to endure his regular mental episodes alone anymore. Now there was Myrah, who caught him whenever he fell. 

But as grateful as he was that she helped him through his pain, he rather had the whole trauma be done with once and for all. 

Slowly the sun started climbing over the edge of the ocean, throwing its first rays across the land. Magnifico blinked into the golden light, sounding yet another tired sigh. 

Suddenly there was a soft rustle behind him. Two gentle arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and he smiled. Her touch felt like taking a deep breath after a long dive. 

“You’re up already?” 

“I wanted to watch the sunset.” Not a lie, more a forced truth. 

The hold around him loosened and his wife stepped next to him. There was no fooling her and he didn’t mean to. 

“When did it stop for you?” He asked quietly. 

“The nightmares?”

His lips slimmed. 

“A few years.”

“I’ve got these for over two decades now … I’ve let the past go and it shouldn’t affect me as much anymore but-” 

“Magnifico,” Myrah took his hands into hers, “you are way too hard on yourself! Be a little bit more patient. There is no right or wrong as to how long the process of healing has to be.” 

“How much longer - I … I’m terrified to lose you too one day …this fear …it wrecks me!” he uttered brokenly. “I’ve lost everything I ever loved once before … I cannot bear it a second time …”

Myrah lifted her gaze. Her own eyes burned with tears now. She hated seeing her soulmate in so much distress. “I’m afraid as well.” She admitted, “after you’ve destroyed the book and sacrificed yourself to save Rosas … I thought I had to die as well. To have to live the rest of my life without you until I could see you again on the other side? … That was hell on earth. But-” she reached out to touch his cheek, “the great father let you return to me. And nothing can ever separate us again!” 

“How do I deserve you?” He smiled lovesick, chuckling along as she did. 

“Only you deserve me! Mi vida.” 

Leaning forward, he kissed her and her hands dove past his face into his hair. 

“I love you!” He breathed into the kiss, “I love you so much-” 

Her hands wandered from his hair down to his neck and back and then to his chest.

“I love you!” She replied, once again locking eyes with him. “I cannot erase your past, but I can help ease the pain.” 

He almost shuddered at the touch of her fingertips spreading on his chest.

“I can help you forget those nightmares for a bit …” 

Oh God! 

Her lips traveled across his skin like bolts of electricity all the way back to his neck and jaw before she gently pulled him closer to her body. 

His mind started swimming. In the best way possible. Whatever she did, it always worked. Always cracked him open and lightened up his soul. She was his beacon, his lighthouse in the darkest night.

And he held onto her as well. Like a drowning man onto a rope. Kissing her passionately between gasps for air. If she hadn't guided him back into their bedroom, he would have helplessly stumbled against the next pillar or wall, maybe even face planted the floor. 

She smiled against his lips and Magnifico wondered for the billionth time how it was possible for his stomach to tingle that strongly. 

Yes, right. She was his soulmate, this was everyday life and yet it was new to him every time. 

He let her guide him all the way to their bed, he’d forgotten how to walk anyway. With the most gentle pressure, she pressed him down on his shoulders to sit and before he knew it, she was on his lap. Together they shifted backward further onto the bed. 

Julius used the momentum to head to the door. Smirking to himself as he left the royal bedroom. He would take a long stroll through the gardens.

Oh, Lord! Am I still dreaming? Am I truly awake?  “Myrah …” 

More and more of her tender kisses showered Magnifico and he prayed she wouldn’t stop. Each place her soft lips touched tingled, almost burned. Once more they found his and he closed his eyes, tightening his hold around her back and waist. 

Could one get drunk on love? One part of him wanted to reply with as much intensity to everything she did but this time he just couldn’t fight against her and he didn’t want to. There were times where they both equalized each other while melting their endless love and their souls together, there were times where he gave more to her and this time it was her, who gave more. 

He had to do nothing but let her flood him with all the love her soul could offer. Let her give herself to him fully. This kind of giving was the highest peak of joy. An honor, a pleasure like nothing else on earth. 

She was bone of his bone and one flesh with him. Only her soul made to link with his like no other. A unity for eternity. Ever growing in love and wisdom. 

“Myrah!” Her name was the only thing left leaving his lips in gasps, breathless hisses and whimpers of purest pleasure. One gaze into the sun-flooded forest of her eyes, that intense look grazing every part of his soul, was almost enough to send him over the edge. 

Her love indeed silenced every sound in his mind, calmed the raging storm in him and pushed the hellish memories away. He thanked the great father exceedingly as his world was filled with Myrah. Tenderly and deeply passionately. 

[ratinayellowbandana]

imodna prompt fill

from @hellsbells-emptynight: “Imogen didn't work things out with Laudna between the rock and Otahan. Like got friendlier but Laudna just construed it as keeping the team together. Right before she was stabbed she said, ‘I'm no one's favorite.’ Imogen is even more desperate to bring her back.”

Thank you for your reply! This was perfect for dusting off some old skills. I don’t think this is exactly the angst you were looking for, but I had fun with it, so I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Word Count: 1106

