#( ideate ). the annihilation

[serialunaliver]

posts like this are bad for psychotic delusions. mostly the comments they attract.

[irulancorrino]

my mom saying “man, I hope he gets a passing grade, if he just gets a passing grade I’ll be happy” about my younger brother vs her going absolutely ballistic back when I got a passing grade in uni

[1nm2]

black pumas - colors

[moondirti]

animalic (4)

← chapter three // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k summary: things don't go according to plan warnings: enemies to lovers, light bondage, sexual tension, arousal, choking, canon-typical violence, dub-con elements, paralysis, suicidal ideation, self-hatred, angst, miguel o'hara is not nice, no use of y/n notes: y'all. i promise we are getting somewhere. i promise. lmk what you think tho cuz i thrive off comments

“Lyla?”

While you’re – regrettably – unable to make good on your promise to phase through the floor, you catch yourself hoping it splits to swallow you whole instead. It certainly would be a better alternative to the purgatory you currently face. 

“Lyla? Come in, Lyla.” 

Feeble rays of light filter in through the weathered windows, their reach slowly growing as night surrenders to the wakings of dawn. Variegated motes bob lazily, suspended upon the streams of sun, quivering back and forth between a range of countless colours. Paralysed and splayed atop the frigid, hard ground of the empty store-lot, you try counting them all for lack of anything else to do. Pink, green, orange, gold. You wonder what force chooses the order, whether it’s sequenced to fit some plan of high design. 

“¡Ay, coño–”

Slowly, you let yourself scrutinise other things, too. The scent of neglect that permeates the stale air, particularly pungent around the entryway. You trace the yellow-brown mass that runs along the door’s hinge edge, and attribute the vaguely muddy smell to rot. Then, it’s the glint of shattered glass, winking at you from lost corner’s of the room. They look narrow, far too inconvenient to clean out with a standard broom. You revel in the understanding that whoever had been in charge of scouring the wreckage appears to share your habit of quick quitting.

It’s only when your vision begins to water do you divert your attention to the situation at hand. Last you needed to blink, it took half a minute for the command to register, and even longer for the motor neurons in your eyelids to act. By the time you eventually got them closed, you’d already started contemplating whether his venom would be the death of you. 

(Lame end to a lame life.)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out, though. You know that, if he wanted to, he could’ve kept imbuing you with the substance until your body was no longer able to perform the basic mechanisms necessary to sustain life. He could have kept his fangs lodged deep into your neck – encroached upon your stuttering veins, bathing in the ichor that flowed – until he felt you go limp, concentrated with his poison. It would have been a denouement to his problems – right there, easy, sandwiched between him and the wall – but it wasn’t. Because he didn’t. 

Just like he didn’t let you plummet to your death that day at the quarry, or strangle you while you were unconscious back at HQ. 

So, no. It doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge that Miguel O’Hara doesn’t want you dead. As he fiddles with his malfunctioning watch, you endeavour to come up with a divisive list as to why that is. 

One: you’ve charmed him. The notion is almost funny enough to elicit a snort, given that you weren’t cast in an immovable anathema.

Two: he’s a good guy. Somehow, this option seems less viable to you than the first. 

You find your third prospect slinging from the threads of a fraying memory. 

You’d been a student, before – attending college at a reputable institute close to home. It’s easy to forget what it was like most nights: cramped in that two hundred square foot dorm, borderline losing it as you tried to validate your claims on matter-antimatter rockets and their potential contribution to interstellar travel. There were concerns of total annihilation, and sourcing, and an array of other limitations – that which you’d dedicated your academic career to drawing up proposals for. It’s laughable now; the stress and theories blurring together to form a vague picture of your long-lost ambition. 

You have a hard time conjuring what exact future you were so hopeful for, but the lamp by your roommate’s bed remains clear in your mind’s eye. Warm-white, comforting. For as long as you were awake, tapping away at a never-ending thesis, she’d work through the latest volume of her beloved murder mystery anthology. 

It was the night before your start at an internship with Alchemax that the series came to a close. Her aggravated screams still ring fresh behind the clouded pane of time. You had thrown your pillow at her in a belligerent plea.

(You wanna elaborate?

The suspect behind every case was shot!

So? Isn’t that a good thing?

No, dumbass. It means the detectives fucking lost! They’ll never be able to prove how right they were.)

Admittedly, you know very little about Miguel, but you have an idea of what matters most to him. It’s entirely possible, then, that he refuses to kill you for what your death would do to negate his efforts thus far. 

“Oye,” 

Your mental traipse is reeled in when the devil himself snaps at you. Steadily, your pupils roll up to look at him. 

“I need your day pass.” 

You continue to stare. His jaw clenches. 

“Because of your little headbutt outside, my watch is busted. My only hope of fixing it is by using the parts of your day pass.” 

Is he asking? Does he expect you to respond? 

You can’t fool yourself into believing he’s that ignorant. 

But Miguel stays on standby, scanning your lax form. He takes in the webs that wrap around your waist, branching out to your thighs and shoulders, restraining your arms behind your back. When his eyes meet yours again, the reluctant question you see glaze over them pushes the recognition to the forefront of your mind. 

He is asking. 

Or, notifying – making sure you’re aware of what he’s about to do. 

God, you wish you could speak. You’ve never come up with so much to say without promptly blurting it out before. Irritation and amusement rip at one another within you, locked in a brutal dogfight fated to have no real winner. How hypocritical of him to pick and choose when your treatment takes priority over his mission; you’re littered in marks that all point to his prior negligence of such subtle humanity. Four stabs above your wrist, a pounding migraine at your temple. If it weren’t for your paralysed stomach, you’re certain you would have regurgitated your innards as consequence to the concussion he’s given you.  

But, oh. 

How funny would it be if you agreed. To let him discover the harrowing truth for himself. 

Deliberately, you muster an affirming blink.

Miguel's weariness escapes him in a heavy sigh, the weight of it etched upon his expression. Thick brows furrow, evidence to his age creasing between them, before he sinks down with a purposeful grace and carefully flips you over. Despite the resentment that festers in your gut, you can’t help but hiss a mental sigh of relief at the service it does to your elbows, which had begun throbbing in response to the pressure that the hardwood floor exerted.

From that point onward, it becomes a guessing game of sorts; you can’t see him, nor are you able to tilt your head and confirm your assumptions as to what he’s doing. Deprived of your most reliable sense, the others strain to fill the gaps in your knowledge, drawing upon every available cue; the sound of his miniscule grunts, the warmth of his skin – that which penetrates through his gloves. You’re alarmed into attempted action when the characteristic rip of his claws equipping pierces the strained air – your body powerless in addressing the adrenaline it secretes – until the spider-man touches his forefinger to your palm.

“Relax.” He all but commands. “I’m just cutting the webs off.” 

You’ve no reason to trust him, of course, but you can’t exactly pitch a complaint right now. 

(Perhaps it’s in your best interests to ignore how easy he’d been able to read you.)

A few moments of jostling ensue, before he withdraws with a curse. Your arms remain ensnared in the tight restraints, the ache that smarts your skin all too real for the continued predicament to be illusory. An assortment of jokes occur to you. 

Can’t get it up? 

In your peripheral, you catch him weighing his options. The pause is laden with a sticky indecision – this change in placement, you realise, exacerbates the already difficult task of breathing for you. 

While you fixate on that fact, he seems to come to a conclusion. With one swift manoeuvre, he positions himself astride your thighs, straddling the deadened extremities, and reaches forward to push your wrists apart. You’re quick to catch on to his intention, how the arrangement gives him better leverage, yet–

His groyne presses into the swell of your ass, worsening with every bid to sever the webbing. It’s impossible not to notice, especially not when the seam of your jeans start to shift in tandem, smoothing over your clothed core.  It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last roused like this. Enough for it to feel brand new, a wrapped curse in a prim little bow, eager for all that you shouldn’t be. 

And… Christ– 

And then he unfastens the lines around your arms, and runs his hands up your skin. It’s not gentle, nor is it brutish, but you can feel his desperation escalating. His touches grow progressively antagonistic, kneading your palms up to your shoulders, patting down to the shallow pockets of your pants. You’re searched like you hold the key to his success – you suppose that, in some oddly comical way, you do. And it should be upsetting, blasphemous. 

But you’re no sacred thing. You’d laid down that possibility a long time ago. 

No. You’re foul, questionable at your best, and erupt into goosebumps over the ruthless grip of a man who hates your very soul. You’re a deeply detestable spirit, truly, but a detestable spirit who has just managed to get one up on Miguel O’Hara. 

He throws you back around, wrapping his hands around your throat. His snarl is primal, maturated in acrid anger. 

“Where is it?” 

You’re sure that, in some alternate reality, your face is stretched in a shit-eating grin. 

“Where’s the fucking day pass?” 

Your satisfaction is short-lived. 

You’ve never been one to notably detest humiliation. It’s productive – healthy, even – in smaller doses; a fitting consequence for those who you deem deserve it. Yet, as you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over Miguel’s shoulder, forced into a meandering parade through the streets of New York, you breach into uncharted territory – a threshold where your tolerance encounters its breaking point. 

He makes no effort to soften his strides, unmoved by the idea of providing even a shred of respite for your susceptible self. If anything, it feels as though he deliberately seeks out the harshest terrain, silently chastising your earlier defiance in the most passive aggressive manner known to man. He’d reinforced your constraints before marching out on this fruitless venture, and now you bobble uselessly, backside pointed upward, anchored solely by the meaty arm around your knees. 

At least you’ve regained control of your mouth. 

“D’stroyed it. Gone. Dearly d’parted–” 

“If you’re going to run that little mouth, then make it helpful.” 

“M’bein’ helpfoo,” you start, straining your weakened vocal cords in an effort to mock him. The grip of paralysis may have slackened its hold, but neurotransmission remains at an all time, sluggish low. In all actuality, it astounds you that he can even begin to decipher your words from the tangled murmurs they become. 

“You had it on at the convenience, and a little bit afterward. You can’t expect me to believe that you dealt with it while running for your life.”

Running for your life. Sure. 

Displeasure sparks at the confidence he imbues in his assumption.

“Escoos m– hnngh–” A sudden jump of stress robs you of breath, your stomach plummeting alongside the rapidly distancing ground. As Miguel propels himself above the city skyline, effortlessly evading the crowded streets via a web he’d grappled to an adjacent building, you’re confronted with a stark reality – that this is the very first time you have ever, and likely will ever, experience what it’s like to swing. 

It’s exhilarating and nauseating all at once, gravity relinquishing its command as you transcend the confines of the physical, soaring through some reality where law loses significance. If it had been you, your arms and skill and jurisdiction, you’d never come down. But maybe that’s why it isn’t; maybe your life was meant to lead up to this, and only ever this. 

(Not antimatter technologies or heroic conquest. Yeah, this feels more fitting.) 

Your skin prickles. You phase through the sturdy frame that’s held you up so far, and plummet from its grasp.

Slicing through the boundless sky, you’re accompanied by a profound tranquillity. It isn’t absolute – fear still gnaws at your core, its presence undeniable. But, amidst the churning horror, your instincts are fainter than they ought to be. They whisper in a subdued tone, overshadowed by conflicting conceptions. One, being the inference you’d drawn earlier about how – whether you like it or not – Miguel would not let you die. 

Another, quieter suspicion hints toward the full reality of your… relief.

Though, of course, you’re right about the former. Tree-trunk biceps wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he slingshots off to a nearby rooftop. You flop into him, a ragdoll to the overwhelming force of his agitation, and squeeze your eyes shut at the hints of patchouli permeating from under his mask. 

You don’t have to face the gospel just yet.

“¿Qué mierda? Eh?” He shouts, propping you up against a ledge. “What the fuck was that?” 

You don’t have an answer for him. Your heart lurches, catching up to the urgency at hand, striking on the hollow bars of your ribcage to some reckless tune. It’s only amplified by the torrent of blood distending through your system, throbbing at your temple, rushing by your ears. 

What the fuck, indeed. 

He damns you, it seems, with a fervour that breaches the heavens, as if willing God Himself to commit his plea to eternal memory. Or not; truthfully, you can’t tell. With the roar of your own snowballing thrill, it becomes impossible to discern the sequence of interrogations that explode from him. The world around you fades to the background, your preoccupancy consumed by the disquietude it leaves in its wake. 

Your sense is only validated a minute later when, two blocks away, an ear-piercing shriek ruptures your dissociation. 

Miguel stiffens, slowly turning to face its source.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘕𝘖-𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘐𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘓𝘠-𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘈𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘌:

Earth-15 – analysed, marked as closed. 

Spider-totem – The Spider: soon after being bit by his radioactive spider, convicted felon Peter Parker merged with Earth-15’s variation of the carnage Symbiote.

Notes – do not engage, at any cost. 

chapter five →

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[ellieluvr420]

𝐆𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

synopsis: A guardian angel getting wrapped up with the human she was supposed to be protecting, a double-edged sword bound to hurt. The memory of you, your calming presence in a time where everything was hanging in the balance haunted her. All she craved was to see you again. She was addicted, obsessed. She needed you in every way but you only appeared in her mind, you were never part of reality. You were her saviour, the blood running through her veins, all she wanted was you, that was all she would ever want.

TW: 13.6k words (be warned), SUICIDAL IDEATIONS AND ATTEMPTS, SPEWING OF GUTS (vomiting), DEPRESSIVE EPISODES

I highly recommend listening to this when it comes up in the fic btw!

divider creds

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

It was quiet, too quiet, like any sound that would’ve filled the almost-silence had been annihilated, there was nothing but white for miles in any direction, so pure and untouched it almost covered the sinister behind it. Her eyes fluttered open and the hazy figure above her came into view, the only interruption to the vast, white nothingness.  

“W-where am I?” She croaked to the smiling, almost-glowing figure above her. Her eyes blinking open only made you glow more, like with each breath she took dragging her closer to consciousness, it brightened the golden energy radiating off of you.  

“Shhh it’s okay, you’re going to be fine. Don’t panic, everything will be okay. You need to be more careful Abby.” Your voice was melodic, a pitch-perfect harmony to her ears that echoed around her, bouncing off of nothing and hitting her ears over and over again. She cracked her eyes open just enough to make out your face, your shining, radiant face littered with golden speckles that almost resembled freckles. There were golden streaks throughout your hair that sparkled in a light she couldn’t pinpoint the location of. Your skin was smooth, like feathers running over her skin as you cupped her cheeks. It was as if the pain that ached and ebbed throughout her entire body was being sucked away from her through your gentle touch, your hands gently glowing and warming on her cheeks. Your face was streaked with tears, golden, shiny, iridescent tears flowing down your cheeks, juxtaposing the beaming smile of your pearly teeth, peeking out from the plump softness of your lips. You were so inviting, so comforting, she didn’t even think to panic, she just wanted to stay here with you. 

“Who are you?” 

“That’s not important, you’re almost there.” Your words were cryptic, enchanting, she hung onto every word, paralysed by the awe of your beauty. “Don’t waste this gift, Abby.” The last thing she heard you say before you leant down and pressed your lips to hers, exactly as soft as she imagined. You breathed life into her, breathed pure energy into her tired muscles, she felt her organs buzzing to life again, felt her body warm and as her eyes flashed open she was greeted by wings sprouting from your back, wings almost the size of you delicately flittering in the air before coming down and cocooning you both in their safety. The soft, white feathers tickling at her skin, her nerve cells registering every little flick.  

Her eyes fluttered closed again, the sound of you humming slowly causing her to drift off into sleep, pictures of you swarming through her mind, your voice still softly ringing in her ears until everything went black and all went quiet once again. 

“She’s waking up! She’s waking up, get the doctor!” A shrill voice compared to yours, it stung her ears and boiled her blood. There were bright lights seeping in through her slowly opening eyes but not like the warm glow that you exuded, harsh, fluorescents banging at her skull. She groaned as the pain that you had sucked away from her came rushing back but worse than she had felt it before. 

“Hello Miss Anderson, you gave us quite a scare, there’s going to be a bright light just relax.” Latex covered fingers dragging her tired eyes open and shining streams of light into her eyes, she gasped and groaned and then the fingers disappeared, replaced by a cool circle on her chest. She felt like she had been abducted by aliens with the way she was being poked and prodded but all she could think about was the image of you, kneeled over her, your warm hands cupping her cheeks, the feathered appendages shrouding her and enclosing you both in. The gold littered all over your appearance. She thought it was a dream, but it felt too real, her cheeks were still warm from your touch when she pressed a hand to them, a bruised hand. The sight of her hand and arm littered with scrapes and cuts, an IV in one, purple and black splotches replacing the ivory tone of her skin. She had been riding her motorbike one second and the next she was with you, all she wanted was to be with you again, the quiet calmness of your aura. But now she was here, in a hospital, head pounding and body throbbing with not a memory of how she had ended up here. 

“What happened?” She croaked, her voice hoarse and raspy. 

“You were in a crash, been in a coma for a couple of days. You really scared us, for a minute we thought we had lost you.” 

“My- my bike.” She whispered to herself, a Harley Davidson gifted to her by her late father. 

“Just focus on getting better love.” The nurse soothed but her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, all of their voices were because they weren’t yours. Had you been with her after the crash? Maybe her memory of you was just a hallucination created by her traumatised head, maybe you had been a person that came to her when she crashed. But you had kissed her, she felt the life being breathed back into her, the wings, your hands, you couldn’t be human, you were too perfect to be human. “Don’t try to move okay, just relax.” The shrill voice sounded again, she hadn’t planned too, she just laid there, shut her eyes and tried to take herself back to you. 

She slept a lot for the first week, only waking slightly when the routine checks were done on her, the morphine kept her lulled and comfortable, but it wasn’t the comfort she felt with you, so it wasn’t right. She stayed unconscious for almost all hours of the day, sometimes she was lucky enough to be graced with dreams of you, but they were never as good as the first time, never as real as the first time. The white of the landscape was never as white, the warmth of your hands was never as warm and the kiss of your lips against hers was never as soul-stirring. Sometimes she’d dream of her dad gifting her the Harley, dreamt of his heartbroken face at the news of it being destroyed. She’d always wake with a sob, a choked cry that constricted her chest and made it hard to breathe over the lump in her throat. She had cried for hours one night, restless from being laid up in bed and the slowly decreasing levels of morphine in her system making it harder for her to sleep, so she just cried softly, letting the tears roll from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. She felt hopeless, completely lost until a soft hand grazed her cheek, a hand radiating so much warmth, a slight glow catching in the corner of her hazy vision. Her head whipped to the side to see you sat on the edge of her bed, cupping her cheek with one hand, the other holding onto her hand that was closest to you, rubbing circles into it with your thumb. She stared, wide-eyed and dazed as you smiled, the golden streaks of your hair and the speckles littering your nose and cheeks sparkled under the harsh beam of the hospital room lighting. 

“It’s- It’s you.” 

“Shh, I don’t have much time, I’m not supposed to be here.” 

