#and the helplessness and grief that follows it and realizing how things can never go back to how it used to be

[madsworld15]

Part 3 of Chapter 2: "May" from Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me.

QAF, BrianxJustin, Asexual Spectrum Representation, Series Re-Telling

*Trigger Warning: This section contains talk of vivid, violent nightmares.

Also, this is for my sweet friends who have been my biggest supporters with this series: @winderlylandchime @maryp50 @in-cracks-of-light

This whole Chapter will be up on AO3 sometime tomorrow!

With a bag slung over his shoulder, Brian opened the door to his loft. He walked through it, leaving it open for Justin to follow him inside. 

He looked around at his pristine, minimalist decor and silently wondered how this was going to work out. Justin hadn’t been wrong two days ago when he had told Brian and his mom that Brian’s home was basically a fuckpad on steroids. Brian had never been good at sharing his personal, private space with anyone. Mostly because he was naturally social to the degree of getting what he needed – sex and the occasional family contact. When he left work or dinner at Debbie’s or any other outing for that matter, he loved that he could come back here and put all his walls down and just be himself. Now, he wouldn’t be able to have even that. Maybe Justin was right, and they’d drive each other nuts within days.

“I can stay on the couch.” Justin’s words broke through Brian’s thoughts. He frowned in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Brian looked Justin up and down, observing how small the man now made himself.

The last time Justin had been in Brian’s apartment had been right after his father died. Justin had been larger than life that night. Moving around like he owned the place, putting things away or moving them so that Brian didn’t have to think about anything but his overwhelmingly complicated grief. That night, Brian saw just how take-charge Justin naturally was. It had been extremely sexy, and despite his despair, he had realized then that Justin was exactly the kind of man he didn’t know he’d been looking for.

Looking at him now, cowering into himself in the middle of the room, surreptitiously glancing every which way to assess the possibility of a threat, you wouldn’t know he was ever overly confident. That realization broke Brian’s heart. No one deserved to get bashed for being themselves, but even more so, no one deserved to live in a constant state of fear. Brian ached to take that fear away from Justin, but he felt helpless to figure out how. If there was one thing good that came out of how Brian was raised, it was that he’d learned at an early age to stand back and observe, letting others dictate his presence in their space.

“This is your apartment. I can sleep on the couch.” Justin didn’t make eye contact and he shrugged. It was as if he believed he was already taking up too much space.

“You’ve seen my bed; it’s big enough for the two of us. I promise I won’t touch you.” Brian slowly approached Justin, not wanting to startle him. “You’re safe here.”

“Or I could sleep on the couch if you’d prefer not to share direct space with me.” Brian gave Justin an alternate option, “Whatever you decide, you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Justin didn’t give Brian an answer at all. He just continued to stand there, trembling ever so slightly. Instead of pushing him, Brian walked around him and went about straightening up the apartment. There wasn’t much to do, but he needed to distract himself, or else he would physically try to get Justin to respond to him. They co-existed in the same space for another ten minutes in silence.

“I remember coming here. But, it still feels like foreign territory.” Justin’s voice was emotionless and distant.

Brian continued looking over files on his computer, knowing that Justin hadn’t given him permission to be in his bubble of safety just yet. He did, however, silently watch as Justin slowly walked toward Brian’s bed and reverently ran his fingers along the edge of the bed as he walked the link of it. Justin’s right hand still couldn’t do much, but he could move it more than previously.

“I remember we slept here together. You were so sad. I didn’t know what to do for you that night. So, I did what I knew; I held you while you pretended you weren’t crying.” Justin looked up, and their eyes met.

“I have always respected your lack of desire for sex. That now extends to any form of touch you aren’t comfortable with. Everyone else might say I’m selfish and only think of myself, but I would never cross a line with anyone. Especially not you.” Brian sucked in his bottom lip and waited for Justin to react.

Justin sat down on the corner of Brian’s bed and nodded. A silence fell between them once more. It was only 6 pm, and Brian still needed to go over the notes for his client meeting the next morning. So, he turned back to his computer and continued to work. He wanted to ask Justin what he was thinking in the hopes of better understanding his silence, but he didn’t. Brian was nothing if not predictable; conversation and feelings were not his strong points, especially if they converged into one.

The next time he looked up, he saw that Justin had curled up on top of the covers on the right side of the bed. Brian shut off his computer and went about his nightly routine as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to wake up the young man. As he went through the motions of taking a shower, cleaning his face, and brushing his teeth, Brian thought about what sharing a space with Justin would probably mean in the months to come.

I have to make things right by him. All he’s ever done is be patient, kind, and understanding with me. And what have I done in return? Dismissed him and denied my feelings for him. Because I had to self-sabotage to avoid being hurt, I hurt him. If I had followed him outside that night, maybe I couldn’t stopped him from getting anywhere near those guys, or I could’ve stopped them from hurting him. Fucking Michael. All he did was stand there and stare. 

Brian’s phone rang in the other room, and he dived to answer it before it could wake up Justin. Without even bothering to check who might be calling, Brian pushed the accept button.

“Hello.” He kept his voice soft and low, moving toward the bathroom once more to finish up his routine. 

“Hey, are you coming out tonight?” Michael’s voice was filled with hope. 

Brian from six months ago would’ve allowed his tone to manipulate him, and he’d feel guilty for having to say no. But, currently, Brian didn’t give a fuck how Mikey felt.

“Can’t. I’m busy, busy.” Brian glanced toward his bed once more when he saw movement. It was just the lad turning over in his sleep.

“Come on! I haven’t seen you in days.” Mikey whined.

“I’m sure Emmett and Ted are available,” was Brian’s clipped response.

“But I wanted to see you. I figured we could dance the night away now that we’re both single.”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?” Mikey seemed caught off guard by Brian’s simple reply.

“Single. I’m with Justin. And he just got released today.” Brian rolled his eyes and added, “Like I said, I’m busy.”

“I knew you were mad about what happened to him and, for some reason, blamed me, but it's been a month!” Mikey huffed and then hung up.

Brian hung up the phone and sighed. Between his job and Michael, he didn’t think his headache would ever go away. Pushing Michael from his mind, Brian went to the cabinet off to the side of his bathroom, where he kept an extra pillow. He could just grab his from the bed, but he didn’t want to leave anything up to chance when it came to waking up the kid, especially considering he had consistent nightmares.

He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and turned off all the lights, except for the one illuminating the hall just off his bed area. He didn’t want Justin to wake up to complete darkness and freak out. Then, he took his glass and pillow over to the couch and got settled in for the night. He didn’t always sleep with pants on, but until Justin felt more comfortable, he would be.

The night air was chilly enough that Brian could see his breath as it escaped his mouth. The thumpa thumpa of Babylon permeated his skin from behind while the sound of a scuffle did the same to his front. He focused on what was happening and lept into action. Justin was being attacked by a group of faceless men who didn’t look much older than the kid himself. But, like always, Brian was too late…

NO! GOD! NO!

Brian awoke with a start, only this time it wasn’t his own dream that had startled him, but Justin’s screams.

“PLEASE! STOP! BRIAN!!!”

Brian lept over the couch to find Justin trapped in a tangle of the blanket. He was thrashing his body around, trying to get free. Brian froze. Was he supposed to wake him? What was the protocol for nightmares?

Brian tentatively stepped toward his bedroom and the bed. He pulled the blanket down toward him from where it was tucked in at the end. He didn’t touch Justin but allowed the sheet to be pulled from where it lay around his body. With the release of the sheet, Justin’s eyes shot open, and he sat up.

“Wha? Where am I?” His breaths came in gasps, and his eyes were wide and wild. 

Brian stepped into his line of site, still not close enough to touch, and used his soft, gentle voice – the one he mostly used for Gus, to calm down the blonde.

“Justin. Look at me.” Brian instructed, “Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”

Justin looked into Brian’s eyes, and they both remained silent as Justin tried to get his breathing under control.

“You are safe,” Brian added. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t even touch you.”

Justin dropped his head into his hands and started to cry. Brian sat back, just watching, until his heart couldn’t take it anymore and he moved closer in the hopes of being able to give Justin some comfort.

He sat inches away from Justin, making sure his body didn’t touch the young man in any way. As Justin started to hyperventilate because of his crying, Brian reached out and tentatively placed his hand on Justin’s knee. It was up near his chest, but Brian figured it was safe because there was no intention but comfort to be interpreted by it.

“Justin, you need to take a deep breath and calm down.”

Justin tensed the moment Brian’s hand made contact with his knee, but then he slowly regained control of his tears and, by extension, his breathing. After a few minutes, Justin was reduced to hiccuping after each breath. Brian just sat there waiting for Justin to lead what came next. This wasn’t exactly familiar territory for him. Brian didn’t usually stick around for complicated, not even with his closest friends. He’d rather let them figure it out and rely on him for simple things like a check or some booze.

After a few minutes, Justin finally spoke. His voice was raspy and still filled with the remnants of sleep.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why? You can’t control nightmares any more than you can control the color of your eyes.” Brian kept his voice at a low volume because it seemed to keep Justin at ease.

“I know you have a client meeting tomorrow. You need your sleep.”

“You didn’t wake me up.” Brian lied a little. “I had my own nightmare, actually.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.” Justin pulled away from Brian’s touch and twisted himself into an even tighter ball of limbs and torso.

“I’m not lying. Ever since that night, I have had a recurring nightmare. I try to get to you and save you, but I can’t.” Brian looked at his hands. He would never admit something so vulnerable to anyone else, but Justin deserved to know he wasn’t the only one harmed that night. He wasn’t alone.

“Do you have the same nightmare every night, or does it change,” Justin whispered, untangling himself a little to lean closer to Brian in interest.

“It’s not every night, but yes, it stays the same. Every time. I see the guys hurting you, and I run, but it’s never fast enough. Sometimes, my nightmare also stretches out the distance, so it feels like I never get any closer to you.” Brian bit his lip and continued to stare at his hands.

Suddenly, Justin’s hand was in his. For the first time since before the bashing, Justin allowed their fingers to interlock, and he squeezed Brian’s hand really hard.

“You did save me, though.” Justin’s voice had an air of awe to it. “Or at least that’s what my mom and Emmett say.”

“I couldn’t stop them from kicking you in the head or slamming their foot down on your hand.” Brian sucked in a breath, willing himself not to cry, “If you never draw again, it’ll be all my fault.”

Something about the stillness and darkness of the night forced Brian to let down his walls. He felt a vulnerability like never before. He was close to Michael and Lindsay, but not in a way he would ever admit any of this to them.

“My nightmares change from night to night. Some nights, my attackers do exactly what everyone has described to me. On those nights, I scream and scream but a sound never comes out, so no one ever hears me. Some nights, it’s even worse. I’m stuck in a straight jacket that I can’t escape and my attackers are monsters – sometimes it’s werewolves, sometimes vampires, occasionally they’ve been vicious dogs – and nothing I do gets them to stop. But the worst nights are when my attackers have familiar faces like my dad or my mom. The worst one was a few nights ago; my attackers were you, Emmett, and Debbie. I woke up that night and immediately vomited.”

Justin paused and took a few deep breaths to recenter himself and Brian just sat there in shock. He knew that Justin had been having nightmares, but he never could’ve imagined his brain would replace the unknown with known people. 

“I – uh…I don’t know what to say.” Brian struggled to respond. He knew Justin deserved to feel like none of what he saw would ever come true. “Just know that you are safe with us. Emmett, Debbie, and I would never hurt you. Emmett and Debbie would kill for you before ever laying a hand on you in malice.”

Justin just nodded. It wasn’t something Brian could say, but deep down, he added that he would commit murder for Justin. He desperately hoped the police would be able to find his attackers because Brian wanted a piece of them. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the anger he constantly had to keep at bay alongside his overwhelming guilt. Brian wanted so badly to make sure nothing ever hurt Justin like that again.

“You will always be safe with me.” Brian reiterated before he got up, crossed to the kitchen, got Justin a glass of water, and brought it back to him.

“Try to get some more sleep.” Brian squeezed Justin’s knee and went back to his arrangement on the couch. Not another word was spoken between them that night.

[sharonrb]

Okoye x Attuma: For the Love of You pt 5

No warnings here

Chapter Nine

Namor stood on the beach; watching as Shuri flew the jet low over his head deliberately, going back to Wakanda. Their meeting had gone bad, with him being who he is, Namlr. ‘Bye Namor, we will not ever speak this way again,’ resonated in his mind. He knew exactly what she meant. Never again, will she ever come to him, for anything anymore. His dealings will be with the King of Wakanda, M'Baku, from this day forth.

It could have been different, also ring loud in his head. What did he expect; how this would play out? After he deliberately came to Wakanda, to kill the Queen. Did he really believe; Shuri would eventually forgive him, for drowning her mother? And right in front her; showing no empathy, as she screamed for her mother.

His biggest mistake was underestimating Shuri. He felt she was naïve, and innocent; easily manipulated, that her being Queen, she could be intimidated. But he now realizes; her brilliant mind would be his downfall. Two sayings he quoted to her, when he held her in Talokan; he ignored in this quest, to rule over to powerful nations.

First, his ancestors would often say, only the most broken people, can be great leaders. He broke her, and she led a few; into battle, and won. Secondly, without the Black Panther, Wakanda would fall. He didn’t understand the resilience of the Wakandans; nor the ability of Shuri. She tried to recreate the heart shaped herb, to save her brother. And unknown to him, he gave her the missing ingredient, she needed inside his mother’s bracelet. Once again, the Black Panther lived. The Black Panther is the symbol of Wakanda, and not one person.

Shuri had confided in him, about how she felt; losing her brother. He stomped on that information and took the last of her family. The one who carried her for nine months; and gave her life, nurtured her and protected her, knew her better than she knew herself. No, there is no going back from such a betrayal. He let out a huge breath, knowing whatever hope he had; was dash there on the beach. The very one he met with her mother, as she pleaded for the return of her daughter. And all along, she had the upper hand, sending a rescue for Shuri and RiRi, while he laughed in her face, making her feel helpless. He gazed up into the sky, taking in the quiet of the night.

Shuri flew the jet back to Wakanda; she could have kicked herself and spared herself, the humiliation of asking that creep for anything. But Okoye’s life was more important; then her pride. M'Baku was right, it was a waste of time, and energy. Why didn’t she see this, when he talked of burning down the surface world, and suggested they do it together? Because, he overheard her say something in grief. And then demanding Wakanda help Talokan, or her would destroy it. Not to mention, one of his guards try to kill her when Nakia came for the rescue.

“Hmmph,” she expressed. “Who gave them that order, Namor?” Everything he does, is about what he wants or needs; not the benefit of others. He's smooth and his words or manipulative; he says the right things, but in his heart is another. She meant it, he can deal with M'Baku; she has other things to think about.

Meanwhile.

The Talokan prison was unique. It sat upon an underwater hill, overlooking the Capitol city. Its structure was unusually designed; long beams made up of granite rock, sand, and seaweed, that was one row after another. The cells were enormous spheres, and their material; were almost the same, as the water balls and grenades, used to attack Wakanda, but sturdier.

The cells hung from the beams, by seaweed and sand, twisted into reinforced ropes. The doors were four long bars made of vibrainum, and a small window with three small bars. Though the prison had been there forever, it hadn’t been in use for years. The Talokanils, pretty much followed the laws put in place, by their K'uk'ulkan.

So therefore, Attuma was the only prisoner these days. Now, a young dolphin happened to be swimming by, and Attuma in one of the cells; and found it strange, since no one has been placed in there for years. It swam back to its group, communicating what it saw, and curious to why?

The word spread, as all the sea creature affiliated with the Talokanils; found this an abnormally. Word got back to a herd of whales Tmay and Attuma’s pet was in. He heard the commotion, and went to explore for himself; passing over, and saw it was his master, then called out to him.

Attuma was laying down meditating. This was the only thing he could do; without going stir crazy. He thought he heard Tmay, but wasn’t sure; until he called again. He swam to the door, looking out and seeing the giant pass over. Tmay came up to the door, his huge eye staring at him.

Attuma reached out and touched him, sensing him stressing, Tmay swam away. Attuma floated there gripping the bars for a few moments; then went back to lay down. Just as he got comfortable, he felt this shaking, like an underwater quake, and explosions, as the apparatus being torn apart. Everything went into chaos; the prison came crashing down. He felt his cell, being pulled away through the water, as it moved away from Talokan.

Attuma took this time to bust out, something he hadvbeen contemplating since his imprisonment. He kicked the door loose with one blow. He the saw the guards chasing, but some of the orcas, and whales were running interference. The guards finally gave up, as the herd of Tmay formed a shield as Attuma and Tmay made their getaway. Attuma grabbed hold of Tmay's flipper, as they sped on towards Wakanda.

Namor returned to find the guards, and Namora in a uproar. She swam to him, to inform him of Attuma’s escape; and how it was done. He told them to mount up, that they were going after him. They called to the Orcas, whales and dolphins, for their rides, but none responded. That’s when they knew, the creatures were aiding in the escape. Namor grew angry, but knew it wasn’t much he could do for now. He would use this as a way to break the alliance; if M'Baku did not return Attuma to them.

“What do we do about the animals?” Namora asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“They refused to perform their duties,” she said.

“What do you think we should do, Namora?” he asked. “Something that will not, bring every sea creature down upon us, with a wrath; even I could not defend against.” Namora stared blankly at him, pondering the chaos Talokan would be thrown in.

“Right,” she said, then left.

Okoye isn’t doing well; Attuma will get to her, but will he be in time? Once she is gone, he will be left with no purpose, but to return broken hearted, and beg for his forgiveness. He will, but there will be some conditions, he will have to abide by. Yes, this may work in his favor after all, Namor thought to himself.

Attuma hung on as Tmay sped towards Wakanda and Okoye. All he could think about; is finally, he can hold her in his arms, feel her lips on his, their bodies touching each other, completing the bond between them, and becoming one in mind, body and soul. He will never leave her side again.

He grew dark, thinking about what Namor will attempt, once he knows he has escaped. He will use this to break the alliance, and try to start a war between the two kingdoms. Namor had this perception of Attuma; that he was intellectually challenged. And the fact, Attuma allowed him to continue with this thought. But in reality, Attuma truly was highly intelligent; and little did Namor know, he has been studying their bylaws. So, when the time comes, and Namor chooses to force the Wakandans into a war; Attuma will invoke one of those laws against Namor, and he will not be able to refuse.

Shuri made it back into Wakanda and landed on the platform near the lab. She told Ayo and Aneka to go home, and get some rest. There was nothing more, any of them can do right now. M’Baku had already left, with instructions to call him if anything develops. Shuri went into her lab, trying trying, what she could do to free Okoye from this hold.

“Griot run that sequence once again,” she ordered her AI.

“If I may say, Princess,” he said.

“Yes, speak,” she told him.

“If Attuma will come, as M’omee Zasanda says; shouldn’t we prepare for his arrival?” Griot asked.

“What do you mean?” Shuri asked.

“He is a sea person am I correct?” He asks.

“Yeah, so what are you saying?” She was confused.

“He will have to escape to get here, and that will mean; no preparation. He will have none of his equipment to assure his survival, nor supplies, he will need to sustain himself on land. He will soon perish after assisting Okoye, if not before.” Shuri realized, what Griot was saying is true. Attuma will not have anything to keep him a live; due to his expedient getaway.

“Griot, tell me. What are the chances, he will escape, and make it?” She asked.

“I calculate it is ninety-nine-point ninety-nine percent; he is on his way now.” He informed her.