CW: canon-typical blood and violence 

~~~

The moment Laudna falls, the world erupts in a sheet of white.

A scream rips from Imogen’s throat, raw and ragged, and the earth shatters.

I’m no one’s favorite.

The last thought to escape Laudna’s panicked mind before–

The ground races up to meet Imogen faster than she is prepared to catch herself. Sand bites into her palm, her elbow, and she hisses.

Blood pounds in her ears, a steady drum against whipping wind and the howl of her heart wrenched open.

Buildings crumble, boulders shake, and stone grinds against stone. Bricks tumble from high walls, and clay shingles clatter in a cacophony of percussion that forces Imogen to clamp her hands over her ears.

She screams again, and then–

Silence.

Red dust envelopes her like a storm cloud, settling over the landscape like a blanket. Through the haze, ruined homes jut from the sand like skeletal fingers reaching from the grave. Heaps of rubble settle, small chunks of rock tumbling, tumbling, to lie motionless in the sand. The earth calms with a groan like a mountain disturbed from slumber.

Imogen pants, breathless. Her lungs burn like ash, and she chokes weakly, coughing into the dry air.

Otohan is nowhere to be seen.

Laudna? She reaches out with her mind.

Silence.

She senses the familiar presence of Letters, Chetney, though only barely.

Laud? She tries again, heart rising to her throat, desperate, searching for a sign. A whisper. Anything.

Unstable feet prop Imogen upright as she blinks the white spots from her vision.

A piece of a demolished wall lies in the spot Laudna once stood, impaled by–

Imogen is running, stumbling, heaving across the remains of the road. Her knees smart as they make contact with the stone. Scarred hands move frantically, digging, clawing at the rubble. A fragment of broken glass embeds itself in her thumb.

“Laudna?” She is shouting, murmuring, wailing all at once. The name echoes, resonates in the hollow space of her joints, driving her onward.

“Please, Laud, please,” she mutters fiercely, “Hold on. Just hold on.”

Blood from a gash she did not know she had drips onto her forehead.

Vaguely, she registers another set of hands helping her dig.

Ashton?

A scrap of black cloth peeks between two hunks of stone.

“There,” she gasps, “There.”

She is frantic, she knows. Out of control. Dangerous.

And yet, she cannot bring herself to care. Not now, at least. Not when Laudna–

The ashen skin of a bony wrist is revealed, and Imogen sobs. Ashton works quickly, removing more and more bits of dried clay and rock until the dust uncovers her face, bruised and trickling with congealed ichor.

At best, Laudna is haunting in sleep. Eyes closed, lips opened slightly to reveal teeth just a bit too sharp. At worst, she rests with eyes open, glazed over in slumber, twin voids against pale gray. This is different. This is far, far worse.

Her neck is crooked at a terrible angle. Black eyes are closed, lashes coated in a layer of dust and grime. The tension in her brow has vanished, leaving behind smooth skin marred only by a cut along her hairline. She is still.

Imogen lunges, gingerly placing lighting-marked, unsteady hands against cool cheeks. She leans in, lowering her ear until she hovers just over Laudna’s parted lips.

“Please,” Imogen whispers, “C’mon, Laud.”

She waits. Long enough that even her friend’s sluggish lungs should have moved. Her chest should have risen, even incrementally. A hicough catches in Imogen’s ribs.

“Letters,” she shouts, “Letters! Over here!” Then, to Ashton, “Help me… help me move her.”

They comply wordlessly, delicately removing the remaining material.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Imogen murmurs into Laudna’s shoulder, “You’re gonna be okay.”

She has to be. Too much was left unsaid for her not to be.

Too many things Imogen had been too afraid to say for fear of upsetting the delicate balance that seemed to be struck between them.

She was foolish. She pulled away. The rush of frigid fury that overtook her when Laudna opened her fist aboard the Silver Sun overwhelmed her, blinded her from reason, and she had turned away. Turned her back on the woman she considered more of a home than Gelvaan ever was.

She lay alone in their cabin that night, curled on her side as tears rocked her. The frustration and grief and vitriol shook the bedposts, rattling against the wall as she wept.

The cruel words–the simple truth, so Imogen believed–she had let fall at Laudna’s feet like feathers. Like shards of a broken gem. An accusation that seems utterly meaningless now, with Laudna limp in Ashton’s arms.

Now, excavated from the ruin, Imogen can see the details of Laudna’s blouse. The embroidery she had done by hand on the road is stained, nearly hidden beneath the tatters of a hole in the fabric. Her chest is a dark mess of blood-like ichor, and Imogen has to look away.

“Is she your favorite?”

Imogen doubles over, landing on already bloodied hands and knees. She hardly registers the sting.

Your favorite.

Imogen had yielded. Conceded in with a cry, a broken plea.

Anything to keep Laudna safe, even as Imogen felt the flare of confusion rise from Laudna’s position near the wall.

Go, Laudna.

Then–

A blink. A sword. A scream.

Imogen’s fault. All of it. Not strong enough, not quick enough, not clever enough, not enough.

Her fault for being a coward without the bravery to confess her regret. For pulling away. For withholding.

For making Laudna think she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

For making Laudna die thinking she was unwanted, unfavored, unloved.

Imogen’s body feels as if her bones have turned to straw, and she buckles to her elbows.

“Shit, Imogen–look, she’s not gone. Grass’s gotta have something. Just–come on,” he nudges Imogen with the toe of his boot.

“She can’t die, Ashton,” Imogen manages. She can’t die; she can’t.

“Fuck, okay. Okay.”

Imogen takes a shaky breath as Ashton tenderly lays Laudna’s body in the sand.

“Fearne and Orym are down, too. We gotta–fuck. We’re gonna save them all. Okay? No one’s getting left behind,” they grit out. “Letters?”

Distantly, a conversation is held, but Imogen’s sole focus is the agonizingly still form beside her.

Her hands shake, and she tries to still them as she tenderly maneuvers Laudna’s wrists to rest neatly at her sides. Restless fingertips sweep clumped black strands behind gilded ears. Trembling lips press a kiss to an alabaster forehead.

“You’re gonna be alright, Laud,” Imogen whispers, “We’re gonna get you back. We need you.”

I need you.

Don’t leave me.

Please.

[geminiamethyst]

Skyline Gang: Trial of Darkness. Chapter 19

Chapter 1: click HERE

Chapter 18: click HERE

Chapter 20: click HERE

“Grab my legs!” Pip ordered, having already stripped off her rucksack and sat on the edge of the gorge.

“What?! Pip?!” Bud exclaimed as Pip started leaning back.

“Grab her!” Mimi shouted, jumping into action. She and the others pinned down Pip’s legs as she hung upside down like a bat. Rainbow laid out flat over her ankles like an anchor. Even Misty suddenly found herself helping. Why did she care? No, she doesn’t care! So why was she helping?! What is wrong with her right now?! It was like some kind of instinct that she had to help.

“Dude! Swing her over!” Pip called out, ignoring the blood rushing to her head.

“What?!” Candi shrieked. Dude looked at the rock chick himself in shock. Then he started to think about it as quick as he could. They were so close to getting off the bridge. Just a few more steps and they would’ve made it. They were close enough for Candi to be thrown to Pip. The question if Dude had enough strength to pull it off. Right now he didn’t know if this gamble was going to pay off. But something needed to be done.

“Candi, listen to me carefully.” Dude grunted, looking down at Candi. Despite her vision being compromised, Candi looked right up at him. She was going to hate this plan. “I’m going to start swinging you. Pip is going to grab hold of you.”

“You promised not to let go!” Candi wailed, kicking her legs automatically. Dude fought hard to keep himself still, straining to keep a firm grip on the girl.

“I know! And I’m sorry!” He shouted, wishing that he could offer something better. He had nothing. He just needed to trust his strength and Pip’s ability to catch when she’s upside down like this. “But if I don’t swing you to her, we’ll both fall! You trust me? Right?”

“Yes!” Candi shrieked, tightening even more on Dude’s arm. Wake up! Wake up right now! Just start the day over again!

“Then don’t let go of me until I say so!” Dude ordered, squeezing Candi’s hand as reassuringly as he could. “And keep your hands outstretched for Pip!” Candi shakily nodded. She didn’t want to do this, but Dude was right. Just get this over with already. Mustering up all the strength that he has left, Dude started to swing the girl. He started off small and gentle, but gradually got stronger with his swing. Just a little more. Pip’s face started to turn a little red from being upside down that long. Please catch her! Don’t get too disoriented from this! Dude kept swinging Candi a little more, the rope threatening to break from the motions. Just one more! Now!

“Now, Candi!” Dude heaved as his grip on Candi lessened. Candi let go of him at the same time. She let out a glass shattering scream as she felt weightless. She kept her hands as far stretched out as she could. She thought she was going to die of a heart attack at that split second. She’ll fall! She’s going to fall! Suddenly, something wrapped around her wrists. Fingers? Candi didn’t have much time to think as she hit the cliff face, causing her feet to scrape on it in fright.

“I’ve got you!” Pip grunted, grabbing hold of Candi tighter than a vice. “Pull us up!” Bud and Sprout grabbed Pip’s legs as Rainbow got off of them himself. They started pulling back as gently and quickly as they could. Mimi reached down, also grabbing at Candi was she was brought up high enough. Rainbow also helped by biting down on the scruff of Candi’s shirt, just like how he did for Misty. They pulled her up just as Pip was brought to safety herself. Once Candi was safely on solid ground, she was a weeping mess, shaking so much that she may as well crumble to dust right then and there. That was so terrifying. She’s going to have nightmares for days, maybe even weeks.

“Candi!” Sprout cried out, pulling Candi into a tight hug.

“I’m okay! Where’s Dude?!” Candi sobbed, yanking the bandages off of her face. She looked around widely, unaware of everything else around her.

“Give me your hand!” Mimi suddenly shouted, lying on her front with her hand held out. Candi’s head whipped around. Dude had a hand free now. He was able to shuffle along the rope that still managed to hold on for him. He bit back the pain of rope burn on his hands. He didn’t have a fear of heights, but he definitely won’t be forgetting this experience for a very long time. He also might not want to cross any old and knackered looking bridge again any time soon. Once Dude spotted Mimi’s hand, he was quick to grab onto it. She pulled him up, Bud being quick to assist her. Dude was pulled to safety. His arms shook after all the strain that happened in them. He took deep breaths as his heart went to a steady rhythm.

“Thanks…” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Are you okay?” Bud asked, shaking a little himself.

“I’m fine. Where’s Candi?” Dude asked. Almost right away, Candi twisted around and jumped right at Dude. He barely had enough time to register as her arms wrapped around him tightly. She let out an endless series of sobs. Dude responded by holding her just as tightly. He was relieved when he saw Pip catch Candi as planned, but holding her like this just brought the relief home. 

“It’s okay. Listen to me.” He whispered, gently pulling back. Candi looked back up at him, eyes red and puffy from her weeping. “You were very brave. Alright? You did amazing.”

“No! I wasn’t!” Candi wailed, shaking her head furiously. “It’s because of me we almost-”

“Candi, stop.” Dude gently spoke up. Candi stopped in her panicked rambling. She just looked up at him, still terrified from everything that had happened. Dude responded by rubbing her arms encouragingly as he smiled. “You did it, alright? You’ve got across and we’re both okay. That’s the main thing.”

Those words weren’t fully processed by Candi. She was too rattled. She leaped at Dude again, pulling him into a furiously tight hug. Dude might be feeling like he was in a hydraulic press right now, but he didn’t care. He just held onto Candi, rubbing her back as soothingly as he could. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t scared by the whole experience too. He might be comforting Candi, but in a way, she was comforting him too. So what if his shirt was getting wet by her tears? It’ll dry out. Taking care of Candi was the main priority right now. It was better than forcing her to walk when she’s this upset. Sprout tried to join in a little, awkwardly patting Candi’s head as Rainbow nuzzled into her. Mimi was likewise, rubbing Dude’s back which helped him suppress his own shaking. Meanwhile, Misty was just watching the whole thing. She was so confused.

“How are we going to get back over there?” Pip muttered bitterly at the remains of the bridge.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Bud concluded. He then let out a wince at his words. Bad phrase to say right now. The smack that Mimi landed on his leg was more than enough proof of that. Bud looked down at Dude and Candi, also receiving an unamused look from Dude. “S-sorry, you two.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.” Dude sighed, just wanting to leave before they lose daylight. He helped get Candi back onto her feet, keeping hold of her as she stumbled to walk. Rainbow stayed glued to her side, allowing her to pet his head to help further calm herself. Pip and Sprout closely followed them, ready to offer any support when needed. Bud and Mimi were about to follow, but they then stopped. Misty was staring off into space, her general direction was the last of the bridge. She didn’t seem to have noticed that the Gang had started moving on. It was like she was in a trance.

“Misty? Are you okay?” Mimi asked. Misty flinched a little, as if Mimi’s voice had startled her harshly.

“Yeah…” Misty responded, but there was something…off with her tone. She didn’t seem her usual self right now.

“Is the Sceptre starting to affect you?” Bud asked, glancing worryingly at the case strapped to Misty’s rucksack. “You have been holding onto it for a long time.”

“A little bit…” Misty muttered. Bud became a bit more suspicious. She didn’t seem affected by it. Her colour was normal for her and she didn’t look sick or anything like that. Then again, she could just be masking her symptoms quite well.

“I’ll take it for now.” Mimi volunteered, walking towards Misty.

“Are you sure, Mimi?” Bud asked.

“I’ll be fine.” Mimi shrugged, immediately starting to take the Sceptre off of Misty’s rucksack. After what she and the others were told about this thing, she honestly didn’t want to hold it. But she felt like she had to. The boys were already affected by it already and now apparently Misty. There was no way to know if Bud would be affected much faster since he had already held it beforehand. They can’t afford to slow down right now. Misty reluctantly allowed the Sceptre to be taken off of her. She can get it back later. Despite her thinking that though, she was still looking back at the gorge. Those few minutes were a pain for her. She still didn’t understand why she didn’t run off, but she was beyond caring at this point. Now she was just conflicted. Why? Why did these idiots care about each other so much? Dude and Candi could’ve died, but they were able to pull together to help them. This doesn’t make any sense.

“I don’t get it…” Misty muttered as she worked to secure the Sceptre to Mimi’s rucksack. Why was she speaking? Maybe she just felt this need to be heard. “Dude could’ve left Candi behind, but he didn’t. And you all could’ve let them both fall, but you didn’t. Why?”

“Not to sound cheesy or anything, but we’re all friends here. We look out for one another.” Mimi smiled knowingly.

“Also we’re a gang. We stick together.” Bud keenly added. Then he noticed how far the others had gone since they had this quick exchange. “Speaking of which, let’s try to keep up.”

Stick together? Was there any point in sticking with these fools? Especially considering what she had planned?

No! Stop! You don’t care about them! You don’t! Just focus on your own mission here! You’re so close!

Then why am I feeling guilt?

[outerrimhours]

As The World Burns

A Darth Maul x F/AFAB!Reader Fanfiction

Chapter Two: Devil in the Woods

{Previous Chapter} / {Next Chapter} / {Fic Masterlist}

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Plagued by nightmares, you sneak away to the ruins of the old church for clarity, only to face the devil in the woods. . 

RATING: Explicit. This work is strictly for those 18+ due to sexual content. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1,095

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: Loss of parents, death, grief, fear, trauma, nightmares, night terrors, war,  non canon timeline