“I don’t unders-” 

“Abby, I need you to fight. I know you can, you need to fight to get better or you won’t. I know it seems hopeless, I can hear your thoughts, but it will get better. You’ll get better but you can’t give up. Please don’t give up.” Your voice was soft but firm and still it rang out like a symphony, the more you held her, the less despair ran through her veins. She watched as your hands glowed and tingled against hers, you were doing it again, taking away all her pain and anguish. Tears slipped from her eyes, and you came to ease them away. “Don’t cry now, you’ll be okay, promise me you’ll fight.” She couldn’t deny you, she couldn’t even think to deny you, the only thought bouncing around her sore head was that she’d do it for you, because you had asked her to. You smiled, it was radiant and gleamed like a diamond under sunlight as you leant down and kissed her cheek, leaving a burning spot of heat in your lips’ trail. “I knew you’d understand.” Her thoughts raced around her head at that, you could hear what she was thinking, her cheeks reddened, and she hid from your gaze knowing you knew what she thought of you. “I think you’re perfect too.” You whispered in her ear, your breath tickling her skin and causing goose bumps to raise all over her. With a final firm squeeze of her hand you were gone, she blinked, and she was all alone again, your warmth replaced by a cold that sent a shiver down her spine. You were gone as quickly as you came just like before and it only left her needing more, she craved you, craved your sweet scent, your loving gaze, your consolatory gaze. You were an angel, figuratively and physically, the fluttering wings on your back that were so big she imagined they’d drag on the floor when you walked were a testament to that. 

She felt lighter after your visit, even in your absence, she felt less weighed down by the resurge of grief for her father running through her veins, less panicked about the future and what’s to come, resilience replacing the despair. 

She learned she was hit by a drunk driver, that he got off almost completely unscathed while she was trapped in a hospital bed barely able to sit up on her own. She had extensive internal bleeding, a fracture to her left wrist, three broken ribs and a hefty concussion, he had scrapes and bruises, it boiled her blood until a quiet voice in the back of her mind told her he’d get his comeuppance when he was sentenced in court. It quieted the screaming rage flowing through her, dulled it down to a simmer and silently she thanked you, somehow, she just knew it was you, the voice of reason, of support. The doctors had said she was lucky, that a crash of that magnitude, on a motorbike no less, could’ve killed her, but the more they said she was lucky, the less lucky she felt. She was restless and aching to feel the breeze brush her hair over her skin and tickle her nose, she missed sunlight, natural, warm sunlight, especially now it reminded her of you. When she looked in the mirror for the first time since the accident she was horrified, her skin was pale, green and brown remnants of bruises making her feel like she was mouldy. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in and the darkness under her eyes spread down to the apples of her cheeks, craters that she felt like she could fall into. Her hair was matted and frizzy, the grease in it making her want to chop it all off, she looked frail and weak and the complete opposite of how she typically looked. She could already feel her muscles decaying away, it was obvious to her when she looked in the mirror. Tears sprouted in her eyes, a choked cry caught in her throat as she pressed a shaky hand to her mouth but as she stared and grew to despise herself more, she remembered your words. I think you’re perfect too. You thought she was perfect, even like this, a fraction of what she used to be, you thought she was perfect. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

When Abby was released from the hospital two weeks later, Manny coming to pick her up, she felt like she had been freed, she stood on the pavement just soaking in the sunlight, letting the breeze force goosebumps onto her skin, she would’ve walked home if it wasn’t for her injuries. Even in the car, she had her head out of the fully opened window like a dog, garnering strange looks that didn’t faze her in the slightest. She watched as people went about their daily lives, milling about, rushing to their destinations, she wondered if any of them realised how quickly life can be taken away, how in the blink of an eye what was once a life, a person, a soul could be shredded into nothing, a memory that would soon be forgotten in history. 

“You okay Abs?” Manny sounded concerned; she had never been this quiet before in the time he had known her. 

“I’m okay, just happy to be out of that prison.” He snorted at her words. 

“You would not survive a day in a real prison.” 

“I’d make prison my bitch.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“Whatever.” She sniped at his sarcastic remark with a small grin. She looked back out the window and her heart hammered in her chest as she thought she saw you standing on the pavement, smiling at her, a quick flash of pure light, she spun in her seat trying to see you again as they whizzed past and groaned at the sudden, foreign movement. 

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt yourself.” 

“Jeez sorry dad.” He huffed. “Just thought I saw someone.” She muttered almost to herself, Manny blissfully ignorant as he hummed along to the tune playing through the car's speakers, she leaned forward slowly and turned up the music, ‘Heaven’ by Depeche Mode spilling out into the car. She never really listened to the words of a song, mainly liking them for the tune or their beat but as she listened to the lyrics they struck her, resonated with her, settled in her soul and entwined themselves with every part of you, making a home and laying in her to never be forgotten. 

Take comfort in my skin 

Endlessly 

Surrender to my will 

Forever and ever 

She didn’t hear the male voices singing the song, she heard yours, as if you were serenading her. She could picture you, hovering over her, cupping her cheeks and singing to her, the only people in the world were you and her, you had her entranced, trapped in her mind as she surrendered herself to you and all your virtue. 

I dissolve in trust 

I will sing with joy 

I will end up dust 

I’m in heaven 

Now she was singing back to you, a conversation in melodies, devoting herself to you, declaring her undying love and trust to you. The golden specks that dusted your face glistened and seemed to glow brighter, as did the streaks in your hair as your wings enclosed you both, you leaned in, hanging onto her every word, glowing brighter with each one. 

I stand in golden rays 

Radiantly 

I burn a fire of love 

Over and over 

You joined in, a siren song, hypnotising her, the words meant something different to each of you. Abby bathed in your light, igniting her love for you. You, the light, the sun, smiling as you sang about yourself though your face changed when you began the third line, golden tears shimmering over your cheeks. She didn’t understand why you were sad, but she couldn’t bare it, even the way you cried was beautiful, but it still struck her that you were sad. Why did her love make you sad? Was it her love you were singing about?  

Reflecting endless light 

Relentlessly

I have embraced the flame

Forever and ever 

You were quiet now, covering the sadness in your expression with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. She was almost begging you to just sing with her, she just wanted to hear your voice. But you didn’t, you just gazed at her, she needed you to beam that addictive smile as she chanted how she would be yours forever, but it never came, you only cried more, flaxen tears falling onto her face, the shimmering catching in her eyeline. You pursed your lips, and let the tears fall, gently rubbing them into Abby’s cheeks with your thumbs, letting your tears rejuvenate her pale skin and give it a faint shimmer. 

I will scream the word 

Jump into the void 

I will guide the world 

Up to heaven 

Abby’s words had you shaking your head subtly, but enough that her eyebrows furrowed, confusion and fear written all over her face until your hands started to glow. You never let her feel a despondent emotion, always baring the weight of them so she would feel lighter. Her eyes fluttered shut, every muscle in her body relaxed, even when she felt the silky press of your lips against hers, there was no shock, just pure light rushing through her, her hand coming to cup your cheek and swipe at the tears dampening it. Her bottom lip nestled between yours as she gently sucked, colliding over and over again, her hand that was on your cheek coming to gentle brush over the feathers that grew from your back, they twitched under her hand, each one raising to lean into her delicate touch, a small gasp being swallowed by Abby’s lips before you pull away and retract your wings from her touch. You looked culpable as you avoided her starstruck gaze, swallowing a weep despite the tears still flowing down your cheeks. 

“What’s wrong-” She tried to ask you, but you weren’t there anymore, she was back in the car driving through Seattle with Manny on her way home. She was clutching at the feeling, the memory but it was slipping through her fingers with every second, confined to only her mind once again as she failed to will herself back to you. 

“Hey, Abby, where’d you go?” Manny’s voice sounds like a screech in her ears and she winced. 

“Huh?” 

“I’ve been tryna get your attention and you were just zoned the fuck out. You sure you didn’t fuck up your head?” 

“Oh, fuck you.” She forced a laugh, but it felt so foreign as she was haunted by the sorrow on your face. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

It had been three months since Abby’s accident and despite her body slowly recovering, her mental health was dwindling. She hadn’t seen you since the car ride home from the hospital and it was killing her. She dreamt of you every night, but the dreams were never the same as her conscious encounters with you, the dreams were hazy and blurred, your face never fully coming into focus, the glow emanating from you never quite right.  

Abby was walking through the streets of Seattle, a slight drizzle pattering down onto her, she found herself going on walks more and more often, she was on edge not being able to train or work, every day she bared to look in the mirror she swore she was seeing her muscles slowly dissipate, she was shrinking before her very eyes and it scared her, all her hard work over the years being washed away in a matter of months, so she’d walk for as long as she could before her body ached and her lungs burned. Her earphones were blasting ‘Heaven’ on repeat at full volume as they had been ever since the first time she heard it, she prayed it would bring you back to her, but it never did. You had abandoned her and she was spiralling. She walked, her face angled towards the ground, until she noticed the pavement had been closed off ahead of her. She huffed and turned towards the road and as she went to step out, she felt a hand on her arm yanking her back. The second she looked up a large lorry rushed past her, fast enough she would have been flattened in an instant had she taken that step, her heart jumped and when she turned to face the person that had saved her from impending doom, she was greeted by your unimpressed face. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to look both ways before you cross the road?” Her music was still thumping in her ears but she heard you perfectly, your voice cutting through all the background noise. She was awestruck as she stared back at you, she thought you’d never appear before her again, but you were standing right beside her, blurring the bustling city that raged on around you both. “You’re quite a handful you know.” Her cheeks heated under your pointed gaze as she willed her eyes away from you and to the ground. 

“Sorry.” She was ashamed, she had almost forsaken the gift you had given her, the one you specifically said not to waste and she almost squandered it because she was too busy being frustrated at road works and frustrated at you for wrapping her round your pinkie and then disappearing. 

“You’re lucky I like you.” She spared a glance at your face only to see the pearly white smile she had missed, that she had craved to see. “Your song was beautiful. You have a lovely voice.” She hadn’t noticed you sweeping closer to her until your breath hit her ear as you whispered into it before pulling away again to giggle at her stunned expression. 

“That was real?” She breathed out, it felt real, so real, when she had got home that day she noticed a faint shimmer to her skin but she needed to hear it from you regardless. 

“Well as real as it can be. I was there if that’s what you mean.” 

“Are you there in my dreams?” 

“Do you think I am?” Your question gave her the answer she already knew despite praying she was wrong. 

“I don’t understand. Why are my dreams different?” 

“I don’t control your dreams, they’re a product of your mind. There’s no need for me to be in your dreams so I’m not.” That look flashed over your face again, the same look she had seen when you pulled away from kissing her, guilt. She looked around to see if anyone was marvelling at you but no one was, no one batted an eye, so you weren’t really here, you weren’t in reality. If you were the wings that brushed against the pavement would have anyone stopping in their tracks, so only she could see you, part of her revelled in that fact, that you were hers and only hers, but it only reminded her more that you weren’t real, weren’t human.  

“Why did you show up in the car?” 

“I shouldn’t have.” You winced at the memory, the heartache that reverberated through you, it was an unfamiliar feeling, one that swallowed you, drowned you in its embrace. You barely glowed that week, the gold in your hair and splatter across your face was dull and lifeless. Your hands were colder than you ever remembered them being and your wings lost more feathers than you could count, you deteriorated as Abby grew stronger but to Abby you were as radiant as you had ever been. “I can’t stay, I’ve already been here too long. Stop wasting my gift.” 

“Wait, please-” Abby pleaded for you to stay, to make sense of all this for her but you couldn’t, you needed to lay down, you were tired and hearing her thoughts was only worsening your condition. With a blink of her eyes, you were gone and the music in her earphones was suddenly full volume again, her surroundings coming into focus, the constant stream of cars, horns echoing in the distance, the tall buildings that felt like they were caging her in, making her feel claustrophobic and short for breath, people pushing past her and mumbling about the weather, the rain had turned from a. drizzle to a downpour and she hadn’t noticed, hadn’t noticed her clothes clinging to her body as they became heavier with each droplet absorbing into them. She balled up her fists and shoved them into her pockets while storming home. She was tired, she just wanted to sleep, to see you again, even if it wasn’t really you. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

Abby was lying on the ground, the concrete scratching her back, every inch of her throbbing, there were sirens and so many overlapping voices she could barely make out what was going on. She was utterly disoriented, and panic rose within her as she realised the familiarity of the scene, she looked to her side and saw her bike, completely savaged laying on the road in pieces, then a light caught the corner of her eye and she turned to face it with a smile. Your face greeting her, smiling shyly though there was something manic in your nature, the glow around you pulsing. 

“You’re here.” She whispered as a singular tear slipped from her right eye.  

“I’m here.” Your hands cupped her cheeks like they often did and you brushed your nose against hers. You had guarded so many humans in the eternity of your being but there was no one like her, nothing like her, she made you take risks that you knew could lead to your condemnation, just so you could see her, feel her, the light inside you entwining with her soul.  

“But I’m dreaming.” 

“I know but I missed you.” 

“You missed me?” 

“I always do.” 

“Why?” 

“You’re special.” Your voice rang out, a melody perfectly tuned for her ears. Your words sweeter than honey dripping off your lips, it made her crave your lips against hers again, the sweetness, the silky pillows that consumed her every thought. You beamed, her thoughts clear as day in your mind, each one more satisfying to the next, she was a risk, a threat to your existence but she was entirely too good to give up. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to hers, absolving her of the pain she felt the first time, light rushing through her until she opened her eyes and saw the same glow that emanated from you, encompassing her body. You pulled away to observe what she had seen, your eyes widening, the sparkly white of your sclera shimmering in the city lights. You had no words, you had made her glow like you did and it stunned you. “I- I have to go soon.” You squeaked as the glow around her dulled slightly. 

“Why?” 

“You’re going to wake up soon, it’s not safe.” 

“W-what do you mean?” 

“They’ll know I’m here if you wake up.” 

“Who’s they?” 

“Never mind that, stay inside tomorrow, there’s going to be a storm.” 

“H-” You hushed her before you could speak by pressing your lips to hers again, you were insatiable, never able to get enough of her, but never able to take too much, it was torture, a strange feeling blooming inside you that you had never experienced, you could never describe it, it just was, it festered inside you growing worse with every encounter you had with her, desperate for more, desperate for your undoing. Abby melted into you, hands coming around your waist to brush against the feathered appendages that were twitching and fluttering. Her gentle strokes over them only coaxing them closer to her touch, that same breathy whimper left your lips, floating into hers at her touch before you craned your neck inwards, your forehead pressing against her lips that puckered and painted the skin with flaxen prints in the shape of her lips, your skin her canvas and her lips the brush, her fingers came to graze against the skin between the wings, tracing the indent between them eliciting a squeak before you bolted upright, ripping away from her touch. You swiftly rushed a hand over her eyes, and she was trapped into slumber, dragged away from you until her eyes fluttered open and her bedroom came into focus once again. She sat up, noticing the faintest luminescence of her skin and the burning heat pooling in her cheeks. She pressed tentative fingers to her lips and smiled softly, you smiled too as you watched, listening to her thoughts.  

I miss you. Please come back. 

Her last sentence saddened you, she had no idea the risk you had taken to see her when she sang to you, you had to be more careful, you had to show restrain though it pained you. You had never felt pain before her, but even the pain you felt for her, it was still overshadowed by the ecstasy that cascaded through you in her presence. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

Abby sat on her sofa reading ‘Oranges are not the only fruit’ by Jeanette Winterson, she had started reading it before her accident but hadn’t the energy or focus to pick it up since, her dream that you had visited her in was the sole catalyst for her return to it, suddenly feeling compelled to lose herself in the story. She only thought of you while reading, the sorrow in your features that day, your cryptic messages speaking of emotions long forbidden, how you kissed her like every kiss would be the last. Faint patters sounded against her window, starting softly, until they were repeatedly hammering against the glass, begging for entry, a storm, as you had said, a storm that made it hard to see in front of you from the torrential downpour and flurrying mist whipping up from the ground, the clouds closing in on the city, creeping further and further down as they blackened. It was five o’clock, it was always around this time when Abby would get restless, would spiral into a downfall of grief and panic, the uncertainty of her future, her lack of control on her life dawning on her, this was always when she’d leave the house in a hurry, desperate to escape the confines of her home that suffocated her, but she hadn’t today because of your warning, your captivating voice sounding in her head on repeat. It only made her crave you more, desperate to feel your touch, gaze upon your angelic face, taste the sweetness of your lips, she was tormented by her memories of you and her lack of control over when you came, though something clicked into place, you came to her the first time to breathe life back into her after her accident, you saved her from the lorry, you guarded her from danger, protected her and nursed her back to health, you were her saviour, she needed to be saved to see you. 

No Abby. 

Your voice, in her head, pleading softly, wrestling with the bellowing voices telling her to walk outside into the storm. She ignored you, she was determined, she slammed the book down and walked to her front door, slipping on her trainers but forgoing a coat, her hand reached for the doorknob as yours appeared, clamping over hers and dragging it away, interlacing your fingers with hers and tempting her back to the warm, safety of her living room. No matter how many times she drank in your features, the shock of your allure always silenced her, even the crease between your eyebrows as you frowned at her was entrancing, every golden speckle scintillating in its own rhythm, each feather quivering independently, your features had a mind of their own, each one alive as the next. Your hair swayed as if there was a gentle breeze as you led her back to her sofa. 

“Why would you do that Abby?” 

“I had to see you.” I needed you. Her thoughts weren’t as jumbled as they often were, the background chatter stifled to a gentle hum, you wished it wasn’t this way, that they were screaming and crashing over one another like waves in a turbulent tide but when you needed to not hear her sweet, painful thoughts, they were clear as day, titillating and tempting in the worst way. 

“You can’t do that, you can’t just conjure me up.” 

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” 

“You’re not being fair, I- We can’t do this, it’s forbidden, you can’t put yourself in danger to bring me to you, they’ll find out eventually, you need to stop Abby.” 

I don’t understand. 

“I know you don’t but you’re playing with forces that you cannot begin to perceive. Please just- you need to stop.” A glimmering tear fell from your left eye as both of your hands wrapped around the one you had been holding and delicately squeezed, the heat radiating from them causing her to look down and see the glow building between your soft flesh and hers. 

“Stop doing that!” She snatched her hand away as more tears built to a crescendo and streamed down your cheeks. “Y-you never let me feel the bad things, maybe if you did, I wouldn’t need you so much.” She snapped. 

“I-it's what I’m supposed to do.” You didn’t look at her, only your glowing palms that were dulling by the second, your voice meek and strangled.  

“And you’re supposed to come into my dreams and kiss me, sing to me, let me touch you?” 

“I shouldn’t have.” You said it so bluntly, it tore through her, caused her more pain than she had felt after her accident, and she knew you felt it too by the way you instinctively reached out for her. Her step away from you causing you to retract more as you silently wept. How could someone make crying such a beautiful action, mesmerising in its own cruel way. You were right, it wasn’t fair, to be faced with such radiant heavenliness and not be able to have it, it made her angry, the rage boiling up inside of her, making her skin tingle as her nostrils flared. 

Go. Her eyes clamped shut as she turned her face to the floor and when they cracked open, she was alone, the hammering of the rain the only sound in the room. She had quietly hoped you’d stay but her blaring begs for you to leave overshadowed that small glimmer of hope and you were gone without a trace, the dull, lifeless room seizing her breath from her lungs and drowning her in the darkness she succumbed to when you weren’t there. 