“What? Griot, are you sure he escaped, and coming? She asked.

“I detected a disturbance from the area of the Talokan sea, whales and other sea mammals were on the rampage, I am receiving. The new alert warnings; you set up on the land near Talokan tonight, are working.” She wasn’t sure they would, since they hadn’t been tested until now. She went about making plans, for Attuma's appearance.

“You summon me?” Namora enter the room; Namor sat at the table.

“Yes, I did. I need you to prepare our army, we’re going to Wakanda to get Attuma,” he ordered. “If there is any resistance; we will attack.” Namora stood for a moment; a grim expression donned her face. Namor had been looking down, while he told her what to do; but looked up at her, realizing she wasn’t moving, and saw her face. “Is there something wrong, my child?”

“Yes, K'uk'ulkan,” she answered. “Much of this is wrong.” Namor has always had a softness with her, even when she has over stepped the boundaries. But this, is a touch of questioning him, something she has done one time too many. He rose to his feet, and approached her; she stood her ground, having enough of all of this.

“And tell me Namora, what is wrong with so much of this?” He asked. She could hear the anger in his voice, though his face didn’t reveal it.

“We have an alliance with Wakanda, coming to them with an army; will present an act of aggression,” she said. “When I came to you; angry you had bowed before the Black Panther, and yield. Remember what you told me?” His eyes brows furrowed.

“I told you; the Black Panther had a right to kill me, but she did not,” he said.

“Her right; because we attacked Wakanda, and you killed her mother.” She reminded him. “But she did not, and why is that K'uk'ulkan?” What was it you told me, and convince me; your decision to yield was the right thing to do?”

“Her empathy for our people, and that the surface world will come after Wakanda,” he said to her.

“And when they do, what did we promise Wakanda?” She asked. “The ones we caused, so much pain and death?” His eyes narrowed more than they had, as the conversation progress. Namora regurgitated the things he told her, after the battle with the Black Panther; which remains a sore spot in his existence.

“I am not sure why all of a sudden, you are defending these surface dwellers?” He snapped at her.

“Because, you told me to trust you on this, and I did. I realized, it was best for Talokan, to have Wakandan; not only protecting our waters from above; but our very presence. Something, we really do not deserve.”

“They killed two of your sisters, remember how angry you were?” He says to her.

“Yes, I was very angry, and afraid; if they could find us, they could send their whole army, and attack Talokan. But they did not, even after what we did to them. I was wrong about them.” She told him.

“So, what is it you suggest we do?” He asked of her.

“Not this, not this again,” she said. “We have no idea their true power; but they know ours. And then there is Attuma, he will not come without a fight, K'uk'ulkan. Are you prepared to battle him?” Namor came closer to her, lowering his head; until he looked her in the eyes.

“No one disobeys orders and a decree, then escapes the trial,” he said. His voice calm, but ominous.” She stared him in the eyes, and saw something she didn’t like; this alarmed her. “So, to answer your question. Yes, I am ready to battle; even Attuma, if I must. I have to let all of Talokan know; I am not to be withstood; if so, there are dire consequences.”

“You,” she said. “It’s all about you. Attuma was right, you give the pretense you are doing what is best for us. But it is your needs, your wants that drive you. We are the excuse you use to pull it off.” Namor was on her before she could breathe, his hand raised to back hand her.

Tears filled her eyes, as he lowered it; and turned away. Without another word, she fled into the water, and swam away. He turned, lowering his head; never had he lifted his hand, to harm any of his people. Why now? What was fueling this insanity? Then the answer came to him, like a light bulb brightening a room.

If he allowed Attuma to get away with his defiance of the law and order in place. What would stop another Talokanil feel its alright to challenge his authority? Look what just happened with Namora, her refusing to carry out his order. No, they all, Wakandans and Talokanils; have to know who he is, K'uk'ulkan, the Feather Serpent God.

Shuri checked in on Okoye, after preparing for Attuma arrival if Griot is correct. They haven’t been able to pick up on his whereabouts, since the estimated time of his escape from Talokan. They will have to be patient until her gets there, and assist him then. She stared up and one of her display and newest creation.

“This will work well, if everything goes as planned,” she whispered to herself.

“Princess,” Griot interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Okoye’s heart rate has dropped,” he told her. She turned to look at the monitor, and saw a significant decrease. She rushed in and saw she was barely breathing, even with the oxygen mask. She felt that hopelessness resurfaced.

“Attuma, where are you?” She said to herself.

Okoye could hear the pain in Shuri’s voice and wished she could fight her way out of this, but she felt, this was something weapons of war would not defeat. She could feel being pulled into a mist rising up and encircling her. This was not good, she sensed.

Attuma felt this huge dread wash over him. He knew it had something to do with Okoye’s condition. She was sinking into the darkness, the one where there is no returned. He moved to the back of Tmay and hopped onto his tail, then commanded him to toss him as high and far, as possibly. He did.

Attuma flew into the air, and a great distance from where he once had been. He pressed his arms close to his body, making himself a human missile, cutting through the air. He had not tried this before; but understood how Namor felt flying. It was exuberating. He could have done this forever, but without his rebreather; he was going into distress. He guided his body back into the water, and swam with great intensity to get to his destination, Okoye.

“Didn’t Namora pass on my orders?” He asked, one of the warriors, seeing no one was assembled in the meeting hall for his speech.

“No K'uk'ulkan, I have not seen her,” he was told. He looked around, to see if he could find her. “Look for her, and let her know; I want to speak with her. One of the warriors overheard him, and came to him.

“K'uk'ulkan, may I approach?” He asked.

“Yes, you may,” he was curious to what he wanted. “I heard you were asking about Namora?”

“Yes, you know anything about her whereabouts?” He asked.

“I heard a group of warriors talking about her saying, she was leaving forever,” he told him. “And then she swam away on one of the orcas.” Namor’s whole body shook, his heart nearly pausing. He remembered the day she was born, and her excitement to be picked for his training; when she became of age. Now, she’s gone to parts unknown.

“What was that?” He asked, surly he heard wrong.

“They said she told them, she was leaving; and never coming back,” he repeated. “Something about done with this, and not wanting to see the two people she loved the most, killing each other.” Namor thought through what was told him. Then looked at the person, and fanned them away; he looked at the newly elected second in command.

“You are my General now,” he told him. The two he had given the most to; have been his biggest disappointment; and betrayers. “Send out a search party, and bring her back. You will come with me to Wakanda, get your army prepared. We leave very soon.”

“Yes, K’uk’ulkan,” he gave the Talokanil salute, and sped away to carry out his orders. Namor went to her dwelling, just in case; what was told to him was a falsehood. And she was there sulking from their earlier encounter. She was not there, but evidence of her departure showed. She had indeed, gone from Talokan. He would make the both of them a public example; no one rebels against him, and not pay the price in doing so. He went back to his quarters to prepare for their journey; focusing on the easier one, Attuma.

Chapter 10

Okoye sunk lower into obscurity; and the idea was, nothing could be done on their part to help her. Ayo, Aneka, Nakia, lingered at her side; while Shuri continued trying various sequences, that may break, or reverse, what was going on. But all were a failure, she was witnessing the same occurrence as her fight to save her brother.

“Griot, is there any other variation we can try?” She asked, but knew they had tried everything.

“No, Princess, all have been run. Okoye’s heart rate is slowing down to forty.” Griot revealed. Shuri left the lab without a word, and hoped it was true, Attuma is on his way. He was their only hope now.

Attuma raced towards Wakanda and to Okoye; as fast as Tmay could carry him. Now, Attuma was never one of patience, and not one at the time of desperation. He swam to the back of Tmay again and got on his tail, and by instinct the whale swung him out of the water as far as possible.

Again, Attuma tighten his arms close to his body, giving himself that better propulsion. This cut down the distance between Wakanda and himself. When he felt the distress from lack of breath, he lowered his head and cut through the water with enormous speed. He was a man on a mission, and sparing none of his abilities; time was of the essence.

M'bandi laid by the banks of Okoye’s first interaction with Attuma. She had been there all night, waiting for some reason. But somehow, she sensed him coming; and called out to him. Tmay heard her in the distance, and rushed under Attuma, flipped him one more time into the air, and towards the banks. Attuma could see Mbandi waiting for him. He landed inches from her, mounted her, and guided her along the banks. He needed to get where the warriors of the river tribe were, and seek their help to get to Okoye.

Okoye felt herself being pulled into darkness, it was quiet and cold; she could hardly see inches in front of her. There was a small speck of light before her; she had the urge to follow it. The closer she got, the larger it grew; until she walked through it, and unto another place.

“No,” Shuri put her kimoyo beads on her chest, trying to revive her dear friend. Ayo called M'Baku, informing him of Okoye’s change of condition. He rushed over to be there for the women, if things went bad.

Attuma made it to the where the warriors guarded the border. He slid off M'bandi, weaken from not having his mask. One came to him, as he was on his knees trying to tell them that he needed to get to Okoye, but none spoke his language. One called the Palace informing them of his arrival, and him trying to tell them something.

“Attuma is at the river tribe, and he is not looking good,” M'Baku informed Shuri. She rushed from Okoye’s side, and into her lab. There was nothing more she could do for Okoye, and hoped Attuma could.

“Go to the platform, when the jet arrives, place this mask on him immediately,” she instructed, her two lab assistants. Then went to the jet simulator, and sent one to get Attuma. He laid on the ground barely alive, when the aircraft came and hovered over him. The beam lifted him aboard and whisked him away, and landed on the platform near the lab. The lab assistants rushed aboard and immediately placed the mask on him. Soon he had regained some of his strength, and gestured he needed to get to Okoye. They didn’t understand him what he was saying, but only went by what Shuri had instructed. To bring him directly to her.

Okoye looked around and knew she was somewhere, but not sure where. The coloring were shades of blues and purples. In the distance she could see her home. She slowly made her way there, looking for her dear pet rhino, Mbandi; to come running anytime, to meet her with that long-wet tongue against her face.

Attuma was brought to Shuri's laboratory, she was happy to see him. She grabbed his arm, and raced to where Okoye’s laid, expired as far as they knew; but hoped he could work some type of miracle to revive her. He entered to room, and looked upon her lifeless body. His heart breaking at the sight, but waste no time gathering her into his arms. He cradled her head with one hand, looking at her beautiful face.

“You all may want to leave,” he said. But gestured with his hand.

“What is he saying?” M'Baku asked.

“Griot,” Shuri called out to her AI, but when Attuma pressed his mouth to Okoye’s but, and begin to hum, everyone exited quickly, not wanting to feel the siren effect. It first started off low, then crescendo into a song more than a hum. A song that told a tale of them, and the life ahead; for just the two of them.

“Okoye,” his voice flowed through the air, caressing her ear. She was in front of her house, walking towards it, and getting ready to go on the porch. But she turned, to see him running to her; after hearing him calling her.

“Attuma?” She questioned him being there. Was this another out of body experience she has been going through, since the merging. Or was it just a dream.

“Okoye,” he was just a few feet from her, but wasn’t allowed to go any further. She would have to choose to come to him, and back to her life. “You need to come to me, if you go into your house; you will never see any of us again.” She looked at her house, then back to him.

“What are you saying?” She asked, bewildered. So much stranger than life occurrences. “Why would I not ever see anyone again, if I go into my house?”

“Because, this is the place you all go for the tonality of your existence,” he explained. She gasped.

“The Ancestral Plane?” She asked. “I am dead?”

“Not yet, but if you go inside your house, you will be,” he told her. Now, she understood why M’bandi wasn’t present. She looked about her knowing, but needed confirmation. “Is this a dream?”

“No, my dear warrior, this is real. I am here to bring you back to us, and complete our bond,” he told her. “But it has to be your choice.” Okoye stared at her house, as it beckoned to her, then looked to Attuma with his outstretched hand. Finally, a chance to feel him, she walked into his arms; hearing the beautiful song he was singing to her, and just for her.

She opened her eyes and focus them, as his face became clearer. He had this beautiful smile, that lit up once their eyes met. He lowered his head, removing his mask, and kissed her for the first time in reality. She moaned from the passion that exuberated from him.

The energy that coursed between them was powerful. He raised his head, parting their lips, and placed the mask back on; his eyes never left hers. Slowly, the others entered the room, hearing the song had ceased; they were elated to see Okoye alive and well.

“She will need to regain her strength, but she is alright, and we are now mates,” he told them. Okoye translated what he said.

“Tell him I made something for him, when he can spare the time,” Shuri told her. Okoye told him.

“Alright everyone,” M'Baku said. “Let’s give them their privacy. There will be plenty of time to play catch up later.” Reluctantly, they did as what was told, but understood what he was saying. Attuma was too into Okoye to noticed they had left, his eyes continued gazing into hers. He sighed a huge relief, having her there in his arms, the vibe completed.

“How did you get out of prison?” She asked.

“You remembered coming to see me?” He asked, surprised. He knows the ritual of the vibe, but never actually experienced it. Some things, that may happen; could be new to him as well.

“Yes, I remember everything,” she told him. “I remember your kiss each time.” Attuma smiled. Of all that happened, she mentions their kiss.

“Nothing more?” He asked. She went solemn, trying to recall her everything.

“Each time I came was for a reason, but you would always warn me to go back. That’s when you would kiss me, and I wound up back here,” she told him.

“As you become stronger, you will remember more,” he said. “Now rest my warrior.” He laid her head down on the pillow.

“I am not a warrior anymore,” she told him, he could hear the sadness. “I was stripped of my positioned, by the Queen when you took the Princess. I promised her I would protect Shuri, but I failed.”

“But we fought on the ship,” he was confused.

“Something Shuri had created before I was demoted,” she explained.

“Maybe something you might want to explore?” he suggested. She thought about it, they already have a name. Maybe even recruit more to form another branch of their military. “Once a warrior always a warrior,” he told her. “Let me go see what the Princess has for me. Rest, I will return.”

Shuri was having Griot to analyze, and monitor Okoye’s progress when Attuma entered. She went to one of her glass displays, and showed him her latest creation. A suit made just for him, to be out of water for periods of time. It had the similar covering over their gills, which held water. But instead of the mask, it had the nose spectum, and tubes extending from them to the suit; circulating water through the nose.

“Try it on,” Shuri told him. “I need to make sure it fits, how comfortable you are in it, and most of all; if it works properly.” Griot set the translator for each of them. Attuma begin to strip down which shocked Shuri.

“No, no, hold on.” She stopped him. “In here,” she took him to a private room. She forgot how wild and free the Talokanils are, unlike the Wakandans. Well, some other tribes outside the five main ones; do have their rituals. Attuma reappeared in his suit, looking quite different from what he had looked before. Full body suit with the added apparatus to breath on land. “Nice,” she gave him the thumbs up.

“How will I mate with my warrior, with this clothing covering my body?” He asked. Shuri's eyes darted about, not quite sure how to address this question.

“I think maybe you should work that out with your mate,” is the best answer she could give him. He left her to deal with her embarrassment. Boy, is he got it for Okoye, she thought.

Okoye had drifted off to sleep; her body finally shutting down, to recover from the trauma it went through. Attuma came in and sat beside her, gazing upon the one he fought so hard to save. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Sleep my warrior, we have plenty of time now,” he told her. The suit was already regenerating his diminished strength; used to get there, and bring her back from the brink of death. It was not an easy task, so much could have gone wrong.

Namor swam into the Capitol city of Talokan, descending on the throne. He announced they will be going to Wakanda; only to retrieve Attuma, and bring him back to stand trial for treason. And if the Wakandans stand in the way; they will have his wrath rain down on them. They will suffer worst than the previous attack.

“Liik’iK Talokan,” he repeated three times with his people repeating back. Then he grabbed his spear, and swam out, heading for Wakanda; he warriors flanking him, and others following him. Once they had passed. A cloaked Wakandan warship, that sat above Talokan; may its appearance, then another, and thereafter a third.

“This is Captain Wabungobo, Sir, he spoke into the ship’s radio. “It’s as you predicted; our sonars picked up a massive number of figures heading towards Wakanda.”

“Wait for my orders,” M'Baku told him.

“Yes, My King,” he replied. M’Baku went to the window, their Queen had been water bombed, and killed. It will not go unanswered this time, if they choose to attack. Namor has no idea, what is in stored for his people, and him. Never again; will Wakanda suffer as before, and not answer in like manner.

Links:

Okoye x Attuma: For the Love of You pt 1

Okoye x Attuma: For the Love of You PT 2

Okoye x Attuma: For the Love of You pt 3

Okoye x Attuma: For the Love of You pt 4

Taglist

@Pixieyosi

@skysynclair1919

@misslackey

@dillie600

@pikapuff-31616

@christina831

[xhatake]

anyways i want to do a more in-depth post of why i think time by pink floyd applies to Kakashi so well. so first of all, I'm going to point out that this song is about understanding that you're right in the middle of life & no longer preparing for it. Before naruto, Kakashi always has something horizon. Becoming a jounin, ending the war, waiting for naruto to be born, learning about tenzo etc. there's always something to prepare for, something to plan ahead to accomplish.

Not saying that's no longer the case, but life really starts to slow down for him when he leaves Anbu & the only thing he really has to worry about is preparing the next generation for what is to come, rather than preparing himself.

So i feel like these lyrics really apply to the idea of Kakashi falling into a routine. Time passes before him as he grows up, taking orders, accomplishing missions, so on & so forth. It's always the same thing, different day & he always ends up in the same place he was before. training or mourning, shuffling his feet. I feel like a part of him wants very desperately for someone to reach out & fix him, to show him how to make it better. Where in the same stride, he is unwilling to seek out that help because he knows it's not that easy. ( plus the idea of facing his emotions to any degree make him feel physically ill )

He sees everyone around him growing in different ways without realizing that he is doing the same as well. Whether or not he acknowledges them, things don't just go away. He can focus on honing his skills all he wants but that doesn't mean he's growing emotionally during this time. Yes, he's changing emotionally but his growth comes very largely from grief & it turns into a cycle. Yes, he does pick up some new friends & allies along the way & he hopes somewhere in his heart that they can show him a new way, but in another sense he's sort of stuck.

He feels almost cheated? Like he spent his whole life preparing to be this weapon, this legend, like death is around every corner. He has such difficulty seeing all he's achieved up until this point that he feels he must prepare for the next thing. It keeps him going, pushing him forward until he comes to a screeching halt when he leaves Anbu. Where he spent his whole life pushing forward toward the next thing, he never looked at where he was in the present? By the time he's 25, he's become the person he's been preparing to become & it feels empty being so still. he still feels like an adult child internally with so many unanswered questions & unresolved problems. He feels like Rin only died yesterday despite over a decade passing since that transpired

Because of the fact that he just kept looking forward. he kept running from one problem to the next without realizing that the last one was still there. time passes relentlessly. there's only so long he could distract himself before he realized that things don't just go away. kakashi was no longer a child & yet he felt just as helpless as one. he had seen the injustices in the world, he had even brought many of them into existence by following orders.

It's not until he leaves anbu that he realizes how long he's been pushing away his personal connections, he feels so disconnected. It feels like time is passing faster & he really beats himself up for never finding the time to tend to his connections. the line ' Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way ' makes me think of how difficult it was to actually step back into any social circle outside of Anbu? He watches very desperately from the sidelines & i honestly think without gai he would have stayed isolated. But Gai showed him how good it felt to be a person again, even if it was scary.