A/N: I’m thriving off of the comments and support. Love you guys! Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up o-er wrought heart and bids it break."

“My love, go to the old church”, your father begged, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. “You’ll be safer there”. 

He clutched your arm tightly, the horror of knowing he may never see his daughter again glazing over his worrisome eyes. You had never seen your father so distressed. Despite the guards running towards the commotion, blaster fire crumbling the foundation around you, you stood firm.

“I can’t leave you”, you shouted.

“I can’t lose you”, he cried.

He pulled you tightly into an embrace, sweat and tears mingling onto each other's skin as he placed his lips against your forehead. 

“I love you my little warrior, but please run.”

Your father’s last words before an explosion separated you, it rented the air as if it were intent on shattering the universe, ripping apart every atom. 

Silence.

Except for the piercing ringing in your ears, the edges of your eyes were blurred with dust. You crawled amongst the rubble, the fabric of your dress tearing with each graze of gravel. A shard of stained glass protruded from your arm, the trail of blood glutinous and cold. You had yet to feel its sting. Fear moved your body along, legs wobbling like a newly born deer, and with each step you cried out. Bodies were scattered beneath your feet, crushed from falling rubble, blaster rounds through their skin. The air tasted metallic. You kept moving in the opposite direction of the guards until reaching the garden doors, the further you got the quieter the world became. Sweat beaded across your skin, the electric pumping of your heart pushing blood quicker through your veins and out of your wound. You were breathless, gasping for air as you ran. The soft pillowy grass a stark contrast to the battle behind you.  

You ran until it was almost silent. Until you saw the stoic architecture stretching above the hill, sheltered by ivy vines and mossy stone. A once holy and sacred place succumbing to the planet. The moment your knees hit the stream of water across the floor, you wailed. Your harrowing scream echoing into the vast emptiness. 

When you reached out, your fingertips met silk sheets. 

Your hair was matted against your skin, the scar against your arm throbbing as if fresh. You were soaked in sweat, heart pounding so quickly in your chest you were unable to catch enough air into your lungs. 

Thalia rushed into the room, worry painted on her face, but not fear; no she was used to the night terrors. 

Too many times had she been awakened by your screaming. 

You couldn’t look at her, because this time you cried. Sobbed, really. You could tell she wanted to comfort you, but you felt pitiful. 

“I’m fine”, you choked out. “Please, leave me be”.

“Are you sure M’lady?”

“Yes”, you gritted out. 

“As you wish”, Thalia obeyed, shutting the door behind her. 

You felt claustrophobic. Was your castle a home or prison, for the answer existed in your feelings. Were these bonds of love or duty? You didn’t even need guards, for you had forgotten a world beyond the walls. You rubbed the scar against your skin absentmindedly. It wasn’t the wound to your flesh that was your highest concern, yet injury to your brain, the way you saw the world and perceived others. 

You wrapped your cloak around your body and stood against the french doors of your balcony. 

You felt you may break every bit of furniture if you didn’t get some fresh air. Desperate to feel the grass beneath you. To step foot in that church for the first time since the battle. 

Meditate. 

You weren’t afraid of the dark. You navigated the path to the ruins, not by sight, but faith and memory. The mist of earlier rain kissed the bottom of your bare feet against the grass, a looming fog ghosting through the trees. There was a steady glow of moonlight, the aphotic forest released a plethora of sounds of nocturnal creatures that moved safely within the hug of the shadows. 

The narrow path at your feet fades and you follow the strip of naked earth to the towering structure. You feel almost breathless at the sight of it. Stone pillars with pointed archways untouched since the last time. Your pain absorbed within the walls.  Your eyes flutter closed and you reach out to touch the vines, as if they would whisper to you what you needed to hear.

“So peculiar”, it said. 

No, not the vines. Someone is there.

You whip around in disorientation at the unfamiliar voice; you’re faced with the devil. 

“Who are you”, you demand with a sense of authority. 

The stranger squints his eyes in annoyance, as if you were the one trespassing. 

“I should ask you the same.”

He stalks you with his amber eyes as you come to fully face him, and although you try to appear unfrightened, your feet take a step back. 

“I’ve seen you before”, you say. 

He hums in contemplation before responding, his voice rich and deep, almost sultry.

“Ah yes, the little spy. You are quite…loud”. 

“You’re not welcome here”, you seethe. The frustration of the situation mingling with tired delirium made you almost brave. 

Until he removed his hood. A crown of horns adorned his head, making his frightening complexion that more chilling. Yet he stayed in his position, an almost curious expression on his face. 

“Says who?” 

How dare a stranger in your home speak to you in such a way. You were growing impatient with the interaction. 

“The princess of Utara”, you stated. 

The stranger chuckled, arms extending behind his back as he approached. He appeared almost regal. Your heart raced with his closeness, your overconfident mouth surely to get you killed.

“Princess?”, he questioned, “you look rather..disheveled. Alone in the woods, barefoot, defenseless.” He said the last part almost as a taunt, a warning, yet his face looked rather amused.  

The fear made your brain feel scattered and unfocused and you took another step back. The man loomed over you even from a few feet away and if it weren't for the moonlight, he would have been a shadow in the darkness. And when you felt he may strike, the stranger turned his back to you.

“Goodnight..Princess”, he spoke before disappearing into the night, so silent, as if he vanished within thin air. Your title on his tongue in almost disbelief, amusement. 

[fandomregina]

I got bored so I did this little drabble! It's pretty much where Casita collapsed on Mirabel instead of her coming out of it ok for the most part. There's going to be 2 different parts so pick your path wisely :)

"Mirabel!" Her mother screams, reaching for her daughter as her daughter reaches for the candle. The house starts to push her away from the rest of the Madrigal family. "Mirabel!" Her mother screams once more.

"Mirabel!" Her dad joins in. "Mirabel we have to get out of here!" They're pushed out of the house as it crumbles. Julieta and Agustin can't see through the door into the house anymore, debris piled up in front of it.

"Mirabel, get out of there! Leave the candle behind!"

Mirabel can hardly hear her mother over the sound of Casita collapsing. She smiles in triumph as she grabs the candle but it falls as she does. She turns and starts to try her best to get out of the house. Jumping from the roofs, Casita catches her with the stairs, turning them into a slide, and lets her slide down to the center of the house. Casita tries its best to cover her as she trips into the center of the house, using the last of its powers to shield the powerless Madrigal. Mirabel makes herself as small as possible, curling herself around the candle. Mirabel feels something, or someone, grab her but then, it all goes black.

-------

Julieta lets out a gut-wrenching scream for her daughter as the rest of Casita collapses. She collapses with it to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself as she sobs. Agustín wraps his arms around her and cries with her.

"No, no no no no no. She can't be..." Luisa looks at the debris with empty, angry eyes. "She had to be fine. She's one of the strongest people I know." Luisa starts to stumble towards the fallen Casita. "She has to be fine. I know she's fine..." Luisa starts to tear through the debris looking for Maribel. She wipes her tears angrily as they fall. "She has to be fine!" She yells, tossing fallen walls, tiles, and pictures away, making a beeline for the center of the house. Isabela follows her sisters lead. Then Camilo. Then Dolores. Then Julieta and Agustin. Soon, the whole family, except for Abuela, is digging, searching for Maribel.

They dig for what feels like hours until Luisa lets out a sob and falls to her knees. She screams. The rest of the Madrigals freeze but then rush over to see what she has found.

It was the burnt down candle, all the way to its base, with blood on it.

Mirabel's blood.

But Mirabel was nowhere to be seen.

Until Camilo sees a limp hand a few feet away. He pushes the Madrigal aside and begins to dig, sobbing.

"Mirabel, no." He screams, wiping away his tears to be able to see. "You're not allowed. Not allowed..." He pushes away the last of the rubble from her face as the Madrigals start to crowd around him. He gently pulls his prima up from the rubble and into his lap, brushing away the dust on her face. "No... no, you have to be okay. You have to be alive." He pleaded. Julieta joins him on the ground and he hands Mirabel over to her mother reluctantly. Julieta puts her ear over Mirabel's chest, looking for any sign that her daughter is alive. She can vaguely hear Isabela and Luisa crying, Pepa and Felix yelling at Abuela, Agustin's hand on her shoulder.

Path #1

She looks up at Camilo and sobs, smiling, as she nods her head.

Mirabel was alive.

And that's all that mattered.

Path #2

Julieta drops her forehead to Mirabel's and cries, hugging her daughter closer. She wails for minutes, hours, days, she can't tell. Soon, she lifts her head and kisses Mirabel's, her tears almost completely cleaning Mirabel's cheeks. She shakes her head and all hell breaks loose.

Her daughter was dead.

And it was all the miracle's fault.

[cannedcrow]

Who Are You, Really?

A/N: The Void has a peculiar effect on memory. Boatem wonders if ignorance was bliss.

CW: blood, panic attack symptoms.

As the world crumbled into a levitating swarm of blocks, the copper rocket of Offworld Escapes had shot straight through the Boatem Hole and into the void, shooting down and down and down and then, when the world was no longer visible, up. Or perhaps sideways. One could not tell in the indifferent blackness. Perhaps distance did it, or maybe it was the moon crashing just hours behind their departure, obliterating S8. Whatever the cause, something broke for the 5 people sitting around the ship's meeting table, chatting blithely in excitement for the next adventure. A mental shield as thin and firm as a bubble.

Grian was the first to feel it. It was as though a truck had hit his mind, and he gasped audibly at the suddenness of memory before falling from his chair. He sat on the back of a white llama, whose lead was held by Scar. He saw Scar dead, bloody and broken at the bottom of a ravine. From a perch on the hill he watched an explosion toss three limp bodies into the air and cave a chasm in the ground, and he crowed victoriously with manic laughter at the beauty of it. He saw Ren, crowned with a circlet that gleamed with blood and carrying a banner. He saw hundreds of wolves streaking down a hill after a man who leapt wildly alongside them, holding a torch aloft and howling as though he were one of them. He saw earth erupt as though the desert were the spine of a massive creature who'd reared and roared, and screams of terror and pain sounded through the clouds of sand and smoke, their utterers unseen. Uncaring of the chaos around him, a blue-haired man wailed and clutched another man's body, ignoring the smears of blood the corpse left on him. He was on a mountain with Scar, the both of them bloody and bruised, cactus needles buried in them like arrows. He leant over Scar’s body and sobbed, smelling the salt of tears and sweat, the acridity of blood, the dust, felt the waves of heat that left the body even as he held it - as though by doing so he could undo what he had done.

And he was in another place, one of stone towers and wooden walls, where he laughed and loved his companions before they were ripped asunder. He chased down Mumbo in the adrenaline of killing, driving a sword through the chest of his closest friend, who had come back at his calling in instinctive, deeply rooted trust - the heartbroken look in those dark crimson eyes that met his even while his heart felt the point of diamond. The heavy spine of a crossbow weighed against his own and rockets were quivered at his hip. And the man who’d run alongside wolves ran with him, and they were predators welded together by violence, a pair of creatures ostracised even by those of their affliction, hunted til the bitter end. He felt the axe blow that tore through his chest and felled him, its owner leaving him to drown in the tide of blood that pulsed forth, hot and angry with hate.

These memories and more tore into him one by one, sweet or scalding as knives. Grian found himself knelt on the floor, hands over his head and wings splayed in a soft shield over himself, feathers spiked and trembling. His breath was fast and ragged and his heart seemed wrapped in ever-tightening wire.

But the others, in their own torment, could spare no thought to him.

Impulse had stumbled back as though hit by a charging ravager, vision obscured with the static of a headrush. He was in the stone circle of foundation that promised a castle, laughing with Cleo, Tango, and Bdubs. He was nailing a red banner to his shield, trading with villagers and collecting noxious arrows. A bowstring was drawn to his cheek and he released an arrow through a sheet of flame that plunged, fire-tailed, through Etho. He felt the heads of arrows plunge into his back as he splashed through Stygian water, running from the man to whom he’d been most loyal, the man whose blood-spattered clock had so easily turned his hand. He was in the Southlands, sitting atop a wooden wall, laughing as he observed his companions with a spyglass. He was in the Nether, slashing through waves of wither skeletons in determination to acquire a skull. And another arrow came from a blue haired man - Scott, he found he knew - as he stood atop the ramparts of a snowy castle with Grian, watching with glee the destructive path of a wither he’d helped loose.

Scar fell against the wall as though all the strength had left him, as he too was flooded with a rush of unforgiving memory. Grian, a desert, a promise. A bunch of lilacs that begged forgiveness. A stolen banner and a snowy-pelted llama. Heaving a lever that tore the desert asunder. He remembered offering Grian his own life, and he remembered the way they’d fought like dogs at the end of it all, a fight meant by neither of them but ordered by the laws of this world; he remembered how death had closed gentle black wings over his eyes as Grian held his head on his lap and smoothed his hair, tears drawing clear tracks through the dust and blood on his face and speckling Scar’s own.

And he remembered a mountain, an unwise choice of a business partner who died and died until he was but a shell whose hollow scarlet eyes met his across a broken bridge. He remembered the exaltation at his collection of souls, the power of the fact, dulled at the realisation that all those who approached him were parasites. He knew the loneliness and abandonment that twisted his heart to cruelty. He relived the agony of losing life after life, taken by force or bartered away - and he remembered falling into a churning pool of lava as Grian screamed his name in a too-late warning.

Scar sank to the floor, flattening himself against the copper wall of the room, wary as a fox that hears the baying of hounds. The flood of memory seemed to tear through him like a freezing gale, overwhelming him with too many thoughts and emotions to count, suffocating him in fear and joy and sadness.

Pearl had curled in her seat at the table as though in pain, covering her eyes. She was staring into the clear cerulean eyes of a man whose name she knew to be Scott, searching for a glint of red that might suggest danger. Cleo stood below the wall and asked for refuge. Collared wolves rolled in the grass surrounding the moss-roofed cottage, or else dashed and ripped at the heels of her enemies, blood soaking their silver muzzles, their pearl teeth. She was clambering over rocky slopes, breath ragged as the air rang with the whoops and shouts of the pack of red-names behind her, wild and savage as hounds, before feeling a crossbow bolt rip through her back - seeing the glinting head coated in her blood and protruding from her sternum for only a minute before death swept in.