She yanked the book off her coffee table and hurled it at the wall, a guttural cry escaping her lips as hot, salty tears raced from her eyes. She groaned at the pain in her abdomen as she collapsed to the ground onto her knees, nose brushing against the floor, she wished she had never seen you, never felt your touch, that she had died in that accident because anything would have been better than the agonising torment she felt in this moment, she prayed for the sky to collapse on her, crush her under its thumb into dust, disintegrate her soul into nothing if it meant she never had to feel again. She stayed on the floor all night, curling into herself and passing into slumber that only tormented her still. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

You were so close to her yet so far, just out of arms reach though she could never catch you no matter how she chased. She stumbled and tripped but she never stopped pursuing you. You didn’t run, you weren’t frantic like she was, you sauntered and swayed away from her, your twitching wings dragging behind you leaving a trail of feathers in your wake, more and more detaching and floating to the ground the further you walked until there were no feathers left, only the bare bones of your wings, they curled round you and you stopped, Abby’s feet being glued to the ground despite her futile efforts to free herself and close the distance.  

You let out a bloodcurdling cry, the depths of despair heralding from within you. It couldn’t be described as a cry, you were wailing and shrieking at the sight of your naked wings, your whole body trembling and draining of its iridescent shimmer until it was a pale grey. The sand under Abby’s feet grew cold, froze under her sending excruciatingly bitter chills through her body, her teeth chattered as her body shivered. Her limbs slowly growing numb as a swarming storm gathered above her head and unleashed its wrath upon the beach she found herself on. The waves that were once calmly lapping at the shore lashed at her legs, icy assaults on her that were unwavering and only increasing in their power, she could barely stand against the force of them, fighting to stay upright until she was knocked into the sand that stuck to every inch of skin it found. She called out to you as the water engulfed her, choking her with its fury, her calls to you deafened by the indignation of the landscape. 

“DON’T YOU SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE?” You howled at her, finally facing her and displaying the gushes of thick, red pooling from your eyes and dripping down your neck, painting your figure crimson. You bawled as you collapsed onto your knees and lifted your face to the sky. Your scream thundered, echoed into nothingness as lighting struck down all around you both. Abby coughing and spluttering as the water invaded her lungs and froze her from the inside out. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She called between torturous breaths, but her apologies fell on deaf ears, the claret pouring from your eyes harder. The last thing Abby saw was your decaying body stained with blood, your ruined wings curling around yourself as you begged for redemption, your face blurred and distorted before the water pulled her under, her consciousness being ripped away from you and sending her tumbling into the darkness of the never-ending ocean. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

Abby woke with a gasp, clutching at her throat as she desperately tried to force air into her lungs, her body burning from the memories of her dream, the pictures still playing on her mind in a loop. The rain hadn’t cleared, it had only worsened, relentlessly pounding against her window with a might. She groaned and stretched her aching body before standing and rushing to the shower, she was trembling like a leaf in the wind, her skin cold to the touch, she turned the dial to the hottest it would go and waited the interminable minutes for steam to waft into the compact room so she could force herself under the burning waterfall and draw the warmth back to her skin. She let the shower muffle her sobs as she fought the nausea squeezing at her insides until it became too much, and she leaped towards the toilet to violently empty her guts into the bowl. Each hurl racking her body more, her throat stung and clenched causing her to gasp for breaths as tears flowed freely from her eyes. Her head throbbed and her vision was pulsating as she slammed herself against the wall pressing her face into her hands. Every feeling, every emotion, every sound and sight felt so real, she couldn’t shake the pounding of her heart, it was punishment, her punishment for banishing you so harshly that now when she needed you the most you were nowhere to be found, she strained to hear your comforting voice in her head but there was nothing, only your deafening wails. 

Please come back. I need you, I’m sorry. Please come back. 

You didn’t, you stayed hidden from her, hiding in plain sight, observing with matching tears, your hands itched to reach for her but you couldn’t, you kept them wrapped around you tightly, embracing yourself to keep from embracing her, the glow emanating from you barely a shimmer. 

₊.˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

It had been three days since Abby had seen you, since she had viciously lashed out at you, every time she pictured it, your downturned face barely hiding the scintillating tears, each time she recalled it she only imagined herself as more and more cruel. Manny picked her up to take her to physiotherapy and failed to hide his shock at her dishevelled state, looking her up and down with wide eyes filled with concern, she noticed a flash of pity though he was better at hiding that. 

He kept sneaking glances at her in the car as she remained quiet and still, never looking away from the window where rain continued to pour as it had for the past three days, tumultuous reminders of that day and the hell that followed her into her dreams. She had had the same nightmare every night, stuck in an endless loop that sent her straight to the bathroom to throw up until her head felt like it would explode. She barely ate anymore knowing it would all come straight back up in the morning, she was deteriorating, and you watched, you always watched.  

The opening notes of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ by Joy Division played, the upbeat tune a sardonic juxtaposition to the words that she found herself relating to in a way that made her so ashamed she wanted to shrivel into nothing. She bit at her cheek and willed the tears to stay in her eyes until the song finally ended after a harrowing three minutes and twenty-six seconds, breathing a sigh of relief as the song faded to quiet. Her muscles relaxed until the opening notes of ‘Heaven’ by Depeche Mode started playing and she felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. 

“Hm that’s weird.” Manny’s voice broke through the ringing in Abby’s ears. 

“What?” She questioned, snapping almost. 

“This song isn’t on this playlist.” Her throat closed and her vision blurred, her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white, her lip bitten into so hard she tasted the iron of her blood. She focused on the road ahead, pleading her vision to refocus. The second it did though, she clamped her eyes shut again as she noticed a golden, glimmering hue to the rain, reflecting the minimal light the way your tears did, the sound of your sobs deafening her. She lunged forward and pressed the skip button as the familiar tune only acted as a backdrop to your wails, the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe. Manny shot her a look at her odd behaviour that made her feel like she was under a microscope. 

“I hate that song.” 

“Damn, it’s so good, you’ve got bad taste.” He quipped with a snort. 

“It’s depressing.” Her voice was gruff and strained, she barely sounded like herself, she just needed you to make everything feel okay again, but you were only sending her reminders that you wouldn’t do that, you couldn’t. 

Please come back. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

It was the same every day, wake up with a choked sob, a gut-wrenching despair and panic nesting within her, throw up until she felt like she had purged the memories of her sleep, though they never really went, wallow in her pit of sorrow until the sun went down and sleep would take her again, sometimes she’d force food down her throat when her stomach cramped and she could barely stand without dizzying, the never-ending downpour barely noticeable anymore. Manny called to check in on her, so did Nora but their calls went unanswered as she degenerated into a state of depression that was so deep, she no longer saw an escape, the darkness closing in on her without your light to guide her through. She had been like this when her father passed away but now she realised you were guiding her out of it, slowly baring the weight of her grief, now she was all alone, left to fend for herself against an enemy she cannot fight. 

She sat at her breakfast bar pushing around some food with her fork, failing to force herself to eat. It felt like too much effort, everything felt like too much effort, breathing was too hard, sometimes having to remind herself to, sometimes choosing to hold it until her vision blackened around the edges and she felt lightheaded, her body throbbing. 

You need to eat, Abby. 

Your voice, your perfect but melancholy voice echoing through her head. A tear sprung from her right eye before more fell until there was a waterfall streaming down her cheeks, pure, unfiltered relief washing over her that you had you had come back, even if it was to scold her, it was something. Anything was better than the radio-silence she had been subjected to for the past week. 

“I missed you. I’m sorry.” She whispered, her voice cracking and nasally. She waited for a response, her food went cold waiting, the clock on her kitchen wall counted three hours that she had waited, frozen, for you to say something before she dragged herself back to her room, the small amount of food she had pushed down in the hopes it would bring you back, irritating her stomach and aching inside of her.  

She laid in bed, sleep never taking over her body, still wide awake at three in the morning. The repetitive ticking of her clock driving her further into insanity until she sat up, she felt like she was watching herself from outside of her body as she floated from her bed to the front door of her home, slipping on her trainers and exiting the deafeningly quiet home into the unforgiving storm that had raged for a week without relent. 

She watched herself walk and walk, all the way to Discovery Park on Puget Sound, where she stood at the edge of a cliff as the sun began peaking over the horizon casting everything in a warm, orange hue. The front of her trainers hung over the edge of the cliff, the vertigo-inducing height spiking her heart rate. Heights had always been her main weakness, sending her into a panic attack that had her heart palpitating, but the fear was quelled to a mild discomfort, her only thoughts you and the possibility of her seeing you again. The wind whistled past her ears as her drenched clothes clung to her diminished body. The view was other-worldly, the rain, glowing in the sunlight that barely passed through the dense, almost black clouds, she admired it, took in the view for the last time before she took a step. 

Before she could topple over the edge, a pair of hands wrapped around her torso and yanked her back, landing on top of someone with a force that knocked the wind out of her. 

“What the fuck-” She cursed as she squirmed in their grip to turn, immediately falling quiet at your resentful face glaring back at her. “You’re here.” 

“Of course I’m here-” You were cut off by her lips pressing against yours with a fervour, igniting a fire in her that had long since been extinguished to ash.  

“I’m so sorry, please take it away, please I’m begging you.” She whispered onto your lips, but your hands were already on her cheeks, glowing brighter than they ever had, like there was fire in your palms, embers of flaxen glittering on your skin that was radiating more with each passing second.  

“Thank you.” She breathed out as a single tear fell from her right eye. You didn’t speak, too focused on unburdening her from the darkness that had loomed within her, so she leant forward and kissed you once more, a tender press of her chapped lips against your silky ones that took the last of her sorrow away. “I- Can you lay with me?” She noticed the hesitation painted over your features, panic rising in her. “Just for a little while.” You flashed a tight-lipped smile before nodding curtly, allowing Abby the comfort of resting her head on your chest and sighing as your arms and wings alike wrap round her, cradling her. She listened for your heartbeat, something that had always soothed her when she’d hug her father but there was nothing, dead-silence within until you giggled, the sound louder than thunder.  

“I’m not human Abby, I don’t have a heart.” 

“So what are you then?” You were physically holding onto her, you had physically dragged her back from the ledge, but you didn’t seem to have a body. 

“Pixie magic and fairy dust.” You replied monotonously, a snort erupting from Abby at your sarcasm, it shocked her to hear it, you seemed too pure for sarcasm, it sounded strange coming from your lips. “I learnt it from you.” You answered her thoughts, the sentiment making her beam. 

“Of course you did, but seriously?” She prompted you to give an honest answer to her question, desperate to understand more about you. 

“I’m an amalgamation of light.” 

“That makes sense.” She muttered eliciting a chuckle from you.  

I’ve never met anyone that comes close to your beauty. 

“So do you do what you do for me with other people?” 

“No, you’re my only one. I’ve had other people since I’ve been around since the creation of light, but you only ever guard one at a time. You humans are a handful. Especially you.” Your feathers fluttered against her skin, knowing she was your only person filled her with joy, your feathers responding to that surge.  

“Did you play Heaven in Manny’s car the other day?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the rain?” 

“That was me too.” Your voice had a sadness to it at admitting your part in the rain, if only she knew all the tears you had shed, although part of you knew she did. 

I missed you. 

I missed you too. 

With that, Abby sunk into a slumber that her body desperately needed, sinking into you and the warm embrace you enveloped her in, your wings acting as a blanket as the clouds cleared and the rain slowed to a drizzle until it stopped altogether allowing the sun’s bright glow to cast over the cliffside, illuminating the scenery to its full vibrancy. Nature springing to life and thriving as birds sang and a gentle breeze whistled through the long blades of grass you were situated on, resting both your weary bodies, your souls entwining and patching one another’s up. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

Your hand enclosed in hers, sand stretching for miles and enveloping her feet with every step you both took, warm, golden sand that mingles with the crystalline waves at the shore. The beach, but different, calm. She looked behind her to only see one set of footprints, hers but there was no trail of feathers following yours, your wings were plump and teeming with life as they twitched and quivered. You left no trail, weightless. It made her panic that you weren’t actually there and her hand that was wrapped in yours glowed, beamed with heat. She was entranced, just as much as the first time you did it until your free hand came to cup her cheek and pull her face up to meet yours. 

Your incandescent face that was explicit, every flaxen speckle, every lustrous strand of hair in complete clarity, the softness of your lips obvious just from looking at them. 

“I wanted to show you the beach how it’s supposed to be, I thought it might help your nightmares.” Your dulcet voice echoes, hits her ears over and over again. Your eyelashes that had sprouted golden spikes entangled with the others, fluffy and flittering as you beamed at her, the bright, blazing sun reflecting off of you and sending refracted light scattering around you both the way a disco ball would. 

“It’s so beautiful, you’re so beautiful. I was so w-” 

“Shh it’s okay, it wasn’t real, you know that, it wasn’t me there, it never has been. Your subconscious is a mean place, torturing you with things it knew would hurt. But I’m here now and isn’t it breathtaking?” You gestured to the serene landscape around you and she smiled in awe as she nodded. The sky was a pallet of pinks, oranges and purples. Clemetine stretching across the expanse to be occasionally laced with lavender etching itself into the sky with cherry blossom intertwining. Clouds that resembled candy floss few and far between. The breeze was warm, pressing ticklish kisses to Abby’s nose, caressing her face and running its fingers through her hair. The water that lapped at their feet completely translucent, the foam accumulating from the gush of waves the only colour that wasn’t. The water was cool but in a way that provides respite from the heat enveloping itself around you both. “Do you want to go in?” Your voice drew her out of her spell that the beach had casted to nod apprehensively at you, haunted by the memories of her previous encounters with the water. You released her hand to walk into the water, the creamy white gown that always cloaked your body dropping to your feet and laying abandoned as you saunter to the sea. Your form hidden by the cover of your wings.  

Abby rushed to the button on her jeans but when she looked down she was already bare, exposed to your eyes that flashed over your shoulder with a small wink full of mischief. She followed after you, desperate to feel your skin on hers again but when your wings flapped, each feather rippling in sync before the wings rose to the sky, unfolding like delicate gossamer, your feathers catching the light as they stretch toward the heavens revealing the silky smoothness of the sparkling skin that encases the curve of your back, the plump roundness of your behind, sculpted by the heavens themselves. Your leg stretched and crossed over one another as you swayed to the water until it concealed you from the waist down where you turned back to her, beckoning her in with you with a wave of your hand. 

She rushed towards you until she was stood inches away from your naked form, both drinking each other in, every curve, every line, every crease. Abby’s cheeks heated at the gesture until you slipped your hand in hers and walked her further in until she could no longer touch the floor of the ocean. You wrapped your legs around her waist and she felt entirely weightless, your wings that were held high above the water and flapping gently in the wind letting her float effortlessly.  

Her hands brushed up and down the expanse of your back, tracing every inch, committing it to her memory until they landed on your waist running up the smooth skin of your stomach, stopping just under the supple flesh of your bosom. You gently guided her hand upwards to palm them, nodded at her to say it was okay and gasping at the subtle squeeze of her fingers moulding the soft flesh like clay. Her thumbs dragged over your perky nipples and sent shockwaves through you, your wings mimicking the excitement evident in your features, the quiet huffs that escaped your perfect lips drawing her in to press against them. The kiss was heavy with need, your lips parting to let her tongue collide with yours, to savour the saccharine honey that invited her in more. Your chest arched into her touch, pushing closer together as a hand came to your back, right between where your wings grew to push you in closer to her. It was tender, unexplored territory being tread lightly, your bodies floating on the same rhythm, each lap of your tongues painting a song made only for your ears. Your hands found purchase round her neck and brushed through her braid until her hair was freed for you to weave your fingers through and scratch at her scalp. Her lips left yours to litter your neck with kisses to your collarbones. Golden prints of her kisses etching themselves into your skin. 

You hummed, the vibrations rippling the water and flowing through Abby causing a shiver to run down her spine. “Come here we don’t have long.” Your voice guiding her back to your lips, relishing in their warmth. 

“I never wanna leave. Can’t we just stay here?” She whispered already knowing the answer. 

“I wish it were that easy. You make me feel something I’ve never felt before, so many things. Thank you, Abby. You’ve shown me what it feels like to truly exist.” Your captivating voice murmured before pressing her cheek to your chest and smoothing down her hair, subduing her to silence as her breaths became deep and rhythmic. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

The sun poured into Abby’s bedroom, beckoning her eyes to flutter open, a smile plastered onto her face as she revelled in the comfort of her sheets. She didn’t remember getting home, falling asleep on the cliffside and finding herself back in the safety of her home that was brighter than it had been in the days prior. It was the first time she hadn’t woken up sick to her stomach in fits of hysterics. She pressed two fingers to her lips before licking at them slightly, your saccharine taste still lingering. Her hair was flowing freely over her pillows, and it shimmered slightly in the sun.  

She stretched within the comfort of her bed before walking to her kitchen to make some breakfast, the emptiness in her stomach twisting slightly and causing rumbles to echo around her quiet home.  

The sound of bacon cracking and sizzling interrupted the quiet, the smell wafting through the house and intensifying the rumbling of her stomach. She scrambled eggs and roasted some tomatoes util everything was ready for her to inhale, this meal being the first she had eaten to completion in a week.  

She hummed with contentment as the aching in her stomach subdued and the tremoring of her body that had become natural to her subsided. She brushed a hand through her hair and noted the almost-crunchy waves lacing through it, she wanted to leave it, as a reminder but it felt knotted from her sleep and dried as saltwater had always made her hair feel so she took to the shower to restore it to its silky condition. As she waited for the water to heat, she messaged back Nora and Manny, each message full of apologies for her disappearance and assuring them that she was okay before she clicked on ‘Heaven’ on apple music and jumped into the warm embrace of the shower. 

Memories of when she had sung to you interlaced with memories of the beach, every picture of your face deepening the smile lines around her lips. She could still feel your touch all over her like you had burned your fingerprints into her, she wished her skin showed your touch the way yours did, the outlines of her lips pressed into your skin, gold remnants shimmering under the sun. You were light, pure light and you exuded it in every sense of the word. She rubbed shampoo through her scalp until the salt was gone leaving only delicate, downy locks splaying over the expanse of her back. She treated the ends with conditioner and wove them into a bun at the base of her head while she rubbed her pine and cinnamon scented bodywash over her body, the pink under skin returning like it had never left. 

Her phone rang as she finished washing the conditioner out of her hair, so she reluctantly turned the shower off, scared to miss any more concerned phone calls. 

“Abby! You’re alive, I have some news.” Manny’s voice crackled on the other end of the line. 

“You got a girl pregnant?” She quipped. 

“Do you think I would sound so happy if I had? No, I’ve been talking to different mechanics about your bike and I’ve found someone who thinks they can fix it. She said it’s going to be a big job but she’s willing to try, she specialises in Harley’s. Want me to give her the go ahead?” A tear fell from her right eye as her body relaxed. 

“Yes, yes oh my god. I’ll pay whatever I have to if she can fix my bike.” 

“Okay chica, I’ll let her know and I’ll send you her number. You doing okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, sorry for disappearing, you know how it is.” 

“That I do, I’ll swing by yours later with takeout, Nora’s dying to see you too so expect some company.” 

“Okay, thanks, I’ll see you later.” She hung up the phone as she laughed with relief, unable to comprehend that she might get her bike back, one of the last things her father had left her with before his passing.  

Thank you. 

She was sure, without a doubt, this was a gift from you, a promise that everything would be okay. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

“Hi Alice! Oh, I missed you baby!” Abby cooed at the German Shepherd that was leaping at her, Manny and Nora standing behind smiling with takeout bags in their hands. 