But by the time he starts working with team 7, he's left feeling really disillusioned with the person he had prepared to be. He wasn't a legend, he was just a teacher. The next generation was preparing to embark on the same journey, but it was different. There were no wars and less bloodshed. the shinobi world will always be brutal, but he feels cheated of the childhood they were allowed to have, tragedy or not... which is a conversation for another time. They're preparing to become the people they're going to be where he already is the person he's going to be... if that makes sense?

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family: Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three – Chrono

Warnings: grief, resentment, lactation, animal death

----

For all that Anakin had said he could handle the twins, Rex still takes one in the sling as they go into town. They don't have a hoverpram yet, and neither of them could figure out a way to fold the fabric to securely hold the babies' heads up. Anakin takes Luke, and Rex takes Leia, and they ignore the whispers that still follow them.

The General keeps just behind his shoulder when they get to the hardware shop that carries the closest paint they can find in such a small town. It's not meant for armor, really, but speeder paint will do the trick for now. Rex's hands shake as he picks out the shades he needs, and the young Rodian at the register almost asks about it.

The issue isn't pressed.

They make their way back to the cottage, and Leia starts fussing fifteen minutes past the town's edge. Anakin looks like he wants to offer to take her back, but Rex is fine. He can comfort her. He can--

Anakin takes the paint, floating it along in the air before them, freeing Rex's hands to focus on the infant strapped to his chest.

"I'll feed her as soon as we get back," Anakin says, low and calm. "She's a little hungry."

Pacifier, then. They're only a few minutes out, by now. She can wait for them to get back to where exchanging the twins won't involve juggling.

Rex feels eyes on him, looks up and sees the soft, quiet smile on his General's face, and ducks his head back to Leia.

She glares up at him as well as a newborn can, sucking angrily on the paci in her mouth. Rex has no idea if she's actually upset or if her face just naturally follows such an expression, but it's adorable nonetheless. He hums to her, nonsense without words.

He's never learned lullabies; they picked up drinking songs in the field and from local soldiers, from their Jedi, war songs from their trainers, pop songs from the radio. A few learned lullabies, those who loved children and wanted their own, one day, brothers like Waxer who would have adopted Numa in a heartbeat if it had been an option.

He wants to learn lullabies. He wants to be able to sing children's songs to these tiny, helpless lives he holds in his hands, day in and day out. He wants to learn Mandalorian songs, real ones, not just battle chants and mourning melodies. He wants to be able to raise them with the childhood he didn't have.

"Rex? Door's open."

He looks up, and Anakin's standing on the porch, pulling the keys from the lock and gesturing in with his head. Rex hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking, subconsciously waiting for the blockage of the door to be handled. It's easier to focus on the children.

The paint gets sent to the backyard--trapped fumes wouldn’t be good for the children--and Rex lays Leia down in her crib. Anakin urges him to the backyard, says I’ll handle it about anything Rex uses to delay, and it’s only a few minutes later that Rex finds himself sitting on the grass, armor spread across a sheet of disposable flimsi, paints and brushes at the ready. He doesn’t quite remember setting it up, but he must have.

Anakin joins him, a twin in each arm and the Force laying out a picnic blanket. Leia’s nursing, swaddled up but content to suckle, and Luke seems happy to doze when Anakin sets him down on the cotton gingham. It’s a warm day, with a light breeze, and the babies are where the wind won’t carry the paint fumes.

“I’m here if you need me,” Anakin promises, though his attention drifts immediately to his daughter.

Rex begins to paint.

----

His remembrances are endless.

Every brother he’s ever known, every general he’s met, every small commander and random civilian, everyone he loved and knew. He lights a pyre, sings under his breath and tries not to break in a way that can’t be patched together. He mourns the tubies and cadets, the Jedi younglings, names he never learned and now never would.

Anakin gets Japor from somewhere, carves it whenever he’s too jittery to sleep and the twins are asleep. Rex recognizes a few symbols, like the open circle fleet, like Fives’ helmet eel, like Ahsoka’s markings. There are more, though, that are wholly unfamiliar, things he thinks are born of desert sands and binary suns, rough and painful and deeper in Anakin’s heart than even the Jedi.

He asks about the one for Fives, when he sees it.

He hides his anger.

Explanations, first.

“It’s an apology,” his General tells him, eyes distant. “I should have listened to him. I didn’t. The carvings are regrets, broken trust... that sort of thing. I’m part of why he died, and in that, part of why the rest is gone. He and his memory deserve a place of honor.”

Rex considers that, and accepts it.

Fives deserves an apology. The General recognizes that.

The General recognizes that he fucked up.

This is a good thing.

Rex lets go of his anger, still curled tight to his chest after months, as best he can.

He’s not very good at it, but he can try.

Luke starts crying, and Rex gets up to warm a bottle.

----

“I need to stay close to home until the twins are a little older,” Rex says. Teskarim, the woman at the childcare store, tilts her head to encourage him to continue. “I’m... I’ve never been anything but a soldier, and nobody here needs security services, but I can hunt. Do you know if there’s any kind of licenses required, or lists of which animals are legal hunt and which are endangered?”

“I... don’t,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “But I think the butcher’s shop can probably point you in the right direction.”

Damn. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone new today.

“Thanks,” he sighs, and shells out some of the local currency for more formula.

----

The butcher has answers, and preferences. Rex isn’t much of a trapper, but he’s a hell of a shot, and decent enough scout and tracker. He listens to what there is to hear, and mentally takes all the notes he can. There aren’t any licenses needed in this hemisphere, but there are legally-defined hunting seasons for different creatures. The butcher knows when the optimal times of day are, which parts of the nearby forest and mountains are best to stake out, and so on.

Rex tells Anakin about his plan. He gets a slow blink in response, a cringe in what he thinks is guilt, and an offer to meditate for the best direction to take when he goes out. He accepts the offer in the spirit its meant, and sets out the next morning with the expectation that he may need to spend a few nights out under the leaves and stars.

The calm and quiet are their own kind of comfort. He’s loyal to Anakin, and he already loves the twins, but there’s a part of him that needs to be away from natborns right now. Anakin was a Jedi, a general, and fought in the metaphorical trenches with the rest of them, but he wasn’t a brother.

They grieve many of the same people, but they do not grieve the same way.

Rex needs the solitude. Not forever, not even for very long, but he needs it.

It takes two days, but he finds one of the in-season creatures, a creature shaped much like an Alderaan deer, but larger, and with longer fur. It’s darker in color, too, and he gives it a bit of time to wander about until he can be sure it’s a male, and he’s not about to leave some fawns without a mother. The shot is clean, and it doesn’t take him very long to tie it up and sling it over his shoulders to bring back to town.

The trek back takes hours, and the creature on his back is a pain to carry, but it’s almost worth the looks he gets from the civvies. Eyes bulge out the sockets at the sight of him, and he’s glad his helmet hides his smirk. He’s Kamino stock, hardened by over three years on the front lines, and there’s a pride in how easy the physical things are for him. It’s not impossible for a natborn to carry this kind of creature this far without help, but it’s uncommon.

He kind of likes the attention, now that it doesn’t come with the many prejudices that being a clone always had.

Anakin meets him at the butcher’s, one twin on his chest and the other on his back.

Seems he’s found a solution to that.

“Here to help me barter a fair payment?” Rex asks, and gets a too-charming grin in response.

“Well, I’ve been doing it most of my life,” Anakin says, cheery in a way that feels pasted on. “And I’ll have a trick to know if we’re being cheated.”

It’s a solid response, but Rex doesn’t like it. He takes note of the bags under Anakins eyes. “Have you been sleeping, sir?”

“Twins,” the man himself says. “And don’t call me ‘sir,’ Rex, we’ve been over this.”

“You need to sleep, General.”

Anakin pouts at him, probably because of the title. “I can handle two days alone, Captain.”

Rex rolls his eyes and sidles through the entrance of the butcher’s shop.

They’ve got this.

[svchengss]

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,” she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

[blzzrdstryr]

Misery

Sadistic!Yandere!Diluc x Fatui Harbinger!GN!reader

Wordcount: 6748

CW: torture, sex, foul language, isolation, sensory deprivation, extremely unhealthy relationships, dubcon, mindbreak, violence

Diluc isn’t a cruel person. Not necessarily. He punishes you only when you are difficult and for the last few weeks you tried to stay on your best behavior. Ragnvindr is nice to you, benevolent even, willing to look past your former affiliations and shower you with love. At times his affections seem suffocating and irking, blood red eyes following your every movement and him absorbing your every word as if it is a holy scripture, but you remind yourself that his love is the best thing that happened to you in your whole life.

Truly, Diluc is so kind to take you in and help you fix the errors of your old ways, even when you were snarling and spitting insults in his face, too stubborn to see how wrong your old life was. You were ignorant and ungrateful back then, seeing nothing but a Harbinger title and service to Tsaritsa. You forced Diluc to lock you up to make you realize that you didn't need your title or your vision or your archon. He is there for you and it's all that matters, you can rely on him for everything and he is happy to provide, persistent in his care for you and even now he is patient with your… deficiencies, waiting when you stop staring into the distance with vacant eyes.

You stand in front of an open but barred window, a typically Mondstadtian landscape revealed to you - bright green grass and patches of dandelions and windwheel asters growing in small groups with tall trees of the same shade finishing the picture. A gentle breeze flows through the opening, playing with your hair and caressing your skin, yet you imagine another type of wind - stronger and colder, relentless and carrying small snowflakes on the way. You close the eyes and see another image - tall, leafless trees covered by multiple layers of snow and the white ground between them. Snow shines and glitters under the pale winter sun, and you feel alive and bitter at the same time.

You know the place, having been there once, but your memory now is too blurry and fuzzy. All of the events prior to Diluc fixing you up are too foggy to make out the finer details and it somehow makes you feel sad, when you should be grateful instead. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t make them stop, rapidly going from silent crying to full on hysterics.

You hear Diluc asking what’s wrong with a concern in his voice, his hands slightly shaking your crying form. You can’t answer him, wailing even louder and stronger, hiding your face in both hands, ashamed from the sudden outburst and overwhelmed from unreasoned sorrow and heartache. Only when Ragnvindr painfully squeezes both of your shoulders and demands to know what is wrong with you in that tone that makes you shiver and gasp, do you stop, looking at him with wide scared eyes, hands that were used to cover your face, are now up in the air in a semi defensive stance.

He seems uncomfortable by your reaction, a slight frown appearing on his face, scarlet brows knit together and corners of mouth turned downward. “I am sorry”, you say, voice small and pleading, eyes casted aside not meeting his out of embarrassment. Why did you start to act so childish out of the blue?

“There’s nothing to apologize”, Diluc takes off the glove, using an uncovered hand to wipe away the tear tracks from your cheeks. There’s no irritation in his voice, just concern, so you risk a glance at him, as he continues: “You are just making me worry”

“I am sorry” you repeat, feeling a prick to your heart, as you process his words - Ragnvindr is so good to you, providing with everything you could ever ask of, and here you are, making him concerned and anxious over some silly daydreams. “It’s really nothing, I just need to be more attentive, that’s it”

You noticed that it’s harder for you to stay in the moment as you start to frequently space out, mind too occupied by the memories of days long past - playing with peers, entering Fatui, receiving a delusion. It’s a futile thing, but images still consume all of your attention and focus, keeping you from sleeping and eating.

“[First], I...” he starts, but then trails off, huffing to mask his hesitancy. Instead of talking he takes your face in one hand and leans in, his lips meeting yours. It's a slow and gentle kiss at first, but just like all other things with Diluc it quickly escalates into something more: his hands now take you by your waist and tug you closer to him, making you press with your entire chest against him, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue freely exploring the confines of your mouth as you moan into his from pleasure and such close proximity.

When you two part, Diluc leaves you flushed and dizzy, with heart quickly pounding against the ribcage. You feel a fire of arousal igniting inside of you, it travels from your chest to belly and soon spreads to the rest of the body. Your cheeks heat up as you stand up on tiptoes to whisper “Can we do it right now?” in Diluc’s ear, voice full of both shame and anticipation.

“Of course, my dear”, there are hints of a smile in his tone and he effortlessly lifts you up and heads for the bedroom and as he carries you you can’t help but zone out again, the memories of past days flashing in your mind.

***

Your first meeting happens during one winter night, as you receive the order to deal with him day prior, at a Harbinger meeting in the Zapolyarny palace. Eleven of you stay kneeling in the main hall, awaiting for Her Majesty to come in as Scaramouche and Tartaglia start to bicker as usual.

“I bet it’s about that mysterious person who’s destroying one stronghold after the other” Childe starts, voice full of bravado and smugness, fake smile blooming on his face: “Fortunately, Tsaritsa has me to take on whatever this stranger is”.

“I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, Tartaglia”, Scaramouche remarks, almost spitting out the last word.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am the youngest here, yet I am also the strongest. Why are you so upset? Feeling envious of my power?” Childe retorts, voice still sounding too cheery to be natural.

“If there was anything to envy. You may be the best at fighting among us, but it’s the only thing you are good at”.

“Huh, it seems I was wrong. Maybe little Scaramouche wants to be as tall as me and that’s why he spits out his funny silly slander”.

It must have struck the nerve, as Scaramouche snaps back with an angry tirade, from which their exchange escalates into a heated battle of barely hidden insults. You, just as the rest of other Harbingers listen to their conversation, half amused and half irritated, lifting the brows at the creative mockings.

“Silence”, domineering and overpowering voice says and you still yourself, eyes casted downwards, as Childe and Scaramouche stop their exchange at the same moment. Footsteps echo throughout the hall, as a feminine figure takes its place on a high throne in the middle of the hall. Tsaritsa has arrived.

“As I can see my children already know about the perpetrator attacking my servants” archon starts, divine power and absolute authority evident in each syllable. You feel how the deity’s eyes look at all of you, despite still keeping head bowed and stance obedient.

“Innamorati”, you hear your title and lift up your gaze, ready to take whatever order the Goddess has for you.

“I entrust you with this task, don’t disappoint me”.

***

Diluc is not a coward and he never was one, but now he can’t help but feel a pang of fear, looking at your approaching form.

“Let’s test our delusions, shall we?”, you almost purr, voice soft, silken smooth and full of unspoken threat. It sends shivers down his spine, yet he still equips this cursed thing and braces himself for the upcoming battle.

There’s a stillness in your moves, a confidence that whatever Diluc has in his arsenal, you can endure and answer with something deadly in return. This dangerous calm both disturbs and excites young Ragnvindr.

He lashes out on you with a stream of accursed chains, filling the air with the sickly sweet scent of mist grass. You easily side step his attack, letting out a cheerless laugh and then come back with a cold gust, frost air currents easily cutting through his skin.

He barely dodges the attack, slowly registering the pain from injury. It’s a shallow cut and a testament to your strength, Diluc thinks, as he touches the scrape, marvelling at your speed. In the end, Diluc can’t stand against you - you’re stronger, have more experience and infinitely faster than him, bringing down one overwhelming attack after the other, a catalyst shining and glowing as you do so.

He jumps and ducks and runs, avoiding one hit after the other, yet there's only so much his body can do. Soon his limbs grow heavier and his breathing labored, Diluc slows down and that's when your attack finally strikes him. It pierces his body, pools of blood quickly forming under him.

Diluc falls down, his battered body no longer able to stand. Memories and regrets alike flood his mind, reminding him of deeds he wishes he did and deeds he wishes he didn’t. He remembers his childhood - all daydreams and high hopes, the world around him bright and friendly. He remembers his father's dying face and Kaeya’s guilt-ridden expression. He remembers overwhelming helplessness and grief transforming into righteous anger and hate.

It all seems so pointless now - leaving the Mondstadt, breaking all bonds with Kaeya or spending years in a mindless massacre, satiating his thirst for revenge by destroying one Fatui stronghold after the other, with no regard for his body or spirit. What was the point of it all, if he's still there, lying and bleeding to death, as you look down on him?

He throws, what he thinks, the last glance at the world, a strange thought appearing in his mind as he looks at you: I want them. As Diluc's consciousness fades he misses a sound of an observer's footsteps.

Later, as he gets saved by the said third party’s observer, who commented and praised Diluc’s methods, he replays the encounter in his mind, getting confused at this particular thought. Why would he want you? Maybe he wants you to die or maybe he wants to see you defeated, but in no way he sees you as desirable. In the end he blames everything on his oxygen deprived brain at the time, explaining the strange attraction he felt for you at that moment.

Having a near death experience and a taste of his own dying regrets, he decides to return to Mondstadt and as he does, thoughts about you continue to pester him. They fly around and buzz, reminding Diluc of your face, eyes and voice, of your body and skills and that terrifying speed you attacked him at. He swats them away like a noisy, annoying flies, suppressing and burying feelings deep, deep down, and naming his interest in you “a desire for revenge and retribution”.

***

Your second meeting happens once the news of a sudden Stormterror attack reaches Tsaritsa’s ears - a perfect opportunity for acquiring anemo archon’s gnosis and a new step in her rebellion against Celestia. She thinks about sending La Signora at first, as your fellow Harbinger is fast and ruthless, able to complete a job no matter the cost, but soon archon changes her mind and picks you instead. For secrecy and subterfuge, she adds, don’t disappoint me.

I won't, you promise more to yourself than her, as Tsaritsa never asks but orders. With your head bowed in deep respect and the heavy gaze of the goddess on your form, you decide that you will do your best to bring cryo archon's vision into reality. You are dispatched to Mondstadt the same week, first by ship, then by carriage. Pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya quickly morph into bright Mondstadtian green, and you finally arrive.

Despite or maybe because of Mondstadt having almost nothing similar with Snezhnaya, it steals a breath from you for a moment - city stands on a lone isle in the middle of deep blue lake, tall windmills and bright red roofs seen from a distance, along with a giant statue of Barbatos blessing the city.

Acting Grandmaster Jean greets you, her stern blue eyes intently observing you, as she says standard Favonius salute and you return your own cliche lines - about Tsaritsa’s concern and a peacekeeping mission, empty phrases that don’t elaborate on what actually Fatui will do. She fails to suppress a frown upon hearing it, sensing your real intentions, but you pay it no mind - Jean has no way or reason strong enough to ban you from Mondstadt without causing a diplomatic conflict.

You turn on the heels after brief negotiations, heading for the Goth Grand Hotel, mind already full of plans and schemes of obtaining the Gnosis. Before you departed, Tsaritsa shared a very interesting fact to you - throughout the centuries Barbatos used only one mortal form, disguising himself as a young cheerful bard named Venti. You dispatch a couple of agents and cicin mage to look for a person fitting the description, and then turn your attention to the rest of the fatuis.

You scold Anastasia for unprofessional rudeness towards Jean. “We need to maintain a benevolent image”, you say to her, right before demoting her and temporarily sending her off to Dragonspine as a punishment. Under your rule fatuis cease sneering and belittling Mondstadt in public, lessening no doubt growing ire of locals.

All goes well, until several events happen. Stormterror attacks the city and some blonde foreigner fights off the dragon, wielding mind blowingly strong anemo powers and riding the wind, like a flying bird. Then your agents finally find a bard, reporting that “Venti" prefers to spend a considerable amount of both time and mora in two local taverns - Angel’s Share and Cat’s tail.

You don civilian clothing, heading for the former tavern and send off a couple of other disguised agents to the latter one. Now, stripped of your mask and harbinger attire, citizens stop gawking and staring at you, their eyes passing your form, as you make your way as an ordinary passerby.