Mumbo’s hands were clenched on the table rim, white-knuckled with tension as he too was barraged with memory. He too remembered the Southlands, repeatedly losing his spyglasses to the consternation of Jimmy. He remembered standing atop the bottom of the world, the atmosphere a suffocating mass of red fog, watching Grian be struck with an arrow and fall down, down, lost in the bloody mist. He remembered Grian coming back, the ragged feathery shape clawing itself to the top of the ladder, begging for friendship and for company even if it meant murdering his closest friend - before the last shred of himself made him leave Mumbo to live. He remembered end crystals and obsidian, heists and explosions, shrapnel, blood, cries of pain. Grian was calling him through the trees, and he, even injured, had returned only to be run through without hesitation on the diamond blade. And he watched Grian’s golden eyes flicker momentarily with grief as they met his own before everything was gone.

Grian couldn’t breathe. He knelt on the cold floor, and every time he dragged in breath it seemed to fall through him like water in cupped hands. He vaguely felt his arched wings spasm but couldn’t bring himself back in time - every part of him was falling out of sync, a set of metronomes breaking rank. It was too much, and he didn’t know if he was alive. Everything was blood and smoke and fire and dust. A hand touched his back gently, and a voice full of tremulous love murmured soothing words, a hand stroking his hair rhythmically, the repetition slowing his gasping heart and commanding steadiness of those metronomes.

Upon recovering the vaguest sense of self, Mumbo had noticed Grian’s crumpled form and heard the sharp, uneven intakes of breath. Scar was crouched against a wall, Pearl curled in a chair and sobbed quietly, Impulse leant against the wall as though pinned there, eyes closed and expression taught with shock. It was Grian he moved to, however. Instinct said that mental anomalies could be dealt with later, but now, Grian needed reality. It was a situation that quelled any sense of embarrassment, and Mumbo handled him as he would a distraught child, stroking his hair and rubbing his back, murmuring comforting nothings that pressured for no answer. Presently the fluffed feathers flattened and Grian drew his wings into his body, giving him the look of a little broken bird, but still more time passed before he sat up. He only glanced at Mumbo for a moment before burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“I don’t know who I am,” he gasped between panicked sobs, “What’s happening?”

“You’re a pesky bird,” Mumbo said gently, “and I’m afraid I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s happened to me too.”

“I’m scared,” came the smallest whisper, to which he replied only “I know. But we’re safe.”

Impulse was next to regain a semblance of composure, and he moved to Pearl’s side, gently putting an arm around her trembling shoulders, hoping the simple touch would help her cling onto reality. He looked at Scar and was surprised to see him crying too, though not like the other two. His eyes were glazed and he stared into nothing from his place on the floor, unnoticed tears trailing down his cheeks. He’d never seen Scar so affected before, and it scared him. Scar was usually known to brush off any situation with a facetious comment or a laugh - hell, so were Grian and Mumbo.

What had he remembered? Impulse thought, watching him, and Grian, and Mumbo and Pearl?

When Scar stood, Impulse couldn’t help but see a different Scar than the one in the mahogany tailcoat. He saw the broad-chested man whose sun-darkened skin was scarred and dust-covered, who wore no shirt but for a rough-spun blanket about his shoulders. Scar’s movement was robotic now, his eyes hollow. His gaze lingered on Grian for just a moment before he wordlessly climbed the ladder to the sleeping deck, his boots on the metal rungs counting a metronome in the silence.

Pearl eventually dismissed the comfort of her cocoon, raising her head to show eyes red with crying. She silently leant her head on Impulse’s shoulder, too worn out and overwhelmed to consider anything else. And they were all silent, each reliving every memory of lives they’d forgotten leading even as they wished they could stop. They stared at each other, unable to conduct interaction. It was as though they were strangers suddenly, memories and relationships from another life threatening this one.

Five people bound together and apart, split by invisible walls.

It was quiet, and Grian’s sobs had subsided into tiny breaths.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

For the bad things happen Bingo... burns for villain?

Circle for completed, heart for requested

Thank you so much for the ask!

Quick warning that may need more context than a word or two. In this snippet, Villain saves a child and they are buried. Some may call this "minor whump", but the child is never hurt whatsoever.

I don't know if this exactly fits "burns" but I think it does.

Scathed Skin

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: explosion, burns from explosion, broken bones, starvation, fever, buried alive

*not edited*

~

Fourteen

Villain ran into the next room, greedily scanning the interior.

Thirteen.

He pushed away from the doorframe and sprinted into the next room, but that was also devoid of the assumed ticking.

Twelve.

Villain checked out the next room. A child, young in age and tiny in stature was cowering in a corner, sobbing.

"Hey, hey, hey," Villain soothed, bounding over to the child and picking her up. "I'll be okay, alright?"

"Where's my mommy?" The child cried. "I want my mommy."

"Yeah I know, I know," the villain whispered, rubbing the child's back and hoping that her mother was one of the people who managed to escape.

Eight.

Villain ran out of the room with the child. He couldn't disable the bomb now.

So he ran towards the exit, knowing he would have to jump and somehow break the child's fall.

Six.

The ticking started to get more consistent and more intense. Villain looked up, the exit was only five feet, four feet, three feet...

One.

Villain knelt to the ground, wrapping the child with his arms and legs- his whole body- as an earsplitting boomed sounded throughout his ears.

Pain ripped at his back and he fell forward, careful not to harm the child. She was hysterically screaming now.

Villain groaned as black spots danced at his vision, but those weren't his top concern. The ticking had returned, symbolizing another bomb threat.

Villain pushed himself to his feet, though stability abandoned him after one crisp second. He stumbled over to a wall and leaned against it, still holding the child and breathing heavily.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Villain's ears perked and he turned to exit the building, but found that the exit was decimated. He sighed and took off half-sprinting, half-limping, the other way as agony pierced every cell of his being.

He barely made it to the stairs before he collpased sideways, head banging against the floor, making a hollow thud sound. Stars illuminated the black dust in his vision, making him wince and grimace.

The feeling of wet slowly snapped him out of it. His eyesight somewhat cleared as he felt more in-tune with his limbs- or was it just adrenaline?

The child was crying into his shirt, hugging him madly. He grunted, wrapping his arm around her comfortingly, but that only made her wail harder.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. We are going to be alright, okay?" Villain whispered just as another explosion sent a wave of buzzing discomfort through his ears.

The floor beneath him rattled and creaked before it caved in. Villain and the child fell, but Villain was able to twist around and use his mutilated back to break the young girl's fall.

His body connected with the tile floor. He barely registered the whistle of a kettle before dirt and debris crumbled around him, and inevitable unconsciousness took hold.

He awoke sometime later on his side, cheek pressed into the floor. He groaned and winced in pain as the world flared up around him. Blinding lights shot at his eyeballs as rocks and glass bit into his back.

Villain floated around in that whirlpool of pain as his senses struggled to snap back into it. Memories dabbed at the bruises in his head gingerly.

There was an explosion, then pain, then nothing.

But that was only once sentence that was missing a lot of facts.

He started to become aware of another presence looming over him. It started with the faintest of breezes against his forehead, then a noise like a whimper.

The child.

Villain tried to blink away the haze in his vision, but it only made things even foggier and thick.

"Sir?" The child squeaked when she realized that Villain woke up. "Sir, where's my mommy?"

Her words went right over Villain's head; heck, he hardly came to the conclusion that someone was speaking.

His limited span of sight started to double, then triple as consciousness was snatched away again.

When Villain regained consciousness the second time, he found that he was much more aware of his surroundings.

They were trapped in a somewhat capacious room. Villain's leg was trapped under a wooden beam and was so painful that it had to be broken.

The child was drawing figures in the dust and dirt. Apart from a very dirty face, she didn't appear to be harmed.

But nonetheless, Villain asked out of courtesy, "You good, kid?"

The girl blinked a couple times before nodding. Gosh, she hardly looked ten.

Villain looked around. It seemed that they were trapped in some sort of kitchen. It was very tiny and by some miracle, the various blocks of plaster and heavy metal pipes didn't crush them.

But it did crush the only possible food supply, but the girl seemed to have grabbed a cereal box.

"Hey, give me that," Villain said, trying to pull himself close to the girl, but immediately scream in pain as he tugged at his leg. He collapsed fully on the ground, groaning and somewhat dazed.

The girl pushed the box towards him. It fell over and landed on his face. Villain shakily tipped it over and looked inside.

It was half full. Or empty, depending on how you looked at it.

"Is there anymore food in those cabinets?" Villain asked, nodded towards the dark colored cupboards.

The girl shook her head and pulled her legs in. Her dirty face was tearstained with crusty eyelashes. She had been crying while Villain was unconscious.

"Hey, we'll be okay," Villain soothed as he thrusted his hand into the box. "We are going to have to ration. Ten pieces twice a day, not that we can exactly tell the day."

That wouldn't be enough, but it would have to suffice.

"Okay," the girl squeaked, crawling over and picking out ten cheerios. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." She smiled and popped a couple into her mouth.

Villain dozed off a little after that, back and leg in scorching pain, not enabling a truly restful sleep. The girl also slept, or Villain thought, her back was turned towards him.

They somewhat bonded too. The girl started to talk about her barbie and My Little Pony roleplays and even asked Villain to join. He played along a little bit, awkwardly voicing Applejack, before exhaustion took its toll and he fell asleep mid-sentence.

He was getting sick and he knew it. The pair ate their alloted cereal in silence, both knowing that they would soon run out.

"I'm hungry," the girl complained one day- the first complaint in who know's how long.

Villain gave her a sympathetic smile and pushed half of his cheerios over. He wasn't that hungry anyways.

His head started to hurt as he felt fever set in. He couldn't sleep anymore other than periodic, short-lived black outs. But he always awoke more dizzy and tired than before.

Soon after, the fever started to worsen. He would thrash in his sleep and wake up more entangled than before. It hurt, everything hurt and there was no relief.

The girl was his only source of light. She would watch him with wide eyes, bright gaze never faltering. He would reach for her in half-consious states, desperate to know if she was okay.

He quit eating entirely, allowing the girl all the food, but still she ate her twenty pieces a day.

Once, Villain woke up so weak and exhausted that we couldn't even turn his head to look around. He groaned, staring at the floor with a dull gaze.

"Sir? Sir are you okay?" The girl asked, voice thick with sobs. "Are-are you dead?"

Villaim forced himself to peel up his eyes to look at her, but could only keep the look for so long before his eyelids drooped again.

The girl crawled over and picked Villain's head up an inch from the ground. Like a ragdoll, he allowed total and utter control of his head and neck.

"We'll be okay," Villain wheezed, closing his eyes as pressure built in between his eyebrows.

The girl dropped his head just as the fever pulled him under again.

The girl crawled back to her spot, laid down, and also took a nap.

Neither knew of the rescue team just feet above them.

[xxreader-writerxx]

Red Haired Boy

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry got carried away)

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of death (happy ending tho), panic attack, graphic violence at parts, mentions of blood, cursing (maybe?), tell me if I need to add anything

Y/N= Your Name L/N= Your Last Name Y/H= Your House Y/N/N= Your nickname

I get shoved sideways by a red haired boy and run into the wall. I let out a small gasp feeling my shoulder run into a sharp brick. I hold the cut with tears in my eyes. I see the boy turn around and run back worried. "Bloody hell! I'm so so sorry!" He tells me and I shake my head firmly. "It's alright." I mumble trying to make it seem like I'm not crying. "No it's not, you're bleeding!" He tells me and I see another boy run and stop seeing us. "Fred! He's on my tail!" He tells him tugging his arm. "Go on then! I need to handle something!" He tells him angrily getting his arm free. "Whatever..." The other boy mutters. "Does it hurt?" He asks and I shake my head shyly. "No... I'm fine. Really."

"WEASLEY!" I hear and see its our groundskeeper. "I'm going to enjoy this one..." He mutters to himself as he pulls the boy by his arm harshly. I look at him and he looks sad but smiles weakly at me. "AH MY ARM. OH IT HURTS!" I say not thinking. "What?!" He asks and I clutch my arm. "AH HELP HELP!" I yelp and he drops Fred, as soon as he's freed I silently tell him to run and he smiles at me. He runs and Filch is still distracted by my wailing. I stand straight and smile. "Its gone now. I think I just need to get patched up." I say calmly, walking to the infirmary.

"What do you mean?" I hear as I get wrapped up by Madam Pomfrey. "It was bloody amazing. She started screaming her arm hurt and let me run off!" A nearly identical voice replies. "Well good for her but karma must've came to bite you." The voice replies. "Yeah... But- No way! It's her!" He says and I look up to see the boy I helped earlier. "Hey- What happened!?" I ask seeing his eye covered in blood. "When he was running he was distracted and fell face first into a statue, cut his eyebrow pretty good." His identical brother tells me. "Oh no!" I say and he walks over and Madam Pomfrey groans.

"Sit there, I'll be back in a moment... Foolish boy..." She mutters and he hops up next to me. "Fred Weasley." He introduces and I smile shyly, shaking his hand. "Y/n, Y/n L/n..."

"I wanted to say thank you, for not only saving me but I also wanted to say thank you for saving me despite me hurting you." He tells me shyly and I smile. "My pleasure."

***

I wake up to my boyfriend kissing my shoulder as I sleepily wake up. "Hi baby..." I whisper groggily. "Hi darling..." He smiles at me and I notice he's kissing my scar from how we met. He places his cheek against mine as I wrap his arms around me. "Whatcha thinking about?" I ask and he sighs. "I never payed you back for saving me the day you got this..." He tells me and I laugh. "How bout..." I say pushing him lightly so I'm on top. "Five minutes, whenever I choose to use it, you have to do whatever I want." I whisper and he smiles cheekily. "Yes ma'am..." He tells me and I chuckles. "Yay that one day I will be doing no dishes." I tell him and he scoffs. "I was thinking something more sexual but ok." He tells me and I kiss his nose.

***

I look around frantically for my loved ones, happy I am a half witch so my family isn't here, blood related though. I look for the Weasley Family trying to see through the falling dust and rubble. I see a messy ginger hair and get excited. I limp over as quickly and see its not my Weasley but Percy. He's screaming for help. I ignore the pain coursing through me and run the best I can.

He's digging through rubble and I freeze in fear. "W-who is that?" I ask seeing a hand underneath it all. "JUST HELP!" He screams and I rush over moving each piece of rubble. I finally help drag the body out. I lay him on me to support his head and moves his hair from his eyes. "Freddie?" I ask softly and he looks at me smiling. "Hey..." He barely says and he gasps slightly for air. "Hey, stay awake for me... Percy get help, he's bleeding a lot..." I cry and he runs. I feel Fred's weak and cold hand wrap around mine. "I hoped you were in my last moments ya know?" He tells me smiling, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Well let that be another day. Freddie you are going to stay alive you idiot." I tell him chuckling through my worry, combing his hair lightly. "I want you to be happy. Don't wait for me to come back. Find someone who makes you happy. Alright?" He asks and I scoff. "I would if you were dying. But you aren't." I sob and he holds my hand. "You'll be ok..." He whispers closing his eyes but I grab his head shaking my own. "Hey remember the time we met?" I ask smiling at him and he nods smiling. "You cut my shoulder so deep and I saved you minutes later, remember that?"  I ask and he scoffs leaning his head back weakly. "Didn't think my last moments would be getting guilt tripped." He tells me and gasps at a pain in his side. "Well because of that you told me you would give me five minutes of anything I wanted. I want to have five minutes, after this war, dancing with you. You understand? I want to get married and dance for five minutes." I demand and he chuckles, then cringes at the pain.