“Nice to know you’re more excited to see Alice than us.” Manny accused with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“I dunno why you’re surprised, you know she’s my favourite.” Abby quipped as she stepped aside to let them both in. Nora hugged her before squeezing her shoulders and taking in Abby’s features with an obvious look of pity despite today being the best Abby had looked. Her hair was down, partly hanging over her shoulders, the majority of it sweeping down her back, the left side tucked behind her ear. She wore a grey sweatshirt that hung off of her slightly now as her muscle mass had decreased since the accident with black baggy jeans that sat low on her hips. She looked well, just as buff as she typically did and she had come to terms with that fact until she could rebuild herself back to what she once was.  

“I missed you girl.” Nora’s voice was soft as she smiled. 

“Yeah I missed you too.” 

“We couldn’t decide on what to get for food, so we got chinese and thai.” 

“Even better.” Abby led them to the living room where they all settled on the sofa and began laying out the various dishes that had their mouths watering, the different aromas each complimenting each other and making Abby’s head spin with excitement. Alice crept into the room before pausing and growling at the corner where Abby’s TV wasn’t causing them all to chuckle in confusion. Alice remained planted in her place, her growls unwavering until she whined slightly and moved closer where she barked and her tail began to wag furiously. She nuzzled into the air, her tail wagging so fast she could’ve taken off into the air before curling up and dozing in the corner, her tail still wagging gently.  

“Did you put some treats over there what the fuck? She’s always glued to our side even if we don’t have food.” Abby didn’t reply, instead staring at the corner in awe, she noticed the slightest shimmer in the air, almost completely invisible, and smiled knowing you were watching, soothing Alice the way you did her. She could picture you scratching behind the dog’s ears and humming serenely.  

“Maybe she’s just tired of being around you fuck face.” Abby chuckled as she replied to Manny, the pink muscle of her tongue poking from between her teeth in a cheeky grin. 

“Whatever, I bring you food and this is what I get.” He reaches forward and turns on the TV to find something to watch as Nora and Abby caught up. 

“Oh my god I almost forgot to tell you. Mel’s pregnant.” 

“No fucking way, has Owen ran for the hills?” Abby laughed, the sound music to your ears as you observed her enjoying her friends’ company, it warmed you to see her embracing life again, going back to how she had been before the accident, before your entanglement with her, eased the ache within you, an emotion that you couldn’t describe subsiding slightly from the powerful blaze that had roared through you throughout the week. 

“No actually, he’s kinda stepped up, we were as shocked as you are.” 

“Wow I’m really happy for them.” She genuinely beamed at the news, excitement flooding through her for them until something ugly picked its way through the glow of her joy, jealousy. Jealous that she could never have that with you, that she could never grow old with you, that your paths were not fated to cross like two humans were. She waited for your hands to take the suffocating feeling away but you didn’t, you let her seethe and wallow as Manny and Nora laughed at the TV only interrupted by a quiet whine from Alice that had her head snapping in your direction and glaring. The room felt colder all of a sudden, emptier, Alice moving from her corner to sit by Abby’s feet and that was an answer enough, you weren’t there anymore, you had left her with these vindictive feelings gnarling at her heart. 

Abby stayed quiet for the rest of the night, speaking when she was spoken too but nothing more and nothing less, eager to keep her friends’ worried eyes off of her, to stop them from prying away at the walls she so painstakingly guarded. She eventually claimed tiredness and politely ushered them out the door with hugs goodbye and kisses to Alice’s nose so she could sleep in the hopes you’d visit her and tell her everything would be okay. 

But she didn’t dream that night. 

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧   

Weeks went by without another dream, without even a nightmare, sometimes she found herself wishing for the nightmares to return just to get a taste of you, even the tiniest part of you, but nothing came, you never appeared to her, and her subconscious never conjured you.  

She checked in on her bike regularly with the mechanic, Ruby. She was beautiful, dark blue hair that turned electric in the sun, tight ringlets bouncing over her shoulders and framing her face. Her ebony skin was pristine and decorated with tattoos that sprawled over every inch that could be seen under her clothes. There were smudges of black over her grey tank top and overalls that folded over at the hip. There was no denying she was beautiful, but she wasn’t you. 

“Abby! Hey, thanks for coming, I’ve got exciting news follow me!” She hurried off to the back of the shop leaving Abby to follow with her heart in her throat at the thought of being able to ride her bike again soon. “I have worked day and night on this bike, she has been my baby.” Ruby squealed as she circled round the Harley standing in all its glory. “Come, hop on!” Abby hesitantly walks over to the bike and swings her leg over to seat herself, it almost felt foreign, she used to ride every day and she hadn’t in well over a four months now, almost two. “What? You forgotten how to ride?” Ruby giggled at Abby’s perplexion. 

“No.” Abby huffed before turning the key in the ignition and holding the start button with her thumb, the engine roared to life and her eyes widened until they couldn’t anymore before flicking to Ruby’s ecstatic face. “No fucking way! Oh my god, you fixed her!” 

“Oh yeah she’s running even better than she did before.” 

“Holy fuck, thank you so much, oh my fuck how much do I owe you?” Abby’s smile was hurting her cheeks as she turned the bike off and clambered off. 

Abby paid Ruby, a discounted price that ‘only the pretty girls get’ according to Ruby and hugged her for the magic she had so clearly worked. Abby was too excited about her beloved Harley being fully functioning again to notice Ruby’s obvious flirtation, though if she had noticed, she still would’ve shied away due to the mere fact that she wasn’t you. She was forgoing a beautiful human for an angel that she could never truly have, her heart clung to you even in your absence. 

She rushed back to the bike and let its powerful engine hum underneath her before she realised she hadn’t brought her helmet, half-expecting Ruby to tell her there was nothing she could do to save the bike when she had called this morning. Your face popped into her mind, the perfect scrunch between your eyebrows when you’d scold her for her recklessness, it was like everything became clear, you’d show up if she was in danger, so she’d put herself in danger. 

“Thanks again Ruby!” With that she was flying out of the garage and onto the streets, weaving in and out of cars leaving a cacophony of horns from disgruntled drivers in her wake. The engine revved and vibrated underneath her but it wasn’t enough, she couldn’t feel your soft guiding hand or see the subtle shimmer anywhere hinting that you were with her. You had still abandoned her. She revved the engine more and the wind whipped past her even harsher as she leant forward and took the bike as fast as it would go. Everything around her was a blur until she saw the blaring red light telling her she was about to smash straight into passing traffic. Her hand immediately slammed down on the brake lever, squeezing with all her might as she came to a squealing stop just ahead of the stop line. “Fuck that was close.” It was close and you still were nowhere to be seen, she had never felt so alone, the feeling ripping through her and tearing her heart to shreds. Her skin burned and her vision pulsed as the light flicked from red, to amber and then to green letting her speed off again with a different motive this time. She released all of her heartache, all of her rage into the bike, speeding through the smudged city until she arrived back at her home, seething that she was still in one piece, she wished she had been torn to shreds on that bike just to punish you for your silence. 

As she entered her home, rain began to trickle outside, then pouring and then hammering, it was a stark contrast from the bright sun that had illuminated her journey and Abby closed every curtain, shut every blind to shield herself from the sight of it. She clamped her headphones onto her ears and pressed play on her playlist setting it to the loudest volume to drown out the bombardment of the rain. She threw herself onto her bed and clamped her eyes shut, wrapping herself in the blankets to combat the eery coldness of her once toasty room.  

You could feel the resentment in her, the sorrow, the unfiltered anger, you could feel everything, she was tied to you, a spiritual tether that you couldn’t rip no matter how much you tried. You were stuck an endless lop of longing and distancing, a fight between selfishness and selflessness, a never-ending battle that you would never win. You felt her tears falling, your own cascading in tandem, your wings drooped and dragged, aching your back with an intolerable pain, whelping and wincing at their strain. They had never felt heavy like this before, always perched on your back weightlessly but now they were fighting against you, desperately trying to force you to the ground. 

You felt her drift into unconsciousness, felt the empty black void of her mind tormenting her, her subconscious laughing at her as her dreams lay dormant, never revealing you or the beach. 

You felt her pry herself awake, the nothingness becoming too much, felt the restless paces all over the house, the stomping steps reverberating through you. You felt her growl and shriek at the loneliness, a feeling you had come to understand in getting entangled with Abby, you had never felt lonely before, never craved what you didn’t already have, your role contented you but then she gave you a taste of something different, something human and now you felt lonely, drowning in your solitude. Selfishness or selflessness, a right and a wrong answer that got jumbled in your mind when you contemplated their meanings too much. 

You felt the hot water hit her skin, the bath full, almost overflowing as she lowered herself into it. The hiss of shock to her system that provided her the only comfort that even brushed what she felt with you. You felt her hold her breath, the water engulfing her as she anchored herself under it. You felt the miniscule air bubbles tickling her nose and eyes, her lips parting and letting the water invade her entirety. You felt her lungs constrict, deprived of oxygen, her heart quickening its pace desperately trying to keep her body alive. You felt the sting encompassing her organs as they functioned without their life source, the emptiness of her blood with only carbon dioxide to carry around in its stream. You felt everything, the fight between her body and mind, breathe, don’t breathe, let go, let the pain float away. You felt the determination, the decision that had been made the second she ran the bath. You waited and waited for her to relent, to emerge from the depths of despair but it never came, you waited for her head to spin and the light inside her to fade until there was no fight anymore because her mind had won. 

You moved quickly, dragging her body out of the water with inhumane ease and skill. You pressed your lips to hers, breathing light and life back into her before you compressed her chest in one powerful push that took every ounce of your strength. You felt the water rush out of her lungs, expel itself from her body, you spluttered as she did, water spilling out of your mouth the way it did hers, it burned your throat and it burned hers, but she wasn’t conscious enough to feel it. You felt everything for her.  

You waited for her eyes to crack open and the second they did you disappeared from her plane to hide in yours, still collapsed on the ground fighting for breath.  

She sat up, confused at first until she felt the hard, dry surface beneath her and noticed the bath next to her, water still rippling from the hasty movements.  

“I know you’re here! Stop fucking hiding from me!” She screeched, her throat swollen and voice croaky, a cough following her words as she struggled to her feet. “Are you fucking kidding me? Just let me die, you’re cruel for doing this to me and then stopping me from ending it. You’re cruel and vindictive, you’re a selfish bitch and I hate you! I wish I had died in that fucking accident so I never had to meet you!” She screamed. You felt it, the overwhelming feeling of betrayal, of rejection. You felt your own desolation, she was right, you had been selfish, what good did it do for you to be selfless now when you had already ruined her with your immorality.  

I hate you. 

I love you. 

She wailed, she screamed and cried because she didn’t hate you, she never could, she loved you just like you loved her but she had no control over the situation, she was a passive object of your love. She was your undoing and you were hers. 

Abby couldn’t breathe, she choked and hyperventilated over her tears until her cheeks felt bruised from the onslaught and her throat was raw. Something so perfect, so pure had bid its evil on her, dragging her into its arms and trapping her in a pit, strangled her with its love wrapping its claws around her neck and squeezing until it drew blood.  

The beach, it was a goodbye. 

It was a goodbye. 

It was a goodbye. 

Her thoughts swarmed and festered, repeating the same four words over and over, your voice merely echoing the thoughts.  

You can’t leave me, this is you’re fucking fault. 

She was right, you were to blame for her destruction, a being whose sole purpose was protection and you had destroyed the very person you had sworn to protect, demolished her heart, ripped her soul to shreds and then watched the aftermath burn and disintegrate.  

“I-I can’t do this anymore, I need it to stop. I need to make this feeling go away.” 

I need you. I need you. I need you. 

She crawled from the floor of her ensuite to her wardrobe, ripping open the doors and rooting around until her hands felt the solid, square shape of the shoebox she had shoved to the back and forgotten about. She dragged it out letting it clatter to the floor and tore open the lid, the way you had her heart. Her hands enclosed round the cool metal of the handle, and she relinquished the pistol that had been her father’s, the only one he had ever had. It had never been used, just sat collecting dust but it would get its debut now, its first and last shot fired.  

She checked the barrel and sighed when there were bullets in each slot of the chamber of the revolver, you shrieked at the sight of it until she placed it down again. She slipped on a tracksuit and ran downstairs to find some paper to write a note for Manny and Nora, it felt wrong to leave without even a poor explanation of why. She scribbled their names on the folded over bit of paper before walking upstairs and leaving it on the bed. She wasn’t frantic, her steps were calm and calculated. You watched her adjust her grip on the revolver and let out a sigh as she raised it to her head. 

“NO ABBY!” You let yourself be seen as you rushed towards her and knocked the gun from her hand. She grunted and shoved you away from her to scramble for the gun. “NO PLEASE DON’T!” 

“WHY? WHY DO YOU CARE?” 

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.” 

“NO YOU DON’T.” 

“I DO ABBY! I didn’t understand at first because I’d never felt it before but I know now, I love you, you made me understand what love is.” 

“I can’t keep living like this, I need to be with you.” 

“Doing this, killing yourself won’t let us be together Abby, it will only split us apart for eternity.” 

“WHY?” 

“If I fail to stop you from ending your own life I’ll be banished to live immortally on Earth. You’ll be dead and I’ll never be able to die. Please put the gun down.” Tears gushed down her face as she dropped the gun and collapsed to her knees, burying her face into her hands and wailing. You crept over to her and kneeled before her, cupping her face in your hands and looking directly into her eyes, a stare so strong she felt like she was being sucked into you. Your hands glowed but now so did your eyes as hers were transfixed. You felt the force of a thousand knives stabbing into you but you kept you gaze fixed on hers as you absorbed all of her turmoil, took everything away until it was a dull ache, she sat, completely numb until the glow of your hands and eyes, the glow radiating all around you flickered violently before dissipating completely. Your hands went cold and the colour in your skin drained. The golden strands of your hair turned black, and the flaxen speckles vanished as if they were never there. 

You felt weak, brittle and dark, the room blackening until only shadows could be made out. 

A sudden crackling sounded, a harsh, continuous crackling sounded until the room was lit up by the fire that had ignited at the end of your wings. Abby noticed it as you bellowed and bawled. You grabbed onto Abby’s shoulders with enough force to leave bruises in the wake of your fingers, curling into her, your body racking with indescribable pain.  

“What’s happening? I-I don’t know what to do. I’m so sorry.” Your tears no longer shimmered, they glowed red, deep, thick red as you screamed and wailed from the pain. It felt like millions of tiny explosions were being set off inside you, it felt like the end.  

“I-I think this is my punishment.” You whispered before meeting her eyes, the fear, the guilt, the inexplicable pain all shining through them, burying themselves into your soul, it hurt too much. You lurched forward and pressed your lips to hers harshly, rushed and passionate as you savoured it letting it coax you through the pain. You pulled away with a groan and pressed your forehead to hers.  

“I’m scared Abby.”  

“I love you. I’ll always love you, I’m so sorry, I love you.” 

“Don’t apologise, you made me feel alive. I’ll love you for as long as there are stars in the sky.” She pressed her lips to yours again, her salty tears settling themselves on your tongue as you licked at her lips begging to taste her one more time. Your souls collided as your lips did and as quickly as she felt you in her arms, on her tongue, in her head, you were gone. A pile of ash that faded before she could realise what it was. 

You were gone. 

[rimofwell]

If we assume that suicidal ideation reflects a conscious intention to die, we will interpret it as a life-threat or a scream for help. And if we do, we will miss the core issue in self-harm: the pursuit of mastery over unbearable feelings or relief-seeking. At the heart of all self-destructive behavior is a simple fact: hurting the body, starving it, planning its annihilation, or compulsively engaging in addictive behavior result in welcome relief from physical and emotional pain.

Janina Fisher, Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors

[killerpancakeburger]

Where I Can't Follow // Miguel O'Hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel and you were a couple working together on interdimensional travel, until you tried it first and disappeared. Miguel never recovered from it.

Warnings: canon violence, mentions of blood and wounds, brief suicide ideation (not in a "i wanna die" way but in a "it would be better if I was gone" way).

Tags : Angst with a happy ending, "Don't go where I can't follow" trope.

Words: 2833 words.

A/N: This took forever omgggg, I searched for better vocab, I kept adding stuffs, I did this to myself but still... Here comes the ISTV! Miguel's gf lost to the multiverse story I mentionned in posts.

Today was a day like any other for Spiderman 2099. Waking up at the crack of dawn after a night that was more nightmares than restful sleep, Miguel stared at the ceiling for a brief moment; an arm over his forehead, thinking about all the tasks he had to accomplish today, fatalism sneaking through his veins. 

He used to sleep peacefully with you nearby, but that simply wasn’t an option anymore.

The multiverse didn’t offer him a moment of respite, ever. Countless alternative worlds to watch over, myriads of spider-people to shepherd, endless enemies to neutralise. And one mistake could unravel it all, wipe out millions of innocent lives. Every morning he reminded himself of his self-imposed, solitary duty; after he unknowingly doomed Gabriella’s world to annihilation; after he unintentionally sent you to meet your demise.

If you were there, you two would have dealt with this together, like you did with every other hardship that came your way.

He sighed and sat on his bed, passing a hand over his weary face, like this gesture could pull away his bone-deep fatigue, before calling Lyla and asking her about the state of the canon. She greeted him with her habitual cheer and sass. A vicious little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that the support and good mood she provided him with were fake, a simulation, a bunch of zeros and ones. He ignored it, as he always did. 

If you were there, your support would have been genuine, without a doubt.

As he listened to her reports, he put on gym’s clothes and headed out to the Spider Society's Strength and Conditioning Centre. At this early hour, he had the whole place to himself, which suited him perfectly. He wasn’t one for making small talk, especially when he just got out of bed. He worked out following the program he established with Lyla. 

He used to exercise and spar with you, but no one could compare to you.

Miguel then took a quick shower and glanced over the bathroom’s mirror as he was drying himself. His gaze lingered over the perpetual shadows under his eyes, the harsh lines of his face, the hollow of his cheeks, the broad of his shoulders. The person staring back at him was so different from two years ago. 

Would you even recognize him?

He shook his head in annoyance against himself, trying to get rid of his thoughts about you, yet sorely aware of the utter futility of it. There wasn’t a day where you didn’t cross his mind. He put on his suit, checking that it was entirely operational – “Lyla, can you run the suit diagnostics?” –, ate a spartiate breakfast washed down with a generous amount of coffee and reached his lab. 

An alert on one of the orange screens, indicating the presence of an anomaly in his own dimension, immediately caught his attention.

“Lyla, what can you tell me about this guy?”

“He’s nothing special. Just your average villain.”

“And I guess neither Jess nor Ben are awake yet?”

“You guessed right!”

“Hm.”

Miguel quickly took the decision to deal with the anomaly himself. It was just a routine mission like he’d done hundreds of times. A day just like any other, devoted to fixing his own mistakes.

***

It wasn’t a mission like the others. 

Or, rather, it wasn’t an anomaly like the others. The dimension he originated from was one Miguel had hardly any information about. And the Green Goblin he was facing was actually wiping the floor with him.

He wasn’t sure why. Had the weight of his sins finally caught up with him? Was the mass of his guilt falling down on his shoulders  tackling to the ground? Why was the memory of you so torturous and tenacious today?

Lyla was right by him, talking to him with agitation, but he couldn’t hear anything, like he was underwater. As the mutant walked over to him menacingly, and his own body didn’t answer when he tried to move, Miguel’s thoughts took an even darker turn. 