No one pays you attention, as you enter the tavern, save for the strange six fingered bard at the entrance. He tries to sell you his performance, but you wave him off, heading for the bar. And here you see him again - you recognize the unknown attacker, his bright red hair and eyes betraying him the same second. Your faces mirror in recognition as a tense silence settles between you.

“So what is Fatui doing in this tavern?”he asks loudly and half of the customers stop drinking and stare at you. You sigh “enjoying” the atmosphere he created, and utter a premade excuse: “Mondstadt is known for its wine industry and the best wines are sold by Dawn Winery. It would be a shame if I left the city without tasting its finest drinks first”.

You glance at the red gem on his collar, an obvious heirloom of a famous clan: “Didn’t know that Ragnvindr heir would spend his days working as a bartender. You must be Diluc, then. Am I right?". He doesn't dignify you with an answer, preferring to wipe the glasses and serve other customers, his eyes still observing you from time to time.

You quit the tavern early, as “Venti”, as it turns out, leaves the same second he hears about your presence. You order agents to spy on him, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, that you don't get a chance to act on.

You get attacked by Diluc on your way to the Windrise tree, where according to your intel, Barbatos decided to go. He slowly pulls out his claymore and you notice a difference between old and current him.

He is calm this time, his movements lacking fervent hatred and anger that was present during your first battle. He must have gotten stronger then, if he feels so confident, entering a battle with you. Or grown foolish, your mind supplies.

You start to fight, exchanging one blow for another, as he surprises you - there's no barbed chains rushing into your direction, only an orange light fire surrounding the claymore. A pyro vision dangles on his waist, glowing and shining as he activates it's powers. You masterfully dodge his hits, shooting combined anemo and cryo attacks from the catalyst.

Suddenly you step on a burning grass, and hiss and close your eyes from the sudden pain. Diluc uses this time to disarm you, his heavy claymore crushing a delicate catalyst into small pieces. It happens so fast, that you are left speechless at the sudden turn of the battle tides.

With no weapon left, all you can do is dodge and run - you almost reach the city again. it’s walls become visible as you do your best to push your body beyond limits, fatigue weighing down on every muscle. Diluc sends a phoenix - a damn phoenix! - on your way. Fire licks your skin and scorches ends of your hair, but you manage to dodge it too - if only by a small chance - and fall to the ground, mind drifting off to the unconscious world.

***

You come up to your senses slowly and gradually; first there are sensations - a rough rope around your wrists, wet, yet rugged stone walls, then the smells, tastes and sounds - stale, musty air, a coppery blood on your tongue and a shift of a fabric, and then the images at last - dark basement and a bright red blotch, that after a time becomes a head.

There’s a man sitting beside you, Diluc Ragnvindr, your memory supplies. You feel calm and confused for a moment until you remember the fight you both had. Seems, he finally overpowered you.

“You are awake” he says, voice grim and quiet.

“It seems I am. Let me guess, you dragged me here because you want to know what this big bad harbinger plans to do?”. Control your breathing, don’t let him hear the tremble of your voice, don’t let him see the fear in your eyes.

He looks at you with an unreadable gaze and you hold his stare, looking absolutely untroubled in return, a knowing and somewhat self-confident smirk playing in your lips. No matter his status in Mondstadt, Diluc kidnapped you, one of the fatui Harbingers and a close associate of Tsaritsa. His action, no doubt, will force Fatui to severe action, an action that neither his nation nor his people will be able to withstand.

“Think bigger”, he finally says: “I don’t care what you planned to do. I already have you here, weak and helpless. No, what I want is intel on what your goddess and organization are after”.

“Oh, mister Diluc, you want to play a big game? It’s dangerous in case you didn’t know. Maybe after I tell you all of our wicked plans, you will wish you had never asked” you purr, sensing how it grates his nerves, despite him keeping his face and stance impassive.

“How so?”

“Tsaritsa is the greatest of all seven, her vision is absolute. Even if you learn of her plans I doubt you will be able to stop any of them”.

“I asked what the plans were, not what you think of cryo archon”. Diluc’s voice becomes a tone louder, the already present frown on his face subtly deepening.

“Then I am afraid you won’t get any from me”.

He suddenly gets closer to you, his hand yanking you by your head. You hiss, trying to free the bound hands, as he drags you to a nearby barrel with water by hair and then he dips you in it. You instinctively jerk in his hold, a cold water seeping in your nose and mouth as he holds you underwater. Ten second passes, twenty, thirty, you jerk again, your head throbbing and aching from the lack of air, he pulls you upwards.

You nearly black out from the abrupt change, gulping down in the air and coughing out water. He repeats his question and you deny him again. He dips you more, each time becoming a bit longer than the last, only to repeat his query. You lose how many times he lowered you into liquid, absolutely wet and shivering now, when he finally stops and ties you up to the same place you woke up to.

“We will continue tomorrow, I have business to attend to. I suggest you use this time to rethink whether you want to tell me Tsaritsa’s plans or not, as I can get much worse” He heads for the exit from the basement, as you greedily inhale the air.

“Wait”, you say, still breathing heavily: “Aren’t you afraid of the punishment? You kidnapped me, a harbinger, and then proceeded to torture me. Tsaritsa will have your head for this slight against her.”

“Tsaritsa won’t find out. Your Harbingers won’t find out. No one will find out if there’s no evidence”. He steps closer to you, his voice becoming firmer with each word.

“And how do you think you will manage to hide the evidence? You left the knights years ago, you are nothing but a businessman at this point. I doubt they will cover up for you”.

“How did..”

“Oh, Diluc, people talk and I am very, very nosy. That girl, Donna, she told so much to my subordinates about you ”, you mock her, imitating her high breathy manner: “Oh Diluc, he was the youngest captain, but then he left. I wonder why he left? Maybe the knights wronged him!”

“Honestly, with the amount of ire you subject poor knights to, only a deaf and a blind won’t know about how much you despise Favonius Order'', you continue, anger and hatred seeping into your voice.

“I still have connections”, he says absolutely nonchalantly.

“Oh, do you bribe them, then? You criticize the knights for being corrupt, yet you are willing to ask them to hide my abduction? It’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Diluc doesn’t answer this time, finally stepping out of the room and locking the door. You sit alone in a dimly lit room, water still all over you and heart quickly beating in your chest, trying to calm down. Later, when your heartbeat stops booming in your own ears, you pray to Tsaritsa, asking Goddess to grant you strength and endurance.

***

You manage to doze off once your clothes are almost dry. The dreams you see are vague and murky, dripping with a sense of unease and anxiety, you see dark silhouettes that morph into looming shadows that later transform into phantasmagorical monsters. It must be why you wake up the same second door opens with Diluc entering the room.

He looks grimmer now, more determined. You brace yourself for his hands tugging at your hair again and lungs burning from lack of oxygen, but none of it comes. He uses a dagger to slice your clothes off, careful not to damage skin underneath. Out of pure nerves you quip some stupid joke about dining first, but he pays you no mind, his hands soon touching your bare legs and looks at them with a filthy stare, his red eyes consuming revealed flesh.

You still under his stare, heart pounding as you try to distract yourself from the thoughts of what he might do to you right now. Almost a minute passes, when he finally stops staring at your legs and begins to move his arms, caressing your inner side of the thigh instead.

You shift from the discomfort, alarmed when his palms start to heat up. He wants to burn me, you think and barely stop yourself from screaming by biting your lip. A disgusting smell of burnt flesh fills up your nose as tears start to travel down your face. He removes the hand, revealing two angry red imprints with a collection of small blisters already forming. Diluc, again, asks the same question, and just like the last time you refuse to answer.

He does upkeep his threat of becoming much worse, with his hands burning your naked body - he targets sensitive spots or joints,so everytime you shift or move they throb and burn, disturbed at the smallest of motions.

“You're not the one to think about the consequences, are you?”, you ask when he finishes, voice quiet and raspy from screaming.

"No one will find you".

"I am one of the Tsaritsa's most trusted servants, of course they will find me", you pretend you don't hear desperation in your own voice.

"Time will show", Diluc says philosophically, looking as gentlemanly as possible despite him torturing you seconds ago.

"Yes, it will", you agree with him, picturing the bastard's face once he gets thrown in prison.

He leaves the room and you allow yourself to slump, careful not to move burned areas too much, and then he returns again, this time with food and medicine. He works fast at bandaging and disinfecting the burns, seems he is as intent at patching you up, as he is at tearing you apart. As he swathes another burn, you look at the brought food.

It’s unlikely he would drug it to make you tell the truth, given that he already tortures you and he doesn’t seem to be a type to play mind games. It still could be laced with poison though, not lethal one, that would be counterproductive, but the one that can cause pain and tremors all over your body. You’ve seen such substance at work once, when Il Dottore decided to show you the fruits of his experiments - victims were thrashing and shaking on the floor once a five minute mark had been passed, by the twentieth they already admitted to all crimes, regardless of how innocent they were.

It might be even a new torture method, devised by Diluc, just to strip you from the short respite when you are not in pain. He finally looks up to you, finishing the bandage, noticing the stare you look at the food with. "It's not poisoned" he guesses your thoughts, taking a small bite and a sip to prove his words. A minute passes, then the second and the third ones, nothing happens with him, no blushing or paling skin, no wide blown or pinprick pupils, nothing. It still could be a slow acting poison, but you doubt it - they're usually harder to cure, Diluc wouldn't willingly consume it given the long list of aftereffects that remain even after antidote was administered.

Thankfully, he doesn’t stay to feed you, leaving you with food alone. It’s a potato hash browns, absolutely unseasoned and cold. You almost swallow them whole from hunger, realizing how starved you are once the smell of food reaches you. After a day(?) of fasting, satiation hits you full force, drowsiness pulling at every muscle. The tableware he brought is metallic and easily bends, so you can't smash it and use sharp pieces, nor are there any utensils to weaponize. You lay down on the side, as something falls on you. It's a stone.

Your hands take it, feeling its shape - mostly smooth with one angular protrusion. It's not sharp or pointed enough for you to cut through the bindings, but with enough time and effort it can break the rope with friction alone. You begin to work, grating the rope again and again, fighting off the sleepiness.

***

Diluc nods to Adelinde, as he returns from Mondstadt after signing the contract with winesellers from Inazuma. She understands this wordless gesture, starting to talk: “The.. guest you brought has eaten, last time I checked they still were awake. I did my best to be quiet, master Diluc”.

He dismisses her, thanking for her observations and decides to go down himself. A strange sort of fascination fills him, as he turns the key in the lock, that also prompts a burning shame that he grew accustomed to in the last few days.

It’s an awful thing, to find pleasure in another’s suffering - a trait of a heartless monster, as his father once said, but despite the chagrin he still can’t help but feel a quickening of the pulse as a pained whimper escapes your lips. It’s addicting honestly, to have you of all people, naked and trembling and helpless at his total control, when you were so close to ending his life just a couple of months ago. He supposes it's a type of karmic punishment to you, a fatui harbinger, no doubt a killer and horrible person - you deserve it, he tells to himself - you deserve it for being a fatui.

Moreover, you are not only a terrible, terrible person that deserves much more gruesome torture that he allows, you are also a source of priceless information - how many lives will be saved and avenged if you just tell him what fatuis plan to do. You are a harbinger, you are bound to know something, unlike most of the fatui.

Diluc carefully glances at you as he enters - you are still sitting in the same spot he left you in, head slumped low and shoulders relaxed. It seems you are asleep. He still makes his way to you, steps slow and quiet. Your hands are bound with rope and Diluc knows how much the rough fiber pulls and chafes at skin, grating it to the blood and ropeburns - he needs to use this short respite to quickly disinfect and bandage you again.

Diluc crouches down, as you twitch and then something aims for his head, he flinches a second too slow to dodge. You nearly manage to hit him right in the temple. His head almost splits in half from the burst of pain, vision blurry and disoriented.

You quickly stand, enduring the pain from the burns and make your way to the room. Diluc runs after you, panic and anger distorting his face in equal manner - he can’t let anyone see you like that! - but you manage to lock him in using his own keys. He kicks and thrashes the door, angry at himself for not carrying claymore with him, as something loudly collides with the wall at the other side. He hears a short surprised yelp and whimper - your whimper and the too familiar footsteps descending down the stairs- Adelinde.

“Master Diluc? Is everything okay?”, the headmaid unlocks the room, concern in her voice:”I saw.. the guest running out of the basement, so I pushed them back before other maids could see”

“Everything is fine, check on the Harbinger, I still need intel”.

Turns out, you blacked out upon the impact, a small trail of blood making its way down the head. Diluc is still angry at you, head throbbing and hurting, his hands itching to hit and burn you, but he can’t allow himself to lose control: you are hurt and he doesn’t want to kill you.

In the end, it’s all predictable, Diluc muses, you are an animal first and human second, your allegiance testament to that. He was too soft, too forgiving on you and you decided to twist his kindness like a blade in the back. His head still hurts, but he finally calms, reasoning your attack as an outlash of a mindless beast.

He carries your limp body in hands, finally taking out of the basement and takes you to one of the guest rooms at the second floor of the winery - it’s a risky move, but you injured your head and in Diluc’s experiences such traumas almost always carry a great risk - maybe you will even forget who you are and there’ll be no one for Diluc to interrogate to.

Placing your body on the bed he clasps a cuff around each of your limbs and gags and blindfolds you. After a second, he asks Adelinde for cotton and stuffs your ears full of it.

Human mind stripped of all stimuli is such a dangerous thing, tearing itself apart.

***

You wake up to darkness and silence, head slightly pulsing from pain. You lie on some sort of very soft bed, silk smooth sheets consuming and hugging most of your body as you wiggle your limbs, tugging at the cuffs.

A small wave of panic washes over you, as you remain absolutely blind and deaf to the world, but you try to remain calm, unsure if Diluc is standing near or not. The bindings on your hands are made of iron now, so you soon stop, knowing it's a futile thing. The only thing you can do is wait.

You don't know how much time passes between you regaining consciousness and the air shifting around you. Having been stripped of both sight and hearing, your other senses became a bit sharper, mind focusing on them to compensate. It's a subtle change of pressure but you still feel it, it's enough for you to guess where this person stands. Suddenly hands grope at you, touching and probing the place near burns. You would scream if it wasn’t for the gag, from pain and violation alone. It's a smaller palms, judging by sensations, they change the bandages. After whoever that was finishes patching you they leave you alone, their departure evoking both relief and sadness - they were a source of stimulations, stimulations that your mind desperately needs.

You start to tug at the bindings again - this time to procure pain, just to feel something again. You are bored, you are in pain and you are scared - not the best combination. Soon, you decide to distract yourself from ever increasing boredom with memories. Images of your past life flash and change before you - here’s you playing catch and hide and seek, here’s you receiving a vision, here’s you entering fatui and climbing through the ranks, here's you receiving delusion from Tsaritsa’s own hands and here's you battling Diluc for the first time.

I should have killed him, you think, I should have spent less time talking and more time fighting, the bastard wouldn't live to see another day and I wouldn't be here.

A strange feeling of panic settles in your bones, as you try to occupy yourself, it's subtle but never ending, slowly growing with each second. You try to daydream but you can’t, not when you are cuffed and your body burns. You try to reminisce again, but you can do only so much, memories becoming dull and repetitive. Soon, the subtle panic becomes not so subtle and you realize you are gasping and thrashing, limbs achings as you rub them against the rough shackles.

You must have blacked out or drifted to sleep, because the next time you wake up you feel a bit different - a little cleaner and more sated - they tend to me, when I am unconscious you realize. Diluc wants to limit all interactions I have.

You don't know how much time you spend there in the end, but it has a profound effect on you - at first the concept of sharing fatui plans with your captor seems nonsensical and traitorous, but after a couple of days-weeks(?) of being chained to one place with limited movement and perception, it stops looking like such a bad idea to you.

Time distorts around you, you can't tell how long you were lying there, seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into near eternities. At one point you started to cry again, scared and panicked and then you proceeded to scream.

***

Diluc comes to you again, taking out the cotton and blindfold from your person. Your eyes hurt and your head starts to ache again from the rush of noises, and you blink a couple of times to see the man before you. A strange mix of emotions washes over you - you hate Diluc, you truly despise him with every fibre of your being, yet now Diluc is the only person you have, the only person you see. It’s so confusing and overwhelming that you start to cry, unable to process any of the feelings.

Diluc looks as prim and proper as ever, as he shushes your crying and promises to let you go if only you will tell Tsaritsa’s plans. You almost believe him, Fatui secrets dancing at the tip of his mouth, yet you hold on to the pieces of your loyalty, slowly shaking your head. He asks you again, doubt and concern in his voice. It will be better if you tell me, he says, his hand still stroking you, don’t you want to walk and see again?.

His hand stops stroking you, face turning back to stone when you refuse him for the second time. He fixes blindfold and cotton again and part of you is howling - it’s scary, so scary to be left alone with nothing but your thoughts.

This time you start to break far faster, having tasted freedom for a mere second. You break down and tell Diluc everything you know next time he visits. His hand on you feels like salvation and punishment at the same time. At the end of your confession you are too empty, all of your secrets laid before him, no place for sadness or grief left inside of you. You feel whatever was inside of you was scorched off by Diluc and it left you thoroughly burnt. Dead. Made of ash.

“My name is [First]”, you wail and howl, shoulders slightly shaking as you do. You want so much to have some human contact, to hear someone call your name for once.

It’s cathartic in a way, to tell all the secrets your mind has been bustling with ever since becoming a harbinger. He doesn’t flinch or frown when you tell what exactly you witnessed or did, intently listening to each word.

He keeps his promise and uncuffs you from the bed, but you are still not allowed to leave the room, which doesn’t really disappoint you. There are books and a small barred window that opens a view to the wineyard, a feast for the starving mind. You spend at least an hour standing at the window at first, amazed that you can see people working.

He gifts you clothes and other books, assigns a housemaid to look after you, the same one that pushed you down the stairs when you were running away, she doesn’t speak to you, preferring to avoid your gaze.

Sometimes you do feel sad - you betrayed Tsaritsa, you betrayed your homeland, you lost both vision and delusion - but you quickly shove it down, unable to process feelings properly. You know you are defeated, having seen similar behavior from fatui prisoners, and Diluc knows it too, a malice and triumph and satisfaction burning on his eyes, despite the impassive face.

He sees you as a trophy, a reminder of how he reduced the great fatui harbinger to your current condition. He orders you around and punishes when you disobey, calls it reeducation, calls it teaching you how to be a decent person, calls it a punishment for your sins. A part of you wants to retort and point out his own failings, but you stop yourself at the root, unwilling to be stripped from the world again. You comply, you suppress, you break little by little. It all pleases him.

You learn to love what hurt you the most out of pure fear.

***

“First?”, it’s Diluc, shaking you slightly by the shoulders. You snap back to reality, seeing that he already carried you to bed and undressed you.

“I am here, you can continue” you whisper as he leans down to pepper your chest and collarbone with kisses, and then hiss as he bites you.

“Mhm, that’s good,” he says, warm hands traveling down to your thighs, caressing the inner side: “Could you spread them a bit?”

You obey, equally parts scared and excited.

Truly, Diluc is the best thing that happened in your life.

Note: All fatui harbinger names are taken from commedia dell'arte. Innamorati are a couple of lovers, madly in love with each other and with the idea of being in love. I thought it would be ironic.

[forever-rogue]

Congrats on the milestone Patricia!!!!! You deserve it, I’m so so happy for you!🥺🥺

May I request “I thought you were dead…” and “I waited and waited, but you never came back” for Oberyn, perhaps? Give me angst 😈😈😈

Hello, my love! You want angst? You get angst!