Wizards swarm us and help him onto a stretcher as we finally let go of each other's hands. People help me up saying I need to heal my injuries. I keep my eyes on him scared..

***

Three months.

Three fucking months and nothing is better. They said it would be better by now. But I still miss him, miss my fiancé. He died shortly after I saw him. His dead body being the only thing on my mind every single day. Today I need to collect his belongings so I throw myself out of bed sadly. I walk out to the room to the empty, quiet, kitchen. I look for my mug and think George must have put it away when he was cleaning. The twin of my passed fiancé constantly stops by to help around the house, he says it helps pass the time.

I climb on the ladder and see he just put it far back in the shelf. I look right above it and look at it shocked. It's Fred's mug.

I hold it and tear up. "Why couldn't you stay? You promised you would stay! You promised! Wh-why did I have to loose you?!" I scream and fall to my knees feeling my heart crumble. "You promised..." I whisper against the mug. I put it down and feel the ground rumble from the nearby train. I ignore it until it makes my mug fall from the counter and drop on Fred's. "No... No no no no no..." I sob picking up the pieces.

George's POV:

I walk into the building to see Y/n yelling at the landlord angrily. "NO YOU CALM DOWN GARRETT! THAT BLOODY TRAIN BROKE MY FIANCE'S MUG! HE FOUGHT IN A WAR YOU WOULD NEVER IMAGINE! HIS MUG IS IRREPLACEABLE! HE FOUGHT DEATHEATERS! DID YOU FIGHT DEATHEATERS GARRETT?! NO! SO YOU WILL GET THAT BLOODY BLOODY TRAIN TO STOP OR PUT A DAMN SPELL ON THIS BUILDING SO I DON'T HAVE TO THINK I AM ON A CRUISE EVERYTIME IT PASSES!" She yells at him holding a bag to her chest, tears streaming down her face. I grab her arms holding them to her chest as she continues to yell at him. "Sorry mate its just a horrible day." I explain as I wrestle her into the lift. "Y/N!" I yell at her and she sobs clutching the bag. "All I had left George! I didn't even know I had it! And it was gone just like he's gone! It was practically a reenactment!" She cries and I hold her close. I kiss the top of her head knowingly.

"He's gone!" She sobs and I nod not wanting to add to it. As much as I miss Fred, she misses him more. She has had everyone in her life leave her and he was all she had besides our family but we weren't even close to him. She trusted him with her life and it was ripped away so quickly. Her love for him was more than a man could describe.

"Let's get you washed up..." I whisper and she nods silently.

***

Fred's POV:

I limp inside the home I once knew and look for my mother, brother, anyone. I can barely see through my bloody hair that has overgrown. I climb the stairs harshly noting the pain in my ribs. I open my room and everything is empty on my side. I walk over to George's bed and nothing. "Mum?" I barely croak. I keep searching ignoring the pain.

I hear a teacup fall and break behind me, I whip around to see my mother as pale as possible. "George? What's wrong?!" She asks and I try to smirk. "Mum wrong twin, but before I yell at you about that I need to find- well myself..." I say drawing my wand. "What? George are you alright? Please don't tell me my boy is gone too." She whimpers. "Mum, where have you last seen me, or well Fred?" I ask and she walks over, tears filling her eyes. "Georgie... Fred died. You remember don't you?" She whispers, combing my hair, I nearly relax at the sensation, haven't been able to see my mother in a year. Only being tortured.

"Mum? I died?" I ask and she sobs, holding me. "C'mon Georgie! Don't tell me we have to go back to St. Mungo's!" She sobs into my chest. "What?! George went to St. Mungo's?!" I ask getting worried. "Oh Godric... Georgie! Y/n! She snapped! Please stop this!" She cries and I freeze. "What do you mean mum?" I ask and she cries more. "You know what happened!" She clutches my shirt tightly. "Mum!" I say grabbing her wrists. "It. Is. Fred. I have been tortured for a year. I need to go find Georgie and Y/n. Where's my girl?" I ask getting worried. She places a hand on my cheek and looks at me carefully. "Freddie?" She asks and I nod, cupping her hand. "Yes mum. Freddie. Can you heal me up and show me where my girl and twin is? I haven't seen them in so long, I miss them." I ask and she smiles. "ARTHUR COME HERE!" She yells as she helps me to the den.

***

I walk into George's apartment with him and my parents slowly. "Why's she living here?" I ask and George sighs. "Please be calm alright?" He asks and I nod. He unlocks the door and looks around. "Y/n?" He calls and sighs. "Don't know why I try anymore..." He whispers mostly to himself. "Please show her slowly George. We can't have her getting worse." My mum tells him and he nods.

I walk into a room across from his and see her laying on her bed. "Hey Y/n! Got you a surprise..." George says and points to the corner. "Let me get her used to seein me first." He whispers and I look at him confused. She turns around and smiles at him silently. "Still no talking?" He asks and she tears up. "It's alright. Can you trust me real quick?" He asks and she nods confused. My heart breaks seeing her, she looks broken.

"C'mere Fred..." He tells me and she whips her head around. I walk over and she tears up. "No..." She whispers and I back away. "Hey Lovey..." I whisper. "You're dead." she tells me and I chuckle. "Turns out. A lot of people think that..." I joke and she walks over. She pokes my chest and I poke her shoulder playfully. "What was that for?" I ask joking and she says nothing but wrap her arm around me.

"Hey Y/n/n, want some tea and we can explain?" George asks and she nods. "Alright me and Fred-" He begins but she shakes her head, holding me tighter like a toddler with a teddy. "I want Fred to stay." She says and I kiss her head. "Y/n, you need to change." He tells her and she grips on my shirt. "I want Fred to stay." She repeats and he sighs. "George. She can just change while I'm turned around. I don't think she'll let me leave, right lovey?" I ask and she nods, nuzzling her face into my shirt. "He'll leave again." She states and I kneel. "Never again. I promise." I tell her and she starts to cry. "You said that." She tells me and my heart breaks. "I know, but this year was temporary. I promise." I tell her.

George finally leaves and she changes as quickly as possible and races back to hug me again. I pick her up and she stays hugging me. "Freddie..." She whispers and I nod. "I gotcha baby." I tell her and she shoves her head in the crook of my neck.

I sit down and George is tearing up. "You got her to talk." He tells me and I look at her confused. "What do you mean?" I ask and he wipes his face. "She was ok at first... Then she saw a Scrapbook of you guys. She realized that you were actually well- You know what I mean. And she stopped talking. We brought her to St. Mungo's in hope she'd start talking but after a month I just took her in here. Hoping one day she'd talk again. Then you came back. She talked for the first time today. Only because she saw you." He explains. "Your turn." She says and I nod, rubbing circles on her back.

"They thought us twins were the only two who were important enough to be in the army but slightly unimportant to kidnap one and try to get answers. They replaced me with a soldier using Polyjuice. Luckily... I had the memory of you guys keeping me strong." I explain kissing her neck. I feel tears on my shoulder and I move to see her face. "What's wrong lovey?" I ask and she hides in my neck again. "My fault." She cries into my neck. "Hey... What do you mean?" I ask and she nuzzles her face into my neck. "I didn't notice..." She cries and I kiss her neck up and down softly. "No baby, they took some of my memories so it would be impossible to not notice." I explain and she holds me tightly. "But I love you so much. I should've." She explains, taking breaks, every time trying to remember a word or at least how to say it. "I'm going to pack her things, I think your flat will be more comfortable." George says and I nod.

"I'm sorry." She mumbles and I kiss her again. "Me too..." I whisper.

***

"Good morning darling." I say as I sit on the couch next to Y/n. She smiles at me slightly and I grab the newspaper. "Want me to read for you?" I ask and she nods,  laying on my lap. I run my fingers through her hair as I read the news, showing her the cartoons. I'm smiling and laughing for her until she gets up and grabs a grape. She eats it and I pop up straight. "Sorry did you want that?" She asks and I smile at her. I kiss her all over her face and she giggles. I start kissing her even more causing more giggles. The sound I haven't heard in two years, right before the war.

"Freddie!" She giggles and I smile at her with the dopiest smile I can muster. "I love your laugh..." I sigh and she smiles at me. I get a call and answer it seeing its George.

"Hey could you come down to the shop? Ron set off fireworks after falling and there might be a hole near your office. We tried fixing it but your Magic Blocker is being a pain" He tells me and I sigh. "Alright coming. You two are very much interrupting the best day of my life." I say kissing the crown of Y/n's head. "Why? What happened?" He asks and I smile at the girl in my hold. "Y/n both ate and I heard that gorgeous giggle of hers." I say smiling proudly at Y/n. She blushes slightly and I kiss her nose.

I get up to change with Y/n following closely behind after hanging up and change in our shared room as she fiddles with the sensory knickknacks. With my ADHD and her PTSD we got them to keep our minds healthy. I laugh when she throws the dollar bill squishy at me playfully. I pick it up and she smirks at me. "Pass me my wallet." She tells me and I sigh knowing what I'm getting myself into. I toss her the wallet and she opens it looking for something.

I continue getting dressed when I feel a coin hit my back. "Hey! Dollar bills!" I say tossing the coin back. "I see no such rule." She replies and I smile. "How can you annoy the hell out of me but make me fall so much harder..." I mumble and she smiles. "Its cause I pay good." She quips, tossing a coin at me. I finally get my belt fixed and I walk over. I pick her up and drop her onto our bed. I kiss her neck and she giggles as I tickle her lightly. "I love you so much..." I whisper and she kisses my cheek. "Not as much as I love you." She whispers back.

I get fully dressed and I watch as she disappears into the closet and returns, first eyes searching for me quickly and when she finds me she walks over hugging me. "Ready to go?" I ask and she nods.

Y/n's POV:

I walk into the shop with Fred as we walk out into the streets of Diagon Alley. "Busy street today." He mutters worried and I nod, holding onto his hand tightly. "Don't worry. If we lose each other, meet me at the shop. You know the way." He tells me and I nod silently.

We set off and halfway I lose him in the crowd. I look around scared. My heart beats faster and faster as the seconds pass. "Fred?" I say loudly and get no response. My heart starts to go faster than I've ever felt. "Fred?" I say, tears forming in my eyes.

What if he gets kidnapped again?

What if he's hurt?

What if I get kidnapped?

What if Fred has to go through the same as I did?

What if-

I rush to the shop and go into the bathroom, locking the door as I fall to the ground crying. My heart beating faster than it should. I try to breath but no air is allowed down my throat. Tears fall from my eyes and I cry harder.

I need to go back and look for him.

Stop being a coward.

He could be hurt.

God I can't move.

What if me being a coward causes the last of the Deatheaters kidnap him again?

I can't lose him-

"Y/n? Darling?" I hear and I wipe my tears, quickly standing up shakily. I unlock the door and smile at a distressed Fred. "Hey I just had to fix my makeup." I say and his frown deepens. "C'mere." He says holding his arms open. I stop before hugging him and take a step back. "How do I know?" I ask and he sighs. "I got some Veritaserum in the back if you'd like that." He tells me and I run into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry." I cry softly into his chest and he kisses my head. "I'm here for you every step of the way. For better and worse." He whispers into my head softly.

"Now it's time to deal with my idiot brother's mistakes."

***

Fred comes into the apartment and smiles happily. "Lovey!!!" He says and I smile brightly at him. I hold up my now empty plate and he wraps his arms, one hand holding his briefcase, around me. "I made you some too!" I tell him and he looks at the coffee table. "I can't believe I was lucky enough to marry you..." He whispers in my ear and I smile. "I can agree." I tell him, kissing his nose. It's been two years since he got back and I finally got better. I started talking again, laughing, hugging, all because I had my loving husband next to me the whole time. I still have some issues with him leaving but not as bad as before.

"How was work?" I ask as he sits down, starting to eat. "Good. Missed you though." He tells me and I smile, laying on his lap as he devours his food. I unbutton his shirt and pull up the t-shirt underneath, I put my head under the cloth and kiss his scars lightly as he rubs my hair lightly. "I love you my crazy lady." He tells me and I pull my head away, smiling at him goofily. "I love you my red haired boy."

[writersmorgue]

Nightmare Material

15+ for graphic descriptions of violence, blood, and gore

can be read as slash or platonic

not proofread

-

“SHUT UP DEKU! OH MY GOD, CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?!”

The common room goes silent.

“Woah, Bakubro, he just asked if you were busy,” Kirishima chuckles nervously.

Katsuki looks over to Deku who, as expected, already has tears welling in his eyes.

“Shitty crybaby, of course I’m busy can’t you fuckin’ see? Go bother someone who cares.”

Deku sniffles like the pathetic little child that he is, and nods, “Ok Kacchan.”

“Fuckin’ annoying ass-” Katsuki mutters, ignoring the glares as he stomps out of the room. Taking the stairs two at a time before slamming the door shut behind him, imagining the flinches of his classmates as he does so.

Fuck that fucking nerd, always looking down at him. Asking him for help on math of all things, when he fuckin’ knows that’s Katsuki’s worst subject. Fuck him.

The little shit shouldn’t even be here, he’s not on Katsuki’s level. Just gonna get himself killed.

After a few minutes of grumbling into his pillow, there’s a knock at Katsuki’s door, followed by a meek, “Blasty?”

He groans dramatically and flops over onto his back, propelling himself up with a few controlled explosions.

“Fuckin’ what-” He swings the door open and comes face to face with the entire idiot squad.

Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari all stand in front of him, Sero nervously wringing his hands, Kaminari avoiding eye contact, and Kirishima giving him a look.

Mina steps to the front of them, patting Kirishima’s shoulder as she does so.

“Blasty, you really gotta stop.” She stares him straight in the eyes, not backing down no matter how hard he glares.

“Stop fuckin’ what.”

Kirishima places a hand on Mina’s chest, stalling her step forward into Katsuki’s space. “You know what, Bakugo.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Oh please, like the little shit can’t handle some yelling. I’ve seen discount hot topic make his ears bleed-”

“This isn’t about Jirou. This is about you. You need to sort your shit out.” Sero’s frowning, a rare sight.

“Oh?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, “Or what?”

There’s a tense silence before Kaminari sniffs. “Or- or we won’t be your friends anymore!!” He stutters, bottom lip wobbling.

The rest of the group nods, one by one giving him a last glance.

Katsuki stands there for a few minutes, mainly thinking, but also fuming

How dare they treat him like that, like trash. He’s not trash, and he’s not the bad guy. He’s just trying to save Deku before it’s too late. Stupid idiot won’t last a day in the hero business, even with his new freak quirk. All it’s good for is hurting the nerd.

“Stupid Deku and his stupid protection squad, fuckin’ blind idiots.” He grumbles, slamming the door and returning to his lair.

He changes his clothes, resigning himself to finishing his weekend at the gym instead of on next week’s homework.

Bakugo stomps through the common room on the way to their practice room, a few of his classmates shoot him glares but he’s ignored for the most part. Something noticeably purposeful since he’s not exactly being quiet. Even Kirishima refuses to acknowledge his presence.