Maybe this was for the best. How could he have decently thought that he was the right person for saving the multiverse?  After what he did to you and Gabriella, he was just an ashamed culprit desperately trying to make up for his faults.

But he could never bring you back. Therefore never would he be able to repair his wrongs. Maybe it was better to put an end to the bloodshed while – 

CRASH.

Like a meteor, something that he didn’t see coming ploughed into his assailant, effectively sending him crashing into a wall. Before the Goblin could even think of getting back up, his lightning-fast saviour reached him in a split second and stepped on his chest. Miguel could now identify them as a human. When he heard them talk, he nearly choked.

“You lay a finger on him again, and I’ll rip you apart.”

Their voice was implacable. But it wasn’t what jolted Miguel, no. Their voice was yours.

He would recognize it between hundreds and yet – the rational part of him refused to accept it. It couldn’t be possible. He was delirious. He fainted during the fight and was dreaming. Another one of those oh so sweet but so agonising dreams where you came back to him. An illusion, a chimaera.

You made sure that the Green Goblin under you wouldn’t get back up before turning yourself in Miguel’s direction. Miguel O’ Hara. Your boyfriend, ex-coworker, lab partner. The one you’ve been trying to get back to for so long. You didn’t even know how long. You both knew that the first travel between dimensions would be experimental and dangerous, but you couldn’t imagine that it would strand you on an uncharted earth with a defective watch. It took you everything you had of intellect, resourcefulness and resolve to manage to make your way back here. However, as you reduced the distance between you two, filled to the brim with nothing but the overwhelming desire to throw yourself into his arms, you realised that something’s wrong – very wrong.

He hadn’t moved a muscle, like paralyzed; he hadn’t smiled back at you. Actually the expression on his face was breaking your heart. It was a combination of vivid sorrow and open disbelief. The tears of happiness in your eyes almost fell and an ominous shiver ran down your back as you grasped that he was refusing to believe you were real.

You braced yourself and kept going. As you got about two metres away from him, you called out to him.

"Miggy… It's me…"

"No", he said, and surely a stab to the heart would hurt less than this. "It can't be…" His voice was trembling in a way you never heard before.

You slowly crouched so your eyes were at the same level, like you were dealing with a wild but frightened animal. You talked to him the same way, slow and gentle.

"Miguel. Do you remember my first day at Alchemax? I spilled my coffee on our lab director. I was sure I had already lost my job but you diffused the situation with that deadpan humour of yours. Then when I tried to thank you, you played it cool, and told me you didn’t do it for me."

As you were talking, you stared at his face stubbornly, desperately looking for a sign that he recognized you. When you finished your plea, a single tear rolled down his cheek and he tried to reach for you despite his wounds. Without hesitation you gave in to your longing, closed the gap between the two of you and embraced him as hard as you could without breaking some ribs. The heartwarming feeling of his arms squeezing you against him somehow unlocked something in you and all your tears started to come out. The wet sensation on your shoulder made you aware that he was weeping too.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, on the ground, not a word spoken, crying in each other’s arms; clinging on to the other like something was going to tear you away at any minute; gripping each other like you were trying to fuse your bodies. Hearing Miguel’s muffled voice brought you back to the present time. 

“It’s my fault.”

You backed away slightly, thinking surely you heard him wrong.

“It’s all my fault”, he carried on with the tone of someone eaten away by guilt. “I should have done the first multiverse jump. I should have –”

You firmly grabbed his face and interrupted him.

“No, no, no. Listen to me, Miguel O’Hara. You will not bear this alone. I knew exactly what I was in for when I used the prototype. I knew the risks just as you did. I made this decision of my own free will, and I will not have you think otherwise for one more second. Do you understand?”

He looked at you in shock – you weren’t easy to make angry, and your burning glare, your inflexible tone and your furrowed eyebrows took him by surprise. 

“Miguel?”, you insisted, deadly serious. 

“...Yes”, he capitulated, realising that he had been robbing you of your agency and your role as a member of the team you two made. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled sadly at him and hugged him. 

“As long as you don’t do it again…”, you added playfully. “Now, how about we take care of your injuries?”

You got up easily; Miguel… less.

“We also need to bring the Goblin with us”, groaned Miguel in pain as he tried to get up.

“Oh right.”

You had already completely forgotten about this guy, Miguel’s state occupying all your mind.

You offered him both your hands to help, smiling maliciously.

“Do you need me to carry you, tough guy?”

“I’m fine”, he grunted, and just as he was saying that, he stumbled. You quickly took one of his hands, bringing his arm over your shoulders and grabbing one side of his waist.

Miguel sighed. 

“You can’t transport the Goblin if you hold me like this.”

“Yeah, but I don’t care about the Goblin, I care about you”, you replied very seriously, but also unable to stop the smile spreading your lips in joy and amusement.

He rolled his eyes half-heartedly, and you knew pertinently that he wasn’t really upset.

“I’ll just send someone.”

“Someone?”, you asked, having no idea of who he was referring to.

“You’ll see”, he retorted, giving you a smug smile. 

You were thinking of a good comeback when he called Lyla.

“Hiiiii gurl”, she shrieked when appearing in front of you. Truth was, she’d been watching you two this whole time, but she wanted to give you two privacy.

You gave her a radiant smile.

“Hi Lyla. I missed you so much!”

As you were exchanging pleasantries, Miguel stepped in, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Are you two done? We need to get a move on before the Goblin wakes up.”

“Aye aye Captain”, grinned Lyla. “I already called Ben to get the green guy.”

“Don’t be jealous”, you chuckled, smooching him exaggeratingly on the cheek.

Your favourite AI opened a portal for you and bid you goodbye.

“Have fun, lovebirds!”

Miguel let out an irritated growl as you laughed frankly while carrying him through the portal.

***

“Miss, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out…”, requested the Spider Doctor near you.

Your mind was still reeling with all that you just discovered, as you escorted Miguel to the infirmary : the Spider Society, their gigantic headquarters, the thousands of spider people from thousands of dimensions that worked there, their system of management of anomalies… It was so much to take in. Everything that Miguel accomplished without you. A part of you felt overwhelmed with excitement for the possibilities while another felt a pang of regret and bitterness over everything you missed.

Some Spider People tried to engage in a conversation with you, like a man with pink slippers and a toddler, but Miguel shut them down – “This can wait until later” – or ignored them.

You were about to comply with the doctor’s request but Miguel, sat on a bed, intervened:

“She stays.” The commanding tone in his voice made it sound like he would not tolerate any kind of noncompliance, but also that he was used to being obeyed without question. You raised a questioning eyebrow at him from behind the doc – the Miguel you knew wasn’t someone who enjoyed being in charge.

“As you wish, Sir”, agreed the physician immediately.

Once he was done checking over Miguel, bandaging him and providing him with painkillers, he rapidly exited the room, leaving you two alone. You approached your favourite Spiderman with a disapproving clicking of the tongue, hands on your hips. 

“We don’t bully our nursing staff in this house, Mr O’Hara.”

He pouted and grabbed you by the waist to bring you closer.

“I wasn’t going to let him make you leave me.”

You could feel, via the pressure he was exerting on your body – one that would have hurt a normal human – that he was still afraid that you would slip like sand through his fingers.

Standing between his legs, you took his face between your hands, delicately tracing the dark circles under his eyes with your thumbs, before passing your hand through his hair, clearing his face of some unruly strands. He closed his eyes under your touch like a cat. 

You wanted so much to make him understand that you wouldn’t vanish ever again, to appease all his fears with a couple of sentences. But you knew that time was necessary to dress both your wounds, so instead you kissed him, something you held back from doing until he saw a doctor.

He kissed you back softly at first, like you were going to disintegrate if he was too vehement, but he rapidly let go of his self-control. It felt like he had been a man dying of thirst in a desert and you were the first source of water he came upon. You let his hands wander over your body, as yours did the same, and you marvelled at the new broadness of his shoulders, the unfamiliar swelling of his muscles. Then you felt the tips of his fingers slip under your top, and you pushed him away with a chuckle. 

The crestfallen expression he displayed was adorable, and as he opened his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, you stopped him with a forefinger across his mouth.

“Healing first, fun later, ok?”

“I can– “ he started, but you cut in.

“If the roles were reversed, would you yield to my demands?”

The heavy silence that followed and the disgruntled grimace he granted you were a sufficient answer. 

“That’s what I thought”, you smiled, pleased with yourself.

With Miguel’s enhanced healing, leaving the infirmary was a question of a couple of days at most. You barely left his side during that time, sneaking in food from the cafeteria. And you talked, talked, talked. There was so much to catch up, so much to make up for. He told you how he hopelessly looked for you, and how excruciating it was to abandon searching for you after months. How he built the Spider Society from the ground up and recruited a strike force among the Spiderpeople from other dimensions. How he learnt the hard way how crucial it was to keep the canon intact after accidentally causing a whole universe’s demise. How his time was split between saving your earth and capturing anomalies. You narrated your perilous journey, utterly alone on an unknown earth, with only your powers and your wits to save you from the hostile inhabitants and harsh climate from this cold, frozen world. How you could only manage to cross short distances between dimensions until you came across a more advanced one. 

Eventually, Miguel got discharged, and as you were falling on his neck and kissing him in congratulations, he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you into his arms. You felt your cheeks burning.

“Wait, wait… you’re not gonna carry me like that in public, right?!”

He smirked.

“I own the place, I can do what I want.” 

You punched him in the shoulder.

“And I wanted to carry you bridal style to the infirmary, but I did not, did I?!”

 “Aouw!” He squeaked in pain. “I’m kidding! I’m gonna open a portal to my room.”

“Do you also open a portal to go from your bed to your couch or…?”

“Only when my girlfriend who’s been missing for a year honours me with her presence.”

The way he stared at you when he said this, crimson eyes ablaze with yearning, with an intensity no one ever did before, you were already feeling yourself unravelling for him, the sensation accompanied by a fervent desire to make him come undone under you.

[itsclydebitches]

Let's tally things up, folks!

Ruby's entire depression arc is "resolved" by a one sentence exchange wherein she just... decides she's better now? 'Is this the message?' Ruby asks, on her knees in front of a not at all subtle broken piece of glass. 'That I'm just supposed to give up?' and then literally the next moment she sees Crescent Rose, the weapon she's been flinching from because it represents all the failures she hasn't actually grappled with this season, and decides that depression and suicidal ideation are for losers. Let's go fight a randomly evolved cat!

The group still doesn't care about Ruby's Volume-long struggle. What are you talking about, evil kitty? Ruby's never been confused, or weak, or feeling like she's broken. We're oblivious to all that. That's why we follow her, because we can easily ignore everything that's going on in her life and instead just focus on ourselves. Didn't she have a breakdown a couple of hours ago about having to lead all the time? Should we really be announcing the moment she steps out of the tree that we expect her to be in charge again? ... nah, it's fine!

I guess the overall message is that any and every horrific act is excusable because you're just being yourself? Sorry we doomed a Kingdom and have actively helped Salem in trying to take over the world. The horrors we've enacted are good things though because it means we're being ourselves.

Ruby is conveniently the only Ascended who retains all her memories. Can't have the protagonist undergoing any kind of actual change, after all.

Neo throws herself into the tree despite that going against every iota of her characterization. Will we ever see her again? Who knows.

Is the blacksmith lady Alyx? I still have no idea.

Jaune is made young again, because of course he is. Love that they act like this is some curse he's suffered from - "It's been so long..." - and not an actual life lived across several decades. If I got stuck somewhere for twenty-ish years and then someone tried to magic me back to my 18 year old self I'd be like wtf? No? I'm not a teenager??? Will the show ever acknowledge that Jaune is actually an old man in a de-aged body now? I doubt it, considering this plot-line had no impact on his personality, skill, or outlook.

Also love that the brothers' story is treated like this wonderful tale of growth and exploration. The blacksmith is going on about how amazing it is that you don't know what you'll get when you create something, tone all fond for the demi-gods that have left her world to toy with new ones, and I just wanted one of the characters to start screaming about all the horrors they've caused. They killed an entire population in one fell swoop and have cursed two individuals for funsies, with the entirety of Remanent permanently under threat of annihilation if they don't meet the Gods' ambiguous standards of unity. Oscar didn't fall into the void because if Ozpin had been there he would have gone feral and attacked the blacksmith with his bare hands.

We're heading back to Remnant and Ruby still doesn't know that Jaune killed Penny! Ruby didn't even get her sword back. Or consider her in the tree therapy session. Why was killing her off necessary again? Oh yeah, Jaune angst🙃

We got a "when you're needed" from the blacksmith, so expect that time-skip in Volume 10. Can't wait to see how much important stuff the story skips over...

Also, this is so minor in the grand scheme of everything else, but I YELLED when Summer admitted that she'd lied about the mission. For nine Volumes these characters have been dragging Ozpin for every problem under the sun including, in Volume 7, for the mysterious disappearance of Summer, only for it to turn out that she LIED about where she was going and on whose orders, setting him up to take the fall when she doesn't come back. Who's going to have Qrow apologize to Ozpin for blaming him for years? Who's going to have Ruby unpack that her whole family is made up of liars and she was foolish to think that anyone, including Ozpin, could survive this war with a completely clean record? Hell, who's going to have Ruby simply tell anyone - including her sister - what she now knows about her mother's death? Not the RT writers, I'd wager.

Especially when they gave us a scene of Summer leaving on what she recognizes may be a suicide mission and leaves a token of affection for one daughter but not the other. Summer is Yang's mom too! Yeeeeeaaah the story is really bad about actually writing that.

Overall this Volume just feels like a colossal waste to me. The story ignored most of what was set up in Volume 8, introduced a world it didn't have time to flesh out, threw in an unnecessarily shocking story line about the hero trying to kill herself, 100% dismissed the ramifications of that, reset everyone so that none of the characters have to actually grow or change, and has now implied that all the plot important stuff - the Atlesians' survival in the desert, trying to ally with Theodore, Salem's next attack on Remnant, the development of most of our B Team, etc. - has occurred off screen.

The only thing this Volume accomplished was getting the bees together, which was something we should have had years ago. That admission hasn't changed their dynamic in any way, or introduced new conflicts (remember, no one cares about Ruby's breakdown, including her correct accusation that Yang has cared more about her girlfriend than her struggling little sister). It's just... there, not queerbaiting anymore, thankfully, but that feels like a very low bar to meet.

2+ months later and all I'm feeling is

[bimboficationblues]

what is the connection you see between liberalism and "prevent suicide at any cost"? i get the other two but not liberalism

oh I'm so glad you asked, this is a super fascinating topic imo.

One of the interesting shifts that goes on in the philosophical conversation around suicide in early modernity is that while religious objections to suicide were being undermined, this didn't necessarily stop objections. (Hume is one of the few bigger names that doesn't seek an alternative secular grounding for opposition to suicide and instead just rebukes the religious argument.) Instead the anti-suicide attitude became sociopolitically driven. On the ideological level, anti-suicide thought assumed a particular kind of social and political subject and image of society that would have been alien to earlier Christian writers like Aquinas. On the more material level we see the modern state developing an increased interest in the health of their populations (though only on an abstract, utilitarian level, for the purposes of maintaining security and control) via the disciplinary institutions of law and medicine.

A really good example: while John Stuart Mill, Boy Genius, never explicitly addresses suicide in On Liberty, he does indirectly discuss it when carving out exceptions to his "harm principle." While generally intervening in the behavior of others for "their own good" is politically and socially undesirable for Mill, there are some exceptions. He uses the example of selling yourself into slavery as an "extreme example" of how one should not be permitted to give up their own liberty and ability to make reasoned decisions about their life. Personally, I think this passage might cut either way on the question of suicide; Mill's primarily interested in social and political liberty and so the idea of removing one's own "metaphysical" liberty through self-annihilation seems outside his scope.

But he also argues that, despite the harm principle, society can intervene if someone is putting themselves at risk or going to harm themselves if they are a "child, or delirious, or in some state of excitement or absorption incompatible with the full use of the reflecting faculty" - i.e. a non-rational agent in some way. Even if it's not what Mill is directly addressing, there's a clear line to be drawn between his ideas about the ability to exercise reason as a foundation for autonomy and modern, non-religious anti-suicide sentiment. This is a recurring theme of modern liberal attitudes towards suicide, which regard it as a fundamentally anti-rational act and therefore grants society permission to override, restrain, and act upon you in ways contrary to your individual desires. (For the record, this same supposed lack of ability to govern oneself effectively is also Mill's self-absolving justification for authoritarianism and colonialism: "Despotism is a legitimate mode of government in dealing with barbarians.") You and I might conceive of suicidal ideation as a rational or at least quasi-rational response, but that's not typically, or at least consistently, something that liberal thought grants.

You can find similar views (if unique to their own frameworks) in Hobbes (natural right), Kant (deontology), even Spinoza to some extent (egoism), even as each of them is (in some form or another) trying to resist a religious justification for their opposition.

Contemporarily, in response to Washington v. Glucksberg (an assisted suicide SCOTUS case), Rawls, Nozick, Judith Jarvis Thomson, Ron Dworkin, and a couple other schmucks filed an amicus curiae brief arguing in defense of assisted suicide. That might seem to cut against my claim - maybe this is a change in the shape of liberal thought? But! I think what's noteworthy is that 1) their argument still takes place entirely on the terrain of rights, i.e. what the state is willing to grant and enforce (which is appropriate considering the venue, but still relevant), and 2) assisted suicide has been the main contemporary avenue of discussion in philosophy and policy regarding suicide. You don't see a generalized defense of suicide too often these days. it's taken as something of a given that while it may or may not be okay to end your life because of physical illness or debilitation, and this is an acceptable debate for public policy, it is definitely NOT okay to end your life because of mental illness or because you want to.

I'm pointing to political philosophers because it comes immediately to me, but I think they serve as good representatives of how the anti-suicide perspective can have a political "liberal" shape beyond just religiosity or psychiatric intervention, and how it's changed over time. sadly don't have the time to do a full historical genealogy effortpost on this subject, but to put on the Foucault hat for a very brief moment: suicide is decreasingly arbitrated by religious institutions. Instead we find it governed by secular law and judges (e.g. Washington v. Glucksberg), and by health regimes of psychiatry and medicine, all of these forces that developed and intensified their discipline over large populations as part of the contemporary science of statecraft.

Anyway, so when I say that anti-suicide attitudes are rooted in bad values and institutions like liberalism, that's what I mean - the idea that suicide is an irrational act that needs to be suppressed by state power, in the process producing a "suicidal subject" that needs to be contained by law and medicine.

An interesting article on some of this stuff, by way of Hobbes, Foucault, and ideas around the legality and social convention of suicide.

[serialunaliver]

this is so off topic but one thing people don't know about homicidal ideation is it's not exclusively like, an anger thing. most people have had violent thoughts about someone horrible. i've had lots of thoughts like that--it's NOTHING like my experience with actual homicidal ideation where you feel uncontrollably compelled to commit the act in real life and may even attempt it. i've had homicidal ideation as a result of a persecutory delusion involving family. it wasn't simply hatred, but rather, "there is no other choice". this is typically what leads to family annihilation committed by a person in a psychotic state--they believe it's the only way to 'save' themselves or others. for me this went on for months but my family took precautions to prevent me from doing anything. however, I would walk in their room at night and look at them thinking I have to do it somehow. this was a traumatizing time in my life for me and my family, and I wish more people were aware how it worked beyond "that person is just evil and crazy". because even a psychotic person has an idea of right and wrong and a belief system. they're simply adapting to a different reality.

to be clear, persecutory delusions do not typically result in violence. this is not a post meant to be stigmatizing but rather explain some misconceptions that may help people approach such situations, and explain that psychosis is a morally neutral condition just as every other illness. a person in a psychotic state has not transformed into a vengeful supervillain, they believe their actions to be appropriate for the reality they are experiencing, or if not appropriate, the only option left.

