#The only thing that would hold Misty back is the code

[bonefall]

does misty ever take any of blackstar’s lives? or possibly get the chance & decide not to?

I haven't mapped out how Blackstar loses each of his lives yet, but I do feel it would be interesting for them to match off several times.

When Blackstar begins the Bog Project, a previously unappealing patch of territory becomes valuable in the course of a few months. Frogs, fish, and birds quickly move in-- and Mistystar wants a piece of it.

They've got goods to fight over. But more than that, Mistystar remembers what he did to Stonefur. Blackstar is trying to turn himself and his Clan around, but Mistystar would be lying if she didn't tell you she trembles for revenge.

I think it might be meaningful for Blackstar to lose a life saving her, or one of her warriors somehow. Really show how far he's come. Maybe it could be Dusk or Pod, one of her grandchildren... but on Mistystar's end?

Misty agreed that Leopardstar had to go. That she needs to root out the Thistle Law supporters and crush their influence. But she's still a Traditionalist. RiverClan is an aggressor during the Battle of the False Eclipse, and their goal was to teach ThunderClan a lesson. If it came down to sparing Blackstar and not taking a life, she wouldn't refrain.

Maybe I'll have that happen... have Misty take a life from him in the BOTFE or some other time. Reedwhisker will feel complicated towards this, since in the same battle, he was the one who spoke up that tormenting Spiderfoot was malicious and codebreaking.

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ stop frickin' apologizing. [new 4/9]

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | take what you need queue fanfiction masterlist | navigation

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | anthology one-shot | word count: 1,207. read ✩࿐࿔ stop frickin' apologizing on ao3

hey, kid. for many of us, the impulse to apologize is conditioned so deeply into our subconscious that we don't even realize how often we do it until someone says, oh my god. stop apologizing. (which often makes us... well, apologize again.) luckily, the captain is here to offer his patient counsel and support. lol.

for @raccoon-coded ~ babe. i had a hard time writing this one, probably because i identify with both reader and here. (watch me barely holding back the impulse to apologize right here.) i am both the over-apologizer and the person who tells other people not to apologize (which does not work lol). i really hope this is still able to provide some comfort or validation for you. i will work on apologizing less if you do too, and maybe together we'll feel free to just exist without having to be sorry about it.

When Xlomo Smeth trips on the bone-pavement and bumps into the Captain — who in turn bumps into you — the words find their way out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them: an impulse as natural as drawing breath. “Oh! Sorry.” You don’t even notice Rocket stilling and stiffening in the street — not until you’ve already left him five paces behind. You stumble to a halt and turn, only to find him gazing up at you: eyes burning, arms crossed, tail and whiskers twitching. “Would you fuckin' knock that off?” You blink. “Excuse me?” Xlomo Smeth has already ducked into the laundromat where he’s been headed with a basket of his clothes. Other than the two of you, there are only a few people out and about right now in the early wake-shift hours. The Broker is sitting at a table across the street, daintily sipping something that you assume is the intergalactic equivalent of espresso. Sssaralami is leaning out of her window, hanging wet laundry to dry. Hoobtoe and a few of the Star Children are watering some plants in a series of box-gardens set up in a nearby alley, and Drax is lounging in a doorway: keeping a casual eye on them while he rips grilled orloni off a stick with his teeth. The streets are quiet, and the manufactured morning light is pearlescent and misty. “Apologizin’ so much,” the Captain growls at you.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for @raccoon-coded ♡ ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | take what you need queue

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. ♡ view the take what you need queue to see upcoming installations & the current backlog.

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 )

take care of your fuckin injury (wc: 2,102)

cook some goddamn food. (wc: 2,707)

clean your frickin room. (wc: 2,465)

stop hittin shit. (wc: 1,862)

do your frickin homework. (wc: 2,121 )

chill the fuck out. (wc: 1,499)

i'm damn proud a' you, kid. (wc: 1,639)

fuck heartache. (wc: 1,781)

stop frickin' apologizing. (wc: 1,207)

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

teacup and teal line dividers by @/saradika-graphics | support banner by @/saradika-graphics | raccoon divider by @/thecutestgrotto. total wordcount: 42,041.

[blizzardstarx]

Blizzardstar’s Storm - Chapter 6

AO3 Link Table of Contents

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings for blood, graphic depictions of violence, animal death

Blizzardpaw’s wail resonated throughout the camp, crying out in horror and anguish at the horrific sight. He gagged in disgust, his throat constricting, his body nearly retching in protest. The yowling of the cats fighting around him were drowned out by his shock ringing in his ears, cascading like a waterfall upon him, drenching and seeping into his fur. 

His father’s head was at his paws. Not once had any cat witnessed such atrocities in the Clans, such violence that went so deeply against the warrior code.

Why didn’t StarClan stop this? Was this supposed to happen? How could they allow this? Thoughts raced through his mind as he sobbed, his eyes misty and unclear, the fight around him lost in the wave of his emotions.

Suddenly, a black blur leaped down from Skyrock, and Houndstrike advanced on him, his sharp claws catching in the sunlight, glinting menacingly.

“I should’ve made sure you were dead,” the tom snarled, baring his blood-stained teeth at him. Blizzardpaw could smell the coppery reek of his breath, wrinkling his nose and recoiling away in disgust. The tom’s tongue swiped around his mouth, cleaning himself of the stains. Blizzardpaw backed away, flattening his ears and slitting his eyes, his tail puffing up. Fear emanated from him that he knew Houndstrike could smell.

The sleek black tom lunged at him, dragging the newly made apprentice down and tearing his claws into his shoulder. Blizzardpaw let out a loud screech of pain, feeling adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart pounding in his ears. His mind only focused on one thing: his survival. He hissed, lashed out at Houndstrike’s belly, grazing at him with his claws, only managing to tear out some tufts of fur and leave a flesh wound. 

The black tom tore into his back with his front and hind paws, swiping and slashing, leaving long, jagged marks that caused Blizzardpaw to cry out. Houndstrike grabbed his scruff, lifting him into the air before throwing him back onto the ground, knocking the wind out of his chest. The warrior dug his claws into his belly, and lifted his front paw up, baring his teeth at the apprentice. He felt a sharp jolt of pain as the warrior slashed at his muzzle, slicing the skin and drawing blood, letting out a gasp.

“Don’t you dare hurt him!” Whitefur yowled, and Blizzardpaw saw her escape from the grasps of Cinderclaw and Wolfclaw, barreling towards them. Houndstrike’s head swung around to meet her with a glare, letting go of Blizzardpaw, and Blizzardpaw scrambled away, watching them as his eyes rounded in horror. 

The white she-cat sunk her claws into his scruff, dragging him further away from her kit. She scored her claws across his back, rearing up on her legs. The tom twisted on his hind legs, sinking his teeth into her front leg, causing her to hiss in pain. Whitefur released her grip on him, growling, blood trickling down from her paw. 

Cinderclaw and Wolfclaw rushed to surround her, and the latter leaped onto the StormClan deputy, bringing her down. He churned his paws into her belly, viciously tearing into her pelt with his sharp claws. The white she-cat splayed out her paws, knocking the tom’s hind paws out from under him, sending him to the ground with a thump. Cinderclaw snarled, lashing out with his powerful paws, raking her muzzle. The tom then hooked his claws into her scruff, dragging her backwards and exposing her vulnerable belly. Whitefur kicked out at the big, gray tom, causing him to stagger, giving the she-cat an opening to roll away. Houndstrike stopped her in her tracks, slamming his front paws down onto her body, holding her there. 

There was nothing Blizzardpaw could do to save her. The three toms would shred him to pieces. All he could do was watch as his own mother slowly lost the fight, his paws sinking impossibly deep into the earth like quicksand. 

The she-cat had held her own quite well against the three, but her strength was wavering. She flailed as she tried biting Houndstrike’s front leg, but the black tom slammed her head against the dirt.

“Pathetic,” Houndstrike hissed, glaring down at Whitefur. “The deputy of StormClan beneath my paws. Not so powerful now, are you? Now you know how it feels, losing someone important to you.”

The she-cat met his gaze with an icy glare, drawing her lips back into a snarl. “I know you’re still angry, but you will never hurt my kits as I still breathe. They weren’t even born during the Great Famine, and they have nothing to do with this. Your quarrel is with me, Houndstrike.”

“I wish that I could drag your death out and force you to watch as I tear the throats out of your kits,” he spat, the short fur on his back spiked with hatred. “Maybe then you’d know the pain I suffered through as I watched my friend die in agonizing pain.”

“I feel pity for you, Houndstrike. But we all lost someone dear to us during the Great Famine.”

“And yet you did nothing to stop it. Lightningstar made StormClan weak. Leaf-bare is coming soon, and we cannot afford another famine again. We cannot afford to have another coward as our leader.”

“StarClan will never accept you as StormClan’s leader!” Whitefur snarled. She seemed to have accepted her fate, having lost her patience when Houndstrike spoke of her now deceased mate. “You’re destroying StormClan, not making it stronger. You’re a foxhearted fool, and you’ll pay for what you’ve done!”

Cold fury blazed in Houndstrike’s haunting yellow eyes, and he darted forward. He clasped the she-cat’s throat in his mouth before jerking his muzzle away, tearing out her neck. 

His mother struggled for a moment, blood spurting from the wound, before her body crumpled to the ground. The sticky, crimson liquid coated the earth, pooling from the devastating injury. The smell of it flooded Blizzardpaw’s nose, wrapping around him and suffocating him. It made his head spin, feeling his paws sway beneath him as he gagged. He felt the ground give way beneath him, and he staggered, almost losing his balance. His breath quickened, coming in sharp, uneven gasps. 

Houndstrike’s words of his plan two moons ago rang in his ears, reminding him yet again of his failure to prevent this. His father was dead, and now his mother was too because of him.

He was an idiot. He was useless.

His body ached all over from Houndstrike’s pummeling, the wounds on his back, shoulder, and muzzle bleeding heavily, reminding him of his weakness. But the pain also reminded him that he was still alive, that his mother had fought to keep him safe. He had no time to fully process what had just happened.

“Blizzardpaw!” Acornleaf’s yowl broke through his thoughts, hearing her gasp at the sight of his wounds, and he snapped his head up, seeing the white and orange tabby alongside Shimmertail. Claw marks covered their pelts, but the warriors didn’t care, their focus on the apprentice. He felt her teeth clasp around his scruff, and he went limp, dangling from her jaws. 

“I need to–I need to find Spiderpaw and Splashpaw. I can walk,” Blizzardpaw sobbed frantically, pressing his ears against his head. His mentor nodded, letting go of his scruff, and he landed on his paws. They darted through the camp, and Blizzardpaw glanced over his shoulder as he heard Houndstrike turn his attention on him, only to find him missing from the spot he had been last. The lithe tom spotted them and chased after them, with Cinderclaw and Wolfclaw on their leader’s tail. He jerked his head back, pushing his legs to run faster, terror and dread fueling him. Desperation was evident in his voice and actions as he swung his head around, his gaze darting around the StormClan camp. “Where are they?”

“They’ll be fine, Ravenflight and Goldenstripe are with them,” Acornleaf reassured him, but it barely did anything to quell the storm of emotions whirling inside of him. “They’re safe in their paws.”

“Houndstrike’s going to kill us,” Blizzardpaw whimpered, hearing the black tom’s pawsteps behind him.

“I know. We’re going to escape, with you and your littermates, I promise. We can’t stay in this Clan anymore. And you need to get those wounds checked out, they look nasty,” his mentor says, her voice betraying her concern. 

“I won’t let myself be ordered around by a tyrant,” Shimmertail adds, lifting her muzzle. 

The clearing was a mass of writhing pelts, fur flashing at the corners of his vision, and Blizzardpaw saw Fawnleap in the nursery, defeated, cowering and covering her kits with her body. She didn’t look seriously hurt, but there were some scratches on her body and her right ear had a nick in it. Squirreltail and Eagleflight were in the warrior’s den, which was guarded by a few of the rogues who snapped their teeth at them if they tried to put one paw out. Leafpelt and Bluepaw were trapped in the medicine den, helpless as they watched their Clanmates bleed out, a guard posted to stop them. Most of the fighting had stopped, but the rogues dealt with the few that still rebelled. 

He continued to sweep his gaze over the camp clearing as he ran, and shock pulsed through his paws as he saw the familiar fur of Thrushwing, the brown elder’s body broken. Beside him laid the slain body of his friend, Mousetail.

Another wave of grief washed over him, threatening to pummel him into submission. There had been so much blood spilled today, and who knew what was next. StormClan had fallen into chaos, their leader and deputy slain, and rogues allying themselves with a treacherous murderer, killing defenseless elders. He felt woozy as the effects of the blood loss from the wounds caught up to him, faltering in his steps, and Acornleaf noticed, picking him up once more.

Finally, through the crowd of cats, he spotted his littermates and their mentors, fighting off a group of rogues. One of the rogues was on Goldenstripe’s back, tearing into his fur with quick, vicious swipes. Ravenflight grabbed them by their scruff, throwing them off the golden tabby tom. Spiderpaw tackled another rogue that was cornering his sister with surprising bravery, and the rogue staggered, knocked off balance. 

“Come on!” Acornleaf barked to their Clanmates, and they threw off the last stragglers, joining them in their pursuit.

“Stop them!” Houndstrike yowled, ordering his followers, and the ones that weren’t seriously injured formed a mass at the camp entrance, blocking their escape. Several rogues, as well as Magpieflight and Blossombreeze stood in their way, their eyes slitted and the fur on their backs spiked.

Blizzardpaw felt a shiver run down his spine at the sight. They’d have to claw their way out for their freedom; they’d have to fight tooth and claw.

“I’ll distract them, run!” Ravenflight yowled to them, before darting into the crowd. 