Oberyn x Fem!Reader ; warnings: mentions of death

Pedro Character Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

A heavy sigh left his lips as sweat trickled down his brow, and his chest, quickly absorbed by the thick fabric of his golden tunic. He raised the almost empty water bottle to his lips and downed the rest of it. He cursed himself for not coming more well prepared for making this trek in his damned heat. 

But then he heard it, softly, and gently and from a slight distance, but he knew exactly what it was. Your laughter - it was forever ingrained in his mind, one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He would never forget it. But why in the heavens you wanted to move to this forsaken place he would never know. It was one of the hottest stretches of Dorne, and almost completely secluded, save for the nearby small villages. 

He shuffled closer and closer, his feet slipping into the hot sand and slowing down his trek. But Oberyn was many things, including a stubborn man, and he kept pushing. Pushing and pushing through as his sole goal was you. Surely you’d be happy to see him after all this time, right? He was your lover and you were his - you’d had him heart and soul, easily wrapped around your finger.

But just before your modest home came into view, he heard a new sound, a different one. One that made him stop dead in his tracks. 

“Mama!” it was a small voice, a soft one. Oberyn swallowed the lump in his throat as he stepped forward, looking to the yard of your home. Despite being in the middle of the desert, your yard was filled with trees and plants and bushes, all clearly loved and taken care of. His heart caught in his throat as he spotted the small boy, eagerly running back to the wide open door, “Mama! Can I go to the river with my friends?”

“Of course, my sweet one,” you stepped into view, wiping your hands on a rag as the boy wrapped his arms around your waist, “be careful, okay? I don’t want anything going wrong.”

“I’m always careful,” he beamed before running off, his black curls bouncing with each stride. You waved after him, the smile on your features was as blinding and lovely as the day he had met you. You hadn’t seemed to age a day, despite the years that had passed. 

Oberyn watched as the small figure disappeared into the distance, his mind spinning wildly with a hundred million thoughts at once. Was he...surely he couldn’t be...but….that little boy had been the spitting image of him. 

He never knew...he hadn’t known you’d been with child. He didn’t...know. 

Almost as if you sensed some kind of disturbance, you looked up, shielding your eyes from the golden sun as you looked around. After a few moments, you spotted his figure in the distance, a concerned look on your face at the weary man in front of you. 

“Hello!” you called out to him, walking to the edge of the gate that surrounded your home. He sucked in a nervous breath as you came closer, waiting for the second you discovered who he was. But as he took a few steps closer, you seemed just as confused, “are you alright? Do you need water - a rest?”

Oberyn’s body was humming with energy as he made his way over to you, barely able to comprehend that you were there - living proof and in the flesh. Surely you would recognize him any second...you had to. Right? Right?

Step by precious step he came closer until he was a few feet in front of you. You studied the man silently, your curiosity piqued as you realized that somehow he looked oddly familiar. His chest tightened and felt constricted as he eagerly anticipated your reaction. But you just titled your head to the side and regarded him curiously.

"Are you okay?" you asked softly as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, "do you want to come inside and cool down?"

You motioned for him to follow, wondering momentarily if he was mute or if he was in some sort of shock. Oberyn was rooted in his spot, unable to move. Before you could turn around to see if he was following, you heard him speak. You heard your name - whispered softly, reverently. 

"Sunshine…" no. No, no, no. It couldn't be, surely you were mistaken. There was only one person in the entire world that had ever called you that. 

And he was dead. Long dead - you watched him die.

Slowly turning around, you breathed in deeply, your chest rising and falling anxiously as you met the man's eyes. There was a nervous expression on his face as you walked back over to him.

"What did you say?" your voice was already shaking, trembling and cracking with every word, "what did you call me?"

"Sunshine," he whispered it softly as you shook your head, eyes already burning and stinging with tears.

"No," you insisted, "you...you aren't...why would you call me that? You don't know me…"

"I do," he whispered as the tears spilled over and ran down your cheeks. He extended his hand, moving to wipe away your tears, but you flinched out of his touch, bringing an ache to his chest, "sweet girl, you know me."

"Please," you whispered softly, "I don't know you… I-I-I don't know you."

"But you do. You know my name - you know me…"

"I don't."

"Sunshine-"

"No!" you snapped harshly as you glared at him, "there was only one man that ever called me that - the only one that was ever allowed to. Do not think yourself worthy of doing such a thing!"

"What was his name?" he asked, his brown eyes softening as you refused to speak.

"Don't you dare!"

"Say it," he insisted, "what was his name?"

"Please don't do this…"

"Say my name, Sunshine," he whispered, ready to throw himself at your feet and to beg you to say it, for you absolve his sins - anything, "please…"

"Don't…"

"You know me...gods, I wish I could hear you say it one more time…"

"I-I-I thought you were dead, Oberyn," you broke and said it. It was soft, a familiar sound that felt like heaven and hell at the same time. It was a sound you hadn't heard in years, and it brought forth every emotion you'd worked to suppress and forget and keep at bay, "I waited and waited and you never came back. I waited so long - they said you were gone…"

“They thought I was,” he admitted as his face fell at the sight of yours; nothing but grief and sorrow was etched in your features. He wished he could take you and wrap you up in his arms, but how you had pulled away from him, he didn’t want to upset you further - even if it broke his heart, “after everything...they left me at first, left me to rot, but something happened and I woke up again. It was like a miracle; I don’t know what happened or why….but I survived.”

“It’s been six years, Oberyn,” you sniffled as you studied the man in front of you. He was so different from the man you had last seen; he was older, more weary looking, with stray grey hairs infusing into his beard and the curls he had left grow out. Instead of the pristine visage you had known, there were scars on the side of his face, but they didn’t deter from his beauty. If anything else, they all told a story - a story of his death and rebirth.

And yet, he was still the same as he always had been. Soft eyes, honeyed and golden only for you, with the sweetest smile. Oberyn Martell - your Oberyn. 

"I know," he agreed gently, "and it took me a long time to get better. I was bedridden and barely able to function for over a year."

"And then…?" you studied him as you tried not to completely have a breakdown at the thought of him helpless and broken. 

"I looked for you," he promised answering your unspoken question, "as soon as I got better and was able to. I looked everyday, far and wide, I had people look for you, but none could find you. It was like you had disappeared. Vanished."

"I had to leave," you whispered softly as the tears you had been holding back rolled down your cheeks. There was no point in trying to hold them back  - after all this time, the man you had once loved was back. It was like seeing a ghost after all this time. He swallowed thickly before nodding slightly, “I couldn’t stay  - not in King’s Landing, not in Sunspear, not around everyone. I couldn’t go back and face everyone, in a place where everything would remind me of you. It was too much, Oberyn. My world ended that day, with you in a pile of blood and ruin. I couldn’t...I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he whispered as he reached up again, slowly and more hesitant, testing to see how far you would let him go. This time, you shy away from his touch, letting him gently touch your cheek and wipe away the tears that didn’t seem to stop, “you did what you had to. Many people would have done the same - I’m not sure I would have done anything differently.”

“There’s...I...I didn’t just leave to protect myself,” you confessed, the words so soft and gentle they were barely audible, but Oberyn heard you loud and clear. You clasped your hands nervously, thinking back to the day you had found out. It was after Oberyn had died  - or so you thought. He never knew, and suddenly it felt like a dirty secret. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling, “Oberyn...I...we...I was with child.”

The Prince found himself unable to speak, the tears and emotion getting stuck in his throat as he nodded; his own eyes grew bleary with tears that threatened to spill over as he brushed a finger along your cheek. A heavy weight felt like it was on your shoulders, but if you knew - if you had any clue he was still alive - you would have found him...you would have told him. He looked at you with soft eyes before pulling you into a hug, unable to stop himself. You hugged him right back, unable to stop yourself, clutching at him as though he was the only thing in the world. Even after all this time, it felt the same as ever, like you had never strayed from his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed a few kisses to the side of your head, “a son?”

“A son,” you reassured him softly, solidifying that the little one he had seen running around earlier had to be his son. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you pulled back and studied his face, cradling it gently in your hands before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, “you finally had a son, Oberyn. I...I named him Elio. Elio Nymeros Oberyn.”

It felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs as he listened to you; this was everything he could have ever dreamed of, and yet...he hadn’t gotten to experience a single moment of it. Life was cruel that way; it gave and then it took and took and took. Oberyn’s eyes searched yours as he whispered, “for Elia? For me?”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. But before you could say anything yes, some excited shouts and laughter from the distance. It was then that reality set in and you took a step back from Oberyn, as if you suddenly remembered that this, the moment the two of you had just shared, wasn’t real life. No - it felt more like a fever dream.

“Mama!” the little boy was a blur as he excitedly sprinted towards you. Oberyn’s heart was beating wildly as he tried to get a good look at the young boy, your son - his son. He was too preoccupied with the new arrival to notice the other approaching figure, “I was going to go to the river but then I got distracted…”

You ran a hand affectionately through his dark curls, almost speechless at how much he took after Oberyn. Especially now, seeing them side by side, there was no doubt that he was Oberyn’s son. The young boy shied into your skirts as he tugged your arm around him and regarded the Prince in confusion. 

“It’s okay, my little love,” you promised him as he made a small sound, “this is...umm..Nymeros.”

Oberyn had to physically stop from sweeping the young boy in a bone crushing hug. He slowly bent down so he was on Elio’s level and held his hand to him, “hi Elio. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” he said shyly, offering up a small smile, and taking Oberyn’s hand, “do you know my Mama and Papa?”

“I…” Oberyn passed for a moment before looking back at you. Surely...surely he hadn’t heard correctly…

“Oberyn, I-”

“Hello, my loves,” the arrival of another newcomer snapped you both of your daze as you turned to find your husband making his way over to the three of you. Elio’s eyes lit up as he darted away from you and towards the man. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him picking up the young boy and setting him atop his shoulders. He came over to you and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, as you beamed at him; even Oberyn couldn’t deny the glow on your features. He paused for a moment before kissing your lips gently, “hello, my sweetest.”

“Hello to you, dearest husband,” you gave him a soft smile before turning your attention back to Oberyn. The expression on his face was devastating; it was heartbreak personified. Your face pulled into a frown as you sighed lightly, “Jeron, this is...this is…”

“Nymeros,” Oberyn caught your eye, a sad little expression on his face as he held out his hand to your husband, “we...used to know each other, a long time ago, it was almost like another lifetime ago. I was...passing through and thought I recognized her and just wanted to say hello.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeron’s smile was easy as he shook Oberyn’s hand. It was easy to see why you had ended up with a man like him; he had a warm, gentle aura about him, and even Oberyn couldn’t deny his charm. He was a handsome man, tall and thin, with a shock of dark hair and almost black eyes and the most golden skin, with a smile equally as dazzling, “it’s been hot out, you must come in and cool down.”

“Oh no,” Oberyn shook his head, feeling like his heart was breaking a little more with each word, “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please, we insist,” Jeron said as you looked torn, “join us for dinner! Any friend is family and welcome in our home.”

“Perhaps some other time,” Oberyn’s voice almost cracked as he looked between the two of you, finding the young boy already starting to doze off, no doubt ready for a nap, “I actually must get going. I think I’ve already stayed too long.”

“Well, you’re always welcome in our home,” Jeron promised him. He turned to you, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “I’m going to put the little one down for a nap.”

“Of course,” you said softly as he disappeared inside. Oberyn watched you closely for a few moments before a few tears rolled down his cheeks. It felt like a knife was twisting in your heart, but...you didn’t know. You never knew that he was alive or you would have been by his side the entire time. 

“Oberyn-”

“Do you love him?” he asked softly as you felt your own tears well up again. You swallowed thickly before nodding slowly - and it was true. Jeron was a good man that you loved more than life itself, just as you once had Oberyn, “and our son. Is he good to our son?”

“He’s an amazing father,” you promised, “he loves Elio so much...he knows he is not his, but it has never stopped him loving him as his own, and Elio doesn’t know any different. He’s raised him since he was a babe.”

“Are you happy?” 

“Yes,” you dabbed at your eyes, “I am very happy. It took a long time to get there, but I am happy with this life. It is quiet and humble, but I love every day of it.”

“Okay,” Oberyn gave you a teary eyed, tight lipped smile, “that’s all I needed to know. That’s all I ever wanted, Sunshine.”

“Oberyn,” he took a step back and offered you one last nod. You knew what this meant - you knew what he was thinking. You shook your head as your eyes widened, “no, please, Oberyn-”

“Goodbye, Sunshine,” he whispered gently, “I love you always.”

“Please don’t...don’t just go...don’t just leave.”

“My place isn’t here,” he insisted, “but you’re happy, and...our son is happy and healthy. That’s all that matters.”

“No, no, no, please,” you knew it was useless; his mind was made up.

“I must,” he insisted softly, “you will always have my heart. May we meet again in another life, my sweet girl.”

“Oberyn…” it was a soft broken whisper as he slowly turned to walk away. He wanted to look back, but he couldn’t. Instead, he let his tears flow freely as he left, each step breaking his heart bit by bit. It felt like you were losing him all over again, “Oberyn.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog  @sheridans-dynamos  @queenbbarnes  @persephonesnebula   @ah-callie  @blushingwueen  @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander  @rae-gar-targaryen    @hiscyarika  @readsalot73  @huliabitch  @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd  @beepbeepsephy   @scarlettwitcher  @nerdyknightwritersblog  @choicesarcade  @arrowswithwifi  @everythingaboutnothingstuff  @suckerfor-fanfics  @bestintheparsec @javihoney  @aeryntheofficial  @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial  @asgardianvamp21  @keithseabrook27  @karmezii  @dearspacepirates  @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou  @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @kochamcie @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian @phoenixhalliwell @lucifer @cosmoschick

[daughterofanarcissistwoman]

Trauma Bonding

(The writer here refers to an ex but this applies to familial relationships as well.)

You may feel pretty crazy over there in your trauma bonded trance for someone who mistreated you, but know there are people actually eating dirt out there and making more sense than some of the well-meaning advice I heard while I was getting over various forms of heartbreak.

We are told to stop fixating, face the fear of moving on, focus on yourself, and that time heals all wounds. When in fact, the symptoms of a traumatic reaction to a trauma bond make these very things feel nearly impossible.

What’s more, when taken in the context of trauma bonding, prolonged grief over the loss of a relationship is far from irrational, even when that relationship was a toxic one. If you feel more stunned and immobilized as time wears on, this is the reaction of your organism actually working to protect you from a perceived, ongoing threat.

You are not “crazy”.

Your body’s physiological state is just trying to communicate with you in a way that you may not quite understand yet.

There are people all over the world who experience cravings for dirt or clay. This is called geophagy and clearly sounds so insane that people feel ashamed to admit their cravings. Yet research has found that these cravings may indicate a lack in bodily mineral content or may function as the body’s protective response to pathogens in pregnant women or children. The content of dirt or clay may serve as a protective barrier in the stomach.

What may FEEL mentally and physiologically irrational, actually makes sense. This does not mean that anemic people should make themselves a nice dirt snack with their coffee this afternoon. It does mean that feeling estranged, ashamed, and ignoring the REALITY of the craving, without looking further into what it indicates, will never resolve their organism’s unmet need.

What is trauma bonding?

I only started to understand trauma bonding when I stopped feeling ashamed and started trusting my body’s own physiological messengers.

Breaking a trauma bond can feel agonizing. What’s the point of trying to accept the reality of a toxic relationship, go no contact, and try to move on with your life when you only feel worse as time wears on?

Breaking a trauma bond comes with intense withdrawal symptoms, flashbacks, cravings for the toxic person, compulsive thoughts about what happened, and an anxious state that may make you feel like you are going backward, without abate.

This is going to sound counterintuitive at first, but these very symptoms are confirmation that staying away from the toxic relationship is absolutely imperative to your health. This is because trauma resides as a physiological response to a perceived threat. Your organism knows and reacts, at the core, gut, and instinctual level, when a person or situation is harmful.

And while you may be fully consciously aware NOW that you are no longer in the relationship, your body is still registering an ongoing threat. This is manifesting in symptoms that certainly make you feel like you are going “crazy” — or maybe even make you feel as if you were never meant to stay away in the first place.

But all this DOES NOT mean that your body is trying to indicate to you that you are forever cosmically tied to that dirtbag who mistreated you, used you, and broke your heart. It means that the trauma that may have occurred before the relationship, during the relationship, and when the relationship ended, continues to live inside of you. It continues to live as a memory and echo that has no orientation to time and place.

You are feeling this way because, physiologically, you still don’t feel safe.

You will NOT be the person who longs for the person who mistreated you forever. But it’s going to be hard to get there if your strategy is to grit your teeth, brace yourself, and steel even more energy in trying to fight your body’s frantic physiological responses to the trauma in the trauma bond, through sheer will, when you are already frozen in emergency mode.

Stay with me. I’ll explain.

We look into trauma bonding as a way to explain, romanticize, and decode the characteristics of a relationship that feels or once felt so precious.

Here’s the gut-punch that usually gets lost —when you’re in a trauma bond, and the bond “breaks,” the trauma remains.

If you’re a cookie in an Oreo and the other cookie leaves, guess who is stuck with what seems like even more trauma filling than you started with?

This “trauma filling” can help to explain why your mind, body, and soul are registering a frenetic, obsessive, red level, emergency breaker craving for a toxic ex, toxic relationship, or situation.

The Trauma Bond

The reason for this hyper-aroused-anxiety-trance lies in some part to the nature of trauma bonding itself. Trauma bonds are formed when your organism registers that you are in danger.

According to “The Betrayal Bond,” a book written by Patrick Carnes, who developed this concept, “trauma bonds are the dysfunctional attachments that occur in the presence of danger, shame, or exploitation. Trauma bonds occur when we are bonding to the very person who is the source of danger, fear, and exploitation.” They involve seduction, betrayal, and high intensity.

They also involve a seemingly endless sense of helplessness and hopelessness. Carnes wrote, “This type of bonding does not facilitate recovery and resilience but rather undermines those very qualities within us.”

Throughout the relationship, your organism assessed the threat and continuously mobilized energy for you to fight or flee. Yet the trauma in trauma bonding creates a cyclical, repetitive cycle that contains your ability to protect yourself, trust yourself, feel your body’s physiological reactions or evolve out of your current state, even when your partner is gone.

Instead of fighting or fleeing, you remain frozen and clinging with an “insane level of loyalty, to an impossible, unresolvable, toxic, overwhelming, or cosmically doomed bond.” A person chained to this type of bond “disbelieves the obvious and accepts the impossible.”

The following are some signs of trauma bonding, which I’ve adapted from Carnes:

• When you continue to be fixated on people who hurt you and who are no longer in your life.

• When you crave contact with someone who has hurt you and who you know will cause you more pain.

• When you continue to revolve around people who you know are taking advantage of you or exploiting you.

• When you are committed to remaining loyal to someone who has betrayed you, even though their actions indicate few signs of change.

• When you are desperate to be understood, validated, or needed by those who have indicated they do not care about you.

• When you go to great lengths to continue to help, caretake, or consider people who have been destructive to you.

These types of relationships capitalize on old wounds and previous traumas.

As a bigger and separate topic, there are a lot of reasons for why we may be vulnerable to trauma bonding, to begin with, including a deep desire to heal a prior hurt. We do this by subconsciously recreating the prior situation, down to the very exploitative, dangerous, or shameful elements that existed in the prior trauma. Down to the type of toxic, emotionally unavailable, or developmentally stunted person in the prior situation.