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE A

The Biologist Propaganda:

She tells the reader that her first hand account of events is scientific and impartial before revealing wayyyy after the fact that she has omitted her huge personal bias from her retelling of the events because she is fully aware that she's an unreliable narrator and is using that awareness to retroactively edit the story in her favour. Truly she's unlike any other protagonist I've ever encountered, its insane. Here's a tumblr text post that sums up everything: https://www.tumblr.com/12thbiologist/713885306846347264/annihilation-is-soooo-good-because-the-biologist?source=share

Yukio Okumura Propaganda (note; this is one submission, tumblr just has a word limit for blocks of text):

content warning for self destructive topics, murder, guns, body possession, suicide, mental illness, religion (?) (never directly mentions christianity), self hatred, dysfunctional family(??), self hatred. just a heads up, if you want to skip this you can. nothing in here is described seriously, its generally needed to understand basic plot points for this manga, so i didnt just include it for no reason!!! dont read this if it could harm you mentally!! its also just really long and kind of devolves into a plot summary near the end. his character explores moral greyness and utilizes his subsequent depressive states in a way thats really interesting to me. its pretty relevant that hes an unreliable narrator even in the early chapters of the manga. something interesting to me is that he's *not* the main character of the manga, so its set up in a way where the reader knows he's an unreliable narrator, but because he sets up a lot of the major exposition, the reader doesnt have a reason to believe him. i know it sounds kind of stupid, but its executed a lot better in the manga!!! its less about him actually *being* an unreliable narrator, and more about what it means for such a major character who introduces part of the plot, to be an unreliable narrator! he's the biological son of satan, but isnt a demon— (this is gonna be hard to explain but the demons in ao no exorcist are only called demons, they're easily equated to demons from abrahamic religions, but they mainly exist as a concept, they first have to develop an ego, and choose a body to possess. higher level demons arent able to possess a body because their power corrupts it and it rots away. satan only called himself satan because his college gf was in a christian cult, which is kind of funny to me because his son, lucifer, already did the whole satan motif. in the ao no exorcist universe, there is no 'god', satan is the ultimate being.)— unlike his maternal twin, rin, who has a demonic heart and ego. yukio is visibly similar to his mother, and is generally puts up a front as being more mature than rin. rin is essentially the direct opposite; he's almost identical to satan in looks and personality.

this definitely hurts yukio alot during the early chapters, because satan brutally murdered their adoptive father, but yukio is partially jealous of rin. he wishes he was as 'strong' as him, as rin had never shown any self hatred or suicidal ideation to yukio earlier on in the series. this eventually drives yukio to seek out lucifer. he convinces himself that lucifer isnt working for satan. he's an unreliable narrator even to *himself*. there's generally a pretty obvious parallel to lucifer with yukio: in the series, lucifer is depicted as wanting to be as 'strong' as his brother, mephisto. lucifer corrupts all of his vessels almost instantly. he's essentially stuck in a miserable cycle, not unlike yukio. we, as the reader, gradually see yukio spiral more and more. we see him lie to the reader and the other characters, until there's a surprising moment of clarity. we see yukio talk about how he mainly hates himself. we see him say this in front of *rin*! he essentially asks rin to kill him, beliving its the only way to escape assiah (earth, also has real world religious meaning). yukio cannot, presumably, be killed. he is essentially immortal during the storyline, which is why none of his suicide attempts have ever worked. this directly parallels lucifer not being able to escape gehenna (hell. this is also just hell in judaism). rin doesnt comply for pretty obvious reasons (not wanting to murder yukio), so yukio shoots him (dont worry rin's body heals almost immediately. no demons were harmed during this story) and rin goes on the journey of self discovery and comes back less mentslly ill (he also dyes his hair black) and talks to yukio. and uhhhh rin defeats satan and everyone clapped . then rin smashed in hatsune miku's face with his sword. i fhink thats blasphemy ? im really tired right now goodnight. tldr: yukio has mental illness and lies i lobe jim. i spent over an hour on this 😭

[1nm2]

The Change cheats billions of years of evolution. A slice of the earthworm, Annelida, from the great phylum of worms, glares piercingly from its petri dish tomb. Its cells have drifted around and spread into more than four thousand variations in the last hour. That’s around the same number of all mammal species put together. And unlike each mammal, the worm has no trace fossils. Not a single fossil Annelida - Area X had ever been found, as though it were just planted there without any evolutionary history. No fossil footprint, and yet they had been there all along.  

The lighthouse, she recalls. Who set it on fire?

No one had set it. It had just happened.

[vesper-roux]

WIP INTRO--ANTHEM: INTERLUDE

"You know, we make a pretty good team. Shame one of us is about to die, huh?"

🎶SVRCINA -Who Are You?

Status | Planning / Writing 1st draft (I have a lot of pantser tendencies)

Genre | Sci-Fi / Fantasy, Thriller

Form | Novella, likely to become a novel

Age Grade | New Adult (for language and violence) Characters begin the book as 13 and ~15-17, end as 19 and ~21-23

POV | 3rd Person--slight omniscient?

Setting | Ceador Empire--Vōā and Vērrå Provinces, Cave Cities

Themes | Religion, devotion and loyalty, class struggle, recognition through other, Man vs. Self, Man vs. Man, enemies to allies/friends, anti-heroes

Warnings | Death, body horror, general horror, rabies similarities, climate trauma, human trafficking, physical / emotional / psychological abuse, suicidal ideation

Synopsis | After robbing Lunar Bay Resort, home to one of the most powerful people in the empire, but being seen by a strange kid free to roam the private housing wing, a young rogue from the underground must engage in an elusive game as his witness takes the offense more personally than originally suspected. Their rivalry reveals to them a deeper, grim grasp on their places in society, their own buried fears, how they can understand each other, and hurt and help one another. This intermission in the Anthem series tells the story of an integral bond that forms before the main story's events.

Main Characters |

Galen (he/him) | An overzealous member of a young gang in the Cave Cities, Galen is set on proving himself a trusted and invaluable subordinate to his boss. He is both resentful and overprotective of the only home he has--but not the only home he's ever known.

Willow (ve/they/he) | Training as a monk in the prestigious Yorough Temple thanks to vis pseudo-charge and warrior king of Vōā, Klaus Reitvelt, Will seeks to restore what little of vis pride remains and save vis life. Though none know of this injury to vis ego and why ve perceives this as a threat to vis life.

If you like__, you may like "Interlude"!

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer for the weird plants and animals (the existentialism and metamorphic nature is for the rest of the series)

Heroes, X-Men, or My Hero Academia for "super"powers--everyone has the potential, but not everyone awakens them

NieR: Automata for its existentialism and a lot of other inspiration I took from it

A:TLA for the cat-and-mouse between Aang and Zuko

The dynamic between Leon S. Kennedy and Ada Wong in the Resident Evil 2 & 4 remakes

The complex (albeit non-familial in this context) relationship between Silco and Jinx in Arcane

LotR for its close friendships between men (not in a "what about the purity of brotherhood??!! 😱" kind of way; I am a queer writer who will always write queer stories)

Underground civilizations, figuratively through crime and literally in a mountain

An animistic religion slightly inspired by Shintoism, feudalistic society slightly based on Edo Period Japan

Fantasy languages inspired by Icelandic phonetics

The painting in the moodboard is The Fall by Alan Stephens Foster

[hihopelessromantics]

Meliodas Never "Betrays" the Demons Au

Season 1 Pt.1

________________________________________________

Trigger Warnings: brief discussion of suicidal ideation, implied neglect, implied violence, implied annihilation of a city, dead animal, eating said dead animal, magical mind fuckery

________________________________________________

first episode and prologue to the Adventures!

---two mothers in a place that’s no place for kids —

Far, far, away in ye olde land of Britannia, there’s a fortress in the depths of a forest that serves as the last line of defense for the small, growing kingdom of Liones. The capabilities of the warriors within are unknown, but over the years, they have saved whole research centers from extermination, which, in turn, prevents the downfall of Liones - a kingdom formed in the gritty jaws of the most unexplored, wild sections of Britannia. They say the first village there persisted on nothing but hope and spite - which could be said for most villages, if you understand the ins and outs of living sustainably, but I digress -  but it has a pretty good sized population now. The skilled use of the information therein and quantity of holy knights has landed Liones a reputation as one of the safest small kingdoms in the entirety of Britannia. 

The leader of this fortress, Wilmot Fane, is leading a ceremony on the summer equinox: a heartfelt celebration of how far she and her team have come in the past ten years. They are now capable of defending their kingdom from “natural disasters” without having to pay for outside help. When she and her girlfriend go back to their quarters for the night, they feel a dark presence and draw their swords. Wilmot notices a winged silhouette standing on their balcony and motions for them to put their swords down. The girlfriend, seeing the stranger, doesn’t think that’s a good idea - but Wilmot awkwardly explains that she knew this person, and that she’s mentioned it before. 

This is told in like ? minutes. just glimpses of memory. Like so:

druid mission, though she can’t feel the “mission”:  The cold from the mountains wouldn’t be so bad if she had chosen to be here. A girl sweeping a set of steps that are grimy beyond saving with a pressure hose, and definitely not with a broom, is thinking that to herself. She slips, barely catching herself but smearing grime across her clothing as she does so. There are other kids - you hear them talking and walking through the hallways as she makes her way through the darkness of the evening, but you don’t see them. She slips into a room, bows, explains what happened while one hand cradles a bruised arm. The looks on the adults’ faces say it all. There are a lot of kids, all visible, but the girl doesn’t exist to them, nor do they to her. They are nice enough, but this isn’t where she belongs.  The black-and-blue figure nestled under her bed is cold too, but only because of the weather, and because she didn’t get him that soup she promised. she says ‘Sorry...’ and he chuckles at her, saying he is lucky just to have the company while he heals. he is warm and a person and not something to be struck down with thoughtless violence. He covers her in swirls of warm, purple magic as she crawls under the bed. Magic is what she wants to see more of, and not the scriptures she sees less god in than in a crow creeping along the ground, in the wildlands crawling with life and death in equal measure while she sits here, not a part of it at all.

to prevent a civil war: Out of view people are talking in low, downfallen tones, murmuring, and a frustrated woman in a full set of armor is walking into a secured meeting hall. She leaves the room, and the closing door blots out the sunlight, leaving her in a dark hallway with the blue, orange, and red tones of sparse medieval decor fading to dull brown and grey. After walking a short distance, she sinks to her knees in defeat. She’s called to a meeting with the people she looks up to - not because of her skill and accomplishments but because everyone is dying, dying before they can come up with answers as to why. What can she, who has yet to become a full knight, do against a tragedy that almost feels... supernatural? Wait...

Should I expand more on that? Idk, let’s get back to the story

Wilmot made the acquaintance of a wounded demon as a child, saving him from her druid leaders by dragging him into the one place they’d never look: inside their own damn house.  He had been shot down from the sky (where he had been minding his own business, according to her), breaking bones and almost knocking him unconscious. When she had helped nurse him back to full health with her druid magic, he thanked her and flew off again. Two months later, after going to bed in tears of frustration as she often did, she woke up in a completely different place with the demon standing over her. He said cheerfully that he had been watching over her and heard her complain about not being able to leave and fulfill her dreams of becoming a knight, and he decided to come back for her. After explaining that this was called kidnapping and please talk to the next person before you randomly take them from their bed, she thanked him. He asked her to help him choose a new home since he wanted to live with people again. After their quest was complete, and he had taught her all the survival skills he could, the demon brought her to this fortress and she began her apprenticeship.

 When civil war threatened to break out due to nightly slaughterings of humans in major towns, Wilmot visited him at his new home and asked if demons could also grant blessings. She thought something like that would help resolve the situation. The investigation was going nowhere fast. All participants would eventually report feeling a magical presence and something watching them. They would be found lying outside, mauled and unrecognizable, several days later. He told her that they could grant blessings - usually for a price - but it would be easier and more entertaining to just solve the mystery himself. In exchange, she owed him a favor of his choice. 

Learning that your partner owes a mystery favor to a mythological creature that isn’t supposed to exist anymore is, by rule, terrifying. The number of emotions that went through Fortune Hopton as her partner let the demon inside was not ideal for thinking on her feet, so she just stared as the firelight in the room revealed a small child holding an infant.

 His golden hair was matted, his clothes stained with mud and torn in places that made the two women suspect he was injured. But the infant herself seemed to be in pristine condition and was sleeping soundly in his arms.

“I have no home again.” His voice, utterly toneless yet soft, sent shivers down her spine. “I know you would welcome me under any circumstance, even though it’s not easy to explain a stranger’s presence here. So. Hello.”

“Hello, Meliodas. I’m so sorry to hear about your home.”

“Mm. I’m grieving,” he replied. “Except for me and her -” here he indicated the baby. “- there’s no one left alive. They were slaughtered.  I . . . I came here out of desperation.” 

It was the same thing Wilmot had told him.

“I’m glad you thought to come here. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I’ll make sure none of my friends bother you if you want some space.” 

“I destroyed the ruins of the city in a fit of rage. I’ll probably be blamed for the massacre. I don’t want you - or her - to get caught up in this mess. All the other people I trust who are still alive aren’t human. So . . . I . . . I need a favor. Could you make this child yours?” 

The women gaped at him. Most people would not say yes to this, demon promise or no demon promise. But these two weren’t even thinking about the promise as they responded. Most people would never consider spontaneously adopting a child. Just like most druids would not save or try to befriend a demon. 

“Sir - Sir Meliodas,” Fotrune stammered, “are you serious? You want us to have this kid? I know you’ve met my partner, but you don’t know me . . . are you okay with entrusting her to us?”

“I am. If you’re willing to do this for me.” He hesitated for a moment before asking, “What do you think of all this?”

“Oh,” Wilmot said, practically glowing. “I’m thinking, demons do really give blessings after all.” She choked on her laughter. Even now she couldn’t help being a big sap. “Though, I wasn’t trying to - this is quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened to you both . . .”

He actually smiled at that. “I was hoping I’d get to see you smile before I have to go. I never seem to visit you at a good time.”

“In your defense, there are no good times. Don’t you want to sit for a moment?”

“I’d never get up.”

She didn’t press him any further. “Does the kid have a name?”

The demon looked at the child, then back at them. “You can name her whatever you like.”

“Then we’ll think about it. And, hey. I still owe you a favor after this. So don’t hesitate to come back if you ever need anything.” 

“I won’t. Hesitate, I mean. I rarely do.”

“I don’t either. I’ll do right by the child. I promise you.” 

“We both will.”

He breathed a sigh of weariness and relief. Then he placed the baby securely in her new mother’s arms. His arms twitched, fingers flexing when he backed away as if he didn’t know what to do with them. He must have been holding her tight like that for quite some time. Possibly since the disaster. 

“I’ll be seeing you again. Don’t start thinking I’ve been killed or anything.”

“Be well, okay?”

He didn’t answer that.

After some thought, they named the girl Elizabeth. Their friends suggested it, saying the name meant, “God’s oath.” A fitting name for the most precious responsibility they’d ever taken on. 

At 6, she proclaimed that she would be an adventurer.  At 9, she ran away to prove she would rather stay at the fortress than move to the city and live a normal life. At 11, she had massacred ten apple pies, each baked good worse than the last.  At 12, she was the best tree climber out of all the knights. At 16, she vowed she would ride a dragon one day. At 20, she had mapped out more wildlands beyond the fortress than anyone had dared to in the past ten years. Her portrait hung with the other knights’, her delighted face more innocent in her enthusiasm than as she held up the prize of her first solo mission, a relic she had recovered from the ruined city of Marakia. A carved stone of a woman’s face and stars in her hair. A part of a dangerous ancient relic, but to her, it’s just a good luck charm.

- - - Elizabeth

Here we've got an Elizabeth that's resourceful, emotionally intelligent, and selfless. She's a competent adventurer, praised and depended on, but she's soon to find out that her skills and knowledge won't be enough to save her kingdom from this mystery threat. In fact, they're woefully inadequate for the task. Which brings her to one conclusion: she's going to need help.

Can this socially naive, passionate badass save the kingdom she's sworn to protect? Can the strangers please hear her out why are they always running away from her? Will her mothers’ plan to unite the outposts against the growing threat succeed?  Why is she lugging around this stone carving with her? Will she ever ride a dragon or stop having to stab monsters in the face at the last second to save her own life? Find out next time on a seven deadly sins spinoff that doesn't exist! 

(pls throw your plot ideas here. I will write more you cannot stop me but if you give me a crumb of something you’d like to see well I’ll work that in. I will come back and update this I’m serious)

Ideas include: 

- crashing through a bar in order to escape the holy knights

- classic overly friendly girl in a small town energy. Except slightly, slightly feral. She tries to warn everyone of danger and everyone’s like who are you what are you doing. literately what are you climbing onto the podium that’s not what it’s for. stop that.

-  The fortress knights ask Elizabeth’s moms why they’re not sending a search party out for Elizabeth, who after all told no one before she left because she thought the corruption had infiltrated her home. They say that she’s a smart girl and soon she’ll realize she’s in over her head and come back home for help (or something like that). The screen cuts to Elizabeth bashing a vicious creature in the head with a battle cry. 

I don’t know how exactly but she has to get knocked down (metaphorically) pretty hard. And it has to be poignant. How would a random 20-year-old who’s lived on the outskirts of society, basically cozying up to the Creatures, her whole life would really go about trying to save a kingdom that a) has no idea who she is, she’s not even in the magical identity database where everyone is, wtf, where did this girl come from? and b) is made up of mostly small towns/villages where no one in their right mind would go ‘adventuring’ into the countryside, much less get involved in some sort of unknown vague crisis problem, nope nope, move along conspiracy theory girl

episode 2!

--- fateful encounter ---

A walk through the forest. The most dangerous part of the forest where “only fools” aka people without the skills to handle it, would go. It was the last place she wanted to be when the snow was still falling over her head like an anointment of failure. At least the bruises were numb. That’s what she told herself as she trudged on. She had to go somewhere. Find some answers. 

A flicker of light. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her for a second. The cold and the dark went hand in hand this time of year, and she knew better than anyone that there were no bioluminescent creatures in this part of the kingdom. 

Her whole body seemed to turn, seeking out the light that was, to her troubled mind, as soothing the heat of a fireplace on her back. Consumed by it, she came closer and closer until she sidestepped a hedge and parted the leaves to find the source: a large campfire, a crackling dark purple flame the likes of which she has never seen. It was warm and absolutely devoid of smoke. A smile crept across her face as she stared in wonder. There were other sounds, too, besides the fire and what she recognized as the wildlife. Crunching. Tearing. After a long moment, her eyes lifted from that frame to take in the rest of the scene. The carcass of a bear and several scattered bones. And behind that, a man, tearing the flesh with his teeth. He brought his face up from his meal to chew and Elizabeth saw his mouth and bare chest were drenched in blood. Sharp purple claws held the bear in place.