Spiderpaw cried out in grief as he watched his mentor sacrifice himself for their survival. Shimmertail had to grab him by his scruff to stop him from running after him, and Blizzardpaw watched as the valiant black tom threw himself at the attackers, unbalancing one rogue and throwing another away. But it was hopeless, as more piled up onto him, and he was swallowed by the mass of cats.

“No! Let me go!” Spiderpaw begged in a sob, kicking and thrashing around in Shimmertail’s grasp as they used the time to run past.

“We can’t save him,” Acornleaf murmured gently, her voice muffled by Blizzardpaw in her jaws, but the words did nothing to soothe his brother. Her mew was tinged with sadness from the death of her friend. “There’s nothing we can do. All we can do is make his sacrifice count.”

Some of the attackers caught on to their escape, darting after them, but they were too quick to be caught. Fear and adrenaline pulsed through Blizzardpaw’s body as he refused to look back, terrified that they would catch up somehow and kill them all.

A blood-curdling yowl came from behind them, and Blizzardpaw flinched, closing his eyes. The cold, leaf-fall wind rushed by them, chilling their fur and bones as they escaped the camp. No longer was the StormClan camp their home; no longer could they call it so. Not while Houndstrike was in reign.

“Where are we going?” Splashpaw whimpered.

“There’s a barn after the forest opens up, near the StoneClan border. We can take shelter there,” Goldenstripe explained.

Twolegs? Blizzardpaw felt trepidation at the mention of the barn. He had heard of the weird creatures, wearing colorful pelts and only having fur on their heads. He wondered what they could do, if they found them in the Twoleg den.

They ran through the oak forest, the sun beginning to set in the horizon. The grand trees cast long, dark shadows over them, and birds perched on the branches of the trees cried out in alarm at the noises they made. Paws thumped against the ground, sticks cracked, the undergrowth rustled, and mice and voles scurried away at their paws.

Finally, they heard Houndstrike’s voice from behind them.

“Let them go for now. We will waste energy chasing after them. They are traitors of StormClan, and after I receive my nine lives, I will hunt them down until they are slaughtered.”

Relief washed over Blizzardpaw for a heartbeat before it was quickly drained away with the threat hanging in the air and above their heads. They would be safe, but not for long. 

The exiled StormClan cats still pushed on, not slowing their pace in case the wicked tom came back. Blizzardpaw noticed that the trees began to thin, before finally, the forest opened up into a large clearing. A Twolegplace lay in front of them, with empty fields around it. White fences separated each part of the farm, surrounding the fields and dens.

Blizzardpaw felt a tinge of awe, but was too exhausted to capture the sight in its fullest. Only through stories had he’d known about it, but he never expected such grandeur. With that thought, he was reminded of Thrushwing and Mousetail’s deaths, and he felt his heart ache with pain. No longer would the brown and cream tom tell stories to kits again. 

They drew closer to the Twolegplace, padding through the fields, and he spotted the red and white Twoleg den that Goldenstripe had called the barn, nodding towards it.

Acornleaf told them to wait outside the den, and a few moments passed as Blizzardpaw heard the hushed voices of his mentor and other cats that he didn’t recognize. Finally, she emerged, and flicked her tail to signal to them to follow.

Inside were piles of yellow stalks, which, Acornleaf explained, was hay. There was a friendly looking she-cat with snow-white fur, as well as a plump, large tom with long, spotted black and white fur. Even though the latter was bigger than the former, he looked younger and excited at newcomers.

“This is Snowy, she’s helped Clan cats many times, housing them in this barn,” Acornleaf explained, nodding to the white she-cat who was aptly named. “And that’s Toast.”

“You’ve grown so much,” mused Shimmertail, glancing at the black and white tom. “I remember when you were just a small kit.”

“Who are these younguns, Acornleaf?” Snowy asked, nodding to the three apprentices. “And what happened to you all?”

“These are the newly made apprentices of StormClan, Blizzardpaw, Splashpaw, and Spiderpaw,” the white and ginger tabby explained, nodding to each of them respectively. “We’ve been through so much. But it’s a long story.”

“You all look hungry and tired, feel free to hunt the mice here,” Toast said warmly to all of them, smiling. He disappeared off to the back of the barn, before appearing with two mice dangling from his jaws. The black and white tom dropped it at their paws, nudging it towards the refugees. “Here, eat up.”

Blizzardpaw blinked gratefully at the loner, and the warriors murmured their thanks. He felt the tension of his body slowly drain out, finally able to relax in the company of these cats.

Did all of this really happen? Is Houndstrike going to become leader of StormClan now?

Him and his littermates shared one of the mice, taking turns taking bites out of the succulent flesh. They quickly finished, and he felt pain stab at him again from his wounds.

Shimmertail had gone to gather cobwebs to stop their bleeding, and a few heartbeats later, she returned with wads of cobwebs on her paw.

“I could call my Twolegs and they could heal your wounds,” Snowy offered, looking worriedly at their injuries. “They’ve taken the dogs away before when they’ve gotten injured, and they come back fresh and healed.”

The silver tabby she-cat applied the cobwebs to their wounds, first going to Blizzardpaw, and then the others. 

Acornleaf shook her head at the offer. “It’s alright. Although, these wounds might get infected.” She added quietly. The white she-cat nodded. “What did Leafpelt use to stop infections?”

“I think it was marigold,” Shimmertail murmured. “We can go get it tomorrow, we’re all exhausted.”

They agreed, and Toast led them over to the area of hay where the two loners slept. Acornleaf, Goldenstripe, and Shimmertail all took up spots, leaving the trio to their own devices. Splashpaw lay her head down, curling up in one spot, and Blizzardpaw and Spiderpaw went to join her, laying down next to their littermate.

I wonder how Spiderpaw and Splashpaw are feeling. His littermates hadn’t said anything ever since the chase, their eyes darkened with sadness. Grief washed over him again as he remembered that their parents were dead, slain by the paws of Houndstrike. What happens to StormClan now? What happens to us? Why, StarClan? Why must you do this?

Blizzardpaw closed his eyes, feeling the hay tickle his fur as he buried himself deeper into the straw. He tucked his paws under his belly, feeling pain and sorrow batter at him like the leaf-fall wind. The hay was a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t care, wishing that maybe, this had all been a dream. Maybe he will wake up, and his parents will still be alive.

@castiels-destiny

A/N: fun fact Toast is named after the minecraft easter egg when you nametag a rabbit toast, and Snowy was a kittypet that I roleplayed on roblox right before I made Soaringstar up! She became a warrior under Morningstar named Snowstorm and then i got bored so i made another oc, and Soaringhawk and Morningstar fell in love

also the same ppl died in the old Blizzardstar’s Storm, Lightningstar, Whitefur, Mousetail, Thrushwing, and Ravenflight

Next chapter:

Chapter 7

[momentary-ecstasy]

fic request:the first time someone says i love you for raffi and seven please:)

Warning: Major Character Death (It's not Raffi or Seven)

It was a Starfleet funeral for the ages. Ships from distant systems, from all species had come to pay their respects. There was political gladhanding sure, but it happened outside of the circle of people who knew him. The people who knew Jean-Luc Picard personally, really and truly were standing in a half-circle around the urn that contained his remains. 

Jack was trying to hold it together. Beveryly and Geordi were openly crying. Raffi was misty eyed. Seven remained stoic but her voice shook when she spoke. Worf understood human customs were not his own so he kept his words to a minimum. 

It was inevitable that Seven and Raffi would be standing next to each other, occasionally leaning close but never touching. 

As the ceremonies were over and Picard was entombed in a statue of himself in front of the new Starfleet recruitment building, Seven had only spoken to Admiral Janeway who gave her a long hug and offered Seven any kind of support she could. Seven thanked her and bowed away when someone else stole Janeway’s attention. 

She actively avoided the Commodores who, rumor had it, wanted to promote her to Captain. She couldn’t think about it right then. She had just lost a friend. They hadn’t known each other long, but the bond was strong. 

She looked toward Raffi. She looked miserable. People kept going up to her and saying how brave they had been to save everyone from the Changelings and thanked her for what they had done, but Raffi had tuned them out long ago. Seven could see it. 

Seven saw a break in people greeting Raffi and slipped in, grabbed her arm gently and pulled her to the side. “Do you have a ship?”

Raffi seemed immediately relieved, “No, but I have the codes to the planetary transport room.”

With really no plan on how to get back, Seven and Raffi walked into Starfleet headquarters, handwaved the security guards who tried to stop them only as a show and disappeared into the planetary transporter room. 

Raffi didn’t even ask where they were going. She just let them in and went inside to stand on the transporter. 

Seven used her Officer codes to input their location then jumped up on the platform to stand with Raffi. 

They materialized in Vasquez Rocks, standing right in front of the front porch steps. It was all covered in dirt from being vacated for so long, but Raffi walked up the dirt covered stairs anyway and used her palm scan to open the door. 

Seven unzipped her Officer jacket, took it off and kicked the dust off one of the porch chairs before setting her jacket on the back of it. She leaned on the railing and looked out into the vast empty desert. 

Raffi had similarly taken off her Intelligence Division jacket and was carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “The climate control has been off in there for a while so it’s hot, but it’ll cool off in a minute.”

“I like it out here,” Seven let the Earth’s Sun warm her skin. She turned to look at Raffi. Her hair was up as well and she was using a towel to dust the dirt off of the table and the chairs. Seven went inside and got another towel to help. It felt like they’d never left. 

Once the outdoor furniture was clean they sat down and Raffi poured the drinks. 

“He left me the guest house on his estate,” Raffi sat back in her chair. “And the land around it. A small vineyard.”

“Wow,” Seven had to admit it was not something she expected, but the more the thought about it, the more it made sense. Jack wouldn’t want anything and she thought she had heard Raffi and Picard talking about a woman he was seeing before they left on their last adventure. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know,” Raffi shrugged. She took a long drink of the whiskey. “I wish people would stop giving me things before they leave and just stay.” She realized how that might have sounded to someone that essentially left her so she added as Seven opened her mouth to apologize, “I meant Rios and Picard.”

Seven nodded. “I didn’t give you anything anyway.” She was hoping a joke would make Raffi smile and for a moment it did.

Raffi shook her head. “What are you going to do now? I assume with Shaw’s discharge someone’s looking at you for the Chair.”

“I can’t think about it right now,” Seven shook her head. “I just need to… breathe.”

Raffi nodded. “I understand.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black box. “I have a decision to make too.” She slid the box to Seven. 

Seven opened it up and saw a solid matte black Starfleet communicator. “Section 31?”

Raffi nodded. She sighed, “I don’t know that I want to disappear again. It’s… hard.”

Seven could understand that. She took another sip of whiskey.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Raffi spoke after the silence was too heavy. 

“Of course,” Seven looked over at Raffi. Raffi who had seen past her Borg Implants since day one. Raffi who was always ready to go all in if Seven had ever had the courage to ask “You’ve rescued me more times than I can count.”

Raffi leaned back as the sun warmed her shoulders and back. It felt nice. Space was cold and the ships were kept comfortable but there was something about being enveloped in the sun’s rays made her relax completely. 

They had both grown quiet as the sun started sinking down behind the rocks. Raffi was kept refilling their glasses and they kept slowly sipping whiskey through the late afternoon into the evening. 

Seven finally spoke as darkness started settling around them. “Would you have gone with me? If I’d asked?”

Raffi immediately knew what she was talking about. “When have I not?”

The question was like being slapped. Seven’s entire body froze completely then she took a shaky breath. “I get very afraid when I love someone.”

“I know,” Raffi nodded. They had talked about it. Seven had told her about all the children from the Borg that they had rescued. Every person that had phased in and out of Seven’s life. 

There was a long pause before Raffi asked, seeming to just register what Seven had said. “You loved me?”

Seven swallowed and looked at her drink. “I still do.” 

Raffi nodded and exhaled. “Damn, I thought I was the only one.”

Seven raised her eyebrow, “I’m sorry. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” She shook her head and finished her drink. 

“Doesn’t matter now,” Raffi finished her drink as well. She stood up and set her glass down. It was dark and she was tired. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

Seven didn’t seem to have a choice. They had beamed themselves into the desert without really thinking about how to get back. 

They had both change into leftover clothes Raffi had left behind and laid down in a bed they’d shared together so long ago. 

It was dark in the room, but they could see the stars overhead, lending the tiniest amount of light onto the bed. Seven couldn’t see Raffi’s eyes in the darkness so she didn’t know if she was still awake. “Raff?”

“Hmm?” Raffi asked. 

“I love you,” Seven stated in the safety of darkness. 

There was a short pause. Then Raffi reached out and took her hand, “I love you too.” 

“Do you think we-” Seven started, but Raffi moved to kiss her, gently and with promise. 

Raffi rested back on her pillow and Seven would see her eyes looking back, sparkling in the starlight. “We’ll figure it out. Tomorrow.”

Seven threaded her fingers through Raffi’s and settled into her pillow. “Tomorrow.”

[kieuecaprie]

So... I finished the main taskline (for now) for Toontown Corporate Clash. I won't say too much about the end but it was definitely a journey to get through, especially when the server started having issues and districts had to be reset which made making and finding groups a bit of a drag.

So, I figured it'd be nice to have a little collection of screenshots I took over the course of my journey. Of course, I won't dump all of them, just a select few I found neat.

There may be spoilers but I think most of the screenshots I'm about to post are just out of context stuff anyhow so... I'm gonna give you a fair warning anyway!

I believe I posted this a while back effectively saying that I have been playing TTCC and wanted to post this screenshot. I managed to catch the tailend of the St. Patrick's Day code event so I was able to snag some stuff, including the clover that became a mainstay on my deer.

I think this may have been the first of many buildings I would take on by myself over the course of doing the main taskline so I guess I took this screenshot to comemmorate my first building (plus it was in Toontown Central, where buildings are kind of a rarity even on private servers) and the fact I barely made it out alive.