The reasons why we get into these types of bonds, the reasons we stay, and the reasons why we can’t let them go are interrelated, and at least one thing remains the same: our body stores these memories physiologically, without a time or date stamp. The memories can make us feel like we are in an endless cycle of trauma and pain, with or without the relationship.

The Trauma

Trauma is a big concept, that lives on much developing academic ground. I’m no expert, and what I’m saying is informed by the work of trauma researchers Peter Levine, Bessel van der Kolk, and Patrick Carnes, but this is simply my interpretation.

Viewing your seemingly irrational reactions to heartbreak through a trauma-informed lens will reduce some part of the shame that comes with continuing to live in a body that is suspended in a hyper-aroused and frenetic state long after we are told that we should be over a relationship or situation.

There are different kinds of trauma. Some are the types of trauma we are typically aware of —responses to natural disasters, war, abuse, genocide, and other atrocities. We associate those traumas with the development of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has helped to explain how victims survive in dire circumstances, including why the victims end up turning against themselves and becoming loyal to the abuser, as in the case of Stockholm Syndrome.

Understanding trauma begins when you remove judgment from the equation about the degree of atrocity that must exist in order to define trauma as trauma. There are other aspects of trauma, such as those that involve the body’s response to betrayal, childhood experiences, and interpersonal relationship trauma. A traumatic reaction is a completely subjective thing. There are more possible situations/origins of trauma than there are people.

Trauma lives inside the body as a physiological state. It will be easier to become aware of the manifestation of this state and to give it credibility if you realize that trauma can occur in the absence of abusers, victimizers, and overtly dire situations. You can have a traumatic reaction to anything or anyone that your body perceives as a threat, including a break in attachment with even the most well-meaning, non-intentionally insidious, but emotionally empty people.

Peter Levine has defined trauma as “Any experience which stuns us like a bolt out of the blue; it overwhelms us, leaving us altered and disconnected from our bodies.” It is difficult to access coping mechanisms while in this overwhelmed state. This reaction can become more intense when the relational trauma occurs for long periods of time, with intermittent reinforcement, and when it is layered on top of relational trauma that occurred in childhood.

The stunned shock of anything that your body perceives as a threat, including a betrayal or a breakup, can live inside of us as a physiological state, even when we are not in present danger — when we are out of the breakup, moved out, and presumably moved on. Our bodies are engaged in a survival response even when out of the danger — which manifests itself as a freeze state that makes all the negative emotions you felt while in the relationship freeze within you as well.

What is this? Why does this happen?

The Freeze State.

It happens as a result of a completely natural human reaction to a potentially threatening situation. Peter Levine has explained how trauma develops in his book, “Waking the Tiger.” When faced with perceived danger or challenge, we become energetically aroused, mobilized, and poised to pounce, respond, and defend. This is the reason why weaklings are able to lift cars in order to rescue children. Our bodies were built to generate tremendous energy and appropriately constrict it so that it can be released. So we can fight or flee from threats for our very survival. When the energy is released, there is a tremendous sense of relief and somatic calm. There is no trauma. The situation makes sense to us because we witnessed our bodies working with us to resolve a threat.

So what happens to this tremendous, do-or-die energy isn’t released? When we feel we cannot fight or flee, as in the case of a trauma bond, there isn’t a discharge of this energy.

Instead, we hard stop freeze. Unlike other animals, our more highly evolved neocortex prevents an instinctual response of releasing this energy anyway, when the freeze state ends. Without the release, our body constricts this incredible bundle of energy and contains it in our nervous system. We are suspended in a highly mobilized emergency alert state, hypervigilant, and brimming with energy that our body now has to shift around, negotiate, and safety-valve slowly expel through adaptations that make us feel like we are experiencing an anxiety reaction. This too, is our body working for us, to prevent a nervous system meltdown.

This is trauma.

An example of this is when you brace yourself during the impact of a car accident and later find yourself completely motionless, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, adrenaline coursing through you, heart rate is racing, breathing heavily, with almost no memory of the event.

Why won’t our “smarter” brain allow us to discharge this energy during the freeze state? Again, your body is trying its best to protect you. When that tremendous force of arousal energy is first triggered, it makes us feel up to the task, positive, and intensely alive. When the release is thwarted and is instead subsumed inwardly, we associate the energy with intensely negative emotions.

All those feelings and all the energy that you might have expelled during the relationship in a fight or flight response — all the anger, the shame, and the fear — now reside within you and may feel like are directed TOWARD you.

Our “smarter” brain attempts to protect us by negotiating these emotions within our circuitry because it believes that this work will protect us from experience sheer terror of the release. We fear releasing them because the energy itself is so strongly associated with danger, betrayal, and fear. You are now the home of negative energy that was never meant to be yours.

What does this have to do with your inability to let go of a toxic relationship?

Why does all of this slow you down when it comes to commonplace advice like “stop fixating, face the fear of moving on, and focus on yourself?”

Breaking trauma bonds.

The reason it feels like you can’t “break” a traumatic bond is because you are still suffering from your body’s adaptations to all of this chaotic, negative energy that is now stored inside. These very adaptations cause you to constantly review what happened, to fixate, to refrain from feeling fear and grief, and to obsess about the relationship.

• Anxiety.

The nervous system experiences trauma as a body feeling. In other words, your hyper-alert state lives on as symptoms that can be perceived as anxiety: increased heart rate, tension, agitation, flashbacks, shudders, muscle soreness, and racing thoughts.

All of this anxiety can feel unfair. We know it’s normal to feel grief over the loss of a relationship, but the hope is that we will feel some sense of relief once we get the courage to let go of someone we loved, but who we know is toxic, narcissistic, or emotionally unavailable. Hang on. Your body is communicating to you that internally, you still feel as if you are in danger. Because this anxiety state is so closely associated with the trauma bond, this may feel like a craving for your ex and the trauma bond, when it is in fact, a frantic message to stay away.

• Helplessness.

When exposed to personal trauma, the part of the brain that processes information, puts things into context, and communicates to you in narrative form shuts down. You are suspended in emergency activation mode, but without an ability to cope with the stress.

This is why no contact is so important. When exposed to anything that reminds you of your former partner, your nervous system triggers energy to communicate the presence of a threat but prevents you from consciously putting that threat into the context of what is occurring here and now.

In this state, it can feel hard to learn new things or assimilate information.

This is why it can feel like such a gut punch to see your ex or hear about his or her life, even after time has passed and you are sure “you got this.” It can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless.

Trauma bonds don’t “heal with time” because trauma doesn’t have a sense of time. Don’t expect to never feel triggered. Feeling triggered does not mean that you are “back to square one” when it comes to processing. It means that you are experiencing traumatic anxiety, which once again makes you feel like you are frozen and immobilized. This can lead you to feel depressed even though the current stressor is no longer around. Don’t lose hope. Even the smallest bit of awareness of what is actually occurring will help you to unfreeze out of this state, and this will get more automatic and manageable the more you increase this awareness.

• Flashbacks.

Because you are not able to put your physiological distress into a time and place context, you are not able to consciously recognize that the traumatic event happened in the past. This causes confusion between past trauma and current stressors. Your body, behind the scenes, may be experiencing today’s stressful day as a flashback to the past, as if the trauma has returned.

Life goes on after a trauma bond. Other people and situations will stress you out and trigger anxious feelings that you will subconsciously associate with the trauma bond. This is why stressful days and subsequent disappointments make you feel like you are missing the trauma bond more intensely.

Trauma is like a trance. It makes you less aware of your current state, your bodily sensations, and your feelings. When you start to feel more safe, grounded, and present, you will slowly become more aware of when these flashbacks occur. You will feel less entranced and more able to untangle your prior distress from what is currently happening in your life.

• Trauma repetition review.

After an animal goes into fight, flight, or freeze and releases all the energy its nervous system conjured to get out of a dangerous situation, the animal goes into a review state. The point of this is to figure out what happened and to learn from the experience. Trauma bonded humans also go into this state, except the review occurs in a highly aroused and anxious state, because the energy from the experience has not been released.

This is why it is so difficult to stop fixating on what occurred, why you are experiencing obsessive thoughts, replaying old scripts, and why you feel abandoned and rejected long after a traumatic break has occurred. You are processing the trauma bond while you are still in a stressed and hyperaroused state.

This is why talking about trauma, rehashing the situation with your friends, and recycling anger doesn’t make you feel better and only further retraumatizes you. It may feel like you lost something important because you can’t let go of compulsively thinking about the trauma bond. This repetitive rehashing is healthy and normal, but only when conducted when you are out of an anxiety state and feeling grounded, safe, and present.

The antidote to compulsive rehashing is to remember that trauma lives inside the body, as a physiological state. Once activated, it shuts down your ability to process information. There’s nothing wrong with trying to figure out what happened, but know that doing so in this triggered state may make you feel like you need to return to the trauma bond.

• Hypervigilance.

Hypervigilance is the inevitable result of all of this hyperarousal. In trying to make sense of how you are feeling, your body actively searches for the source of the threat, even when one cannot be found. This drive can feel like a fixation to scan for the source, even though what you may just be reacting to is your own internal arousal. This gets repetitive and compulsive.

Your body remembers the trauma bond. It remembers how it felt and who was around. Even out of the relationship, a trauma bonded person may still feel threatened by a memory of the past when dealing with a current stressor. Your brain scans for a source of the threat. Your brain lands on the emotionally charged memory and image of someone associated with the trauma bond. You may feel plagued by images of your ex-partner, but this is only because your body remembers this person as a source of threat, not because you need to run back to this person.

All of these symptoms occur because your nervous system is suspended in a hyper-aroused state, searching for new danger, and attempting to protect you.

The key to releasing the trauma bond is to remind yourself, carefully, with compassion, and with consistency that you are no longer in danger and that you are now safe.

– This, first and foremost, has to be true. If you are still in any way involved in a trauma bond, then you are not safe. It may feel like you’ve hacked it and you are over it and you are ready for contact or another round, but your physiological systems will likely tell you otherwise.

– When you start to feel triggered, remind yourself of where you are in time and space. You may be experiencing a physiological memory of the past that makes you feel as if you are re-experiencing the trauma. Trauma robs you of your ability to stay in the present. It drops you in a trance and prevents you from recognizing what you are feeling — both emotionally and physiologically. There are many ways of grounding, including yoga, breath work, meditation, journaling, spending time in nature, among so many others. Once you get committed to healing, you will seek and find endless sources of information and relief in these. The key is to begin. Yoga will not release your trauma bond. Going for a hike will not make flashbacks and obsessive thoughts go away. These things may, however, bring you more awareness to your sensations and feelings, which will help you stay in the present when you feel yourself becoming taken over in a trauma bonded trance.

– Become emotionally available to yourself. The way to release a trauma bond is to very slowly and compassionately separate the amount of fear, that you may not even know you feel, about your negative emotions from the negative emotions themselves. These negative emotions are stored inside of you because your body internalized them, instead of using the energy of these emotions to flee or fight. They are not yours. These emotions are not your anger or your shame. You are safe now. You no longer need them. But you need a really safe base in yourself, your enviornment, and others in order to slowly release these. Be kind to yourself. It’s not easy to let go.

– A symptom of being trauma bonded is an intense desire to inform the person who hurt you about your healing. Don’t do that. It will only entrench you further. Your stored negative energy is not your own, but it’s not your ex’s either. It may feel like you have to “place” it somewhere, but this will not get rid of it, and you will only re-traumatize yourself. You can’t put it somewhere else. You can replace it with the knowledge this energy is no longer necessary to protect you, because you are safe now.

Trauma-bonded people are usually the foremost experts on their exes. In order to survive, they can discern mood changes from small facial movements, sideways grunts, or the way a person is standing. Start becoming this aware of yourself.

Start noticing what triggers you, when you are feeling hyper-vigilant, when you are reviewing or processing the relationship in a stressed out state. Start noticing when your flashbacks occur. You may find that they are actually occurring in response to current life stressors.

In becoming aware of this, you may find that there are other toxic people and situations in your current life that you can let go of in order to feel more safe. When other toxic bonds fall away, you may feel more ready to be yourself. When you feel more ready to be yourself, you may become even less ashamed and more emotionally aware. You can start to recognize which thoughts and emotions aren’t yours.

When you separate these, you will feel even more safe. Becoming more self-aware is work with a huge payoff, and you’re already so good doing it with everyone but yourself.

When you separate the past from the present, you will start to have more fun in the present. You will solve the present problems better. You will start to feel more like yourself again. You are safe now, and soon…

You will be free.

This post was written by Natasha Adamo team member, Irena.

https://natashaadamo.com/trauma-bonding/

[iphoenixrising]

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler. 

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read. 

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go. 

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat. 

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did. 

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.” 

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach. 

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses. 

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder. 

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand. 

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side. 

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice. 

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor. 

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out. 

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something. 

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding. 

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath. 

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night. 

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.” 

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this. 

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy. 

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something. 

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him. 

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan. 

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates. 

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly. 

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force. 

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways. 

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…” 

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. 

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change.  He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years. 

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind. 

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy. 

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while. 

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question. 

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own.  I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore. 

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.  

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s  experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months. 

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible. 

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth. 

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.” 

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit. 

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan. 

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years. 

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his. 

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

[creative-type]

a still, small voice

AN: Wrote this in December when I was hit with some dark and angsties and never got around to posting here. Probably because I was annoyed that I’d forgotten pre-canon Thistle’s name would not be Thistle until after I’d finished and had to go back and edit the whole thing. Can also be found on ao3 if you prefer reading there 

.

Violet didn’t know where she was going, but she ran anyway.

Bare feet pounded against the hard, frozen ground—there hadn’t been time to find her boots. Her shirt, half pulled over her head in a vain effort to hide her face. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and her heart thudded in panicked rhythm.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. She was all wrong.

The only good thing was that it was dark, and her pursuers were human. With a new moon and an overcast sky, Violet was able to sprint across an open field into a thin strip of timber that acted as the boundary between one farm and the next before the mob could light its torches.

Of course, only monsters and beasts could see in the pitch black night. Even if one could look past the claws and teeth, her eyes were proof enough to show that she belonged in the shadows like some dark, creeping thing.

Violet tried to push the thought away as she gasped for breath, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. She didn’t have to look to know it was elm, the life she felt under her clawed fingers muted in the winter cold. Even the trees had their chance to sleep. So why couldn’t she find rest?

And what have you done to earn such a luxury, you ungrateful brat?

Violet clutched her head with her hands, shrinking down as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She needed to think, needed to move. She was not safe here. She wasn’t safe anywhere, but it was especially true now. The farmer who owned the barn she’d spent the last week calling home would soon raise his neighbors. Depending on how much he hated her, he might even send a message to town. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, Violet remembered that he’d had dogs.

Frigid air made the teartracks sting. There was no snow on the ground, but it was cold, and she’d left her shoes behind like an idiot. Without a good disguise or money she’d be forced to steal, proving once again her duplicitous, criminal nature.

But she could only do that if she lived through the night. Violet was terrified to leave the cover of the wood, but the sound of baying dogs made that choice for her.

Bending low, Violet whispered the spell that would hide her tracks and scent. Assuming the farmer and his friends didn’t have any spells of their own, it would confuse the dogs long enough for her to escape, provided that she didn’t leave behind any damning evidence. As Violet moved, branches and shrub brush instinctively pulled away, letting her pass without scratching her face or pulling at her clothes.

Too soon she was in the open again, the wind cutting through her layers. Violet didn’t dare call on her magic to warm herself—heat too often brought light, and she wasn’t practiced enough to call one without the other.

For a moment, helplessness almost swallowed her whole. Violet knew she needed shelter, but there was no safe place for her to go. Even the environment was hostile and unwelcoming, the magic of spring and growth unsuited for the barren fields and cold, unfeeling winter.

There was something almost ironic at the thought of dying of exposure to the elements after the exposure of her true nature, but Violet didn’t have time for morbid self-deprecation. She took the only path available—forward—crossing a plot of uncut pasture until she reached a small creek bed. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the water to freeze, and she followed its winding path until it ended in a small pond meant for cattle and horses.

The pond marked the end of Violet’s knowledge of the local countryside. Everything that lay behind was unknown, and therefore frightening. She paused a moment to listen, extending her magical senses.

Relief washed over Violet when she realized she was alone. That relief quickly turned into dread that settled like lead in the pit of her stomach.

There was no one she could count on but herself. And the voice whispering in the back of her mind made it very clear that she was not up to that task.

Swallowing hard, Violet ripped two pieces of cloth from her shirt to wrap around her feet and took her first step into the unknown. The nauseating buzz of apprehension and anxiety pushed her forward another step, and then another and another, until she was almost running. Violet’s lungs burned with the cold even as her face flushed hot, sweat rapidly cooling at her neck and temples.

She alternated walking with running to preserve energy. Every once in a while she would stop at a strip of timber, try to orient herself without the guidance of the moon or stars. A cave elf’s night vision wasn’t anything like how she saw during the day, and it didn’t take long for Violet to become disorientated. All she knew, all she could hope, was that she was getting away.

The fields blended with one another, some large harvested crop ground, others overgrown pasture for free range cattle. Packed dirt roads and humble homesteads were avoided like the plague, Violet moving as best she could away from any signs of civilization. Wind whispered through the grass and the trees, but beyond that was the silence of desolate emptiness. Exposed and in the open, Violet only became more aware of her own smallness.

But as the miles past and the first promise of sunrise pierced through the oppressive blackness of night, Violet knew she needed to stop. Thin cotton strips were poor protection for her aching, bleeding feet, and the cold that she’d once been able to force away was starting to seep into her bones. Everything felt heavy, from her eyelids, to her legs, to the effort it took to expand her lungs.

The acute jolt of energy that came with being discovered had long-been expelled, leaving a deeper, more primal fear that left her slow and jumpy. Hazy fog clouded the edges of her vision and thoughts dripped sluggishly from her mind like frozen syrup. Violet  forced her aching knees up one, final hill, promising herself that once she reached the other side she would stop for the night.

Only that promise made her go forward, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to set up adequate shelter after she made it that far, or lay the spells that would protect her before falling asleep. At that moment she didn’t particularly care. Anything for a blessed moment of rest.  

Lazy, stupid, do you want to be found…

Violet huddled against herself as she crested the hill, unsure if she was trying to protect herself from the wind or the Echo whose voice was becoming increasingly difficult to discern from her own.

On the other side, the slope dipped gradually down to a narrow road that didn’t look like it had been used since Hym had been made a Wizard. The road, or lane, or path, or whatever it was, ended at a small, one-story building that had been white before the elements stripped it of the majority of its paint. The roof sagged inward, a young tree sprouting through the hole that might have once been a chimney.

The windows were thick with dust. From the road, no one could see in or out, and clearly no one had been inside in a long, long time.

It was the perfect hiding spot.

Violet took a moment to stare, unable to believe her own good fortune. She staggered forward, tired and hurting, not bothering to make sure that no one was coming from father up the road. Soft, predawn light edged at the horizon as Violet circled around looking for the entrance. A simple wooden door sat above two stone steps, settled under a faded sign that proclaimed the decrepit building to be Elk Chapel.

Tentatively Violet  extended her magic, but there were no protections guarding the property. When she jiggled the handle it snapped in her hands, and after years of disuse the wood had swollen in the door jamb, making it stick shut.