“S. . . Sorry to interrupt your meal-” 

He looked up, face contorted in shock.

“-but would you happen to know where the. . . the nearest. . . ” Shoot. Deliberately not thinking meant she had no clever opening to start with. “. . . ah, actually, I do know this area, and exactly what direction and where the nearest town is. I just thought, hey, look, is that a campfire? I sure would like to see the intelligent soul who managed to start a fire in this weather. So, hello.” 

The man swallowed. Blood flowed down his chin - it looked like he’d taken a mouthful of it. There was a kind of raw horror in his eyes that, coupled with the firelight dancing across his face, made her stomach twist with guilt.

“I know, right? What are the chances you’d meet another person in this neck of the woods?” 

“H...heh... you’re not even screaming.” His voice was rough from lack of use and full of a kind of amazement that saddened her. She had encountered that same feeling many times in the wilderness, and the bloody scene before her felt as comfortable and intimate as her own bedroom as she drew closer to him. 

“I’m not a heathen. I know people eat bears. Though, I hope whatever species of creature you are can eat raw meat. Because that’s RAW raw. Like it was still alive when you started eating it, raw.” 

He blinked. Then his claws moved, bear slouching noticeably as they did so, and he patted the space next to him on the log. She sat, tucking her pack away where blood wouldn't drip on it.

“We don’t cook meat.” The note of melancholy rang in her ears.  “It’s . . . delicious just the way it is.” 

She took a hard look at the - uh - flesh, trying to imagine how raw meat would taste if it was any good. “Um, like a mixture of good things,” she finally said. “Like . . .” she remembered the meals in the wilderness with the knights, and the stews she loved at home, “. . . nice juice and crunchy things. I’m imagining that’s what it tastes like. Plus it always feels kind of sacred when you’re eating a meal you hunted for.”

He took a human-sized bite. Then, after a second, took another - because of course he wouldn’t have been eating like that all this time if it didn’t have some kind of benefit. She appreciated the attempt at politeness but wanted to laugh. 

“Actually, I’ve eaten raw bugs before! Those tasted good. Like little hard candies. But meat.”

“... I think I’ll call you Candy. Just for that.”

As far as an alias went, it wasn’t . . . bad. But no. “Please call me Elizabeth. That’s my name and it’s quite a good one too. I’ve met six or seven Elizabeths in my life.” 

“I’ve met more than that in my lifetime,” he replied, and she nodded in approval. 

“We could form a cult of just Elizabeths. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried to do that. But anyway, will you tell me your name?” 

“I’ll skip that question.” 

“Okay.” Elizabeth reached down to pull a small piece of bread and some fresh leaves from her pack. “Want a leaf?”

“A leaf?”

“Vegetable,” she said helpfully.

 A tendril of dark magic reached over and plucked the leaves out of her grasp. “Don’t eat random stuff you find in the woods.”  

“Oh! Oh, well - ” Fascination from witnessing an unfamiliar magic made her forget her handpicked vegetables had just been tossed unceremoniously onto the floor. “ - you see, I’m actually a bit of an expert in that area.” 

Her bread had warmed by the time she finished explaining how she was not, in fact, eating random plants, but plants she had been studying since childhood. After what she’d call a passable show of knowledge, the man seemed convinced, and gingerly and quickly handed her vegetables back to her. A quick glance assured her he had succeeded on not dripping blood onto them.

Elizabeth didn’t know if this question was appropriate, but well, what else to ask? “What brings you this far into the wildlands?” 

“My pack is gone, and it’s all my fault,” he responded, muttering “again” as he took another bite. “Ohhh, that doesn’t sound good.” She searched his face for some kind of clue as to whether they were alive or dead. ”Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“Hm.” He stared into the fire. “Well. It’s because of this.” He pointed to where his forehead held a dark spiral that bled down past his eye. 

“Wha- they couldn’t handle meeting someone of a different clan!?” 

A strangled, shocked kind of laugh was his immediate response. Then he swiveled to look her in the eye. “There’s a whole lot of good reasons they could have been apprehensive. Even some reasons to kill me on sight.” “Don’t talk like -”

“I’m a demon. It was never going to go well but it’s just my goddamned luck that it came out at the worst time and wrecked what was left of our trust in the process.”

“. . . Ah . . .”

His pretty, raspy voice held the sharp edge of rage. “I’m supposed to be stuck in the Demon Realm right now, and trust me, I’d like nothing more. I’ve . . . I’ve tried everything.” A bitter, exhausted demon, alone in the woods. 

Elizabeth frowned at him and tried to speak as gently as possible. “What happened?”

“Ah -” he choked. “I - uh - “

“Oh, you don’t have to -” 

“No, just, you caring startled me. I can tell you were actually being sincere when you said that. . . and for me, that’s rare.”

“I can see how that could happen, considering no one back there in the city seemed to care about what I had to say at all. And I’m just trying to catch some murderers. I wasn’t asking for them to understand me as a person or anything, or to help me save the whole damn kingdom.”

He nodded slowly. “I . . . was sent to trial, and spared a while ago, on one condition. That I helped fulfill some ancient prophecy passed along the generations of the Liones family. I’m not opposed to making sure some idiot doesn’t make the world more of a hellhole than it already is, so of course I said yes. I can’t die by normal means anyway so it was like a gift with two parts. It would have been really awkward if they tried to stab me and I, just, didn’t die. I only just realized how convenient it was while I’ve been sitting here in this forest. I realized I . . . it kind of destroyed me, when they left . . . not just because, I thought we could really . . . be something . . . but also that it had awakened some ancient part of me that I thought I’d strangled long ago. I can’t believe it, but for a second there I really thought I could have some greater purpose. Be a part of something again. Some kind of reason to keep breathing that doesn’t die as the seasons pass.”

“I understand.” Elizabeth tried to communicate with her eyes that she truly meant it. That she had come close to feeling like just another leaf that will wither and die, the day her mothers told her they were considering moving to the city just so she could have a “the kind of peaceful, ordinary life that a kid should have.” She would never forget that scare. Her whole world almost escaped. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through when his world had actually left. 

“I spent, what, ten or so years tracking down the people foretold by the prophecy. I’m appointed as their captain and we start to get to know each other. And I . . . lived. Actually lived. I didn’t know if I’d ever get that again. So three years go by and there’s all kinds of trouble between us, but I’m like, that’s to be expected. You throw seven of the most “I’ve got baggage!” people in Britannia together and of course we’re gonna clash like no tomorrow. But hey, maybe we can get through it together, right?” His mouth twitched in a tiny, tragic smile. “It could have turned out that way. That’s what hurts the most.  If I weren’t such a colossal fuckup when it comes to people, I could have done better. I tried to do better. But stuff started coming out at the worst possible time, when tensions were already at a breaking point.” 

He took another huge bite of bear flesh, crunching bones between his teeth. “You have to understand. Merlin’s not a bad person. She was raised like I was, a weapon with no knowledge of feelings. She’s a kid. A kid. I don’t know how long she’s been around and I don’t know how long she’s been up to that - cult god stuff - or how long that thing’s been digging inside her head. But she wasn’t a lost cause. I had to try to help. It all came out . . . like that . . . and it just . . . everything got quiet and I could feel it like a stake through the heart. Just fell apart.” He exhaled. She had no idea how he said all that in one go and still had breath left to exhale so sharply. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“Why . . . they didn’t try to talk it out? A-” 

Crack. She barely registered he had moved because of the lack of change in his expression. But she didn’t miss the meaning, or how he then gestured to the broken pieces as they fell dramatically to the dirt.

“Yes, that’s how talking usually turns out in- I’ve watched arguments. I mean, afterwards, when you’ve all cooled down and . . . what?

From the look on his face, she could tell there had been no “waiting to resume the discussion until they’ve had time to ruminate on their thoughts.” No “cooling down.” 

“What?” She repeated,her shock twisting her voice into a whisper before it picked up again. “Excuse me, I don’t know your circumstances, but I can’t imagine what could . . . After three years together. . .”

“They didn’t have anywhere to go when they came here. Just like me. But they couldn’t . . . couldn’t find the way to be comfortable with each other, I guess, and when push came to shove, well, they made up their minds. They decided there was nothing to fight for.” 

He was staring into the fire again, the dancing flame deepening in color. Elizabeth watched his face and noticed a hint of longing there with the emptiness. “And the ones who didn’t resent me, well, they had better things to do than stick around.”

“It sounds like. . .” she murmured.

He crunched a bone.

“Is there a way I can help? I, also, have nowhere to be. Except home. I can’t do that yet though.”

“Not yet?” 

That was dodging the question, but Elizabeth didn’t mind. “I have something I need to accomplish, but as it happens, I’m confident I can help you out while I’m at it. Not just saying it . . . to say it . . . like people sometimes do, for some reason.” 

He hummed, staring into the fire. “Maybe. You got something that could kill a cursed demon for realsies?” She gave him a look. “Plotting your own suicide isn’t going to do anything.” 

“It’ll do something, alright.” 

“Bullshit.”

He choked on his food. The coughing fit sent her into a peal of laughter. She smacked him on the back until he looked like he could breathe again. He choked again, this time on some choice words, if she had to guess. She did hit a little hard. But a minute turned into two, turned into five, and she recognized with horror that he had nothing to say.

She couldn’t tease him about being awkward after he said such a mortifying thing. He couldn’t refute her, she couldn’t refute him. All that was left was the method that had failed her so badly back in the city. Could she try it again? 

Elizabeth took a deep breath. 

“I think you’re worth fighting for.”

He said nothing. Kept chewing his food. She kept watching the fire. It struck her with suprise when his hand came to rest on hers. It was warm, very warm, and just a little wet.  

Her smile came so easily, light springing back into her voice as she spoke. 

“As it happens, I’m going on a journey myself. To save the kingdom. You could come with me. It’ll definitely take your mind off all this, and even if you’re not in a saving-the-world kind of headspace, I’d still appreciate the company.”

“For you, my company would be more trouble than it’s worth. On top of it all, me and my friends are fugitives now. Yep. We’ve been exiled from Liones.”

“What a coincidence! I am also, somehow, a fugitive.”

He looked at her like she’d grown a second pair of arms. 

“Yeah I know, I haven’t even been out of my homeland two weeks and now I’m in trouble with the Holy Knights for reasons I don’t understand. You should have seen some of the looks people gave me. Yikes.” 

“Now that’s strange.”

“I thought so. I’m sure it’s part of the scheme. But I’m still trying to investigate what the scheme is for, so I don’t have time to worry about whatever habits city people have that I don’t.” She shifted her legs to point her feet more at the fire. The snow was soaking into her shoes again. “Yeah, I have schemes of my own to worry about. I don’t care if they think I’m some kind of lunatic. If I have to be a lunatic . . . I will.”

“Bold words.”

“Yeah, I’m good at that.”

“Sticking to them will be more difficult than you imagine.” 

She scoffed. Took a deep breath. “Everything’s more difficult than I can imagine.”

Accepting that, the demon surveyed the mostly fleshless carcass one last time.  He took the last bit of meat between his teeth and pried it almost gently it off the bone, swallowing the small bite like a delicacy. 

 “You understanding that means you have a chance at success.”

Elizabeth took a thoughtful breath, her stomach twisting as she foolishly imagined how the raw organs might have tasted to him. Blood and bits of flesh sank into the snow as he nudged the leftovers away from the fire with one foot. 

Another deep breath, because the anxiety was starting to crowd her brain again. “I want to ask you something.”

He tilted his head to gaze up into the sky, but she thought his hand gripped hers a little tighter. Their interlocking fingers carried a warmth that melted the black sludge in her minds into something lighter. She could feel the same happening in her companion, and that gave her the confidence to ask this next, vital question.

“Would you still fight for them?”

A painful sounding inhale. “I would.” 

“Excellent.” She stood up, legs trembling just a bit as movement shot blood through them. “Let’s search for them together.” 

Elizabeth didn’t get out another word before her companion recoiled, falling backward. “Whoa!” She registered the closeness of his face before her brain caught up to what had just happened. Her knee had hit the log, though she’d managed to catch him by throwing an arm around his back. “Easy. Are you-”

“What are you saying?” It was a command, but she didn’t notice, too occupied with how those purple eyes glowed even as her shadow blocked out the firelight. 

“Just what I said. Let’s find your friends so you can tell them what’s on your heart. If you would set out on a journey for them, then, you could do it. Like you said, right? Even if you don’t succeed, the fact you set out in the first place has meaning in itself. So you can have peace.  I’ll do what I can to help you fix the misunderstandings.”

His eyes locked onto their still-joined hands.  “You . . . fuck . . . “ That voice wavered like . . . like this was the first time he’d seen the sun in years. It clamped down on her heart like a fist. 

“Hey, “ she said, feeling ridiculous as all hell now. “What do you think “I think you’re worth fighting for” means?” 

The bloodstained demon’s blank expression broke into a smile, the first she’d seen on him. An incredulous one, but whatever. 

“. . . It’s okay, right? For me to care. . .?”

The rigidness flowed out of his body as quickly as it came. “Yes. Thank you.” His smile was so warm. “Could you say it again? And sit with me. Please.”

“Okay.” She got back down on the log. “Stranger. Tell me your name. And come with me on a journey. Even if you’re not in a place where saving the kingdom is a thing you can do, I’d sure appreciate the company.”

“I can’t.”

“Hu-”

“I can’t tell you my name.” He pried the words out of his mind like nails out of wood. “I can’t claim it anymore. Not after what happened.”  His other hand wound into his golden hair, pulling hard at the strands. “I can’t.” Hard swallow, and his voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “I can’t call myself . . . can’t be this version of me if I want to accomplish anything - which, I’m deciding I do. If I don’t go back . . . to that ruthless person I used to be . . . I can’t win. I can’t win against the gods, or the fate they damned me to. Kindness isn’t enough for that battle. I’ll be killed. No, obliterated.”

“Do not do that. That sounds like exactly what the gods want - for you to backtrack and scramble all your progress. And anyway, that won’t work. To fight injustice you need the kindness of many people. Not just one. Ruthlessness can’t replace that. I’m only failing my quest because - no, I’m NOT failing, and neither are you. We - ah, damn, it sucks, but we hit a roadblock. It has nothing to do with our ability at this point. We’re alone and we can’t accomplish goals like these by ourselves. We gotta find people who believe in us. We can work together to find them. Or, at least, I can help you. So you can’t claim your identity right now.” She searched his eyes for his reaction. “You can still come with me. We can do this. My moms and friends are more than capable of taking care of everything back at home, and as long as no one suspicious thinks I’m a threat, I’ve got lots of time before the conspiracies start turning into action. They’re still in the plotting stages, but -”

“I’m coming with you.” The demon interjected. “I can help you save the kingdom. I can’t forgive the court for not even hearing me out, or for treating my friends so harshly, but I can’t help but feel an affinity for the people.” She couldn’t comprehend the softness in his gaze - this deep compassion from a demon who was ostracized everywhere he went. “I don’t want to stop trying just because people are terrible to me.”

“I - I’m glad. Welcome aboard, my nameless new friend.” 

A laugh tumbled out of him. The hand she wasn’t holding shot to his face in an attempt to muffle it. Then, failing that, grabbed at her cheek, missed, and pinched her nose instead. She loosened her grip on his hand when he drew hers up to his mouth and kissed it with fierce reverence. After seconds of holding it there, against his lips - which drew an embarrassed giggle out of her -  his face melted into a genuine, peaceful smile, as freely as if he were the most familiar person in the world.

“You’re gorgeous,” she told him. “That smile, I mean.” 

His breath hitched audibly. For a minute she thought he might have gotten cramps. Those purple eyes glistened, moisture sparkling in the firelight. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure this is real. That my mind hasn’t just deteriorated so much that it made someone up to come and comfort me.”

She blinked, then reached over to grab his hand. Drawing it close to her, she put it on her breast and squeezed. “Hmm. Well. Supposedly, a man can always tell if this is real. According to my guy friends that is. Like, you can’t replicate it in a dream.”

He looked at her, then at his hand, then back at her, with an open mouth and awe in his eyes.

“So, can you tell?”

“. . . this is real.”

“Neat!! Glad I finally got to test that, it’s been floating around in the back of my brain for years. I’ve spent my whole life collecting weird facts but I’ve got so few about people as a whole.”

He stared at her.

“Is . . . there something wrong?” 

“Nothing at all! What made you think that? My mind wandered for a second. Hey, maybe we should find somewhere better to sleep.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. The nearest village should be a couple of hours away, calculating in our trip through this forest - we can get there by the afternoon and see if there’s anywhere to stay.” 

The demon pulled her back onto the log as she went to stand up. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.” Seeing her shock, he added, “Have you noticed the weather?”

“You’re shirtless,” Elizabeth countered. “Obviously you think it’s okay to do that in this kind of weather, why not go gallivanting through the night?”

“Ha!”

“Where is your shirt, by the way? Are you just relying on this magic fire not to freeze to death?”

“My body is compensating well for this temperature. The shirt would make it worse, actually.”

“Ah, a demon biology thing?”

“Pretty much.” 

“O-oh. . .”

Elizabeth tilted her head back up at the sky, flinching at the icy touch of the snowflakes. Habit had her checking the stars, but leaves and clouds blocked her view. She couldn’t remember where she had planned to go if he had agreed to get up and just start walking. Her face fell back to the warmth of the dancing fire. It crackled, laughing at her as she answered her own unspoken question.  Desperation. That was what made her heart sink just now - the rush of emotions from that day realization overwhelming her. Her desperation was the most frightening. Every bit of the competent adventurer that she was despised it. 

Ah . . . she couldn’t find anything else to say. Or think. So as the adrenaline and excitement of this encounter ebbed away, Elizabeth Gesmira began to cry.

Tap. tap. tap. She blinked at the demon gently tapping her chin to get her attention. 

He’s - 

Warmth swallowed her next thought as this stranger clutched her firmly against his chest. He was her personal pillow now and taking no arguments about it. He’s so short . . . I’m practically lying down now . . . and, she realized, the chill she felt on the surface of his skin was melted snow. Despite the cold, he’d scrubbed all the blood off his skin before hugging her. How considerate. It was so distracting, she missed the way he was smiling so genuinely. The truth was, if she was the kind of person with a hint of wariness . . . well, when she looked up and saw the light that had sprung up in those blank purple eyes, the way they glittered with the hint of their own tears and that emotion just seemed to to fuel that smile . . . she would have left that demonic campfire far behind. 

Elizabeth looked down into that far-off gaze with its intense, gentle smile and sniffed, slightly comforted. “Normally I know what to do, at least, if I don’t know where to go,” she swore through the tears. “I do. I’m not as naieve as that girl at the bar said I was - ah, but you didn’t see that, I don’t actually have to mention that . . .” she sniffed again. “Look, she was a bitch. People don’t know all kinds of things. I’ve never actually . . . seen coins exchanged for goods before. So what? I live in a remote fortress on the outskirts of the kingdom, what the hell do they expect, that every single person from everywhere has the same baseline knowledge? I barter just fine.” That last part became more and more of an indignant mumble. 

“Human currency is fucked,” the demon proclaimed. He gave no further explanation, and honestly, Elizabeth thought it hadn’t been that difficult to pick up on, but okay. Legit. She appreciated the solidarity. 