This was before I learned the power of Prestige Throw, btw, that little prestige gag carried me pretty hard with its self-healing properties.

I just liked visual bugs and this one kind of tickled me. You can still get on the elevator, it's just bugged for some reason. No idea if this was a server thing or the behavior of the base code of the game that it ran on.

Funnily enough, BB was the first playground I got to the final kudos rank-up task for just so I could go see Rainmaker, who would otherwise be known as Misty Monsoon if you searched through some ARG stuff (or read the wiki, I guess).

Her fight was an ordeal the first time through and was frightening and was definitely a step up from the easy gameplay of the babby game that came before it.

I spared her, in case you were asking. Fortunately, my group decided to do the same.

I hated going through YOTT even though I liked the vibe of it all. The dialogue was painful to read but this one with Seymour in particular was chuckleworthy. Kind of appreciated that. Keep at it, TTCC writer's team!

I think this was taken during my runs through Sellbot Factories for the Sellbot parts. I admit, it was a little nervewracking at first to utilize the group finder because, up to this point, I was just using it to set up groups for battles I absolutely needed to do (Derrick Man, Land Acquisition Architect, Public Relations Representative). No idea why this screencap in particular, maybe I just found the name "Medieval Pheasant" on the Turkey toon to be quite amusing.

Fishing was my first activity I'd end up maxing on this server. As customary, I grade games based on how fun their fishing is. I'd give the Toontown fishing, as a whole, a decent 7/10. Fish Bingo is a nice sidegame and casting and reeling is super quick, also a good source of currency and ended up filling my bank to the brim.

A screenshot from... some attempt at mity, I don't know the number tbh. Tried the old "befriend a cog" trick during the mist phase and my heart shattered into a million pieces afterward...

Going through Mezzo Melodyland (At the time of writing, I have the rank-up task available to go from 9 to 10, gonna hold off on that for now but I'm coming for you, DAVE BRUBOT!), and I run into a taskline about a kazoo maestro who wants me to go find someone who is the kazoo kid. I already knew where this was going but I didn't think they'd actually go through with the bit.

Good one!

Shut up and leave me alone.

The only screenshot I ever took in a Cashbot Mint. Honestly thought it'd take a while to clear out the 4 Coin Mints, 4 Dollar Mints, and the 2 Bullion Mints but they were snap compared to the Lawbot and Bossbot facilities... especially in wait time, yeesh.

Come on, you had to break into Reid's van at LEAST once! I hope she didn't mind me coming in, I mean, I do pay her a ton of jellybeans, after all!

My first capped track was Throw, predictably. And I think Lure followed soon after and then it took a while before Sound, Squirt, Zap, and Toon Up would join them. Still got Trap and Drop left to go and I don't look forward to levelling Trap again.

This wizard really wanted the... ahem... minglussy. iamsosorry

Lawbot Lawfices... They were kinda fun but waiting was a bit of a drag. Although I think at one point, someone pointed out that you could play Toono on the couches. WHY COULDN'T BOSSBOT HQ HAVE SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!

Speaking of, here's a screenshot from a Bossbot Cog Golf Course. Don't tell me which one because they all felt the same to me, and it was at that point that I really felt the drag. This part was probably one of the biggest hurdles imo and I don't blame anyone for not really wanting to do anything related to Bossbots unless they ABSOLUTELY had to. (Speaking of, if any friendos wanted to do cog golf courses, I'd gladly run it because I don't want them waiting half a century for a group.)

Short detour into the High Roller stuff for MAYpril Toons event. I was sad that I couldn't fight Sads but the High Roller fight was definitely something else. And if they could pull that off for a permanent, non-canon joke of a manager, what could they do for 2.0? Gosh, imagine. The next few are also High Roller related, I had to grind for a bit to get the stuff out of him. (I still need one more item from him, barring another update that adds yet another goalpost, but it takes a while to beat him even with optimal strats.)

Holy meh, Toriel Toontown real.

This one is from one of the CEO fights. I took this one because the game was taking its sweet time waiting for everybody and found the cogs with their hands in the same position as the grief kiwi sticker to be quite funny.

While I was doing the DDL taskline, I ran into this where Featherbedder and a bunch of cogs were just... snoozing. And there was literally nobody fighting them. Guess they just wanted a slumber party, huh?

Hehehe... yeah, game show. Would be crazy if there was one in Mezzo Melodyland hosted by a robotic green duck who is a fusion of two cog managers that we've previously fought, right?

And the end of the road, for now. It feels... weird now that I have ALL FOUR task slots to fill up but it'll be a great boon when grinding out those kudos tasks! I'm not quite done yet with TTCC and I don't think I will be for a while, after all, I have drops to collect, suits to perfect, departments to experience fully, and a couple other stuff left unfinished.

I will say that I absolutely enjoyed my time in Toontown Corporate Clash and I wish the team good luck as they push onwards because this is probably the most polished Toontown experience I've ever... erm... experienced.

[a-funny-little-sunflower]

♡ Yandere Maedhros Alphabet ♡

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Maedhros shows his affection in little ways, like taking you to watch the stars with him or by leaving soft lingering kisses against your skin.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Although Maedhros is the calmest of his kin and doesn’t exactly like having fights, when it comes to you, he would rip a man apart with his bare hands if need be.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Although he is renowned for his frightening nature, he knows the value of family and thinks that it's unforgivable to ever do harm to your spouse, so he’d treat you like a fragile flower.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He would probably try to keep you away from others, especially potential suitors because he’s convinced that you will find someone better and leave him all alone again.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Maedhros is quite guarded about his trauma so it’ll take gentle soothing words and a determined attitude to get him to open about anything along those lines, he’s also quite self-conscious about his missing hand.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It would frustrate him, but he would understand your side of things, after all, he was imprisoned against his will for years. But he can’t help getting frustrated because he just wants to keep you for himself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It’s not a game to him, he wants to keep you all to himself and the fact that you keep trying to leave is something that annoys him to no end.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The worst thing is the punishments, they are few and far between but when you’ve tried to escape too many times and misbehaved for days, he finally snaps, and punishes you. And the punishment...Well, we’ll get to that…

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Maedhros ideal life with you is to move into a cottage near the Misty Mountain’s and have a garden filled with flowers to attract butterflies.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Maedhros is incredibly protective of you, something as seemingly innocent as a man looking at you for a little too long could anger him, he will stare at the man with a cold murderous stare until they catch on that you're taken.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He loves to touch you because it’s a reminder that you’re really there and that you love him enough to let him touch you. He likes to keep an arm around your waist and give you sweet cheek kisses at random intervals.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He would be tentative about courting you at first, he is aware that you bring out yandere tendencies in him and he doesn’t want to frighten you. His first interaction with you would be during a starry night when all is quiet.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Maedhros has to hold up a stoic front with everyone else, the only exception being his family, so when he’s alone with you, he’s able to seem more relaxed and he is more tender with you, one of his favourite things to do with you when you’re alone together to lay in bed together, facing each other with your foreheads pressed together.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

His punishments are few and far between, but they do happen. When you misbehave too much, he will have you strip, and tie you to the bed, leaving you completely exposed, then he will go a retrieve the riding crop that he keeps for occasions like these and how long the punishment lasts will depend on how much you’ve misbehaved.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Maedhros would probably try and keep you away from anyone he sees to be a threat, which might include male friends that you have, he also might keep you from going to certain places because he’s suspicious of them.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He is the most mature and patient of his kin, aside from maybe Maglor, so he will be patient with them, but there are times when you push all his buttons and he spanks you till sunrise.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He would never be able to move on from you, he loves more than anything and he’s already lost so much, losing you would be the thing that would finally break him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Given as he was captured and kept against his will, he would most likely feel guilty for abducting you, and as for letting you go, he might do it once, and a few days later, truly realises how deeply he loves and needs you, and go and abduct you again.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

It comes from a mixture of two things, the constant need to share things with his younger brothers, never being allowed to have one thing all to himself, and the second, all the torture and pain he’s gone through definitely twisted his moral code a bit.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It makes him feel incredibly guilty. He knows what it’s like to kept against your will, and he remembers what it was like to be so frightened, so when you let out sobs that shake your entire being, pangs of guilt fill his chest and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He would do his best to make you feel comfortable in his presence, not wanting himself to be viewed as a monstrous captor, but rather as a loving protector.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His fear of loud noises. They trigger his PTSD the most, to the point where he might even collapse. So, if a large thunderstorm hits and he falls into his own fearful flashbacks, you have two choices. Escape while you have the chance and leave Maedhros alone and frightened or stay and comfort him.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

During his punishments with the riding crop, he would but they are as rare as cherry wine, so if you behave, you don’t have anything to worry about.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He may be self-conscious about what he can offer you, but a part of him still has that fiery determination, and that part of him will do whatever it takes to get you to love him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He would pine until Dagor Doriath came around if he was allowed to, but the threat of you being snatched away by either time or a suitor frightens him into action.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If pushed to every limit, and the threat of you leaving becomes too real, to the point where he can almost feel you fading from his arms, he would break you, and unlike Glorfindel, he would do it purposefully. His shattering of you would be methodical, attacking every weakness you have to get to yield as quickly as possible.

[derelicthorror]

oc posting

- shinoda's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. she Will hold your hands and she Will tell you you're valuable

- pre-warframing, junah's octavia had a kavat that she loved very much; now, she always wants to stop and fuss over master teasonai's pets every single time. the urge is overpowering. pet the kitties

- corinn's mother was a historical anthropologist/philologist with a focal point on studying pre-Orokin civilizations; she would have been very intrigued by corinn's excalibur

- drifter corinn never found that drive to reform a faction, and so she's a lot more relaxed and a little more irreverent than shinoda is; junah-as-drifter isn't much different from junah herself - they're both even-keeled and smile like they know something you don't, although drifter!J is a little put off by the hallucinations her counterpart has. why do you have those. that is concerning.

- for that matter, though she will admit that the void's affected her more than most, junah's only ever specified that she experiences distant peals of laughter, and the occasional misty haze, and too many fingers on her back. if asked if that's it, she'll half smile a rueful thing and say not at all.

- after dropping in to help with a railjack mission, junah makes a point to drop a kiss on yanovan's cheek as she goes, helmet or not. yes it befuddles him every time, and Yes he absently starts to just tilt his face up to meet her gesture while he works. they Do like each other and they also Will Never Do Anything Substantial About It

- shinoda's work with the red veil starts with really subtle and simple conditions, challenges to rise to her prowess in terms of stealth and precision. at first it's through appealing through individual members' pride - are they capable of only taking the lives they need? should she find a different syndicate to work with? - and then it's through firmer rhetoric, using their own code of fire and loyalty. it's a slow bend towards fierce compassion and once she has her position solidified, then she starts really making demands

[akaluan]

aka i'm still losing my shit at the convo with Yakumo in the pits area. i have a Need to see louis cornering yakumo afterwards and going MC IS A FUCKING AMNESIA MAN FFS WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT the game has CHEATED us of this prime content -ser

((ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE! Technically this probably does need a followup apology/discussion between the three of them when they finish the Howling Pit zone and go back to base, but I'll write that later. Also, in general, consider this canon for.. basically all my versions of code vein Erich, no matter which ending he gets.))

Louis leans against a piece of scrap, contemplating the misty, waterlogged area in front of them; he’s not looking forward to trudging through the morass, and even less to fighting in that morass, but needs must. He’s pretty sure he remembers a Bloodspring out in this direction, and if Erich can revive it — and the mistle in the whole area — it will mean more safety, more hope, for every revenant in the Gaol of the Mists.

He’ll do anything for a brighter future, even if it means wading through hip-high water and fighting the Lost while doing so.

“—we were all human once,” Yakumo is saying behind him, clearly chatting with Erich as they rest.

Louis shifts his stance enough to cast a glance over his shoulder, a touch of amusement curling in him at the sight of Yakumo holding one of his ubiquitous onigiri; Yakumo always has some of the damn things on him, though at least he’s stopped attempting to offer them to Louis.

(Though, Erich hasn’t had the joy of trying them yet, has he?)

(That will be an interesting—)

“If I completely lost the memory of my human past, I wouldn’t be me anymore,” Yakumo continues with, and Louis freezes, dread pooling in his stomach; he knew he should have pulled at least Yakumo aside before they left! He knew how Yakumo felt about memories, about losing them, about holding onto things, but somehow he’d not expected the man to just— just—!

“I would just be… something in the shape of me,” Yakumo says gloomily, oblivious to Louis’ rising panic. “I’d look like a revenant, but on the inside I’d be no different than the Lost. What’s the point of living like that?”

Breath hisses between Louis’ teeth and he turns, desperately hoping that Erich hasn’t taken offense, that Yakumo hasn’t lost them their best — only? — hope—

Erich is watching Yakumo with an unreadable look in his gaze and his expression otherwise calm; Louis would almost think the man completely unaffected, but there’s… something about him, about the way he’s standing, and the way his right hand is slightly curled, that makes Louis wary. It doesn’t seem like Erich’s about to lash out — his stance isn’t correct for that, at least — but if the man internalizes those words, comes to believe that he isn’t any better than a Lost, that his only worth is in fighting and pushing back the miasma—

No. He can’t let that happen. Can’t let the man think that he doesn’t matter when he absolutely does, when Louis would have welcomed him into their group even without the man’s unusual gifts!

Yakumo rises to his feet and shrugs his jacket into a slightly more comfortable position; he’s not looking in Louis’ direction, though, so he entirely misses the sharp ‘cut it out!’ gesture that Louis makes. Erich does, though, his amber gaze flickering away from Yakumo to settle on Louis for a brief, puzzled moment, before Yakumo opens his damn mouth again and pulls Erich’s attention back to him.