Yeah, that hurts.

He runs for two hours, lifts for one, and finishes with core for thirty minutes before his post-workout cooldown ritual. Thoroughly satiated and tired to the bone, he heads back to his dorm. Ignored this way too, he doesn’t bother saying goodnight to anyone. Not that he would usually. Not that he misses Ashido’s “Night blasty!!” on his way up the stairs.

He doesn’t give a shit.

He scrubs at his body with his last bits of energy and brushes his teeth half dead on his feet. Exhausted, he flops down on his bed and passes out almost immediately.

…

Someone’s screaming.

Katsuki lunges toward Shigaraki, whose hand barely grazes Izuku’s neck.

Izuku? When did he ever call the nerd something other than-

“DEKU!!!” Oh, he was the one screaming. He blasts himself forward and pushes Izuku out of the way, his dusted skin flaking off into the breeze as green hair skids to a stop on the ground below.

“Damn BRAT-” Shigaraki mutters, angrily scrunching his hand in mid-air before turning his attention to Katsuki. “YOU.” He points a cracked, pointed finger at Katsuki.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it old man?” He snorts, preparing his arms to blast again, he can feel the resistance from his last jump.

“You saved the little shit,” Shigaraki mutters to himself, nails dragging roughly down his neck, “must have a relationship, must be close to my enemy. Must die-”

Katsuki raises his hand, palms crackling in defiance, but he’s geared to go anyway.

Nothing happens.

“Fuck goddamnit!” His one fucking chance to get a drop on the guy and he’s out of juice? Fucking really?!

He’s so caught up in his fury he doesn’t notice the mad glint in the enemy’s eye. The way he smiles brokenly, bloody tongue barely peeking out.

“Poor little hero.” He mutters.

Katsuki jerks his head up just in time to see five fingers inches away from his face.

Well, this was fun.

“KATSUKI-” There’s pressure on his side and he falls, belatedly realizing he was pushed out of the way.

He looks hits the ground hard, hearing the reverberated snap of his ankle as it breaks.

“FALL HERO!! FALL BEFORE ME! YOUR NEW GO-”

Shigaraki falls to the ground as Todoroki whacks him over the head with a piece of rebar.

HIs normally stoic expression is frantic, he’s got fresh tears streaking down his face, and his forehead is covered in dried blood.

He tears his eyes away from the downed villain as Kirishima comes to cuff him, and screams in anguish at the sight of Izuku- Something Katsuki is still trying to wrap his head around.

A startled, almost pained sound escapes Katsuki as he half limps, half runs towards his best friend.

...best friend?

“IZUKU!”

Izuku has long since crumbled to his knees, clutching what remains of the left side of his face. Still slowly crumbling away. Blood pours down his arm and neck, making it difficult to see, but the sight of his eye frantically widening as Katsuki sits next to him is enough.

He removes his hand and sobs, throwing himself onto Katsuki.

“Eih- hgo-” He chokes, blood soaking Katsuki’s own suit as he rocks them both.

“Shh, it’s okay, Izuku.” He whispers, making eye contact with a sobbing Todoroki, who nods in approval.

“Izuku you’re gonna be fine.” The shock has yet to remove itself from Katsuki’s voice, and his words are filled with cracks and sobs, but he hopes it’s what Izuku needs.

“Aa- aah” Izuku’s broken kacchan followed by a fresh flow of blood down Katuski’s neck.

“I love you, Izuku. It’s gonna be alright.”

Izuku whimpers, clutching onto the blond’s neck for dear life.

And then he goes limp.

Katsuki’s eyes bug out, and he pulls Izuku arm’s length away. The gruesome sight that greets him is one he’ll never forget.

Izuku’s left eye hangs loosely down the side of his mangled cheekbone and jaw. Katsuki can see teeth starting to crumble as the decay works its way through his face. His nose is completely exposed, with no flesh left. No cute freckles. No scrunch when he smiles. And his other eye, possibly the worst part, stares lifelessly at Katsuki. The last remnants of tears make their way down his face.

He looks… terrified.

He died scared in the arms of his abuser. Someone who never even apologized to him. For fucking anything. Some vile part of Katsuki reminds him.

He saved me because I couldn’t do my fucking job.

He thrusts Izuku’s lifeless body into Shouto’s arms, who lets out a heartwrenching sob. Katsuki scrambles back, and can vaguely register the sound of pink cheeks vomiting behind him.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” becoming increasingly more desperate with each utterance of the word, “FUCK!” Kirishima comes up behind him, picking him off the dust-covered ground and holding him to his chest. “This is all my fault!!!” He wails, “He fucking saved me, I couldn’t- this isn’t right no no NO-”

“Shhhh Katsuki-” Eijirou soothes him through his own tears, always the constant in Katsuki’s life. Well, after Deku.

Deku Deku Deku.

Dead Deku.

Because of you.

Katsuki takes another good look at Deku’s face where Shouto had freaked and discarded him on the ground. The unnatural bend of his arms, the bloody drool escaping his parted- if you can even call that a mouth anymore, his eyes.

And he screams.

He screams and he screams and he screams until someone shakes him so hard he wakes up.

Wait-

“BAKUGO!!! WAKE UP PLEASE-” Shitty hair screams at him, shaking his shoulders desperately as he thrashes in his sheets.

He stills, staring up at Kirishima with a shocked expression.

“Wh-”

“You were having a nightmare,” Kirishima explains, gasping for breath like he just ran a marathon.

Katsuki looks to the doorway where half of the boys in their class stand, expressions varying from worried to shocked.

He looks back at Kirishima, a pitiful whimper escaping his throat, “It- it wasn’t real?”

Katsuki looks to the door, half expecting to see Izuku there.

Missing an ear, you can see his tongue through his cheek.

Katsuki gulps, “Where’s Izuku?” He murmurs into the quiet room.

“Izuku?” Someone in the hallway mutters.

“Uh,” Kirishima catches himself before he can say something dumb, “Izu?- Uh- Midoriya is probably in his room. Didn’t think you’d want him here, but he knows. You kinda woke up the whole dorm.”

Kirishima has barely finished the sentence before he’s jumping out of bed, pajamas be damned, and sprinting toward the stairs. When he gets to Izuku’s floor he makes a hard right, Icyhot shouting something about being nice behind him.

Katsuki can yell at him later.

Running gives him time to think, and the more Katsuki thinks the more he realizes that his nightmare might as well have been a prophecy. Izuku would pull some martyr shit like that, but it was only Katsuki’s fault in the first place that he was put in that situation. He’s the only one to blame. Izuku had done everything right, and Katsuki managed to fuck it up.

Hollow socket, tendons hanging, blood turning his green suit a muddied brown.

Katsuki knocks on the door frantically, scared about what he’ll see when Izuku answers.

There’s some rustling from inside before Izuku peeks out, green curls messy from sleep.

“Wh- I thought Aoyama said you were having a nightmare.” His eyebrows furrow.

“I was,” Katsuki breathes, taking in how whole his rival is. “But it wasn’t real.”

He reaches out hesitantly and brushes an unruly lock of green out of Izuku’s left eye.

“Everything’s where it should be-” He chuckles almost in bewilderment.

He drags his fingers gently down Izuku’s cheek, tracing where the decay had rotted away skin, now whole.

A few of the classmates who followed him gasp in surprise when Katsuki clutches Izuku’s shoulders and buries his face in soft green hair. Completely breaking down as he sobs.

Izuku freezes, terrified of ruining the moment, even though he really wants to ask someone what the fuck is happening.

He gives Kirishima a questioning look as he hesitantly rubs along Katsuki’s back.

The redhead just shrugs.

“I’m sorry Izuku.”

Aaaand the damn breaks.

Izuku sobs as Katsuki clutches him tighter, their friends begin to awkwardly back out of the hallway after witnessing whatever that was.

“Wh- Kacchan?” He pulls away reluctantly, but he needs to see Katsuki’s face.

The blond’s eyes are red and puffy, same as his cheeks, but he’s dead serious.

“I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, you’re a really good guy.” He heaves in a breath, “And- I know you’ll be a great hero someday.”

“Kacchan… why?”

Katsuki looks away, “I just- thought about some things,” He doesn’t mention that the thinking involved seeing his classmate’s bloodied corpse, “realized how full of myself I am. You really did just want help on that math homework, huh?” He huffs, shaking his head at his past self.

“I did. What else would I have wanted?”

Katsuki sniffs, angrily rubbing at his eyes, “I don’t know, Izuku. I’m a fucking idiot.”

Izuku smiles sadly, “All I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend, Kacchan.

The blond nods, “Yeah, I think I see that now. Can- can we still do that? Be friends?”

Izuku beams, rubbing his own tears away and pulling Katsuki into another tight hug.

“There’s nothing I want more, Katsuki.”

[o-wyrmlight]

(For that writing game thingy)

Pure Vanilla clutched his staff closer to his chest as sorrow sharp as a blade pierced his Soul Jam.

Crumbled Castles AU

"Pure Vanilla," Dark Cacao murmured, his voice quiet and low. "I... I found something."

With a low grunt, Pure Vanilla stumbled up to his feet, brushing off the dust from his robe in a vain attempt to dismiss the finer particles of his fallen castle's debris. These damn books had no business being as buried beneath the stone bricks and fallen walls as they were, and he hated every moment of working his fingers raw to get at what lay beneath.

Gripping his wooden staff, Pure Vanilla forced a gentle smile to his face, turning toward his friend with the face of a king whose castle hadn't fallen around him a year prior. The face of a king who didn't mind coming back to his crumbled kingdom to find the rubble and the dust unwaveringly present.

Even here, he couldn't afford to lose face.

Keep it together. You can't fall apart now. Keep it together.

"Yes?" he chirped, holding his makeshift stave before him in his hands. "Is it something of interest?"

"I--it's not the book we're trying to find." Dark Cacao shifted on his feet for a moment, looking around aimlessly before heaving a sigh and holding out his hand. Pure Vanilla frowned down at it, confused, before his eyes widened and he took a startled step back, breathing a choked breath.

"I... he was here, Pure Vanilla. I couldn't find his body, but--he must have come back here to look for you."

There was no mistaking that hat. It was so worn and adorned so frequently, held together with all the love and care that Pure Vanilla himself could put into each and every small, minute repair. Every mismatched stitch was a hallmark of love, every messy connection. Premier Custard Cream always said it added so much character to it, and it helped Pure Vanilla feel a little better about how miserable his stitchwork was. It really did.

To see it as it was now--dirty, smudged with filth, scratched and half-torn and coming apart at the seams was--

And there was jam. Dark, dried jam.

Pure Vanilla clutched his staff closer to his chest, sorrow sharp as a blade piercing his heart, threatening to tear apart the fragile seams keeping him together. Keep it together. You can't fall apart now. Keep it together.

Your husband is dead.

"...Ah. I... see."

Pure Vanilla Cookie made every effort to clear his throat, even as he reached a shaky hand to take the cloth from Dark Cacao. His friend passed it over silently, and then he took a step back, leaving the former Vanilla king to stare at the historical fabric.

Historians would say that Pure Vanilla Cookie knelt onto the ground of where the library once was and cried his heart out. They would say that the king had lost everything he had, and the misery that left him wailing to the glorious shooting stars above would forever go unheard in history. That is what they would say. And how poetically they would say those words, too--that Pure Vanilla, poor Pure Vanilla, pushed and weighed down by the pressure of everything, finally couldn't take it, and he broke.

But a broken Pure Vanilla was a quiet Pure Vanilla. Whatever tears were shed were quietly pressed into the long-gone scent of his lover's hair. There was no wailing, no uncontrollable sobbing, no dramatic screaming to the stars--no 'Why, me?!', no 'How could this have happened!?' If there were any noise to be heard at all, it was the quiet sobbing that shook his shoulders and crumpled his upper body over itself.

But how embarrassing. But how weak. He'd been doing so well. Keep it together, Pure Vanilla. Keep it together.

The Vanilla Kingdom was what kept everything together.

A thought hit Pure Vanilla suddenly, and he righted himself, almost choking on a sob as he turned toward Dark Cacao. He gestured with the hat in one hand, the stave in another, closing the distance between them quickly. Lifting the hat up between them, a new roiling wave of emotion boiled within him, tightening in his throat no matter how hard he tried to swallow it down.

"Dark Cacao," he said, "where did you get this? Where did you find this? Dark Cacao, where is my son?"

Grimly, Dark Cacao met his gaze, and Pure Vanilla knew before he even said it.

"I don't know."

[cazimagines]

Slipping through my fingers

Synopsis: While waiting for Bucky to arrive Zemo reflects on the past, remembering time he spent with his family and when he found them after the Sokovian attack

Warnings: Mention of death, blood, guns, dark imagery, this is a very sad fic, includes a scene from episode 5

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's note: This isn’t a fic that involves a reader this time, I wanted to write about scenes with Zemo and his family as every time I think about it; it makes me sad and I haven’t seen anything like this done yet. Recommended you listen to sad music while reading if you want to feel even more pain. Sorry if this makes you cry.

Masterlist

Screams echoed throughout the hospital room, bouncing off the walls. Nurses rushed around grabbing towels and rushing towards the bed. A man paced back and forth. He ran his hands through his hair in stress as he kept looking over at the hospital bed.

“Helmut” she whispered

Instantly he was by her side. She raised out her arm, palm open wide. He clasped it, giving a tender kiss on her knuckles. “I’m here, my love” he confided as she clenched her eyes. She let out an ear-piercing shriek, clenching his hand tightly as she squeezed.

After a few minutes she exhaled, and the sound of a baby crying filled the room. The nurses wrap the child up in a clean towel, wiping away as much blood as they could before handing it over to the women.

“A boy!” they say

The woman smiled down happily as the baby wriggled in her arms. She lifted her arm to tickle him as her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders, smiling at his son. She looks to him and holds up the baby, offering him to Zemo. He carefully picks up the child, holding him as if he was the most fragile thing in the world.

“Your heir” she whispers as she watches them, a sweet smile gracing her lips.

Tears of happiness slip down Zemo’s face as he looks at his son, his smile as wide as it could be. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on his son’s forehead. Turning back to his wife, he presses a kiss on her forehead as well and hands their son to her.

“Our son, my beautiful baroness,”

Sirens echoed in the street. Though it was days later since the attack, dust still fell as if a reminder of how everything has crumbled. Fallen down.

Footsteps thudded across the pavement. His eyes scanned the wreckage of once his summer house, away from the city. He could feel people staring. They recognized him. The baron. But in a matter of a few days, he had lost any power he had. Now he was one of them, suffering because of the attack, desperate to find his family.

He called out their names. His father, wife, son. There was no answer. Just people staring at him.

He asked them if they had seen anyone else. They shook their heads.

Angrily he walked forward, grabbing the rocks, determined he would find them alive under the rubble.

They had to be alive. They had to be.

“Tonight I am a father!” Zemo declared, sitting down on the lavish seat next to his father.

“And I am a grandfather. I think a drink is in order” his father chuckles, pouring out whiskey into two glasses, placing the bottle back into the glass cabinet. He hands the drink to his son and they give a toast.

“To a long and healthy life for your son,” his father exclaims

“Cheers!” Zemo shouts, clinking his glass with his father’s then eagerly drinking.

His father sits back in his armchair, getting comfy and exhaling happily. He glances at his son, smiling warmly.

“What name have you chosen?”

“Carl. After Grandpa,”

Zemo’s father’s eyes glossed over with tears after hearing that name. His smile tightens as he reaches over to embrace his son.

“Your mother would be proud,”

Zemo hugs him back tightly, burying his head in his father’s shoulders, enjoying the comfort the embrace brought to him, as if he himself was a child again.