“. . . are you . . . going to be hungry in the morning?”

“Why are you thinking that right now?” 

“Because if nowhere else. . . I know a grove of trees with the most delicious winter apples.”

“Apples, huh?”

“They’re my favorite. And while we’re on our way we can check up on the druids who live nearby and - and get some more information.” 

“. . . yeah. I like that plan.” He yawned, and Elizabeth yawned reflexively. “Where is this grove?”

“Ah . . . near the Forest of White Dreams? You’re not scared of urban legends, are you?”

“I am an urban legend. And I’ve actually been there before. I went traveling with a friend once, and the last item on her bucket list before she became a knight was a hike through that forest. As it happens, we found . . . apple trees . . . growing there. Just, in this clearing atop the hill. It looked like something you’d see in mythology - a place you would go to fight a dragon and acquire an ancient treasure. I’ve fought dragons before. I don’t know if they like apples. Heh, I’m rambling now . . . I can’t help it, though . . . you know I’m pretty old, right?”

Elizabeth yawned again. “Don’t demons age differently than humans? Like giants do?”

“It’s true. I mean, that’s right.”

She wrapped an arm around his waist. “Are you going to tell me why you’re nervous about that?”

“My friend’s name was Wilmot. She was born a druid. And . . . ” he looked over her like he couldn’t forsee what she would say, and that upset him. Before he could speak again, she poked his cheek. “Have you been sending letters to my home?”

“H- hm?!”

“I was given to my mother, Wilmot, by an old friend. I think he happened to be a teenaged demon just like you, right?” 

“. . . I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“Well, good! Being a teenager can really suck.” She laughed gently. “Wait, you’re not thinking I’m your niece now or something? Right?”

“Should I?” 

“No - goddesses - don’t!”

“I’m going out of my mind,” mumbled the demon in a resigned and sleepy tone. “Go to bed, and kill me in the morning.”

“No, I think I’ll keep throwing you for a loop until dawn. Until your whooooole mind is wiped clean like, uh, the fresh morning snow. And you -”

“That’s full of dirt.”

“I can debate that.”

Suddenly she could feel his body shaking as he cackled. “Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe we should find your friends quickly before I drive you insane.”

“You’re joking.”

“I -” yawn, “- am not . . . joking.” 

“You have to be.”

“I don’t. Mm. You’re so warm, even in the snow… how come?”

“You’re keeping me dry. Like an exotic blanket.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll believe that when you lay down.” She murmmered with her face against his chest, the words spoken almost right up against his skin. He shivered, the closeness more than welcome - as she knew. He told her he had already made himself comfortable.

“Mkay.” She rubbed the mostly dried tears off her face, blinking away what remained. Then, on the cusp of unconsciousness, she perceived his whisper like one would a disconcerting but not unpleasant dream: “I acknowledge you’re not joking. If you were aware, you’d know this casual nonsense makes me so happy I’d rather fall into unknown depths than stay away.” He sighed, that gentle smile from earlier returning. “Thank you finding me today. I guess I needed to see you again after all, huh?”

—- a girl who can be saved —- 

[Merlin voiceover:] “It is not a black void. It is not made of steel, or brick, or anything else that could possibly keep me in. It is not a place where life comes to die. In fact, it is right where life begins and ends, a precarious balance between the souls wherein. But it is a prison all the same.”

A black screen fades slowly until the audience can see ins and outs of a dusty, witch’s workshop through the haze. Potions. Cauldrons. Old books. Experiments. Things that shouldn’t be in a jar, kept in a jar. Dry, crusty blood from the …incident… a few months back. And of course, the explosion that almost wasn’t contained in time created a hole with a 1-foot diameter in the floor.

There is a suave woman in an over-sexualized outfit in the middle of this room. She looks uncomfortable, almost as if she should be squirming in pain. There is something wrong about her. Like she doesn’t belong in her own skin. And the cloth does her no favors, an oddly textureless gown without shading. The whole woman looks photoshopped into this scene now that the audience is paying attention.

Sitting near the hole is a child who looks much like her, clearly around ten or so, wearing an outfit that should have been replaced years ago for all its wear and tear. 

“Six hundred years have gone by, since living became an afterthought. I’ve discussed my research with countless people and calculated the current trajectory of both goddesses and demons, as well as the side projects and the favors for mankind. My word is indisputable among several important circles. So why can’t you believe me?”

There is a long pause, but the woman is patient and does not say another word. Her eyes and glare demanding a response, she walks right up to her companion.

Slowly, the girl turns, staring through empty eyes leaking black and white tears over a cracked, leaking face like a mask. There is rot somewhere deep inside that skull, something more grey than black or white, something living and dying at the same time that holds together a girl smiling a blank smile of innocence and, if you look closely enough, amusement.

[Sweet little girl:] “You can’t keep this up forever. There’s no need to say I will have you. You have always been mine, my priestess. From the second you were born, you were destined to defy fate.”

“I will defy you. I chose to defy you!”

“My child, your journey is not yet complete. You are asking for your own destruction.”

“Destroy me, then. I won’t hurt anyone else that I care about.”

“You will never see them again.” 

“If you’re going to continue on like this, then I don’t plan to. You will never, ever leave this room unless you leave my body first. Like I’ve said.”

“Oh, Merlin. You couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I always have. Didn’t the kingdom survive, just like I said it would?”

“Because the experiment failed. Because I realized the truth in time to -”

(with obvious affection): “No, sweet. Because I guaranteed it.”

“The only thing you can control is my mind. I know that now.” Her teeth grind as she speaks, the disgust on her face more than appropriate. “You can’t take that knowledge away from me.” 

“Hmm. That’s what you think.” She smiles prettily. She cups her face with one hand, all cutesy-like. “It’s still true, you know. If not for me, you would have no hope of healing that hole you’ve got there in your heart.”

The giant hole materializes on the woman’s body. She glances down briefly, but is unfazed. If anything, she seems even more confident now.

“I don’t care anymore. I’ll do anything I have to do. Just like I swore to you all those years ago.”

(with excitement and obvious affection): “Very good. I don’t expect anything less, Merlin~” 

This earns her a frown. “I can’t see how you could possibly win if you keep me as your priestess.”

“That’s because ~ you’re busy looking down!”

Merlin looks down. 

Blood rains down from the ceiling into the floor, into the image of a city no one could possibly save. Broken and bloodied silhouette stare back at Merlin in terror.

“I can’t let it happen again. Why can’t you understand that?” She sounds genuinely upset. “Why can’t you understand, that I would rather die and be nothing than be the cause of it again? That I don’t claim you as mine, and never will again? You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t talk like nothing has changed…”

“But nothing’s changed! Eeeeeverything’s the same as it always was. The humans, the gods, and you and me?” Toothy smile. “There’s nothing that can separate us now, Merlin. This is the fate you’re meant to defy - the fate of a lost, broken girl with no one, who lives and dies as fleeing and ultimately meaningless as a single flower in the breeze. That stunning beauty was never yours. Yours is something that endures, and with me, enduring all it takes to get there will be effortless as breathing. Just like it was. All kids go through a rebellious phase at some point in their lives. And people abandon them when it gets to difficult. You’re not my tool, Merlin. I’m never going to replace you with anyone. Wherever I go, you are going, too. Up to heaven and right down to hell! You have to meet my other children, after all. They’re just going to love you.”  

“You can only influence my mind so much!”

“I never needed all that much.”

[Merlin voiceover:] “Life itself has become my prison, more than it ever was before.” 

____________________________________________________________--

Thank you for reading!!

Link to the rest of the AU:

[carrymelikeimcute]

Tw : Suicidal ideation

The thing that really GOT to me about the shift from 'painted face crazed pirate' Kracken-Blackbeard to 'messy bun, outwardly calm but still deadly' Blackbeard is... how much it reminded me some issues with anti-depressants.

So, 'Kracken' Edward is out there, drowning in pain, literally trying to kill love. Not just the parts of him that can feel love, but love ITSELF. He starts a slaughter at a wedding, the crew are only able to show softness to each other when he's not there. Izzy tells him he 'has love' for him and he shoots him in the leg. He's unpredictable, chaotic, prone to long stints of downtime and dwelling. He's a mess.

Then, he has a big old cleansing breakdown, stops drinking and realises he can't just kill the part of him that loves - all of him has to go for this to end, and he starts to go about this mission with purpose - firstly he gives Izzy a loaded gun, tries everything to get him to kill him, then he plans to steer the ship into a storm, removes the wheel and threatens the lives of everyone on board.

Because sometimes, when you're depressed, really fucking in it, and you take a step that's meant to help you, like taking meds or (in this case) stop taking unhelpful substances...you get back just enough focus and energy to act on your desire for self annihilation.

For info - https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/drugs-and-treatments/antidepressants/side-effects-of-antidepressants/

[drifloonz]

Hi! I'm usually not one to send asks all that often, but what the heck. I'm kinda curious about your thoughts on something too since I've seen a lot of differing opinions.

Steven. Obviously Miki's accident and Missingno annihilated his sanity, but I feel like Mike's ghost also haunts him. Not in a malicious way, but just by existing. He just really wants to understand why Steven had to do that to him but whenever he attempts to reach out Steven flips due to guilt. I've seen someone's headcanon where Steven is this cold-hearted bastard who never cared about Mike, even as kids, and idk. It just doesn't sit right with me. Nothing wrong with it I'm just wondering how many other people share that sentiment vs Steven feeling immense guilt at being so blinded by rage that he'd murder his own brother and basically sell his soul.

Sorry if this is too much, I tend to ramble 😅

HI!! you were my actual first ask but i didn't see this one at first until i was writing the other one and out of the corner of my eye saw this and went "wait a minute." funny how that happens.

ANYWAYS i can definitely do that for you and ALSO do not apologize i ramble so much as well its fine. this'll be so long i apologize so im putting most of it under a read more !

cw for Bad mental health, strangling/murder obviously, and also some suicidal ideation ( which is warned for in the paragraph its shown in ).

i think steven just sort of like... blocks it off and tries to forget everything about that ever happened, but obviously, you cant forget that stuff that easily. it haunts him but he tries to push it as far back to his head as he can and he tries to forget SOOO hard... he's in intense denial. i like the art of him immediately regretting it but i think he'd just stare at mikes corpse for a few minutes and then just be like. scarred by the imagery, and it'd make him breathe heavily and make his eyes widen in regret and he'd just keep staring for a few minutes. but he'd just run away afterward and it just burns into his mind sometimes, making him remember and regret it.

as someone with mental illness of Horribly Bad amounts, when someone you trust like that betrays you or you believe them to betray you ( which, its the ladder for steven and mike, mike obviously didn't intend to kill miki whether or not you believe he initiated the trade with slightly malicious/selfish intent or not ) it does bad damage to your psyche. especially when the murder of someone you care for is involved, which makes the thinking in steven's brain go "oh mike murdered miki. intentionally or not he's the reason she's dead." and then that makes him very upset towards mike mixed with someone he sorta looked up to betray him like that. he just regressed hard and went thru a depressive spiral for a whole year, having the thing he most loved taken away from him so suddenly almost entirely without his control, and then he got so tired of bottling it up he snapped ( lol ) and killed mike.

suicidal thoughts cw for this paragraph: and also during the 1 year without miki, steven obviously went through a major depressive episode and a sort of downwards spiral that just got worse and worse, and i don't think he wanted to get better. this is heavy but i sort of think he just hoped neglecting his self-care would eventually kill him and reunite him with his miki again, which is all he wanted. he didn't eat much if at all and he just sat in front of miki's grave, sometimes for days. he made a bed out of his misery, because it felt comfortable in a morbid way. if he died, he'd reunite with her, because at that point he didn't know anything could bring her back and all he wanted was her. it felt better than just... getting over it, or trying to. people convinced him to take better care of himself, but he still barely did anything past his necessities. this didn't help his mental state at all, as you can probably tell, which also fueled his hatred towards mike after the incident more and more. he made himself suffer this much due to an accident he caused, and he used that as further reasoning to dislike him, even though that was all self-inflicted.

i also like to think they didn't hate each other genuinely before this - mike never genuinely hated steven, but steven after the incident probably had Many complex feelings towards mike, mostly negative. but before the incident, they definitely had arguments and spats, and sometimes one would say something that would genuinely hurt the other ( usually steven did this to mike more than viceversa imo but both happened ) which both of them also probably bottled up and didnt talk about a lot ( although mike'd definitely apologize if he ever went too far - steven, i feel like would be too guilty and nervous to apologize ) which also sort of exploded in steven's face after miki died in front of him. those 3 things mixing together did not make a good combo for him.

the interp of missingno needing souls or steven at least thinking it does is fun but i like to think it never did and steven was just going through a horrendous downward spiral, and he went back home bc... where else would he go, he'd still have to pack the rest of his stuff to leave if he intended to, and seeing mike so vulnerable flipped a switch in steven's mind and made him just go [ steven voice ] "You know what would be funny?" ( worst way to describe that but u get it ). this can also arguably be missingnos influence or missingno possessing steven, which i feel is more plausible then it needing a sacrifice. but i think it just probably inserts or pushes forward steven's intrusive and aggressive thoughts, which i like to believe he always had especially after the incident, but never this bad. and then he just did it bc the thoughts wouldn't leave him alone and his mind convinced himself into it. even though he already had miki and didn't need to do that, it felt... fitting, to him. it was satisfying for a moment, especially because i like the interpretation that his mind warped mikes dying expression into him looking like he's laughing at steven ( explaining his hyplull sprites when hes being strangled being so weird ), until his mind realized the damage he just did, seeing mikes glazed over expression that was very much not smiling or laughing, and he went "oh. shit" in his head probably. his mind couldn't even comprehend what he just did. it'd take a lot of processing, and he didn't even want to process any of that, so after staring for a bit he just walked away from the scene and escaped to never be seen again.

i also like the interpretation that steven thought mike didn't actually care that much about miki dying or even did the trading thing on purpose - he clearly didn't kill her on purpose, but steven was so blinded by his own muddled emotions and rage and he needed an outlet, someone to blame, so he couldn't see it any other way and CONVINCED himself that mike did that on purpose. also because admittedly in canon mike saying that he needed a charizard implies he already had a charmeleon but thats muddy territory and probably just slightly a plot hole. but if that was the case i bet steven was like "... just evolve the charmeleon?" "but that'd take too looooong!" or something like that. mike is impatient as hell fr fr mans got adhd

if you want a good take on this and havent already, read faulty on ao3 . i hate ao3 for various reasons and only go there when im Parched for content. but goddamn that fic has the best characterization of the two imo, especially of this dynamic of them specifically along with their other relationships ( namely daisy and reds relationship to steven and mike too ) - steven even sometimes goes through like being slightly better around mike and then it all drops when he realizes she died for nothing, and mike didnt even finish the dex. fucking phenomenal fic tbh i love this characterization of them sm. a lot of this summarizes how i think they'd both act after the incident

____

as for the haunting... yeaaa. i think steven's just way too scarred and confused and scared to even allow mike to properly reach out, if steven even realizes it. i like to think he's paranoid and overthinks so he probably goes "oh god what if its mike" and then woopsy daisy! It is mike. and he just tries to pretend its nothing so bad and to ignore and avoid him because he's scared and confused and it makes him think far too long about his emotions on the situation that he was intentionally bottling up and pushing to the back of his head.

he also probably would think mike would try to revenge kill him because that's just how he thinks he himself would react if mike did that to him. Which makes him regret things further. he sleeps less due to this, usually on the defensive even though mike has no intent to harm him. i don't think mike ever had any room in his heart to ever hate steven. he's just confused or slightly upset at worst at anything steven's said or done to him... mike probably doesn't even really blame him, but he does just hope he's ok and prob lets out a sigh of relief when he finds steven, who is still a mess going through many things, and also murderous now, but he's still alive! which is a win in mikes book i guess!

he probably just tries to pretend mike isn't actually there or actively get rid of him, or he wouldn't even notice mike is haunting him in the first place, depending on how obvious the signs of the haunting are. his house is already sort of run down and haunted as fuck anyways, but in the back of his head he knows somethings off.

i also ... like the interp that steven took all of mikes team bc nobody was there to care for them anymore. so maybe when steven notices he sends out mikes blastoise or some of his other party members and hopes to god mike leaves him alone to go bother his own pokemon who he hasn't seen for years. after all, he basically never let mikes mons out of their ball, and even considered donating them all to professor oak or something ( probably just.. leaving the pokeballs out infront of the lab one day ) but that felt wrong, so he always kept them on hand. sometimes feeding them and not much else. mike probably had a ghost type ( gengar ) who can conveniently probably see him, and mike definitely would try to communicate to steven further through said ghost type. and he'd just be like. "gdi why did i send out the ghost type" in his mind.

miki can definitely see mikes ghost. mike is also like "OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU. WAIT YOUR ALIVE????" in his head, but he quickly gets used to it. he has no idea what the hell a missingno is or how/why she's alive but he just stops questioning it. they sometimes share a glance and nod. mike will sometimes avert his gaze from her due to guilt though. miki doesn't seem to care or hold resent, probably because imo 'M ( however you want to spell Missingno Miki ) isn't actually miki. it's missingno sort of possessing, haunting, or keeping miki's dead corpse alive, but her soul is no longer there anymore. at least most of it Isn't there. due to that she's a lot more emotionless. even if miki's soul was in there though, she would not hold genuine resent. if miki's soul was in there she'd probably be scared of steven ( specifically yk S!3V3N ) tbh

i definitely think steven has hallucinations sometimes, usually of miki or mikes corpses, usually much more horrifying looking than they actually were, so this doesn't help!

steven overall is just on the fence and regrets it all but doesn't even wanna think abt or interact w mike but if he somehow became more okay with it, he might start leaving mike notes or something. or talking to himself, assuming mike might overhear. small steps like that. and maybe if mike is able to sometimes steven just passes out on the couch or smth and mike covers him in a blanket while hes asleep and stevens just like. "That was not there when I fell asleep." in his head. stuff like that.

also mike might switch the tv channels or just Project an image onto it somehow. and steven just. squints at it. i think it'd be nice if they eventually got used to eachothers presence again and just silently hung around eachother. mike really wants to look after steven after seeing the state he's in and how much he didn't really help steven effectively when mike was alive. for an example probably, like, nudging the bathroom door open and turning on the bathwater and trying to make steven take a mfing bath and practice self care for once and steven just begrudgingly sighs and goes to do it since he might as well. and mike just walks away and is very smug about it. he Will make his little brother practice self care again and he's made that his personal goal. steven walking into the kitchen and seeing various pots and pans floating around along with a mess on the floor ( mikes getting used to his levitation powers still </3 ) and he just squints his eyes and leaves and comes back and theres a meal on the counter

steven making pancakes and he just holds out a plate for mike and he just takes it. and steven just sees the plate floating and goes "yea thats about what i expected" or smth. its cute, Although i cant see that happening very easily unfortunately </3 steven is very broken and very much Not wanting to think abt mike. so itd take very long for him to warm back up or even be ok with him possibly existing arnd him. but this'd prob happen eventually if mike is persistent, and by god, is mike persistent. its what got him into this mess in the first place.

i can write so much abt these depressed ex champions fr!!! anyways thank you for reading sorry for writing so much words. i hope this feeds you enough content for the next winter. i hope literally any of this made sense bc i just sorta typed my thought processes until it looked legible - wispy