“I served in the army, back before I became a revenant. We used to eat these things when we were out on missions,” Yakumo says as he gestures slightly with the hand holding the onigiri. “I guess… it helps me remember.” He pauses, hand curling slightly towards his chest and chin tipping down, and adds, “It was a miserable time, but I made some good friends that I shouldn’t let myself forget. This stuff doesn’t really taste that great, but eating it always reminds me of those friends.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. Doesn’t taste that great is an understatement in his opinion; Yakumo’s onigiri tend to taste like absolutely nothing, not even salt, which is absurd when Louis knows the damn things are salted to high hell.

This time, the look Erich casts him over Yakumo’s shoulder has an edge of amusement to it. Which is… probably good? But at the same time, it makes Louis really want to see the man try to choke down the tasteless, sticky mess that Yakumo calls ‘onigiri’ and see how amused he is then.

“So I guess you could say it helps me stay me,” Yakumo announces a bit more cheerfully, as he walks past Erich towards the ramp down into the waterlogged morass below. “It’s been an important companion in my life!” he adds with a wry grin while turning back towards Erich, who huffs a small laugh and nods a bit, before freezing as he finally catches sight of Louis.

“Yakumo,” Louis says with as much quiet fury as he can. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Er… sure?” Yakumo flashes a cheerful smile at Erich and says, “Sorry, we’ll be just a moment, alright?” before striding over to Louis, expression wary and fingers tightening on his onigiri enough to start deforming it a bit. “What’s up?” he asks quietly as Louis gestures him into the vague privacy of a nook made by rubble.

Louis quickly checks where Erich is just to be sure the man isn’t close enough to overhear, then quietly says, “Please never, never talk about memories like that around Erich again. This is also on me because I didn’t think to warn you, but… please try to avoid it, if possible.”

Yakumo blinks at him in confusion. “Louis…?”

“He…” Louis grimaces, wrestling with how much he should say, before sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it, and I didn’t, but… neither Erich nor Io remember anything.”

He can see the moment Yakumo understands: it’s in the way he stiffens, the way his eyes round and his face blanches, the way the breath stutters in his throat and his chin tucks down towards his chest.

“Nothing?” Yakumo repeats in a horrified whisper.

“Nothing,” Louis confirms wearily. “Best I can tell, Erich has about a day or two of memories from before I found the two of them and Io has a few days more, but neither of them know anything about themselves beyond their names.”

“Shit. And I just… I said… shit…!”

Louis hums in agreement and steps closer, bumping his shoulder against Yakumo’s arm in an attempt at comfort. “Eat your damn tasteless onigiri,” he murmurs instead of saying anything else, content that Yakumo understands now and will do his best to help Louis head off any potential issues.

Yakumo scoffs and drives his elbow into Louis’ side in retaliation, though he does take another bite of his food and chews thoughtfully. “You thought about talking with Davis?” he asks the instant he swallows his bite. “Guy’s lost a bunch of his past, if I remember right.”

“I’ve considered it,” Louis agrees as he leans into Yakumo a bit and tips his head up to stare at the vast hole in the distance. “But I just don’t know…”

“If you should go waving that bit of info in front of everyone? Yeah, that makes sense.” Yakumo shoves the last bit of his onigiri in his mouth and dusts his hands off, chewing and swallowing so hastily that Louis is almost certain he’s going to choke. He doesn’t though, and promptly wipes at his mouth as he wryly says, “Still, might want to figure out how to let everyone else know, just so no one else sticks their foot in it like me.”

Louis grimaces but nods in agreement. He should probably just ask Erich and Io if it’s fine for others to knows about their situation — that will be the least invasive way to handle this, he knows — but he’s definitely not looking forward to that conversation. Not because they’ll fight him or be rude or anything, but because… because Erich will probably just quietly agree, and Io will follow his lead, and Louis will be left once again not knowing if they agreed because they want to or because they think they should.

He’s already having that problem with what they’re doing right now, dragging Erich out into the Gaol of the Mists in search of mistle and Bloodsprings: did Erich agree to help them because he wanted to or because Louis was the first friendly face he met that didn’t end up turning into a Lost? Does he actually agree with Louis’ plans, or is he just following along because he has no other purpose, no other direction, and he might as well go along with it?

(Fuck, if Louis was like some of the larger gang leaders, bright and charismatic and cruel, would Erich and Io still have fallen in with them so easily?)

(Power like Erich’s… almost anyone would do their best to flatter and praise and twist their way into controlling it.)

(Is… is Louis doing the same thing?)

(Is he just using them?)

A sharp elbow drives the breath from his lungs and slams him back into the rubble behind him, snapping him free of his twisting thoughts.

“You back with me?” Yakumo asks with a frown, then reaches out to poke Louis between his eyebrows. “You got all silent and guilty looking. Talk to me here, man.”

Louis groans and bats Yakumo’s hand away from his face. “It’s nothing,” he tries to deflect, then scowls when Yakumo just plants himself in front of him.

Yakumo clicks his tongue, gaze sweeping across Louis and then over at the rubble blocking their view of Erich. “Let me guess. You’re worried about coercing him.”

“It would be so easy,” Louis practically whines, letting his head thump against the rubble behind him. “If I say the wrong thing, give him the wrong idea—”

“Yeah, let me know how that works out for you,” Yakumo interrupts with a snort. “He’s quiet, but he’s got some pretty solid instincts. Er… well… people instincts at least. Not so much the instincts of ‘high places bad, watch your footing’, he absolutely does not have those.”

Louis chokes on his laughter, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and futilely drives a foot into Yakumo’s leg in retaliation; it’s not funny, it’s absolutely not funny, but the way Yakumo phrased it—

“Yeouch, hey! Just saying it like it is!” Yakumo yelps as he hops backwards, comically flailing his arms in the process. He casts a quick, surreptitious glance around the edge of the rubble as he does, then signs a quick ‘all clear’ and steps closer again, back thumping against the rubble right next to Louis. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, all joking gone from his tone, “if he’s just muddling along on instincts and copying us, then you’re not wrong about worrying. Hell, I probably just made things worse without even realizing it.” He huffs and shakes his head, then casts a sidelong look at Louis and adds, “But we also can’t shy away from it, or pretend to be anything we’re not. We just gotta… do our best, you know? Be us. Be honest. Be kind. Try to remember that he doesn’t remember.”

“I know,” Louis agrees with a sigh, rubbing away the moisture from the corners of his eyes. “I know, but I still worry,” he admits softly, painfully, thinking about all the ways he could just… spin a lie around Erich that the man would never think to question. He won’t, not knowingly at least, but the idea that he could sits sour-heavy-horrible in his stomach, like the rotgut Yakumo brought home one day and insisted they share.

Yakumo shifts a bit closer, pressing their sides together, and bluntly says, “You should. Just don’t second-guess yourself too much, huh? Can’t have our fearless leader hesitating on us.”

Louis snorts and gives Yakumo a dark look in response. “When did this become you giving me a talk?” he asks in exasperation, even as he leans into Yakumo, soaking up the offered reassurance and trying to settle his mind; they can’t afford Louis hesitating or having his focus drift at a critical moment, Yakumo’s right about that, but knowing that and avoiding that are two very different things.

(It’s going to take him a while to sort all this out in his head.)

(Hopefully this trip through the pit will be uneventful...)

“Probably when you started having a crisis,” Yakumo answers flippantly, then nudges Louis lightly and asks, “You good now?”

“Good as I can be,” Louis says as he pushes away from the rubble and brushes dust from his pants. Not that it matters, since they’re going to be walking through a mire soon enough—

(Can he skip this area?)

(He’d love to skip this area.)

(Ugh!)

—but it’s something for his hands to do while he finishes collecting himself and getting himself back into the right mindset.

Yakumo steps away and gestures grandly for Louis to go first. “Shall we head out, then?”

Louis rolls his eyes, takes one last moment to gather himself, then steps around the piece of rubble and says, “Okay, all set!”

Erich glances up from the mistle, his gaze curious, but he says nothing as he rises to his feet and steps back expectantly, clearly waiting for something—

Louis flashes the man a smile as he walks forward, hoping that none of his doubts are obvious, hoping that Erich didn’t overhear any of their conversation, hoping-hoping-hoping—

“Let’s be careful as we go,” he says instead of any of the twisting jumble of words — of apologies — that he wants to. “If we get split up in this mist, we might never find each other again.”

Erich nods sharply, casts a calculating gaze out over the watery pit, then slants a wry glance at Louis and says, “Yakumo can take point with me.”

Louis snorts, ignores Yakumo’s snickering by dint of long practice, and says, “Appreciated, even if I still have to slog along behind you.”

“You’ll live,” Yakumo declares as he steps forward, clapping a hand on Louis’ shoulder as he swaggers past with that frankly ridiculous blade of his slung over his shoulder once again. “Come on, let’s go see what lurks in the shallows, huh?”

“I would prefer a bit less lurking,” Erich grumbles as he follows Yakumo down the ramp, his bayonet in his hands and his gaze sweeping across the area around them.

Louis makes an amused noise as he follows them down into the water, then immediately wrinkles his nose at the feeling of water pouring into his boots and making his pants stick uncomfortably to his legs.

(He already hates this place.)

(If it wasn’t for what he could learn here—)

(But no, personal comfort means nothing in the face of a way to help other revenants stuck here in the Gaol of the Mists.)

(He just… wishes everything was a bit less wet.)

(Ugh.)

[ironwoman359]

Trust issues with Virgil and Patton?

@badthingshappenbingo  (read my specific rules for taking these prompts here)

Prompt: Trust Issues

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Summary: At a rescue/rehabilitation center for victims of human experimentation, Patton attempts to build a rapport with the newest patient. 

Content Warnings: Fear, mistrust, past trauma, implied human experimentation.

Word Count: 1,336

Read on AO3 here

Bad Things Happen Masterlist

---

“How is he today?”

The grim look on Logan’s face was all the answer Patton needed, and he sighed. He placed the tray he’d been carrying on Logan’s desk and stepped around him to peer at the monitors his partner had been studying. They showed a video feed of a small but comfortably furnished room that looked empty at first glance, but Patton knew what to look for. There! In the corner furthest from the room’s door, a small, dark figure was huddled in a ball. Even through the video feed, it was clear that he was shaking.

Patton’s heart ached at the sight, and he wanted nothing more than to swoop in and pull the poor thing into his arms and promise him that everything would be okay. However, given his previous reactions to anyone trying to touch him, Patton knew that would be a bad idea. Still, he wasn’t going to just sit on the outside and observe anymore.

“I’m going to bring him his food today myself.”

Logan looked up, eyes wide. 

“Patton, that is very ill-advised–”  

“He’s not eaten anything, Lo, if we don’t get that to change fast, we’re going to have to sedate him and hook him up to a feeding tube, and you and I both know that if we do that we’ll shatter any chance of him ever trusting us.” 

Logan sighed and rubbed his eyes, staring at the screens. “Yes, I know. I had hoped that us giving him space and providing him with food and water would be enough to show that we mean well, but apparently not.” 

“You know what he’s survived, Logan,” Patton said quietly. “He probably doesn’t even trust that the food is safe. We have to prove to him that we aren’t going to hurt him.” 

“Be careful,” Logan cautioned as Patton picked up his tray again and headed down the hallway to where the holding rooms were. Patton paused outside their newest guest’s room, and took a deep breath before punching a code in the keypad by the door. He hated that the door had to be kept locked, but when the subject was so unstable, they had to keep him confined for his own safety. Patton hoped they’d be able to change that soon. 

“Hey there, kiddo,” Patton called softly as he stepped into the room, the automatic door sliding shut behind him with a hiss. “You doing okay this morning?”

The figure in the corner flinched away, and Patton smiled gently. He kept his eyes lowered and curled in on himself as he approached, trying to appear small and nonthreatening. He sat down on the floor, folding his legs underneath him, and glanced up to check for a reaction.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said. “Are you hungry?” 

The boy glared at him from under a shock of dark hair, and Patton resisted the urge to reach out and brush it out of his eyes. He had to be more delicate than that if he was going to get through to him. 

“You’ve gotta eat something, kiddo, you don’t wanna get sick,” he said. He held out the tray, but the boy just scooted further away. Patton nodded, setting the tray on the ground. 

“Listen, I get it,” he murmured. “You’re scared, and suspicious. I don’t blame you; I would be too if I’d been in those labs. But this place isn’t like that. We’re a rehabilitation facility, you don’t have anything to fear here, I promise.”

The boy didn’t look convinced, but Patton hadn’t expected him to be. For all he was concerned, Patton was just another scientist who wanted something from him. 

“Look kiddo, if you won’t eat your lunch, do you mind if I have some?” he asked lightly. “I haven’t eaten yet today, and this soup smells amazing.” 

The boy frowned at that, glancing at Patton out of the corner of his eye, and Patton suppressed a smile. 

Good, he had his attention. 

Carefully, so the boy could see what he was doing, Patton picked up the plastic spoon from the edge of the tray and took a bite of the soup. He smiled over at the boy, who was staring openly at him now. 

“You sure you don’t want any?” he asked. “It’s really good.” 

He took another spoonful, then picked up the piece of bread lying on the tray and tore off a section, dipping it in the broth. He popped it in his mouth, then nudged the tray towards the boy with an encouraging smile. 

The boy hesitated, and Patton made a show of swallowing his mouthful of bread. That seemed to finally be enough for him, and he scooted closer, just close enough to grab at the tray. He snatched up the hunk of bread and dunked it in the soup broth before tearing off an enormous bite. He barely took time to chew before swallowing and taking another massive mouthful, and Patton fought the urge to giggle. 

“Easy, kiddo,” he said instead. “You don’t wanna choke and hurt yourself. There’s more where that came from if you want it.” 

That made the boy pause, and he regarded Patton with a curious look. He swallowed slowly, then, in a voice so low and raspy that Patton almost didn’t hear, asked “Really?” 

Patton forced his face to remain calm, even though his insides were leaping with excitement. He’d talked! He’d actually talked! Other than his panicked screams and aggressive hissing when he’d first been brought in, he hadn’t made a sound the entire time he’d been here, and now he’d spoken! Only one word, but still, it was progress, and Patton was going to take it. 