“Thank you” he whispers to his father, “Thank you”

After hours of searching, he could see them. The breath leaves his lungs, an inhumane noise falls out from him. He rushes to his father’s side, not caring at how the dirt clung to his clothes, the blood staining them.

His father was hunched over, his arms wrapped around two bodies. Blood stained his head. It trailed down the side of his face, tinting the floor and a rock. A piece of ceiling that had fallen down.

A sob was pulled from Zemo, his eyes clouded with tears he could hardly see. His hand was raised to his mouth, trying to keep everything in. His other hand brushes over his father’s head, wanting to feel his warming embrace one last time, but the skin was cold, clammy. Dead.

His eyes moved further down.

Zemo walked into the kitchen, grinning as he saw the situation before him. His son sat in a baby chair, the remainders of his breakfast split all over the table. His wife was also covered in parts of his breakfast. She held a rag in her hand, attempting to clean up the mess Carl made.

“I see we’ve had quite the disaster this morning” Zemo jokes, walking over to his son, placing a kiss on his head. He pulls out a tissue of his coat pocket and wipes the rest of the breakfast off Carl’s lips.

“Carl has decided he now hates porridge,”

“I don’t blame him. Why have porridge when there are so many other things you can have for breakfast that taste much better,” Zemo says, stepping over to stand in front of his wife, “Like for example, you,” he adds quickly giving his wife a peck on the lips.

“Helmut!” his wife exclaims, looking around the room flustered. “Not in front of Carl”

“I had not realised he suddenly understood the whole English language” he said glancing back to his son who was staring at them, his eyes sparkling and a giggle coming from him.

Zemo turns back to his wife, a smirk on his lips. He raises up the tissue and rubs the porridge off her face. Her eyes flicker to his thin lips, then back to his warm chocolate eyes.

“Oh Helmut” she purrs, warmth flooding her.

Zemo raises his hands to cradle her face, pressing a longer, passionate kiss to her lips. Her arms wrap around his abdomen, tugging him closer to her. He draws back from the kiss, instead burying his head into her neck, kissing it as he wraps his arms around her back, resting on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair.

“I love you so much darling” he sighs, inhaling the sweet smell of her strawberry tainted perfume.

“I love you to Helmut. For forever,”

Her hair was matted with blood, her skin deathly pale. Bruises ran down her arms, down her neck.

Zemo pulled her out from under his father. He whispered her name, shaking her.

“Please,” he begged, “Please wake up,”

But she didn’t.

A scream wrenched from his throat. Hot tears spilled from his eyes. He buried his face into her hair, letting all the pain out. His heart plummeted, shattering inside his chest. He didn’t care who was watching, who was taking photos, videos. He just wanted her. But she was gone.

“Come on, it’s bedtime for you,” Zemo declares, gripping his son’s hand and leading him to his bedroom.

Zemo helped Carl into his pj’s then settled him into his bed, tucking him in.

“Dad, I’m scared of the monster under by bed,” Carl whispers

Zemo tilts his head looking at his son, “The monster under your bed?” he whispers back, leaning towards his son

“Yeah! I think it’s going to eat me,”

“Well, we can’t be having that can we,” Zemo claims, “I’ll look under the bed to see if I can spot anything,”

Carl holds his breath as Zemo dips his head down, searching under the bed. He stays under there for a few moments till,

“ROAR” Zemo shouts suddenly jumping up and at Carl, maintaining his hands in claw shapes and opening his mouth wide to look scary. His son shrieks and Zemo instantly goes to tickle him, making Carl laugh hysterically.

Finally, they settled down and Zemo rested his head on the side of his son’s bead, leaning on his side on the floor.

“That was mean dad!” Carl claims, crossing his arms as he glares at Zemo, but he struggles to keep a smile off his lips.

Zemo chuckles, smiling warmly at his son, “Sorry Carl, but I can confirm there is nothing under your bed,”

“But what if it comes back at night?”

“I’ll always be here to protect you, son. You know that,”

Zemo glances around the room and his eyes land on the pile of his son’s superheroes action figures. He leans over and picks up Iron Man off the heap and hands him to his son.

“But while I am not in the room Iron man here will protect you,”

Carl smiles, hugging the toy tightly.

“Do you think I’ll get to see the real Iron man one day?” he begs.

“I’m sure I can arrange something,” Zemo says, “Now you need to go to sleep or mummy will be upset with us”

Zemo leans over and tenderly puts a kiss on his son’s forehead. He walks away from the bed and glances over one last time at the bed, watching his son gently fall to sleep. He smiles to himself and presses the light switch off.

His little hands were still clutching her body. His once smooth dark brown hair was messy, unkept. His favorite t-shirt, with the dinosaur on, was torn. Stained. Zemo clung to him tightly. He gripped his son in his arms, but his son wasn’t there anymore.

Zemo didn’t even try to suppress his shrieks of agony. The sound burst from his throat. The sound of complete and utter grief.

“Carl,” he wailed, “My son. Please,”

He didn’t even know what he was asking for anymore. For time to go back? For revenge? All he felt was the pain. His eyes squeezed closed, not wanting to see the ghostly face his son still had. He crumpled on the ground beside his wife. His son still cradled against his body.

Slowly he opened his eyes, wiping the tears away. Something red caught his eyes. Beside the bodies was an Iron Man action figure.

Zemo reached a hand out and picked it up. His jaw clenched in hatred as he glared down at it. Using the last bit of strength he had, he threw the toy to the floor shattering it into a thousand pieces.

Years later, Zemo found himself at the same spot where he had lost everything he cherished. Before him stood a statue. The memorial sculpture to all the lives that were lost. His family. There were no flowers by it. He should have brought flowers.

An exquisite landscape surrounded it. Though if he reflected back on it, Sokovia had always been beautiful. He’d just taken the scenery for granted.

He was waiting for the end he knew was coming. Any minute.

He was grateful in a way. He got to appreciate life for one last time. Enjoy what it was like being a Baron again just for a moment. And now he has to go home. Soon to join his family. To see them again.

As he stared at the statue, he could hear footsteps approaching. They finally stopped beside him.

“I thought you’d be here sooner,” he says, taking one last look at the memorial before him. He turns his head slightly towards Bucky, then looks down to the ground to gather his words.

“Don’t worry. I’ve decided I’m not going to kill you,”

“Imagine my relief,”

Bucky moves the gun as Zemo turns towards him, but Zemo already knew he had it. It was Bucky, after all. The winter soldier is still inside of him.

If these were his last moments, he could at least provide some advice to Bucky, though he doubted Bucky would listen. He’d grown fond of Bucky and Sam with the time they spent together and he knew them well enough to know they wouldn’t listen, but it was the least he could do to help.

“The girl has been radicalised beyond salvation,” Zemo says, stepping towards Bucky.

“I warned Sam, but he didn’t listen to me. He’s stubborn as Steve Rogers before him. But you…”

Zemo studies Bucky for a second, curious about his reaction, but Bucky remains impassive, expressionless. ‘One thing they had trained him for’, Zemo thought.

“They literally programmed you to kill. James, do what needs to be done. Karli has people everywhere and there is only one way to make sure she cannot continue her mission.”

“I appreciate the advice. But we’re going to do it our own way,”

Zemo chuckles slightly, looking away from Bucky. A slight melancholy in his voice, “Yeah. I was afraid you would say that”

There was a moment of silence between them, They both knew what was coming. What had to be done.

Zemo’s eyes flicker down to the gun as it clicks again. He perceived what was to happen, but now the moment was here, he could feel fear creep up on him. It crawled into his broken soul. He let out a shaky breath as he brought his gaze back up to Bucky as he raised the gun.

Zemo started down the barrel at Bucky, his gaze unwavering. Though he feared it. It was what he wanted.

He nods at Bucky signaling. It was okay. He would see his family soon.

Bucky pulled the trigger.

Taglist: @sinister-sleep @cable-kenobi @faustlyaccused @chipster-21 @icarusinstatic @yallgotkik @montypythonsholysnail @bunniwritesx @checkurwindow @huntheimpossible @jayxkelsi @avgravy @prestigious-tea @wonderwoman292 @there-goes-thefighter @multiyfandomgirl40 @freyjasamael @ineffablebean

[whereflowersbloom]

Cracked heart

He had made a terrible mistake. Somehow, before the tragedy he’d begun to believe in the visions of a bright and hopeful future. Of a new world where the stars listened and dreams were answered. His half-human heart had shown him how foolish he was. It was his fault. It had been all his damn fault.

Everything was maddening chaos. Red lights and noisy alerts in the monitoring equipment of the Tower. Nightwing yelling orders at everyone, preparing for a major battle. Starfire organized two groups. There two teams were forcibly separated by a force field that cut off compete communication between them. Of course they never expected the aftermath would cost them more than they were able to imagine...

"We need to wait for Raven.” He answered to Starfire, his voice cracking mid-sentence. He knew he they had to leave, but if they could just wait one more minute. One more minute. For her. He wouldn’t leave her behind. More voices warning him to hurry up. It was too much for his ears and head.

“I can't leave her behind!" His voice shakes with panic and fear, his entire being was shaking as the alarms blasted his ears, red lights flashing continually. He doesn’t waste any more time and took off to the sky eyes scanning for any signs of Raven.

Deep inside, a small part of him was sobbing in wretched, horrified guilt as his half-kryptonian eyes looked at the brutalized body of his teammate. He recalled her expression. Heartbreaking panic and torment made her achingly familiar eyes bright and chaotic. There was a desire stirring inside him to return to the days before she became broken, before her inconsolable soul shattered, a minute, a single minute just to save him was the key to her happiness. But even he knew such wounds of the heart never healed even with the fast flow of time.

With his heart clenching painfully he took a step closer to her door room. He didn’t bother to knock, quietly he opened the door and let himself in.

“Raven...” Conner released a breath that he hadn’t fully realized he had been holding and felt his shoulders slump with inhuman physical fatigue.

Raven opened her amethyst eyes to meet electric blue ones, she recognized the guilt in them. She had stayed in her room for more than five days. She closed her eyes and begged to Azar this was a terrible nightmare, to listen to her prayers. Let him live. Please let him come back to me. She still wanted to scream. Instead she turned away and looked towards the window. Most days, she would only stare vacantly into space. Sometimes kept looking at the clock visualizing Damian walking inside, done with patrolling, allowing her to listen to his steady heartbeat as they snuggled in their bed.

“He’s dead.” Her voice was so low and hoarse that Conner felt a bile of anger in his throat. Raven sounded devastatingly broken. She sounded disappointed that she did not sound like herself or was it the hurt of admitting the cruel truth out loud.

She likely needed a shower since her hair was greasy but she could not find the energy to climb out of bed and get into the shower. Couldn’t find the energy or will to do anything. She felt disgusting. Kori had informed her she was suffering from depression and when she was ready to seek therapy or medication, they would be there for her in any way. Raven did not believe she was truly depressed. The idea seemed bizarre. She had just lost...her lover. One half of her soul. Her heart had been ripped out her chest and spattered. Robin was gone. Damian.

Conner swallowed hard. The grief and sorrow were consuming her slowly, eating her up from inside out. Her face was breaking out, particularly around her forehead and chin. Her eyes had dark circles and her face appeared so shallow that she looked like a different person. This was not the Raven he knew.

Please, he begged silently, please understand. Please let me save you. Those words were the ones he wanted to voice with urgency. ‘He isn’t here but I love you’ even so he couldn’t confess his feelings for her. Not when she’s in this state.

It’s over, they were back home but it’s never over really. In her mind, she was in another world part of another constellation and system, it’s on fire. There was nothing else she could think about, nothing else she could feel. But the scalding hot flames turning her lover to ashes and dust. Reduced to nothing. In minutes Robin was gone. All Conner could feel in that moment was the blurriness in his vision perhaps caused by the sting of the radiation or the fact that he could barely get any air inside his lungs despite his alien genes. The grim realization that he probably couldn’t keep going any longer, if he didn’t step her out in time, hitting him hard and suddenly, making a rush of raw pain spread through his body like poison. There was no time to mourn Robin, there was nothing left of him to take except for his sword, which Raven clung almost inseparably to as if her life depended on it. His last possession. No time to be relieved that they were both alive, or scared to death because she was in such danger. She persisted using her powers attempting to bring the dead back to life; fruitless. No success. She used up all her magic and energy until she eventually collapsed. Conner made the decision then, quickly he took her in his arms and flew away from this everlasting bloody hell of a place.

He was right here last week and all of a sudden he was gone. “Damian is gone...” She cried painfully with broken voice, finally it all was let out with anguished screams and sobs, and then she could not breathe. All the emotions she had been holding onto for the best part of the week. She felt trapped in her own body, her mind racing at ninety miles an hour, her heart felt like it was going to explode, and then she was hyperventilating. Overwhelmed. Her boyfriend, second in command of their team and the strongest person she knew....was dead. Her gentle Damian.

After a minute she perceived a source of warmth embracing her protectively.

It was Conner and as soon as he saw Raven’s sweaty and trembling state he immediately went over to her and tried to get her to use him to support herself and get control over her breathing.

“Focus on my voice Raven." Conner whispered soothingly, stroking her dark hair until she calmed down. "You're gonna make through this, I promise." She let out another sob and he continued to rock her back and forth. He closed his eyes shut as he felt like his heart was being stabbed over and over again. Gods, how powerless he was not being able to comfort the woman he loved profoundly.

Never he thought that she would need him this much. He dreamed of having her in his arms countless times but never this way. He would have fought for her openly. Made his intentions clear as water. Why did Wayne had to be so reckless and jump to action? Where did his so called redemption and sacrifice got him?

Something else inside him twisted as he thought the kind of pain she must be feeling to let him cradle her like this. She had never shown him such vulnerability, fragility so defenseless. Somply touching her making it seem like she would vanish in the air. Yes, everyone mourned Robin but none had the right to mourn him like she did.

“He died before my eyes... I couldn’t bring him back...” As those words hit her in the chest once again for the thousandth time in five days. She squeezed violet eyes shut as fresh tears burned at now red eyes. The life they had built had crumbled away, she had none of it now. Nothing.

Her hot tears streaming down her face hit him like a punch to the gut. The sound that escaped pink lips could hardly be called human, a mix between a sob and a wail. The mournful melody of a banshee weeping resonating betond all other sounds on earth. She felt her knees buckle beneath and almost crumpled to the floor but Conner got her. He would never let her fall or suffer alone. No.

"I'm here. I will always be here for you, I promise." He vowed solemnly with firm voice, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. He wished to held her a little tighter. For a little longer. For her to see him with a new light, gave him a ray of hope.