Growling with frustration, Violet  tried to shoulder it open, but it was no use. Angry tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she slammed against the door with an almost childlike, impotent helplessness. It wasn’t fair! After all she’d gone through, all that stood between her and safety was a stupid door that wouldn’t open. It wasn’t fault she was a monster. She couldn’t help that no one would let her in. She tried and tried and tried so hard to be a good person, to help people, and it was never enough.

She would never be good enough.

Violet didn’t have the strength to keep trying. Overtired and overwrought, she pressed her forehead against the door and cried. There was nothing left for anything other than the outpouring of emotion, the surrender to all the grief and pain she often ignored in the name of survival. There at that abandoned chapel deep in a forgotten wood, Violet bore her soul, not caring who might see or hear.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

A force stirred deep within her. Violet was familiar enough with her magic to know that whatever she felt, it didn’t come from her. Warmth spread through her body, embracing her with the comfort of an old, familiar blanket, or a pair of loving arms. Frightened and confused, she whipped her head around, but there was no one but the wind.

Violet was still alone when the echo of a memory whispered in the depths of her heart, mind, and soul,

Be not afraid.

Taking a half-step back, Violet pressed herself against the chapel door, willing herself to disappear. There was the groaning of wood, then a sharp crack that punctured through the peace of the morning like a rocket, and the door snapped from its hinges.

Violet stumbled backward and was unable to keep her balance before falling hard on her behind. Heart pounding she scurried as far backward as she could, but the feeling was gone, leaving only a deep, pulsing ache.

“I’m actually going insane,” Violet whispered. Without bothering to stand up, she craned her neck backward to see where the young sapling had managed to break free to the open sky. The musty smell of earth and forgotten things filled the single room of the chapel, both the walls and floor covered with hoarfrost.

As far as shelter went, Violet had had better. She’d also had much, much worse. She crawled the corner that seemed warmest and removed the wrappings from her feet, wincing as the dried blood pulled the scabs open anew.

How much had she left behind? Enough for the dogs to track her? Violet squeezed her eyes closed and tried to remember the spell that would seal the broken skin, letting her breath out in a low hiss as her magic knitted the tissue back together imperfectly. She’d need to study more, or at least not be stupid enough to leave her shoes behind when she ran.

With her feet taken care of, Violet  finally turned to the matter of getting warm. Reluctantly, she left her sanctuary just long enough to find a good-sized rock and lug it back inside, before settling herself at the base of the tree. Oak, her mind uselessly supplied. As if the leaves and acorns at her feet hadn’t told her that much.

Violet laid her hands on the stone, trying to ignore the barbaric claws that extended past the edges of her fingers. Her hands shook with exhaustion as she tapped the last dregs of her endurance to call heat to the heart of the rock, enough that would last her the hours it would take her to recover from the night’s escapades.

Blue light flashed. Violet  screeched in alarm and pulled her hands away, having succeeded a little too well at her spell. The stone glowed cherry red, instantly melting the frost at her feet and heating the room as well as any stove.

She let out a breath shaky with relief and buried her face in her arms. She wouldn’t cry again. Not for something as stupid as a little warmth.

As exhausted as she was, it took Violet  longer than expected to drift asleep. The immediate need of shelter taken care of, she realized just how hungry and thirsty she was, and not knowing where she could find either food or water wound her tighter than a two copper watch. She was too tired to think of a plan for getting shoes and clothes and too confused by how she’d opened the door of the chapel to try to fight through her fatigue.

Probably a coincidence, Violet thought, the excuse unconvincing even in her own mind. Instinctively she reached for her bag and pulled out her journal—which she had managed to take with her—finding a stubby bit of pencil amongst the detritus of the bottom of her pack. She flipped to a familiar page, reading and rereading her entry about that night, eyes skimming the words she’d long-since memorized.

Be not afraid.  

With everything that had happened, knowing the monster that she was, how could she not?

Sighing softly, Violet turned the page and scratched out another name. Maybe next time would be different. She tucked the journal away again and tried to get comfortable at the base of the tree. A cluster of acorns poked against her hip and side. Violet brushed most of them away, saving one to add to her growing seed collection.

Nearly sick with dread and exhaustion, Violet finally allowed herself to drift to sleep as the first rays of dawn crossed the horizon, the memory of a promise she still didn’t understand leading her to a deep and dreamless slumber.  

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 12: The Aftermath”

See how everyone reacts to Theo’s attack on the reader. Feelings get hurt, relationships are exposed, people shout. This chapter is ALL ANGST and FEELS! 😭

Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions assault and rape.

One thing at a time. That was all you could only focus on. Otherwise the reality of what had just happened would overwhelm you. Just one step at a time as you walked into the precinct with your family, Fin, and Amanda.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Amanda asked.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, having barely spoken since Theo ran out of the gallery that morning. The metallic taste of blood still lingered on your tongue from where he had smacked you. 

Liv walked out of her office to greet you and your family, but before she could say anything, your father spoke up. “Please tell me you’re gonna get this bastard.” 

“Dom!” your mom scolded 

“No! Don’t ‘Dom’ me. That monster assaulted my baby. I could go out there right now and take care of it.”

“Dad! Please!” Bella interjected. “Let the cops do their job!”

“Ok, everyone lets calm down,” Olivia said over the bickering.

Your eyes darted between your sister and parents, arguing over what was best for you in this situation. You felt like a child, small and helpless. You also felt partly responsible for the unnecessary stress and worry your family was feeling right now. 

Mustering as much strength as you could, you reached into the darkest depths and found your voice. “I should’ve fought harder!” Your words reverberated around the room. Everyone halted and turned their attention to you. “I should’ve followed Phoebe to the front door. I know how she forgets to lock the door.” 

Olivia gently squeezed your shoulder. “You did exactly what you had to do. You survived.”

“She’s right,” Bella chimed in and wrapped her arm around you.

Your mom nodded and ran her fingers through your hair. “I’m just so grateful to God that you’re ok.” She sniffled and kissed you on the cheek. “My patatina.”

Just then a slightly sweaty and out of breath Rafael burst into the precinct. It looked as if he had run all the way from his office. “Y/N!” He pulled you into a tight embrace before realizing that bum rushing you after you had just been assaulted was not the best idea. Wanting to respect your personal space, he immediately jumped back. His eyes scanned your body for any injuries. “Are you ok?”

Tears welled in your eyes. “As well as can be expected.” 

With a tentative hand, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You trembled under his touch and wrapped your arms around him. Rafael enveloped you, silently praying to God, the Devil, or whatever Deity existed that kept you safe.

The squad looked at each other in total shock while witnessing the public display of affection between you and Rafael. 

Fin subtly turned towards Amanda. “Did you know these two were--”

“Nope,” she murmured. “And from the looks of it neither did Liv.”

“Let’s talk in here,” Olivia said, gently leading you away from Rafael and towards an empty interrogation room.

“Why don’t I get everyone a real cup of coffee other than that sludge they have here,” Rafael offered.

Your mother smiled. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

“I’ll take a latte,” Fin teased only to receive a deadpan stare from Rafael.

While everyone went their separate ways, Amanda and Fin got to work on getting an arrest warrant. “Wow. Barba and Carisi’s younger sister.” Fin shook his head in disbelief. 

“That explains why Carisi’s been acting the way he has,” Amanda said while searching on her laptop for Theo’s office building.

“Think Barba gave him the shiner?”

“I don’t know.” Amanda glanced up and saw a frantic Sonny bounding into the precinct. “But here’s your chance to ask him.”

“Where is she? Where’s my sister?” Sonny demanded.

“She’s in there talking to Olivia,” Amanda said. Sonny looked to where his partner was pointing. It was the interrogation room used to talk to victims. Victim. His sister was a victim. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around the concept. Through the window, he could see you sitting in between your mom and Bella while your dad paced back and forth in the background. 

He barged into the room without even knocking. “Son, why don’t you wait outside,” your father said, trying to lead Sonny out of the room. 

But he side swept him and knelt down in front of you. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. “Y/N, I’m so---”

You pushed Sonny away before he could finish. “I’m going to be sick,” you whimpered and ran to the bathroom. Your sister and mom trailed after you, each giving him a severe look.

Sonny stepped out of the interrogation room and plopped down in his chair, slamming his fist down on the desk so hard the metal rattled beneath his quivering hand. 

“Hey,” Fin said. “Don’t sweat it, Carisi. We’re gonna get this creep.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled and reached into his drawer for the Pepto Bismol. The Carisi nerves reared its ugly head. He felt green. His stomach churned with guilt, grief, and whatever was leftover from breakfast. 

Rafael stepped back into the bullpen with coffee and bagels from your favorite deli, knowing you probably hadn’t eaten a thing all day. Unfortunately for him, it was another Carisi he found. He brushed past Sonny towards Fin and Amanda. “Where are we with Theo?” 

“Just finishing up this arrest warrant. Although it’s gonna be hard to get a judge to sign off on it with so little evidence,” Fin said. Rafael shuddered at the thought of you undergoing a rape kit. Having a SANE nurse poke, scrape, and prod you, searching for DNA, fingerprints, skin, and semen.

“That’s SVU for ya’.” Amanda sighed. “A victim’s word is never good enough.”

Rafael whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll call in some favors at the office. Give them a heads up about the warrant. And for the record, I’m glad there wasn’t a lot of evidence.” He glared at the back of Sonny’s head. “This could’ve been a lot worse.”

Feeling Rafael’s eyes on him, Sonny turned. “What?” he snapped. “Ya’ got somethin’ to say. So just say it.”

“You just couldn’t leave us alone could you?” Rafael shook his head in disgust and started towards the interrogation room to dole out coffee and bagels when Sonny’s voice stopped him.

“What the hell does that mean?” he sneered

Rafael scoffed. “Don’t play naive now. Grow up and realize your actions have consequences.”

Fin watched as the two men provoked each other. “Hey, fellas. Chill.”

Sonny ignored Fin and walked over to Rafael, getting right in his face. “If you think for one second—”

“Guys c’mon,” Amanda chimed in. “ Don’t do this.”

Rafael held his ground. “I think that when you invited Theo you were stupid enough to believe that she would crawl back to him. And because of you that monster almost raped her.”

Sonny’s blood boiled. “How dare you! I love my sister more than anythin’ in this world.”

Rafael let out a mirthless laugh. “Got some way of showing it!” 

Everyone stopped their work and began inching closer towards the two men to get a prime view of the potential fight. Some of the junior officers had their phones out ready to capture the action. All eyes of the precinct were on Rafael and Sonny. 

Sensing this was seconds away from coming to blows, Fin stepped in. “Barba, that’s enough!”

Rafael eluded Fin’s attempt to keep the peace and continued, “I don’t care if she is your sister. I love that woman more than anything in this world and I will do anything to protect her. Especially since her brother doesn’t know how to.”

“Stop it! Both of you!” Your voice pierced the air, causing everything and everyone to come to a screeching stop. 

Rafael took a step toward you. “Y/N, I’m--”

“No!” you interrupted. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take this fighting. If you can’t behave like civilized human beings then get out!” You pushed past the small crowd that had formed and went back into the interrogation room with your mom and sister. 

Amanda clapped her hands. “Alright, guys. Show’s over.” As the crowd dispersed she went back to her desk, raising her brow in a manner that said, ‘Serves you boys right.’

Rafael cleared his throat and sat in an empty chair while Sonny went over to his desk. The two men were silent with Rafael staring at his phone and Sonny chugging more Pepto Bismol. Being scolded in front of the entire precinct was enough humiliation to suffer through for one day.

One hour later and the interrogation room door opened. “Is she ok?” Sonny asked Bella.

 “She was just assaulted by her ex. How do ya’ think she is?” Bella snapped.

“Bella!” your mom reprimanded before turning to her son. “Give your sister some time. She’ll come around.” She kissed his cheek and left.

The minute you came out Rafael popped up out of his chair. He had been acting like an expectant father, pacing the floor and waiting. “Do you need anything? How’d it go?”

“Ok,” you said with a shrug. “I’m gonna go home with my folks. I’ll call you later.”

Rafael nodded. A cocktail of terror, relief, and anger etched into his face. You gave him a half smile. It was the most emotion you could muster. As you walked away, both of you knew that after today your relationship would never be the same.

****

The hours may have ticked by, but for Sonny time stood still. While Rafael and the others had left, he hadn’t moved from his desk.

“What are you still doing here?” Olivia asked when she stepped out of her office, surprised to see him alone and staring off into space rather than at home.

“My family hates me,” he softly said.

Olivia sighed and pulled up a chair. “No they don’t.”

“I didn’t...I mean when I invited Theo...I never thought…” He couldn’t finish his train of thought, a lump rising in his throat which he bitterly swallowed back down. The words that Rafael spit at him earlier still stung. Although it was nothing compared to the guilt and shame he felt. 

“Hey, this is not your fault,” Olivia sternly said. “You can’t think like that.”

Sonny studied his scuffed shoes and nodded his head when he heard Theo’s voice. “Watch it will ya’! That’s police brutality!” 

“Keep moving,” Fin said, leading your ex-fiance into the precinct with Amanda following behind. 

In an instant Sonny lunged at Theo, gripping him by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “You sonofabitch!” he growled. “You attacked my little sister!” 

Fin tried to separate the two men, but he was no match for Sonny, who’s anger gave him almost superhuman strength.

“Hey! Get off me, man!” Theo exclaimed and tried to wrench free from the vice-like grip his friend had on him. 

Sonny slammed Theo’s head into the wall again, so hard that it practically vibrated around the room. “I trusted you with her!” 

“Someone help!” Theo shouted. It took several officers to get Sonny off him.

“Ya’ know, I could sue the NYPD for this,” Theo said as he was led to the cage.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and try that after you’re found guilty of assault and attempted rape.”

Before Olivia or anyone else could reprimand Sonny for his behavior, he grabbed his jacket and left, unable to stand being in the same room as your attempted rapist. 

****

Not wanting to be alone in your apartment, you ended up spending the night at your parents’ house. As you laid in bed in your childhood bedroom, staring up at old boyband posters, you thought of Theo. How many memories you had shared in this room. From endless games of Bop-It when you were kids to sneaky makeout sessions during your teen years, always ready to split apart in case your mom came barging in. 

It was amazing how much life had changed since then. How much Theo had changed. From the sweet innocent boy next door to a conniving monster. Perhaps that evil streak was always in him, kept well hidden in the darkest corners of his being, but over time became more difficult to conceal. Until today when that mask he wore so well, fell and revealed his true self.

As hard as it was, you tried not to waste too much energy thinking about the happenings of today, especially when you had Rafael. You tried to call him several times that night, but every attempt ended with your thumb hovering over the call button before eventually giving up. 

You didn’t know what to say, and in reality you didn’t want to say anything. You wanted to go back to when life was simpler. To when life was easy. But there was no going back, so instead you shoved your phone under the pillow and tried to sleep.

*****

Since you had never called Rafael, you weren’t too surprised to find him standing outside your apartment building the next morning when Teresa dropped you off. “Want me to go in with you?” she asked.

“No, that’s ok. I need to speak to Rafael in private.” 

As you stepped out of the car, Teresa smiled and waved at your boyfriend. “Poor bastard,” she muttered to herself.

“Hi,” Rafael said,

“Hi,” you replied. “What are you doing here?” 

“You didn’t call last night so I came to check on you.” He followed you inside and into the elevator. You wanted to scream at him to stop being so damn nice, to stop making this harder than it had to be, but instead you were silent. 

When you got to your door, you hesitated. What if Theo was in there. Of course, you knew that was nonsensical. Fin and Amanda had arrested him last night; however, that did nothing to quell your fear.

Noticing your reluctance, Rafael spoke up, “Do you want me to check?”

“No,” you said before sighing in defeat. “Yes, please.” You waited outside for several minutes before he came out and gave you the all clear.

Rafael had intended to spend the day doing whatever you wanted to do whether that was to sit and talk or just to hold you while you cried. Instead, he followed you into your bedroom and watched you pull out a suitcase and begin to pack.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Packing,” you replied. Rafael crossed his arms and arched his brow, not in the mood for your sarcasm, especially since he was up all night worried sick. “I’m taking off work for a while so I’m going over to my sister’s place. I can’t stay here alone right now.”

Rafael followed you around the bedroom like a lost puppy as you moved from the dresser to the bathroom and back. “You can stay at my place if you want.”

“You have work,” you said.

“I know, but I can easily work from home right now if you need me.” He sauntered up behind you and started to massage your shoulders only to have you jump a mile high and flinch away from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said and immediately stepped away from you. As you continued to stuff your suitcase, Rafael began to get a funny feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. A premonition that something was coming. “Are you ok?”

You began to shake and it was only after a moment that Rafael realized it was because you were laughing. “Am I ok?” Your laugh grew stronger until it was maniacal. “I was just assaulted!  My family is falling apart! My life is falling apart! I am not ok!” 

You grabbed a photo of your family from your nightstand and threw it as hard as you could, watching it hit the wall and fall to the ground, the glass shattering. It felt good to unleash your anger, addicting almost. Your hand trembled from the adrenaline. Soon you were tearing apart your bedroom: throwing clothes, tugging the curtains off their rods, knocking a vase and art books off your dresser. Rafael stood there in silence while you had your tantrum, figuring you needed to release your pent up emotions after such a harrowing experience.

Once you had exhausted yourself, you collapsed on the bed out of breath. “I think we should take a break.”

At your admission, Rafael’s heart stopped. “Excuse me?”

“I think we should take a break,” you repeated. 

Rafael felt completely blindsided. He had expected there would be some tough times ahead given Theo and the assault, but he was not prepared for this. “Why?”

You let out a breath and hoped Rafael would understand. “I need to be on my own right now,” you explained. “I need space to clear my head and battle my demons. I need to learn how to take care of this myself.”

“We take care of each other. That’s what a relationship is.”

“What about work? I saw the looks of the squad’s faces when they realized we were together.”

Your words sliced through Rafael, exposing his deepest insecurities. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought about us,” he quietly said.

Unable to face him and see the pain in his eyes, you focused on tugging a hangnail instead. “I don’t, but I don't want to ruin your career and if we’re together that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

There was silence between you both as Rafael tried to process your words. He ran a hand over his face and braced himself against the wall before kneeling down in front of you. “This is just temporary, right? Things will calm down and then we’ll be back together.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure. To be honest I’m not sure of anything right now.”

Rafael scoffed. “Let me guess, this is one of those ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you’ kind of things, right?”

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry. I just...I was willing to fight for us. To fight for you. I thought you felt the same way. But I was very very wrong.” Having nothing more to say, Rafael stood up and left.

You remained sitting on the bed, listening to his footsteps move down the hall, farther and farther away. It was only when you heard the door close that you gave yourself permission to cry. 

Not wanting to be in this place another minute, you grabbed your suitcase and left, leaving your bedroom a disaster. Teresa was waiting for you outside. You stuffed your suitcase in the back of her car and hopped into the passenger seat. “Wanna talk about it?” she asked when she noticed you crying.

You shook your head and looked out the side view mirror as she drove away. Through your tears you could’ve sworn you saw Rafael walking down the street, his figure getting smaller and smaller until he blended in with the crowd and then there was nothing.