“Of course,” he said, keeping his voice even. “There’s definitely enough for seconds if you want. I’d have to take a trip down to the kitchens to get some, but I’d be happy to do so!”

There was a beat of silence, and then, 

“Why?” 

Oh, that simple word spoke volumes, and Patton couldn’t decide whether he should pull the kiddo close and promise him that he’d never be hurt again or go out and hunt down anyone and everyone who was responsible for making the notion of kindness such a strange and foreign one to him. 

“Because you need to get your strength up, kiddo,” he said, pushing both urges away for now. “You’ve been through a lot.” 

“And what...” the boy’s voice shook, and he paused, swallowing before continuing. “What happens...after I get my strength up?” 

Patton smiled sadly. 

“Absolutely nothing. We’re not here to hurt you.”

The boy looked skeptical, and Patton sighed. 

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he said quietly. “I’d be cautious too, if I were in your shoes. I just...hope that you’ll give me a chance to prove that I really do want to help you. Will you let me do that?”

The boy regarded him silently, and eventually nodded. Patton smiled brightly at him, then took a deep breath. Time to test the waters. 

“My name is Patton, by the way,” he said, and the boy's eyes widened just a bit. “Do you have something I can call you, besides just kiddo?” 

The boy looked away, and Patton held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t moved too quickly. If he spooked now, it could take ages to coax him into opening a dialogue with them, and- 

“Virgil.” 

Patton nearly squeaked in surprise. 

“My name is Virgil,” Virgil said again, and Patton’s face bloomed into a smile. Virgil watched him for a moment, then offered a tiny, hesitant smile back. 

It was official. Patton was putting all his other cases on hold until he was sure that Virgil would never be afraid to smile again. The path towards his recovery certainly wouldn’t be easy, but if Virgil was willing to try, then Patton would give it his absolute everything. 

“Well, Virgil,” he said, his smile growing wider. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

---

Part Two: Gaining Trust

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[aliendes]

Clingy

From the BTS song lyric drabble game: #3 in the dynamite drabble game for jimin pls & ty!

3. Say what you want

Warnings: cursing, angst, with a sort of fluffy ending? unedited as always

Word count: 1.9k~

It was your day off from work today, Saturday, one of your favorite days of the week. You got to sleep in this morning, and when you woke up it was a beautiful day, sun shining, no rain in the forecast even though it had rained all week.

You lounged around in bed all morning, not really doing much except text your boyfriend Jimin and scroll through Twitter. It’s been a really great day so far, and you were in a really great mood. Once you finally decided to get out of bed, you took a shower and got changed into some workout clothes. You were feeling really good today and since it was finally warm out, you decided to go for a jog.

You didn’t go too far from your apartment, going around the block a few times, texting Jimin the entire time. You two talked about making plans for tomorrow night and texted back and forth about how you missed each other. It was nice. You were happy. Because you were in such a good mood you decided to jog over to Jimin’s company building which was only a few blocks away and surprise him. You typically visit at least once per week and everyone there knows you at this point, having been together for the last three years.

Walking into Big Hit you wave at the receptionist and the security guard, who both wave back to you with sweet smiles. You return them, of course, and make your way towards the elevators.

You knew from your earlier text conversations that Jimin and the rest of the boys were practicing choreography today, so you went to the floor with the practice rooms and walked through the hallways until you heard music. Stopping outside the door, you looked at yourself in the reflection of your phone, fixing a couple of stray hairs.

When you walked in, the first person you saw was Jungkook who was sitting on a couch against the far wall. When he saw you, you quickly put a finger up to your mouth to signal him to stay quiet. A bunny smile grew on his face as he nodded quickly. The music was fairly low, and you looked to your left and saw Hoseok and Namjoon trying to learn a couple of moves for a new choreography. Other than that, no one else was dancing. When you looked to your right, you saw Taehyung and Jimin standing in the other corner near a table that had all their drinks and coffees on it. You started to make your way towards your boyfriend, who had his back to you as he talked to his best friend.

When you approached, you started to hear the conversation that was taking place.

“I don’t know, Tae,” Jimin sighed, “she just seems so clingy lately. It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

Your heart and your smile dropped at his words. You haven’t even seen Jimin in over a week. What did he mean you were clingy. You stopped moving towards the pair when you met Taehyung’s wide eyed stare, like he had been caught red handed. You gave him a sad smile, letting him know it wasn’t his problem.

When Jimin noticed his friend’s stare, he followed his gaze, spinning around, until his eyes met your misty ones. You blinked a few times to try and fight back the tears that were threatening to fall, to no avail. You watched as Jimin’s expression changed from confused, to shocked, to embarrassed in a matter of three seconds. “YN-”

You didn’t want to hear it. You spun around and started running. You ran through the practice room door and straight to the stairwell, ignoring the shouts of Jimin and now who you thought was Jungkook.

Once you reached the bottom floor, you were panting hard, but you pushed through the pain and ran out the front doors of the building and down the block. The adrenaline and hurt you were feeling fueled your fire and you ran all the way home. Not that it was super far, but by the time you got there, your lungs burned as you collapsed on the floor of your kitchen. Your knees cracked against the tile floor as you fell, sobbing into the palms of your hands.

Why would he say such things? You couldn’t imagine a world in which he ever thought you were clingy. You felt crushed. How long has he felt that way, how long has he been talking about you behind your back? You had so many questions, but didn’t know if you really wanted answers to them.

A shrill ring of the doorbell brought you out of your reverie, making your head snap in the direction of the front door. After the bell stopped, you heard banging. Loud banging. “YN!”

Jimin.

“YN-” more loud bangs, “please! Please open the door, YN.”

You sobbed even harder at the sound of his voice. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him, for the pain in his voice, when you were the one breaking down on your kitchen floor.

“YN if you don’t open the door I’m coming in. I know the code,” came Jimin’s muffled voice again, followed by a few more bangs. You contemplated getting up, but thought better of it. He was going to come in anyways, might as well wallow in your self pity a little longer. You scooted backwards until your back was against your kitchen cabinets, knees pulled to your chest as you hugged yourself. A few seconds later you heard the beeping of your keypad and the locking mechanism open.

You didn’t look up when you heard quiet footsteps approaching. Nor did you look up when they stopped right in front of you.

“Fuck,” Jimin hissed as he looked at your sad form, bruised and bloody knees, hair a mess from running your hands through it, and tears on your arms from wiping so aggressively at your face. He knelt down in front of you, hands hovering over you. He wasn’t sure if he should touch you right now, so instead he used his words, “YN, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. Please, please look at me.” He sounded like he was crying now, but you didn’t want to look up at him. Didn’t want him to see you like this. “Please let me explain?” It was phrased like a question, even though you knew he was going to talk anyways, so you cut him off, snapping your head up to look at him. He held back a gasp at the sight of your tear and mascara stained face.

“Explain? You don’t need to explain. I heard you loud and clear, Jimin. But I know that won't stop you, so go on, say what you want. Tell me how clingy and awful I am.” Your tears had stopped now and all you felt was anger. How could he think he had the right to burst in here after what he said about you?

Jimin let out a sigh and closed his eyes, sinking down onto the floor and pressing his back against the cabinets opposite you. You could see the tears starting to run down his face as he tried to steady his breathing. “I know I fucked up. I really don’t have a good excuse for why I said those things, and I know you wont believe me when I say I didn’t mean them,” you scoff, making him open his eyes and look at you sadly, “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your understanding, YN. I never should have said you were clingy. I don’t know why I even said it - fuck, I’m so fucking stupid.” He rubbed his hand down the front of his face, wiping away the tears. “I’ve just been feeling so overwhelmed lately, and we were talking about making plans tomorrow -”

You cut him off before he could go any further, “Jimin we haven’t seen each other in a week. Even so, if you didn’t want to make plans, why didn’t you just say no instead of agreeing?

“I know, I know! I’ve just been feeling so exhausted with work and the new album and I can’t get these damn dances down. I’m so fucking tired, YN. I told you yes because I didn’t want to let you down, and then I let the fact that I was tired drive my words and my actions when I was talking with Tae. I don’t think you’re clingy. I don’t think that at all, I swear. Me being tired is no excuse for those words, and I am so, so fucking sorry.”

You could see and feel that he was telling the truth, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. “You’re right, Jimin. Being tired isn’t an excuse.”

“I know,” he looked down as more silent tears rolled down his puffy cheeks, “I know that. I was looking for someone, or something, to blame my frustration on, and since we’ve been texting all morning, my brain went straight to you.”

It wasn’t a good explanation, but you understood where he was coming from. You’ve definitely lashed out on people because they were standing too close before, but again, it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. “While I believe you,” you started, making Jimin lift his head to look at you, a hopeful look in his eyes, “it doesn’t change the fact that what you said was extremely hurtful, Jimin.” A few tears streamed down your face as you spoke, prompting Jimin to slide closer to you and reach a hand out to touch you, before he thought better of it and let his hand stay there, midair.

Pursing your lips, you moved closer slightly, letting your cheek rest in the palm of his hand. You melted at his touch, having not felt it for over a week. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he sobbed as your eyes closed at his gentle touch, “I know it doesn’t fix it, but I will do everything I can to fix this and to be better for you.”

You opened your eyes and looked into Jimin’s watery ones, “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, but I love you, Jimin. Don’t be stupid anymore.”

Jimin gives you a small smile, rubbing his thumb against the apple of your cheek, “I know. I love you, too, baby,” he pulls away and scoots closer to you so his back is against the same cabinets as yours, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I told the guys I wouldn’t be back today. I hope that’s okay.”

“What would you do if I said no?”

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, “Go cry at the park.”

You let out a snort at his words, “Maybe I should say no so you can learn your lesson.”

He sighs, “I mean, I won't hold it against you. But I would much rather stay here. Besides, you need someone to clean your knees up, and probably carry you to your bed.” He’s smirking now, realizing his words are true.

Looking down at your bruised knees, you try to straighten your legs, only to wince at the searing pain you feel in them. “Oh shit,” you breath, “that really hurts.”

“Hey, you’re okay,” Jimin says as he stands up, picking you up bridal style with him, “I got you now, and I always will.”

[boonki]

Could you please do “liberosis” for the challenge prompt? Find this one really special and cool! And thx, you’re wonderful at words

Hi my lovely anon!! 🌷😘 

liberosis - the desire to care less about things

I’ve been reading the ROTS novelization by Matthew Stover and I wanted to give writing in his style a shot, so here it is!! 

thank you so much for the ask, my dear!

_______

This is how it feels to be Obi-wan Kenobi:

You are the perfect Jedi, esteemed by a centuries old order and held to a higher standard than most, displayed on a pedestal for exemplary control, wit, and wisdom for everyone to strive towards. You are renowned for your role as Master—youngest Master—on the high council, as well as Master of The Chosen One, an unruly and impulsive force of nature that has gifted you early grey hairs. You are collected, compassionate, perceptive, and principled, and breathe the Jedi code as if you would choke in its absence.

And yet you are flawed, in a deep and unforgivable manner: you care. The Jedi, of course, are allowed to care, to be humane and benevolent, to have a heart. But they are not allowed to use their heart as a vessel, because possession is a trembling path to a ravenous night, and love, in its jealous and wanting form, is the greatest breed of possession possible.

So are their hearts empty, then? Not quite so. Their hearts belong only to the Force, and it is the Force that fills them up with its gentle suggestions and omnipresent murmurings. It is not an emptiness, or absence of love, but rather, that there is no room for anything but the Force. This allows them to surrender to its will and wishes with perfect complacency, as a good Jedi does.

And so this is your secret: your heart is your own, and it is full of molten love that will burn you alive. From the moment you met Anakin, crouched down besides Qui-gon to shake his too-small hand inside the ship on Tatooine, to severing off his Padawan braid with misty eyes and relinquishing your bond to the will of the council, you loved. You cared. You worried.

Even now, years later, you love. You care. You worry.

And so you construct an impenetrable cage around your heart, where nothing can neither leave nor enter, forsaking your love to fester and grow like a disease. You watch him grow into a man, lead an army, and ignore your trembling hands when reports of the 501st double back to you. Please let him live, you think, please let him come back to me. Even if he is not yours to have.

You are the perfect Jedi, except for the nights when you toss and turn on a rigid bed, gruesome nightmares of his potential death haunting the space behind your eyelids. You desire to crack open the cage and push this ugly yearning into the Force, because the thing no one told you about caring so much is that it hurts. It hurts to ache for Anakin’s presence so greatly that it feels like a cancer rotting in your chest, and sometimes you have to place your hands over your heart and pretend they are his, just to satisfying the craving. It hurts to stand next to him and restrain your proclivity to touch, to hold, to press soothing kisses over mangled, healing wounds. It hurts to watch him run off eagerly towards the Senate apartments, towards a relationship you are not privy to, nor discuss with him. You lie to yourself: if it makes him happy, then I am happy. If it makes him happy, then I am happy. I don’t make him happy, but I am happy for him.

You are the perfect Jedi, except for when the plan goes south on a mission, and you are faced with either saving him, or serving your purpose. You save him, every time. Even if that means letting an entire planet crumble into dust, an entire population decay into particles of sand, failing the mission and returning shame faced to the council, you will not let him die. He belongs inside your heart, and as long as that is true, you will not let him die.

You are the perfect Jedi, except when are you not.

And the Force has always been a vindictive lover; it takes everything from you in its jealousy and rage until you return to it. Your heart has been your own for far too long, and like a rubber band stretched taunt, you will either snap back into place, or tear apart completely. You wish you could love less, could surrender the space to the cool touch of the Force, but you know with each thread that rips that you are well on your way to fraying in half. You wish that you hadn’t handed your heart so willingly to someone who doesn’t even know they carry it with them.