He didn't know how long they remained like that. And honestly he didn't care. Even if his arms could hurt for holding her, and his back ached like hell for being in the same position for god knows how long. He didn’t give a single fuck.

All he cared about was that no matter what, he would have done absolutely everything in his power to make sure that she got through this. It would take a very long time. And maybe she wouldn’t be completely whole again, but whatever she had to offer him in the future. He would gladly accept it and stand by her side until the end of time. Because he understood perfectly you didn’t just move on and get over the love of your life. Conner knew it too well. He would keep her safe for him, in his name.

As the sky loved the mountains providing rain to water their trees, helping them grow strong gracefully and with ease. He would love her the same.

I’m feelings bit down so I wrote some sad and angsty Damirae/Konrae sorry 😭😭😭

Might edit later but hope you enjoy @amaati @grassfour @andthendk @xxitzmikoxx @niahti @alerialblu

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Stay Alive, That Would Be Enough

Read here on AO3!

Summary: 

“Have you seen Robin?”

“Yeah, he’s—” Steph turns, looks around with a frown. “He was just here a minute ago, I swear.”

“Shit.” Dick straightens, dizzy as he is, and surveys the pandemonium around them. “Robin? Robin, report. Robin!” Then he sees it. A flash of yellow cape, disappearing right back into the building through the door Dick just left. “No! Robin!” Dick lunges after him, but Steph holds him back.

“Is that it?” Steph asks when Dick runs over. She lets him lean on her shoulder as he hacks out the smoke collected in his lungs. “Is everyone out?” It’s hard to hear her voice over the sirens wailing from every direction, an ominous chorus. Not to mention the screams of civilians, the flames crackling inside the building which crumbles brick by brick. It’s only a matter of time before the entire thing collapses into a pile of rubble. “I think so. We cleared the top floor.” Steph’s Batgirl uniform is dusted with soot so the bat symbol on her chest is more of a black and gray blob, and Dick can’t imagine he’s faring any better in his batsuit. He and Damian have been evacuating the building as fast as they could while Steph tracked down Two-Face. “Did you get him?” Dick asks through a wheeze. “He’s on his way to Arkham as we speak.” Good. The son of a bitch needs to pay for setting those bombs in the first place. Luckily, no innocents have died. Yet. Dick’s eyes sting behind the lenses in his cowl, but he cracks them open anyway to survey the crowd for a red tunic and green boots. “Have you seen Robin?” “Yeah, he’s—” Steph turns, looks around with a frown. “He was just here a minute ago, I swear.”

“Shit.” Dick straightens, dizzy as he is, and surveys the pandemonium around them. “Robin? Robin, report. Robin!” Then he sees it. A flash of yellow cape, disappearing right back into the building through the door Dick just left. “No! Robin!” Dick lunges after him, but Steph holds him back. “You can’t go in there! The place could go any second.” The building creaks in agreement, all five stories waiting to plummet in a stack. Right on top of his little brother. Steph may be good, but Dick is better—he fights her off, breaking free from her grip in seconds. “Batman, stop!” He ignores her, pushing past firefighters and EMTs to charge right back into the fray. Highhhwayyy to the danger zone, his internal monologue sings. He covers his mouth with his elbow as the smoke hits like a wall of poison. He already gave his last rebreather to a civilian on his last sweep, so he’s going to have to be quick about this. He just hopes that Damian still has his. The interior of the place is in shambles, flames licking at the walls with a vicious hunger. Pieces of wood and drywall break off, falling to the cracked floor in clumps. There isn’t much time. “Robin!” Dick shouts, dodging rubble and ashen furniture. Damian can’t have made it higher than the first floor yet. There’s still time. “Robin, where are you! Robin! Damian!” A deafening creak rings above him. Dick looks up and his eyes widen. Shit. He has barely enough time to jump backward before a massive chunk of ceiling falls, hitting the ground right where Dick was standing with a crash. Dick is helpless to do anything but watch as concrete and metal beams plummet around him, the building giving way in one last breath. Smoke and flames burst from every angle, swirling around him like a sick carousel ride with Dick at the center. There is nowhere but this flame-riddled room, this crumbling building, this disaster he’s directly in the eye of. Dick can’t even see past the destruction, but he can hear. He hears screams outside as the onlookers watch the building collapse for good, and all Dick can do is wait—wait for it to flatten him completely, right along with his baby brother. It feels like it takes forever before the world goes still once more, and Dick almost doesn’t believe it because there’s no way he could have gotten through that without getting flattened. He just prays the same miracle was extended to Damian, wherever he is. Dick coughs, ignoring the burn in his lungs as he navigates through the debris, his heart sunken all the way through to the basement. “Damian! Damian, answer me!” Where is he? It’s too dark to see through the piles of rubble, but Dick picks through it anyway, his heart pounding. Damian can’t be gone. He needs to be here somewhere—he needs to be alive. “Damian, where are you? Damian!” Then Dick’s heart stops altogether when he spots a dirty green glove sticking out from a pile of plaster and concrete. No. He stumbles over on phantom limbs, shaking with desperation. Not him. Please, not him. Not my Robin. Dick’s fingers are numb as he digs through the rubble, terrified for what he’ll find. He finally uncovers the kid’s face, and his skin is covered in ash and blood from a cut on his forehead. There’s a support beam lying across his legs, keeping him pinned down. He’s curled around something bunched in his cape, and Dick feels dead himself before he catches Damian’s chest rising and falling weakly. Dick all but sobs with relief. “Damian? Kiddo, can you hear me?” He’s wary of any broken bones as he pushes the beam off of Damian and slips a hand behind the kid’s head. “Hey, Dami. Wake up for me, okay? Please, wake up.” Finally, finally, eyes crack open beneath the domino mask. “Gray—” Damian coughs, wheezy and hacking. There’s no rebreather in sight. “Grayson?” “Thank god,” Dick breathes, pulling Damian into his chest and wrapping his arms around him without a second thought. “Oh, thank god.” He pulls away. “What the hell were you thinking running back in here? You could have gotten killed.” They still might. Damian’s eyes narrow even as he coughs. Weakly, he shifts in Dick’s grip. He unwraps his cape to reveal a tiny white kitten cradled against his chest, its coat blackened with dust and ash. It lets out a mewl. “I couldn’t let her die.” In spite of everything—in spite of the fear, the adrenaline, the call so close it should have been a done deal—Dick lets out a laugh. It’s more desperately hysterical than anything. He hugs Damian close, burying his face in the kid’s black curls that smell too much like smoke. “Jesus, kid. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

[noocturnalchild]

Of Thieves and Poets

Paterson X original female character 

warning: bad language, mention of abuse, mention of death, light depiction of violence. 

Summary: The night falls on Paterson City, A mourning bus-driver-poet saves a thief from her victim’s clutches, Will that simple gesture of kindness change the course of both their lives?

All the passages in italic are from a William Carlos williams poem : These. 

Chapter 1 

*

The bus exhaled a death rattle. The stars twinkled far above the cloudy night sky, unperturbed in their eternity. His eyes scratched the deep purple of the firmament and his tired lungs liberated a shaky sigh.

The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

It still happened; the face floating before his eyes, in the crowded streets, the hem of her dress in the wind, the tinkle of her laugh, the sparkle in her brown, warm irises. All six feet under.  

It still happened when he set the table for two, when he dusted her nightstand, hung her dresses in her wardrobe, ironed and still smelling faintly like her, cupcakes and paint.

Paterson’s hands squeezed the wheel.

 “Stupid bitch!”

A slap.

A strident scream.

 All six feet under.

 It had been a while since Paterson had applied the brakes with such force. With panicked eyes he followed the scene unraveling through his rear-view mirror. What seemed like a serious dispute broke out in the rear of his bus; a dozen of passengers circling someone, beating someone up, insulting someone Paterson couldn’t see but only hear.

Sky piercing mewls of an abused animal.

Six feet under. Paterson’s eyes hurt. Paterson wanted to go home.

“Stop the bus! Are you deaf? Stop the fucking bus now!”

His hands stiffened around the wheel, it was slick with his cold sweat. He stood up and the noises ceased. Long strides, clean shoes, stopped right above where her head rested.

She was clutching to the Rolex for dear life. Fragile little fingers shaking, blood on her knuckles and on her nails and on the bus floor.

“Dirty little thief!” The man shouted, eyeing Paterson with disdain and pride “about to dash off the next station.” “Right in the-”

“You broke her wrist.” Paterson cut off the bragging man, kneeling already at the side of the little sack of bones, wailing in pain.

“She stole my Rolex, sir, what was I supposed to do!? Thank her maybe?!” The man fumed, high pitched voice from hell.

The crowd hummed in agreement, Paterson closed his eyes.

“Please, I think it’s best if everyone regains their seats now. I… I have this in hand” Paterson gently slid the Rolex from a cold trembling grip as the other passengers dispersed. Noses returned to phones, fingers furiously tapping the screens, eager to tell, to collect. Pity and compassion for sale.

“Here sir, your watch” He didn’t spare a glance to the man who appeared to still have many things to say.  

Paterson stared at her bloody hand. The little thing sobbed quietly, curled on herself, head inside her arm, broken wrist on display. A damaged, cheap porcelain doll.

Dirt and stains on her pale blue jeans, holes and scratches on her thin white crop top, ribs like knives,  hair like a sad abandoned willow nest. No, a chiffon doll, crumbling under old garbage in a basement, where no child would ever find her again, alone to rot and disintegrate. Paterson’s eyes hurt.

“It’s not over, scumbag, I’m pressing charges. Next station, she’s going with me.” The man puffed his chest, over checking his Rolex, disgusted and haughty.

“She is not going anywhere” Paterson stood, mimicking the man attempt at “Mr Menace”. But Paterson was a natural; the man quickly understood that, retreated in his fake fur mantle. You’ve either got big mouths or big balls.

“Sir, you have your watch, she has a broken wrist. I think you are more than even”. Paterson didn’t even has to rise his voice.

The man chewed insults but, like the others, regained his seat at last. The bus driver poet, knew always how to keep discipline in his wheeled kingdom, a natural gift he was barely aware of.

Now silence was only cut by quiet sobs, muffled hip hop notes, neon lights whirring, and Paterson’s gentle rustling as he tried to gather the little woman. One big hesitant hand on her back, the woman shuddered, recoiled, and her injured hand jolted, another sob of agony.

“I’m not gonna hurt you”  

The poet’s eyes softened. She sensed kindness, maybe, because now her head straightened up, and Paterson looked at himself. Eyes so watery he could see his reflection, dark golden beryl, just like his. Bleeding little nose and chapped plump lips, little high cheekbones and a greasy dark fringe swallowing a sweaty forehead, and for a moment, Paterson wondered if he looked just like her, if people could see how he truly looked like, if people could see the tears of his soul and the bleeding of his heart. If they could see all the bruises and the wounds and the decay. If when they closed their eyes, they could see her name on the grave stone, like he did.

“…It’s all good, just try not to move your wrist… there, let me just help you a little” Paterson muttered as he gathered her like she was nothing. Not even the weight of one of his blue tip matches… It was a bit of a surprise, the complete absence of resistance, she was yielding, completely defeated. Empty stomach and empty pockets. He sat her far from the others, far in the back. Not a sound emitted from her. The bus emptied little by little, he took off his jacket, covered her. She looked like she could fit all her puny self inside the warm wool of it. From time to time he stole a glance at the dark shape through his rear-view mirror.

Finally, the last passenger got off the bus, and finally she spoke.

“No hospital, don’t take me to the hospital” Her words came scattered, little voice uneven, like her hair, he noticed now. It was short, wrongly cut, as if someone had taken a handful of it and started slicing, with a knife, with anger, and a desire to do harm.

The bus was quietly parked in its nest of steel and red bricks, and Paterson could attend to her, at last.

“Your wrist is broken” He stoically stated, hands in pockets, considering his options in the back of his mind.  

“I said no hospital, you dweeb” Her eyes sparkled with defiance. It was a strange way to thank someone, to say the least, but Paterson didn’t flinch.

White plastic bags rode with the wind, like mad ghosts. The crime rate rocketed in town, Paterson had before his eyes one of the little thugs that populated the underground, the run-down warehouses and the bridges flanks.

“I’ll ignore that. It’s the hospital or the precinct” He sounded sorry.

Paterson had bad bags under his eyes, fruit of many sleepless nights. After her passing, he refused to spend the night, alone in the blue bed. He changed his shifts to night hours. Sleeping the few hours before dawn on his sofa, their room a shrine to her memory.

“Fuck you”

“It’s the hospital then”

*

The ER wasn’t flooded that night. Paterson sat quietly, in the waiting room orange plastic chair, while a diligent doctor wrapped her wrist in a cast, scribbled antibiotics and painkillers, asked the routine questions, did the routine job.

Laura would be proud of him. Laura was smiling, sat beside him in her polka dotted dress, she was taking his cold hand in hers, her warm brown irises thanking him silently. Laura.

Now Paterson was standing behind the pharmacist counter, prescription in hand and she was the one sitting, quiet, wrist against her heart.

Mina. 24.

Just that. Cold black on white.

He forced himself not to imagine her lonely two syllable name carved on a gravestone.

 “Where do you live?”

The warehouses, the subways, the streets, the basements, the bridges flanks. The rat holes.

The silence became awkward once out on the wet tiles of the sidewalk. Paterson switching his weight from one long leg to the other, still holding the bag of medicines, Mina looking at the orange flickering of signalization lights, his vest still on her shoulders. She looked like a kid from a dystopian   future, from the 80’s science fiction novels he used to read.

“None of your business” She extended her valid hand, waiting, impatience in her big amber eyes.

“You need to eat, and a bath, and the doctor said—”

“I know twat! You’re not my dad, gimme the fucking bag and fuck off!”

Her chin was wobbling. Paterson spun on his feet and walked away. Stoic and tall. Damn him.

“Hey!”

She knew she should run to catch his wide strides.

Mina rarely realized a mistake when made, and as she tugged on his sleeve to make the gentle giant stop, she wasn’t sure either. Her judgment wasn’t to be trusted. Her mind was a mess, just like everything, just like her life and her wrist and her hair, just like her heart.

“Your… vest”

“I know, you can… you can keep it, my place is just ten minutes away”

“Ok, let’s go then.”

She smiled.

to an empty, windswept place without sun, stars or moon but a peculiar light as of thought

*

“Wouha! Dude your place is cool”

Mina was everywhere, inspecting the living space and the kitchen with round curious eyes.

He laughed.

Dude. No one called him dude since the campus days. Dude. That was different.

“I… I have chickens wings… some broccoli, apple pie…”

He fetched the leftover boxes from his fridge and proceeded to put them in plates to reheat, but the little sack of bones jumped on the apple pie first, two bites and only crumbles were left on the counter.

“Mhm…goohd” Mouth and cheeks still full, she slid the cold chicken wings plate into her lap and attacked the tender flesh like a starved panther.

Paterson stood there like a stranger in his own house. A bit out of breath by the chain of events. The situation starting to sink in his lonely mind.

His routine was all shaken. He felt funny. Didn’t know if it was good or bad or just…ordinary. Laura was looking at him with surprised eyes. Laura was looking at the girl with amused questioning eyes. Paterson shrugged.

She deserves another chance, everyone does, don’t they, honey?