You are the perfect Jedi, and yet this is your secret: you wish you didn’t have a heart at all.

This is not how it is supposed to feel, to be a Jedi, but this is how it feels to be Obi-wan Kenobi, forever.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Code: Light

Part of my Series based on the in game dungeons lol. Just for fun.

In fact… there was a boy who lived here… 20 years ago…

The words echoed in Lu Mingfei’s mind as he looked over the rundown landscape in front of him. He was sitting on a dirty pillow on a broken, rotted out porch, rain pouring down on his head through the holes in the overhang. Spiders skittered about and made him pull his feet in. In front of him was a table of rice, vegetables and tea. Outside the porch was a small garden with a pond, green and overgrown with algae. It was pouring down rain as it had been all day. The pond was at capacity and it would soon overflow its banks. From the gloomy surroundings, frogs creeled out a constant serenade.

He was led there by a woman, an elder in that particular village, who had first reported what turned out to be dragon activity in this small town. Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang, and Caesar Gattuso were called to investigate. According to the report on the dossier, a young child in a red coat, carrying a red balloon could be seen standing at the edge of the village. His face was impossible to make out. Japanese towns could be full of local ghost tales, but this one occurred with disturbing regularity. EVA, the Cassell Supercomputer then detected an elemental anomaly. Plants seemed to be growing at such an incredible rate, that the rain clouds over this small area of Japan never seemed to stop. The rain would fall, the plants would soak it up and transpire the water again. It was as if the Amazon Rainforest took up residence in the far East.

After explaining about the child, the old woman took them out to that ramshackle ruin of a place. “If it’s that boy you’re seeking, why not try making him something to eat?”

Then she left.

“Guys I’m so over this ghost hunt. This is so creepy and the lower the sun gets the more I want to leave.” He said. He was wearing his usual combat suit, that skin tight but extremely durable wear that was close enough to the body to avoid catching on anything, but strong enough to withstand the cut of a knife. But was it ghost proof? Who was to say they wouldn’t get eaten by this ghost and the rice be left cold and moldy with no sign of them?

“Are you excited to be on an actual ghost hunt? It’s a shame that the ghost is a boy though.” Caesar sat smoking his cigar and looking out over the grey sheet of rain in front of him. He was dressed similarly, with his Desert Eagles at his side. Of course, he made a much more handsome figure in the muscle-hugging suit.

Lu Mingfei wanted to pull his hair out. “You’re engaged! Don’t lust after the dead you freak!”

Chu Zihang slid his sword part way out of his sheath to check his equipment. “There’s no such thing as the dead coming back to life, unless it’s a dragon. And dragons don’t really die. They just sleep until they can be reborn. What we’re looking for is not a real ghost… but something that has the properties of a dragon.”

“Ghost… dragon… whatever. Do we even know if it’s attracted to rice?”

“It’s not about the rice, Lu Mingfei, it’s the routine. If the boy had a family or cared for anyone at all, wouldn’t it miss sitting at a table with a family meal?” Caesar bit his cigar, 

“And we’re supposed to be its family huh? Who are you? The mom?” Mingfei shot back.

“Well…” Caesar looked down at the food. “I cooked it.”

Lu Mingfei opened his mouth to say something else but Zihang suddenly tensed. His golden eyes stared into another pair of golden eyes. A boy in a red raincoat, stood at the edge of the mossy pond. He was holding a red balloon. Only those glowing eyes were visible under the red hood. It didn’t seem to have a face.

Lu Mingfei’s face went white and then grey with terror. He shook so hard his teeth chattered “G-ghost!”

A small child’s voice echoed clear despite the pounding rain. “Outsiders. I need your help. Come with me.”

The rain suddenly stopped but the sky grew darker, like a great shadow from something large coming over head. The air suddenly cooled. They were still in front of the table but the garden was replaced by sand. The sand was grooved in artistic circles, like an elegant Japanese rock garden. Looking around, they seemed to be in a ruined ancient village. The piece of land they were standing on was floating in mid air, like it had been torn from the earth. There was no sun. The way was lit by ominous paper lanterns that floated in place, painted with a red swirl pattern. In the distance an ancient Japanese castle tower rose out of the misty horizon.

Torii gates were seen floating in the grey, foggy surroundings. Most were shattered. They seemed frozen in the middle of being demolished, their broken pieces spraying at odd angles, their elegant cross bars tilted, but they never collapsed. 

What was most noticeable about this place however, was the sudden sense of crushing sorrow. The feeling one got when they received some sort of horrible news. Like a loved one had just died. It hit Mingfei in the chest and took his breath away.  “Guys. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to …” Mingfei eyes filled with tears. “What’s happening. I’m so scared.” He hugged his own arms and tried to stop the tears from falling. “We’ve got to get out!” 

He turned to Chu Zihang who always knew what to do in times like this. But the man was frozen, his jaw tense and locked, staring at the ground in a trance, trying to control his out of control emotions. He was breathing fast and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Apparently, sorrow drove Caesar Gattuso to action. He drew Dictator and pointed it up towards some broken stairs framed by a bright red Torii gate. Caesar suddenly roared. “This place sucks! Let’s get out of here as soon as we can. The only way out is up!”

His sudden yell seemed to break whatever emotional spell had been cast on the other two teammates. Lu Mingfei wiped his face. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure. Likely the owner of this place had a terrible life.” Chu Zihang said gravely. “I’ve heard of Longwei, the natural fear that dragons give off to other creatures, but I’ve never heard of a Dragon’s sorrow being projected like this.”

The stairs were floating over empty air, made of uneven, ancient grey limestone. There were dozens of stairs leading up into the ominous grey sky with broken Torii gates at intervals every twenty steps. Chu Zihang held up his hand to catch what appeared to be snow flying in the air. He sniffed at it. “Ash. Like something is burning. This must be some sort of Nibelungen. But I’ve never seen anything like it.” Chu Zihang said. “We should watch out. Where there’s a Nibelungen, there’s always…”

A sudden loud screeching interrupted him. A flock of bats the size of geese suddenly dislodged from under the stairs.  A whole flock of them swept forward in a single black cloud mass. Lu Mingfei ducked his head as the claws and teeth scraped at him. “I hate this place already!”

Caesar drew his pistols and fired. The bats were flapping and tilting and whirling, but he just needed to aim for just a moment before shooting one out of the air without missing. Likewise, Chu Zihang quickly slashed once and twice, neatly severing their bodies in two without trouble.

“Bats are better than snakes!” Caesar yelled, reloading his Desert Eagles.

“At least Snakes don’t fly!” Lu Mingfei yelled.

 As they climbed the stairs, they stayed back to the back, firing and slicing through the endless swarm of screaming bats. The sound of it was like a constant siren. Mingfei held his hands to his ears and allowed himself to be shielded by his two older students. He could hardly see anything between the endless assault of black bodies.

Caesar’s eyes glowed yellow. “There’s something big at the top of the stairs. That’s where they’re coming from!” He had sent out his Scythe Itachi and they returned with a huge heartbeat up ahead. “Chu Zihang, get rid of these things!”

“Get down.”  Chu Zihang closed his eyes for just a moment and then an evil snarl emanated from his throat. Black waves of heat drove back the bats and then exploded outward into violent flames. The bats were instantly set alight and hundreds of burning bodies folded their wings and fell into the endless pit below. Lu Mingfei didn’t even want to think of what it meant to fall down into that grey void. Would he just continue to fall forever?

“Eugh…” Caesar pinched his nose to escape the smell of burning flesh and hair.  “Good.” He said, reaching down at pulling Mingfei to his feet.

A loud roar shook the stairs and cracked them.  Then the stairs started to crumble, starting from the bottom. If they didn’t hurry, they would be the ones falling. “Run! Run!” Caesar yelled. 

Ahead of them was a large gap. The stairs were falling apart around them, coming to pieces, like the mortar that held them together suddenly lost all its strength. “We’ll have to jump it!”

It looked to be ten feet across over the nothingness. They’d never make a jump that far. But it was either try to jump or fall to their deaths anyway. Chu Zihang suddenly grabbed Lu Mingfei’s arm and without explanation took a leap and dragged him with him. For a moment, there was nothing but empty air under him. And then a sudden blast of heat and a loud boom! Chu Zihang used Royal Fire to blast himself over the gap, dragging the terrified Lu Mingfei the extra few feet needed. They landed and Lu Mingfei collapsed on shaky legs. “Are you out of your mind? You could have at least told me!” He gasped.

Chu Zihang looked at him with no expression. “You would have hesitated.”

Lu Mingfei froze. “I- n.- No…” Lu Mingfei looked away and then looked around. “Where’s Caesar?”

Caesar pulled himself up onto his arms. He was hanging from the ledge, having barely made the jump himself. He looked at Chu Zihang, annoyed. “Sure. Don’t mind me. I’ll just help myself up.”

His eyes suddenly widened at something behind Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei. They turned around and saw a looming snake with a thick human-like torso and bulging human arms. It glared at them with yellow eyes shining from the skull of an ancient predator it wore as a mask. It brandished a spear as long as a car with a sharp bone tip.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter twelve.

wc: 1,817. original publish date: october 25, 2020. 

"You're really gonna be in for it if I get tetanus from all of this rust, JFK," Van Gogh grumbles as he climbs up the service ladder. Kennedy is following behind him, full intentions of keeping the promise to catch the boy if he falls.

"You're not going to get tetanus, Vinny. You're too careful for that."

"It's not care so much as fear," he replies.

Vincent manages to climb onto the platform without cutting himself on any rusty metal sticking out from the ladder. He moves aside and waits for JFK before stepping onto the rollercoaster track.

"Are we going to fall and die?" Van Gogh asks, peering at the barely-visible ground below him.

JFK laughs. "No, Minivan. We're not going to fall and die."

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "If you're wrong, I'm not letting you write my eulogy."

"You were going to let me write your eulogy before?"

Now it's Vincent's turn to laugh. "No, of course not. You may be smarter than you let on, but there's no way I'm letting you 'errr' and 'uhhh' your way through my funeral."

John smacks the boy on the head playfully. "Hey! I only 'errr' and 'uhhh' when I'm nervous!"

"And you wouldn't be nervous then?"

JFK takes a moment to think. "No. I'd just be sad."

Vincent and John step out onto the green-tinted rollercoaster track, hand-in-hand for support. Van Gogh walks right on the edge, the toe tips of his Keds threatening to dangle off the side. Kennedy squeezes the boy's hand harder. "You're making me nervous, darling."

Van Gogh turns to JFK, a daring look in his eyes. "I just wanted to see if I could flare up your 'errr'ing."

Kennedy rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, yeah, you've made your point. I'm a huge fucking dork."

Vincent grins. "I'm going to remember that you said that."

The boys walk together in contented silence, their cheeks swelling pink from the cool breeze and the misty fog. Van Gogh moves away from the edge of the track, pressing up against JFK as he walks. Kennedy peers down at the boy.

“I’m cold,” Vincent explains with a bashful smile on his face.

JFK lets go of Van Gogh’s hand to wrap his arm around the boy, pulling him closer. “What about now?”

Vincent smiles, a bubbly laugh rumbling up his throat. He speaks in a low voice, even though the only thing around to hear is the fog. “Better.”

Kennedy smiles as Van Gogh nuzzles in to his chest. “Good.”

A couple seconds go by. Jack and Vinny take careful steps down the rollercoaster track, Vincent tucked under John's arm as they walk. The only sounds in the world are their breaths, and the occasional whirr of an unseen plane flying by overhead.

"Can I ask you a question?" Van Gogh asks.

"Yes," JFK replies almost immediately, as if he'd been expecting those exact words.

Vincent hesitates for a second, forming the perfect phrasing in his mind. "How come you always present yourself as some airhead jock when you're so much more than that in reality?"

"I guess it's just easier that way."

"Easier than what?"

Kennedy takes a moment to think, trying to put his feelings into words the way Van Gogh knows how to. He always has the most coherent thoughts, the most truthful outlooks on life. He sees everything.

"Easier than having a foot in both worlds."

Vincent reaches up to play with a loose thread in JFK's letterman jacket. "You've already got one foot in both worlds, Jack."

"I don't see how I can be a star athlete and a star student."

"But you have no trouble at all being John F. Kennedy's clone and a normal high school student."

JFK hesitates before answering. "You don't know that."

Van Gogh furrows his eyebrows. No, he doesn't know that. "You wear him so well, though. Wear yourself so well."

Kennedy shrugs. "Most days it's just smoke and mirrors." He adds, "I have a lot of people looking up to me."

Vincent lets the loose thread free. "I know."

The two come to a stop at the end of the track, where there's a small dip before it curves to turn the rollercoaster cab around, when there actually was a cab. The boys sit down, their legs dangling over the side, trying not to think about how far away the ground is. Van Gogh snuggles up to JFK, but not because he's afraid of heights: just because he's cold.

"What are you thinking about?" John asks, his voice soft as he moves some hair out of Vincent's face to see his profile better.

Van Gogh takes a deep breath before pulling his gaze away from the foggy abyss and returning his conscience to reality. "I was thinking about how pretty the world would look if it all went up in flames."

"Are you an arsonist, Minivan?" JFK teases, a hint of a smile behind his voice.

Vincent looks away, hiding his own smile from view. "I already told you, Jack. I just like the smell of fire."

Kennedy grins. "I assumed that was a euphemism for sex."

Van Gogh shoves his boyfriend playfully. "You're so crude!"

JFK fakes a wince. "Can't a boy have any fun?"

Vincent kisses his cheek. "Not if you're going to be so abrasive."

John turns his face so his lips meet Vincent's, and in that moment, he realises that he’s never kissed anyone like this before -- without all the tongue and the teeth and the competition. They kiss for a couple minutes, the action never getting to be anything less than innocent. Van Gogh never expected he'd be this comfortable with the first person he kissed -- he never imagined it'd be more than a one-time thing with him.

"Can I tell you something, Vincent?"

"Oooh, this is a new one. You don't want to ask me something, you want to tell me something," he replies. "Yes, you can tell me something."

"I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up."

"I thought you wanted to be a politician," Van Gogh says.

JFK shrugs. "Yeah, I do, but it doesn't sound... perfect, you know?"

Van Gogh nods. "Yeah, I get what you mean."

"Does painting sound perfect?" Kennedy asks. "For you, I mean."

Vincent smiles, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree against the thick fog. "Yes, it does. It always has. I think I got lucky. Maybe I got, I don't know, wired this way or something, but I really do enjoy all the things I'm supposed to enjoy, being Van Gogh's clone and all."

John flashes his lopsided grin, his eyes washing over his boyfriend with reserved affection. "I wish I could be like that. Like him."

"You are."

"You don't have to be nice just because we're dating now, Vinny. You've never been one to lie."

Van Gogh stares out into the fog again, a pensive look turning over his face. "He was queer coded, you know."

"What does that mean?"

Vincent rolls his tongue over in his mouth, feeling the words before releasing them into the air. "It's like... when someone doesn't explicitly state that they're attracted to people of the same gender -- queer -- but they sort of... exhibit the qualities. Like their actions just scream queer."

"Like gaydar?"

Van Gogh throws his head back as he laughs, his fiery orange hair wet with mist. "I guess you could say it's like gaydar, yes."

"Wait, but doesn't that only apply to, like, fictional characters?"

Vincent shrugs. "He was rumoured -- more than rumoured -- to have homosexual tendencies."

JFK smiles. "How much research have you done on the real JFK, Minivan?"

Van Gogh giggles before turning serious. "Enough to see similarities between him and you."

John kisses Vincent softly on the head before Van Gogh rests it on his shoulder.

"And I'm scared to graduate," John adds.

"What? Why? Because of college?"

JFK shakes his head, unsure of how to respond. "I thought I was afraid to leave Exclamation!, but I think there was just... one thing I would miss. One thing I was worried that if I left, I would never see again. I didn't want to let it out of my sight."

Vincent grins. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Kennedy rolls his eyes, but can't suppress his smile. "You, silly."

A couple seconds of silence go by. The two listen to their breathing, wrapped up in each other's arms and comforted in each other's body heat.

"I like the world from up here," Vincent whispers.

"You can't even see anything," John protests, his toothpaste model teeth peeking out through his grin.

"It looks like the world is limitless. Feels like the world is limitless."

JFK rests his chin on Van Gogh's head. "Our world is limitless. And this is our world, right?"

Van Gogh blinks slowly, a calm smile turning up the corners of his lips. Everything feels right, in this wet fog with this warm boy in this amusement park town. "I like it when you kiss me."

"Well, that works out, because I like it when you kiss me."

Up there on the rollercoaster track, the world doesn't feel so big. Marshtown is spread out beneath their feet, though they can barely see past their dangling legs through the thick fog. The sky is hazy with mist and Van Gogh can't stand that his hair is wet, but he refrains from making a scene because he doesn't want to throw JFK's chin off of his head. He likes the way he fits into the boy, like they were moulded together, like they were crafted to be each others' missing puzzle piece. Vincent wraps his arms around John's midsection, pulling them closer together until there's no space between their torsos at all. They are a tangle of arms and a continuation of clothing, neither of them sure where one ends and the other begins. Van Gogh wants to breathe him in, to have his clean yet sweaty scent permanently implanted in his nostrils. He likes the way his heart races when he sits next to JFK, he likes the way his head spins when he thinks of all the things he's too afraid to say out loud. Now, he tries one of the phrases out on his tongue, just to see what it would feel like to say the others.

"It's our rollercoaster. We get to build the track."

Kennedy nods in agreement before closing his eyes, his breath slowing as his mind calms itself down. He tastes Vincent's scent in his mouth, against his tongue, against his teeth. He holds all the thoughts he can't say out loud and stores them in his back pocket, waiting for a perfect moment to take them out and paint them across the boy’s stomach, one by one. 

[marvelousstevetony]

Can you do 35. Why did you hide this from me? Maybe sick Tony? Loving all the content 😊

Thank you for this prompt, anon! This got a little more angsty and sappy than I originally planned, but sometimes Tony just needs to be assured that he’s cared for, especially when he’s sick. Luckily, Steve doesn’t mind reminding him :)

Hope you’ll like this small snippet of sick, insecure Tony and Steve who loves his boyfriend very much <3

Tony can hear Steve coming down the stairs, can hear him knocking on the glass door to the workshop, even over the music Tony has playing as background noise while he works. It’s at a much lower volume, Tony has to admit, because although he loves Back in Black, it doesn’t cure he throbbing in his head, and when he asked JARVIS to turn down the amplification, he had silently apologized to AC/DC.

Tony decides to act as if he simply hadn’t heard Steve, ignoring the way he kept knocking and calling his name. He really had to finish the new upgrade to the armour, and even before they started dating, Tony had discovered that he was involuntarily incapable of gravitating towards Steve if he was within arms reach. He is simply distracted whenever Steve is near, and right now he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Add to it that he feels like shit, head pounding, nose running, eyes threatening to fall shut every few minutes. He and Steve haven’t been together for very long, and Tony definitely doesn’t want Steve fussing over him or looking at him like he’s this small, fragile thing that needs saving.

So Tony pretends to be unbothered and continues fidgeting with a small piece of metal, but it’s difficult, nearly impossible, to work when he’s hands are shaking like leaves and his vision is beginning to blur.

Steve stops knocking on the door, and Tony thinks it’s because he decided to give up and go back to bed. Tony doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s late, and probably even quite a bit later than Steve’s usual bedtime. When he hears the sound of the door to the workshop sliding open though and a hushed thank you, Jarvis, Tony really should’ve figured. Steve never gives up, and he must’ve used the override code he was given in case of emergencies.

Tony frowns to himself. Nothing really seems emergency-esque.

“That’s for emergencies, you know,” Tony says, not looking at Steve, eyes focusing on the armour. “There an Earth-threatening alien invasion or something?”

“No aliens,” Steve clarifies. He’s closer now, Tony can tell. His voice is nearer, and sometimes, somehow, Tony thinks he’s developed a way to feel when Steve’s close to him. As a large, comforting hand rests on his shoulder, Tony resists every urge to lean into the contact, the warmth and electricity he feels run through his body when they touch. “But my boyfriend hasn’t been answering his phone all day, hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and when I come to check on him, he ignores me,” Steve explains, and though his voice is soft, he sounds a little upset as well. “And that made me worried. So, to me, this is an emergency,” he finishes.

“I’ve been busy,” Tony says dismissively. “Suit upgrades.” He gestures vaguely at the metal scraps and various tools that are sprawled all across the worktable.

“It’s late, Tony. Come to bed,” Steve murmurs and hugs Tony from behind, laying his cheek on Tony’s shoulder. “Upgrades can wait.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “If it’s so late then why aren’t you in bed, huh?” Tony teases and smiles to himself. He’s already diverted from his work, confirming the theory that he can’t be close to Steve without losing every inch of concentration from his body.

“Can’t sleep without you,” Steve whispers and presses a kiss to Tony’s neck. He makes a surprised noise when his lips graze Tony’s skin and draws back, bringing a hand to Tony’s cheek.

“You’re burning up,” Steve announces worriedly. “Hey, look at me.”

And Tony can’t hold off the inevitable any longer. He spins his chair around, facing Steve with as much energy as he can muster. Which… isn’t a lot. His eyes are droopy and watery, and his nose looks as if it had been assaulted with scratchy tissues all day. It probably had.

Steve’s face drops immediately when he surveys Tony. His eyebrows draw together, mouth twisting in a way it only does when he’s worried.

“You’re sick,” he states blankly.

Tony shakes his head, but a cough decides to rattle through his chest at that very moment. “I’m okay,” he rasps, knowing he can’t fool Steve and instead tries to brush if off.

“Tony…” he breathes, and Tony hates how defeated, how concerned he sounds. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asks quietly, and Tony can almost hear how Steve’s brain is overthinking, contemplating every scenario that could have caused Tony to keep this secret from him; didn’t Tony trust him? Had he done anything wrong? Had he not paid enough attention to notice how sick his boyfriend is?

Tony needs to set things straight, to assure Steve that whatever senseless and foolish thoughts running through that mind of his are definitely not true. “I didn’t… I’m not,” Tony sighs, unable to complete an adequate sentence. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t want you to worry,” Tony confesses. “I’m a grown man, I can’t take care of myself.”

“Tony,” he says again. God, Tony wishes Steve would stop saying his name so gently, with so much love in his voice that it makes Tony’s eyes misty. The fever is undoubtedly making him more emotional. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.” It comes out harsher than Tony had intended it to, and he immediately wants to retract it when he sees the wounded look on Steve’s face. He sighs again. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this helpless, broken thing that needs fixing. I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things.”

The words tumble out of Tony’s mouth before he has a chance to filter them. But they’re true, Tony realizes. They’re true, and Tony’s so honest right in that moment. He wonders if it’s because Steve’s there, and Steve has this weird effect on him that makes him incapable of hiding how he feels. It’s the same thing that made Tony confess his feelings for him — he simply couldn’t keep them in any longer, and suddenly they just bursted out of him with no warning.

And now, without thinking about it, Tony admits this to himself as much as he does to Steve: he doesn’t want to be fixed, to be cared for in this way. He doesn’t deserve to be cared for. He’s the mechanic, he fixes things, he mends them, he makes good. Ever since he shut down the weapons manufacture that has been his goal. To help. And now, in this state of exhaustion and vulnerability, he can’ do that.

Tony suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey…” Steve cups Tony’s face and strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I know you think you’re… unworthy of being cared for in this way, which kills me, because you deserve every ounce of love I possess, and it will forever be my goal to make this known to you… but you are the most generous person I’ve ever met. You help everyone you can and destroy yourself over those you can’t. I just wish you’d let me help you sometimes…”

The tears are now trailing down Tony’s cheek, running over Steve’s hand. It’s definitely because he’s tired and sick and not because Steve has just dejected every insecurity Tony hadn’t said out loud but had unconsciously carried on his shoulders.

At some point between Steve entering the workshop and now, the music had been turned off and for a moment, there’s silence. Tony isn’t looking at Steve, but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, can picture how earnest and sincere and blue they are.

“Come to bed,” Steve says and Tony just nods and lets himself be enveloped in Steve’s arms.

Steve carries Tony to their bedroom, the genius clinging to the soldier like his life depended on it. Laying him down on the bed with care, Steve draws back and smooths a hand over Tony’s head.

The brunette looks up at him with a bleary expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His voice is even raspier now that he actually lets himself resign to being sick, succumbing to the symptoms.

“Shh. Don’t be,” he murmurs and smiles softly. “Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tony nods and shreds his clothes, stripping down to his boxers and a white t-shirt, then shuffles under the blankets and closes his eyes. He probably would’ve fallen asleep right then, had a tickle in his nose not started growing stronger and stronger. He pushes his nose up against his wrist, but it doesn’t stop the tickle from wanting out. After a few useless nose rubs, his nose gives a tell-tale twitch, and he presses his face into his shoulder.

“h’ngxxtt! HNgx!” Stifling the sneezes makes his sinuses twinge and sends a throb through his skull, so when the tickle returns, he lets himself give into a stronger, fuller uhhETCH’oo! that gives him more relief. For the moment, at least.

“Bless you!” Steve calls, and a few seconds later he pads into the bedroom with a tray stacked with what Tony can identify as Kleenex, tea, fever-reducers, decongestants, and a glass of water. “Here,” he says as he places the tray on the nightstand, pulling out few tissues from the box and hands them to Tony.

Tony nods and folds them over his nose, leaning into another two forceful sneezes.

“uhhCHUSh’oo! snffSNFF! huh— uh! uh’CHUSH!”

“God bless you, sweetheart,” Steve winces. “How did you get so sick, hm?”

Tony is still snuffling into the tissues and doesn’t give any reply other than ducking his head shyly and looking over the edge of the tissue with fond eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve decides and smiles sweetly. “I’ll get you feeling better.”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Talk Less, Smile More

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Tim wakes up, a silent cry scraping up his throat.

He grapples for his neck, wheezing panicked gasps as he feels for the thick blood that should be painting his skin, the gash carved through his trachea. Instead, he finds the ridge of a scar and the soft collar of the shirt he wore to bed.

Cold gravel presses against Tim’s back, digging in through the kevlar padding as he lies on the rooftop. There isn’t much to see; there so rarely is when you live in a city ranked the seventh most polluted in the United States. There are so few stars above, but each twinkles its heart out as if they’re laughing at Tim’s misfortune down below. They watch him bleed out and titter as it happens. Time moves in little eternities bookended by larger ones, pockets of time that make no sense because, by all reason, Tim should have been dead hours ago. It certainly feels like he’s been here that long. Maybe this is just how it goes when you die. Your heart slows, beat by beat, and with it slows consciousness. Your thoughts become a dripping faucet, never quite knowing when to stop until fate says “fuck it” and twists off the handle. Tim is dying. He knows that for certain. What other option is there when you can’t breathe and are bleeding out faster than anyone can run to save you? Miraculously, there is no pain as Tim slowly chokes on his own blood; only the agonizing push and pull of lungs struggling for air they can’t reach. Tim is going to die here, all by himself on this damn bloodied rooftop. Who knows how long it will be until someone finds the body, if the rats don’t chew him down to the bone first. Maybe it’ll be a janitor. Maybe a suicide jumper will stumble upon Tim’s mangled corpse and be convinced not to do the deed, if only to spare themselves the humiliation of rotting alone on icy gravel.

Tears slip over Tim’s temples and catch in his bloodied hair. Will his family wonder what happened to him, or will they simply forget to check if their brother and son is still alive? How long will it take for them to realize that Tim hasn’t checked in? Days? Weeks? Ever? I did it for you, he would tell them if he had breath. All of you. For Bruce. I just wanted to bring our family back together. He just wanted to bring Bruce back. Instead he went and got himself killed. Tim can’t see how severe the damage is, but he knows it’s too deep to fix. It’s too deep to breathe, but Tim tries anyway because lungs are one of those things that refuses to give up, even when the rest of your body knows it’s a wasted effort. Tim gasps for air he can’t have, choking as blood spurts from the wound, spilling down his throat and pooling on his collarbone. He hovers on that precipice between life and death—a fish on a beach, a sailor between plank and shark-infested waters. He’s so sure of it that for a moment, he’s convinced that he hallucinates the shape swinging overhead. It’s his personal angel of death, come to collect. Then he blinks back the fog of self-grief, the misty tears clouding his vision. Because he would recognize Dick Grayson anywhere, batsuit or not. Tim opens his mouth and strains to make a noise, to scream, anything. But some invisible force holds him down and keeps his limbs from working. All he needs is one noise, and maybe this doesn’t have to be the end. Or if it does, then at least he’ll have his big brother to hold him as he goes. Dick, he mouths. Help me. But all that comes out are whooshes of air, grating against his mutilated throat and severed vocal cords. Tim is suffocating to death and help is so close, but so far away. Dick can’t hear him. No one will ever hear him again. Please, Dick, Tim silently wheezes as the shape gets farther and farther away. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be alone anymore. The scene gets blurry as his eyelids droop without his consent, Dick’s image still prominent against the blackness, like he’s determined to tease Tim with rescue just out of reach. Tim’s chest jerks as he strains for air, his vision darkening at the edges, taking him away… Tim wakes up, a silent cry scraping up his throat. He grapples for his neck, wheezing panicked gasps as he feels for the thick blood that should be painting his skin, the gash carved through his trachea. Instead, he finds the ridge of a scar and the soft collar of the shirt he wore to bed. Tim releases a shaky breath. He’s drenched in sweat, sticky and making him shiver despite the sheets tangled around his legs. Trembling fingers touch his cheek and find salty wetness there, the remnants of tears he shed in his sleep. It’s fine, he tells himself. It was just a dream. A memory. You’re okay now. He hasn’t been okay in months. The only sound to be heard in the dark bedroom is Tim’s own harsh breathing. He runs a hand through his hair, scrubs away the tears. God. He should be past this by now, right? And yet he can’t escape the lingering image of nightmare and memory blurred together, combining to create a worse monster in his head. Before he knows what he’s doing, Tim is reaching for his cell phone and punching in the numbers, trying to pretend like there aren’t glass shards pushing their way through his lungs. Three rings. A click. “Tim?” Dick sounds exhausted, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s three in the morning.” Oh. Tim didn’t even think to check the time. Now he feels kind of bad for waking Dick up when the guy already gets so little sleep as it is. “What’s up?” It hasn’t occurred to Tim until now that he can’t exactly talk over the phone anymore. He keeps forgetting that part, keeps answering calls only to feel a rock settle in his stomach when he remembers that he can’t even say hello. He let instinct carry him tonight, drive him to do what he does every time he has a nightmare: call Dick. He hears the shifting of a mattress. “Did you have a nightmare?” Tim doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything, but there’s a sigh on the other end as Dick must take the shuddering breaths for what they are. Even voiceless, Dick knows him so well. “What can I do?” Good question. Swallowing thickly, Tim lowers his phone to the nightstand and knocks on the wood. Morse code. Talk. “Okay,” Dick says. Tim can almost hear the cogs in his brain clicking as he thinks. “Uh...want to hear about the last time Donna and I went out drinking?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and starts talking, rambles on about gay bars and something called a Long Island iced tea. Tim lies back down and puts Dick on speakerphone, letting his voice fill the room. Slowly, as Dick rambles, Tim’s heart begins to settle. His hands stop shaking, little by little. Breathing gets easier, less like he’s sucking in air through a pixie stick. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to this, to the never-ending silence. Tim was comfortable being the quiet Robin compared to his predecessors, because at least then it was a conscious choice to adopt the same silent, brooding demeanor as his mentor. Just as often as he came in with a quip and a joke, Tim thought. He listened. He got good at the silence, at hearing what others missed and catching cues between words. Tim had a reason for his own silence, just as he had the power to drop the schtick in a second and go back to being Tim Drake. But now? Now the choice to be quiet has been made for him. And that is a fate worse than he ever could have bargained for.

[parischangedher]

we’ll take on the world.

Summary: Ziva contends with her anxiety about the coronavirus...with a little help. The second of my A Very Special Quarantine fic series.

A/N: I tried to portray this topic as sensitively as I could. I’m sorry in advance for any issues/inaccuracies.

TW: Anxiety/panic attacks; very brief Somalia mention

AO3 (Kudos/comments are appreciated!)

The edges of the world grew black as she hastily wiped the sweat from her brow.

Not again, she thought.

Ziva’s heartbeat quickened; she tried to steady her breathing with little success. Looking around in a frenzy, she took in her surroundings in a desperate yet futile act to ground herself. Shoppers with half-covered faces swirled around her. She couldn’t decide whether they were all staring at her, or if she was invisible, simply watching the store’s happenings from above. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

She promised him she’d call if it happened again.

Damn it.

As if on autopilot, she abandoned her shopping cart in the aisle, which had been filled with the contents of their dinner, and bee-lined toward the single-stall bathroom she knew all too well.

She managed to close and lock the door before her legs gave out. Sliding down until her butt hit the floor, she drew her legs up and let her head fall to her knees.

Tears now streaming down her face, she reached up and tore the dreaded mask from her mouth. Crumpling it up into a ball so tight it could probably injure someone should it make contact, she threw it as far as she could across the dirty tile floor.

Her hands shook dangerously as she pulled her phone from her pocket, hating herself as she clicked on his name and held the device to her ear. Why could she no longer manage to keep her emotions in check? Why did it always come to this?

It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful to have him; of course she was. She fought for years to have him. It was the only thing she wanted throughout all of this--besides Tali, which was a given. But she was used to taking care of herself. In her life, she needed to be able to take care of herself. How could she trust herself to take care of her daughter when she could barely handle her own issues? Even still, how could he trust her to do so?

And she had been finally, finally getting better, too.

Damn it.

“Ziva? Ziva?” Tony asked, increasingly concerned at her silence. “Ziva! Are you there?”

“I--yes. Sorry.”

His voice repeatedly calling out to her, once she finally processed it, helped a little to quiet the noise inside her head.

A little.

“Did it happen again?” he asked softly.

She started to nod before realizing that he couldn’t see her. Though, she suspected he already knew the answer. He always knew.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to meet you?”

She was silent for a moment, contemplating.

“No. I just...I just need a minute.”

“Ok.”

She closed her eyes and listened closely to his breathing, forcing herself to slow down and match his. His presence was strong, silent but patient as he stayed in that place with her, until she was ready to face the rest of the world again. As only he could do.

“Ok,” she said after several minutes.

“Ok.”

The word had become their own personal code: A way to communicate without saying too much, without voicing things she wasn’t yet able to voice.

They were pros at reading between the lines, after all.

He stayed on the line with her as she rose from the floor, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She discarded her old mask into the trash can and retrieved the spare one from her bag.

She stared it down, sizing it up as if it was a foe in battle. Analyzing its features, its shape, its strengths and weaknesses. She didn’t realize how long she had been doing so until he spoke again.

“Ok?”

She breathed.

“Ok.”

Tugging the mask on, she forced herself to focus on him as she cautiously opened the door and stepped outside. The store had emptied a bit now; her cart was thankfully just as she left it. Drawing determination from her partner, she marched straight to it and then to the register.

So far, so good.

The clerk working the line she chose to stand in wore a dark, dirty black mask that covered most of his face.

Her breath hitched as the clerk looked on concernedly, hand extended waiting for her credit card.

“It’s ok, Ziva,” she heard in her ear. “You’re ok. I’m right here.”

She forced a smile to the poor man, paid and made it to the car in one piece.

Barely.

“I’m ok, Tony. See you soon.”

---

“Talk to me, Ziva,” he said quietly as they laid in bed. It was close to 3 a.m., but he knew she hadn’t slept yet. He couldn’t, either, when she was hurting this much.

He stroked her arm softly and turned to his side to face her.

“What happened today?”

A part of her wanted to pretend that she was sleeping. But, she knew that wasn’t honest or fair to him. Or to herself--to the larger part of herself that needed him to help her breathe again.

Deciding to be brave for the both of them, she switched on the light and turned to her side, mirroring his actions to face him.

“It’s those damn masks.”

She said it plainly yet in hushed tones, in the hopes that doing so would somehow make it a smaller threat.

He looked on in silent question, giving her the time he knew she needed to elaborate. He took her hand in his and gave it a soft kiss before gently squeezing in encouragement. He rubbed it slowly with his thumb and waited.

“With them on, I feel like I can’t see. I can’t evaluate potential threats. I know there likely aren’t any, but...but still. I can’t see.”

“It’s dangerous not to see.”

“It is.”

He nodded, searching her eyes for what remained unspoken. He saw the fear in them, and it almost killed him.

“What are the other reasons?”

She averted her eyes to his chest, then, and laid her hand over his beating heart.

“They remind me of another, much more...serious time I was unable to see.”

Tears started to form again--in her eyes and in his, this time.

“It reminds me of Somalia, Tony. I know it’s not the same, it was a very long time ago, and I can still technically see, and I’m safe, but still. It does. And I hate it.”

He reached forward and pulled her closer, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair.

“I’m sorry, Ziva.”

“I know.”

“Thank you. For telling me.”

“Thank you for listening. And for earlier. I wish I could say it will be the last time.”

“It’s ok,” he said, gently caressing her cheek. “I’m here. Always. And one day, it will be the last time.”

Her silence spoke volumes.

”What?”

“I hope you are right. No, I believe you are right. I do. But until that day comes...I’m not sure I should be out alone with Tali.”

“What?” Tony asked, shocked at her confession. “Ziva. There is no doubt in my mind that if Tali was with you, you would make sure that she was safe, no matter what. Hell, that’s why you started having these moments to begin with. To keep her safe.”

She was tired, and desperately wanted him to be correct. So she relented, and accepted his words as truth. For now.

“Ok,” she said softly. “Thank you, Tony.”

_____

“Ima!” Tali exclaimed as she ran to where her mother had been reading in her bedroom. “Come here!”

“What is it?” she asked, smiling as she placed her worn bookmark carefully in the pages before rising to follow.

Tali grabbed her hand and led the way to the living room, where a crudely-wrapped gift lay on the coffee table. Tony sat near it, waiting for them.

“I have something for you!”

“You do?!” she asked excitedly. She gave Tony a curious look, who just winked at her.

“Yes! Open it!”

“Alright,” she said with a smile as she sat and unwrapped the package.

“My art teacher told us to decorate some, so I made one for you! Abba said you don’t like the others because they’re ugly.”

“Oh wow, Tali. Thank you!”

Tali grinned as Ziva examined the artwork with a touched smile on her face, running her fingers carefully along the edge of the mask.

She had drawn a picture of herself holding each of her parents’ hands. She labeled each of them--Ima, Tali, and Abba--in typical child-like penmanship. There was a bright yellow sun in the corner, haphazard grass below the names and a mass of pink hearts around the family of three.

Tali beamed as she watched Ziva pick the mask up and give it a soft kiss. She then jumped onto the couch and snuggled into Ziva, throwing her arms around her neck.

“It’s not ugly anymore, right?”

Ziva shook her head dramatically, clicking her tongue as she booped Tali on the nose. “Are you kidding? It is the most beautiful mask I’ve ever seen. I will wear it everywhere.”

She pulled Tali close and kissed her head, gently rubbing her back while finally taking another glance at Tony. Her eyes, now misty, glistened as Tony smiled back, raising his eyebrows playfully.

“Mine is much better than Abba’s, too.”

Tony’s eyes widened in a slight panic.

“What do you mean, Tali?” Ziva asked suspiciously.

“He made one for you too, but mine is more pretty. His is boring.”

Ziva laughed, and Tony looked sheepish.

“Tali, that was going to be a surprise for later.”

“Sorry!” she said cheerily, giving Ziva one last hug before hopping off her and wandering off to her room. “I’m going to make some more.”

When she left, Ziva raised an eyebrow back at him.

“So? You made me a present?”

“I may have.”

“Can I see it?”

He chuckled, now taking his turn to avoid eye contact. “I don’t know; it’s not ready really. I need to check something first.”

“Tony,” she said playfully as she rose and joined him on the chair, legs across his lap. “Please?” she asked, elongating the word and softly kissing his neck. “I really do want to see it.”

He smiled, uncharacteristically shy.

“Ok.”

He grabbed the parcel from where it lay in the end table drawer and cautiously handed it over. “I’m sorry if it’s not right, I wasn’t sure about it and wanted to go back to the guy and check--”

“Tony,” she cut him off, having already ripped open the package.

“Is it right? I know it won’t fix everything completely, but I was hoping...”

She smiled and paused for a moment before answering.

“It is...absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

The cloth mask was deep blue. Most of it was plain, earning disdain from their daughter. But, in the bottom right corner, a small and familiar phrase was printed neatly in Hebrew script:

Aht Lo Leh-Vahd.

“You’re crying again,” he said softly as he thumbed away a tear and wrapped his other arm around her waist.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am. But for happy reasons this time.”

“Well, I’ll take it, then,” he replied and pulled her in, kissing her softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

---

She wore his mask like armor the next time she went out.

She kept Tali’s securely in her pocket, as her backup weapon.

It didn’t take away all of her anxiety; nothing but lots of time and therapy would possibly do that.

But, during a global pandemic, around covered faces and rampant fears of illness, she felt something unfamiliar.

She felt safe.