Tag List:

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @dreamlover31 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders​ @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @garturbo @rachelxwayne @averyhotchner @sarcastically-defensive17 @permanentlydizzy @beccabarba @infiniteoddball @ritajammer21

[tomboyneedshercoffee]

Making Memories || TMR Minho x Reader

Summary: When Y/N loses her memory, she joins up with Group B to try and survive in the mountains. Little does she know that Group A thinks she’s been dead for months and they’re shocked to find out that Minho’s girlfriend is still alive. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Note: I haven’t seen any Maze Runner content lately and since I’ve had this idea for a long time, I decided to just say fuck it and write it since I’m a slut for Minho. 

Warning: Amnesia, mentions of death, angst 

For the last couple of weeks of enduring the scorch, Minho was going through an internal crisis. With all of the crazy things that had happened to him like escaping the maze and even getting struck by lightning, he still felt that he wasn’t himself. 

Ever since you were taken by Griever’s that night during the attack, Minho felt numb. He felt like a machine, getting up every day just to go back to sleep. 

As awful as it sounds, he thought his grief would rest temporarily like everyone else they had lost along the way but for you, that wasn’t the case. 

The group, now joined by a few outsiders like Aris, Jorge, and Brenda, followed the idea that there was safety in numbers and that finding the Right Arm would be a step closer to get away from WCKD forever. 

While Minho knew he would follow Thomas anywhere, he still felt like he was in autopilot of where his life was taking him. 

Minho clung to his friends because he knew that the thought of losing anyone else close to him would drive him over the edge. Whenever the group would walk in silence to save energy through the sand dunes, Minho would try to remember you as best as he could. 

He felt guilty that everything he loved about you was turning into a distant memory. Even now, he would have a hard time remembering what you sounded like because the last memory of you was when you were screaming for Minho and Thomas to hold onto you as you were getting dragged away by a Griever. 

While Minho knew you were gone, he would still wait for you to playfully punch his shoulder after he would say something rude or make a face at you whenever someone else said something stupid. 

Thomas and Newt have tried to comfort their friend but Minho always brushed them off and would always tell them that he was fine. 

Minho’s way to deal with your death was to just not talk about it so everyone obeyed his wishes. Little did he know, you would find a way to come back into his life. 

When Harriet and Sonya found you, your mind was completely barren of anything that happened before, including your whole experience in the glade which meant having no thoughts of Minho at all. 

The only thing you knew was your name and even then, you were still unsure of how true that was. The girls had filled you in on everything they knew, filling your head about escaping a maze constructed by WCKD and being rescued by a group called the Right Arm. 

The flare had wiped out most of the population but WCKD never stopped searching for a cure, which was in your blood and other youths in your generation. After weeks of traveling and finding sanctuary, the group around you became your home and you all took shelter in the mountains. 

While the mountains provided protection, on rare occasions intruders would slip by without being noticed. Ever since the last attack, the Right Arm guarded the main entrance to the mountains more heavily than before to avoid any other conflicts. 

You were at your post in the mountains, eyeing the only entrance into the tunnels when you spotted a group of people making their way through. You picked up your binoculars and got a closer look at the people weaving through the abandoned cars parked by the entrance. 

You picked up your walkie and called in for ground control,” Y/N at Post one, I have an eye on eight individuals approaching our main entrance. Requesting a few firing warnings.” 

You squinted, trying to make out any descriptions of the group before some of the men who were at their posts fired down at the cars.

 You took one last glance at the group from down below ducking for cover as you left your post and went down the side to retrieve them. 

While this was a normal procedure that you were used to by now, you knew you had to be on your toes just in case anything bad happened. 

You met up with Harriet and Sonya who were waiting at the corner for your arrival with guns in each of their hands. 

“ Does it look like they have any weapons?” You asked as Sonya shook her head. 

“ I didn’t see anything on them but we can’t be too careful,” Harriet said as you lifted up your bandana to cover half of your face. 

The three of you turned the corner and walked slowly towards the closest members of the invading group with Harriet leading. 

“ Drop it.” Harriet ordered as she blocked your line of vision ,” I said drop it!” 

You weren’t sure what this group was doing up here in the mountains but you had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. 

“ On your feet, lets go!” Harriet shouted as the two members of the group stood up and joined the rest of their friends. 

You slipped through beside Sonya and you watched their panicked expressions carefully.  As you made eye contact with each one, you watched their faces drop. 

“ Y/N? Is that you?” 

Minho’s eyes snapped to that familiar name and when his eyes found yours, his knees almost buckled as if he just saw a ghost.  

Everything around Minho felt still as if the world had stopped spinning for just you and him. Weeks of sleepless nights with nightmares that plagued him now made him feel adrenaline like never before. 

He had been playing the image of you getting ripped from his arms over and over again, beating himself everyday for not holding onto you tighter. 

But now, with you standing before him, that last cruel image was overshadowed by the countless memories of you that he thought he had lost forever. 

Memories of your first sweet kiss by the bonfire, memories of you patching him up after he had sprained his ankle, memories of you waking up next to him every morning with your mouth wide open. 

Harriet kept her weapon pointed at the group but made a quick glance towards you,” You know these guys?” 

Before you could shake your head, Minho practically lunged himself towards you and tried to pull you in for a hug. It all happened so fast and before he made contact, you used the end of your gun and slammed in into the side of Minho’s head. 

Minho fell to the ground and ate a mouthful of dirt as he held the side of his temple, which was now bleeding. He looked up at you standing over him with your weapon pointed towards him and Minho was confused to say the least. 

“ How do you know me? Do you work for WCKD or something?” You asked hastily as you scanned the rest of the group, some of them taking a step back,” I asked you a question!” 

Thomas looked down at his friend and back at you,” You don’t remember us? You..you don’t remember Minho?” 

The boys expression was something you couldn’t describe but the way he said it made it seem like you had just offended them. You thought it over in your head as you tried to think of where you could’ve seen them before but you were drawing a blank. 

Harriet lowered her weapon as she locked eyes with one of the boys with them,” Aris?” 

“ Oh my god, Harriet.”

You watched as Sonya followed in Harriet’s lead and dropped her weapons to bring in Aris for a hug. 

As they reunited, Minho kept his eyes on you, still in disbelief. 

That should be us right now Minho thought as he watched the happy reunion between Aris, Sonya, and Harriet. 

Minho didn’t know how to feel; he was relieved that you were seemingly alive and well yet you weren’t the same. Every moment the two of you had shared was wiped away without a care in the world. 

What killed Minho the most was that as you looked back at him, he didn’t recognize you at all. There was no love or admiration in your eyes like he used to remember. 

He was staring at a complete stranger and yet, he still wanted to reach out and touch you. 

After the little reunion had died down, the three of you took the group back to camp where it would be more safe. The whole ride there was silent as you tried to keep your eyes on the road. Every now and then, you would look back using the rear view mirror and catch Minho staring right back at you. 

Tall grass. Walls. Burnt meat. 

They came in flashes throughout the whole drive everytime you would look back at him. 

Box. Shoes. Dirt. 

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your body started to shake. 

Once you got to camp, you went straight to your tent and sat on your bed. 

You could feel your heart beating against your ribcage and your breathing was all over the place. You didn’t know what came over you but you felt yourself start to get dizzy. 

“ Uh, hey.”

You looked up and saw Minho at the opening of your tent, waiting there patiently. 

Warmth. Laughter. Sweat. 

You placed your hand over your chest and beckoned him to come over as you stood up. 

“ Hey,” you sighed as you looked at his forehead, which was done bleeding,” I really am sorry about that....let me help you clean it.” 

Minho said nothing but sat down on your bed as you grabbed a small medical kit from underneath your desk. You kneeled down in front of Minho and pulled a bandage out as your hands started to shake. 

Minho bit his lip as he watched you struggling like a helpless animal. He held his breath and held your hands and you immediately stopped shaking.

 You looked up at him and even though you didn’t recognize him at all, you knew deep down that you possibly knew him. 

“ So... you don’t remember anything?” Minho said softly as you started to clean his wound.

“ I remember bits and pieces. It’s not so much memories but I can feel and see quick images of things you know?” You looked up at Minho but he shook his head,” like...when I heard your friend Fry talk, it’s like I had a salty taste in my mouth from grilled meat. Or when I saw Thomas I felt...inspired? I don’t know, it’s weird but it’s the same feeling that Harriet has as a leader.

This was the most you had talked so far and Minho didn’t know how much he really missed your voice until he couldn’t hear it anymore. While he could listen to you talk all day, there was something bothering him that he needed to know.

“ What about me?” Minho asked quietly as you stopped in your tracks,” what do you feel when you see me?”

Bed Sheets. Snoring. Hands. 

You cleared your throat and grabbed the bandages,” I don’t know.”

Minho gave a small smile and pointed towards your lip,” I know you’re lying. You always bite your lip when you lie.” 

You pushed your lip back out from your teeth and laughed softly,” Okay, creep you caught me...when you were in the car I...this is stupid.” 

You shook your head from embarrassment and raised up from your spot on the ground but Minho grabbed your hand. He knew he had to be delicate since he was practically a stranger to you but he didn’t want you to leave. 

There was so much he wanted to know and he felt like his time with you was limited. 

“ Please, I need to know,” Minho swallowed as you sat down beside him on your bed. 

You watched his desperate eyes, they were hungry for answers, for confirmation that somewhere deep inside, you were still you. 

“ The biggest thing I feel is warmth...not like from sunlight but from uh- body heat,” You said as you avoided his gaze,” then sweat. I can feel it and smell it when I see you.”

Minho chuckled but rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly embarrassed,” Jeez, I didn’t realize I smelled.”

You shook your head and let out a gentle sigh,” No, no. It’s not a bad smell it just smells of the outside like when someone works out. I think I remember your laugh and now that I think of it, my chest feels...tight...also do you snore? Cause seeing you in this bed is making my brain hear it.” 

Minho shrugged his shoulders innocently but laughed loudly,” You used to hate it when I snored. You would kick me every time I did and one day you made me sleep outside the door cause you were so tired.” 

You snapped with your right hand and pointed at Minho,” That laugh. I remember that.” 

Your face dropped for a moment and Minho noticed this,” D-Do you remember something else?”

You nodded as several images and senses cycled through your brain as millions of connections were being made. 

“ Your laugh...I remember being embarrassed!” You said as you squeezed your eyes shut and rubbed your temples. 

You stood up from your bed and walked away from Minho, trying your best to put the pieces together,” shit why was I embarrassed? Sweat...You ran a lot-you ran every day like a-a…fuck... I don’t know, you were fast! I thought I could beat you in a race but…”

Minho swallowed hard as he thought about that day and stood up quickly,” You slipped really bad and your whole shirt was covered in mud.”

You opened your eyes and turned to Minho, your mouth hanging slightly open. You couldn’t believe it, ever since you were found, you could never develop a solid memory until now. 

Minho could see the gears turning in your head and he kept going, listing off what happened,” You were so mad because that was your favorite shirt. It was your favorite because-”

“ Because it was the same shade of blue that you always wore,” You nodded as your smile started to grow bigger and bigger,” then we went to the spring to wash it and then I fell in with all of my clothes on. You laughed so hard you started crying! And then-”

You stopped rambling as the next image in your brain replayed in your head. 

“ Stop laughing at me and help me!” You whined as you pulled yourself out of the spring,”this water is freezing you dick!”

Minho stopped laughing at you and watched your face with a huge smile on his lips,” Aw baby don’t pout.” 

You crossed your arms until you formed an idea in your head. You ran over to Minho with your arms wide open and before Minho could run away, you held your wet body against his. 

You two rolled around as Minho complained about getting wet before his body was on top of yours. 

Once you stopped laughing, you looked up at Minho, who was inches away from your face. You felt his body pressed up against yours and you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. 

Minho smirked before leaning in and pressing his soft, warm lips against your own. You moved your hands to his hair as you gently pulled on it, bringing him closer to you. 

Between the deep kisses, Minho took a breath and pulled away,” I love you.”

You smiled sweetly back at him before pressing a quick kiss against him,” I know you do...but I love you too.” 

Your mouth felt dry as you turned back to Minho who also replayed the memory. You looked at him longingly as your shoulder’s dropped. 

“ We were in love...you didn’t say anything about that.”

Minho held his breath and nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want the memory to scare you off, even though he would’ve felt the same way. 

He couldn’t imagine seeing himself kiss a stranger, let alone say I love you to one another and he knew you had to process all of this new information.

“ Yeah...is that bad? That we are-were in love?” Minho asked as you took a seat next to him. 

You shook your head, you were so overwhelmed and that you didn’t even think you could let any words out. 

“ No, it’s not bad,” You said as Minho shifted in his seat,” but I’m sorry. I know you loved me and I loved you but...looking back at those memories I-I don’t know how to feel. I know it’s me in those memories but I feel like I’m watching someone else in my body.” 

“ I understand it’s just that...we were together for so long and I can’t let that go,” Minho sighed as he reached for your hand to hold but he thought twice and drew back,” I love you. I still love you even though you don’t know me. I know we can’t get back what we had but we’re here together now.” 

You ran your fingers through your hair before sighing deeply,” I can’t be that girl you fell in love with. I don’t know her Minho and I-I don’t know you. I’m sorry that you lost someone you cared about but I’m not the same person I was in those memories.” 

“ I’m not either! I mean, I’ve changed a lot but at the same time I’m the same guy. I’m just asking to be in your life right now. We don’t have to get married or anything I just…” Minho didn’t know he was even on the verge of tears until his voice cracked,” I watched you die. I thought you were dead for months and I never dealt with the pain of losing you. I can’t let you walk out of my life and honestly, I don’t know if I can handle the pain anymore.” 

You were torn. You felt so much grief watching this poor guy seconds away from sobbing. This was someone you loved and although you trusted what he was saying, you didn’t feel the love he felt for you.

As much as you wanted to reach out and tell him you felt the same way, you knew it would be a total lie. 

“ I’m sorry,” you said simply as you turned away and faced the wall. 

Minho watched you for a moment as his heart broke into a million pieces. The love of his life was alive but the old Y/N was dead. 

Minho had lost people he cared about before but you were supposed to be the one that would be by his side no matter what. 

You were the glue that held Minho together and the thing that broke him the most was that you had no idea how much you really meant to him. 

Minho gathered himself before getting up from the bed and walked away silently as you felt your chest grow tighter. 

For months, you had no memories of what your past life was and you thought of it as a fresh start and a way to build yourself a new life. He helped you remember a part of yourself that you had accepted was gone forever. 

You didn’t know you could have a fresh start with the old memories but with Minho standing before you, you didn’t know if you could have that fresh start without him.

“ Wait! Hold on,” You called after him as he stopped in his tracks and turned to you.

You walked over and played with the hem of your shirt nervously,” I’m sorry, I can’t be the old Y/N you want me to be...but maybe you can help me out.”

Minho nodded slowly as his mind raced with ideas,” So what are you proposing?”

You tried to hide your smile as stuck your hand out towards him,” Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, stranger.”

Minho studied your face carefully as his shoulders relaxed. 

He wasn’t willing to completely throw away every memory about you like how mad you got whenever someone talked over you or how you would always pick food off of other people’s plates in the Glade because you claimed it tasted better. 

He wasn’t willing to forget how warm you felt when you slept beside him, cuddled up underneath his arm or how it felt to have your fingers massage his back after a long day in the maze. 

He wasn’t willing to let any of that go but for your sake, he was ready to make new memories with you as long as you would never leave him again. 

“ I’m Minho and trust me, with a face like mine, you’ll never forget me.” 

[intergalacticwanderer]

The concept from this post of Molly haunting the M9 but disappearing when the Tomb Takers resurrect Lucien is something that I just. Keep thinking about.

First realizing something is up when Molly accidentally possesses Beau during the assault on the Sour Nest. Everyone being very confused after the fight as to why Beau is so agitated and shouting at nothing. Finally put two and two together that Molly is THERE but can only be seen or heard after possessing someone and there’s a bunch of sudden body hopping and even more shouting. Caduceus being very apprehensive and warning everyone else about the potential dangers but settles for being watchful when they insist it’s okay.

Molly hovering anxiously around Yasha while waiting for her to wake up, but not being able to explain the situation to her before visiting the grave and her still leaving the group in grief. Heavy conversations at the grave about what things are like for Molly now and that honestly, he really doesn’t like being a ghost, but not seeing a way out of it besides being destroyed because he doesn’t even know WHY he’s a ghost. Making an informal goal to fix things for Molly somehow, and Caduceus calmly and comfortingly offering to help him find a way to move on if he’d prefer to do that instead. A coat is still left behind as a promise.

Yasha meeting them again after they travel to the coast and the emotional moment where they’re finally able to explain what’s going on. The whirlwind of the next few weeks and months as they all travel together, Molly spending short stints riding along with someone else so he can at least FEEL something for a little while. Acting as a scout and look out for danger for the rest of the group, but everyone else being careful to not say too much about him around others.

(Standing on the deck of their ship, looking at the night sky splashed with stars and waves crashing around them and Molly longing, aching for the chance to feel the sea breeze in person. Wanting to chase the horizon and new experiences, bound to nothing and no one except for what he chooses.)

Being forced to watch, helpless, as Yasha is taken by Obann. A turning point as Molly insists on staying behind with Yasha, staying with her even as she’s controlled, he knows what being possessed looks like, that’s NOT her. It’s dangerous, yes, but less dangerous to him, he can stay with her, do his best to keep watch, she’s worth the risk. Truly splitting up for the first time since he started haunting them, barely seeing each other, connecting for a few frantic moments during a tense chase through the woods at night before Molly is gone again, following Yasha and Obann as they teleport away. Not realizing as they enter the Folding Halls of Halas that that was the last time they’d see him.

A hard fought but victorious battle at the Chantry of the Dawn. Yasha returned to them, only to be followed by that horrible moment of, wait, I thought he was with YOU, what do you mean he’s not with you? But Molly is no where to be found. By anyone. The realization that he might truly be gone for good, and no one was even there to see it happen.

Delayed grief hits home and it hits HARD. They lean on each other, be there for each other, and try to keep themselves occupied with the next tasks in front of them. A dinner with a possible new friend. Tricking a hag. Visiting the Menagerie. A betrayal, returning Nott to Veth, a party, a tough conversation with hope for the future, ending a war. Finally making their way to Traveler Con and Rumblecusp, memories slipping away under a strange influence (there was a coat), stopping that strange influence once and for all and receiving a vision more important that any of them could realize.

Going home and looking for information while deciding what to do next. Eventually coming to the decision to visit a grave for answers. Wondering if this might finally be the chance to give their friend what he’d been looking for, a chance to live, to feel again, but also guilt that they couldn’t do it sooner, worry that it might already be too late. They start digging for the body.

A body that’s not there.

A body that’s not there because he’s already alive again.

There’s elation and shock but also confusion and wariness. Why was the coat left behind? Why had no effort been made to contact them, to contact Yasha? What is going on?

Finding out what's going on several days later with the abrupt murder of Vess DeRogna and everything being thrown into chaos. Giving chase to figure out the answers to all the new questions, and upon finally catching up to this mystery, the person with the face of their friend? No memories, no recognition. Not Mollymauk. Lucien.

Being told that Mollymauk had just been a fragment of a larger whole, an insignificant speck that didn't matter (but he mattered to them) and has been reabsorbed. Putting two and two together with the timing of Lucien's resurrection and Molly's disappearance. Grappling with the implications of what this might mean, what does this mean for their friend? Not knowing the answer but pushing forward anyway, knowing that Lucien has to be stopped, and hoping somehow, someway, they might get their friend back, but not seeing how.

Traveling together is unexpected and even more confusing. Seeing echoes, reflections of their friend in Lucien, seeing the roots of where he came from but simultaneously seeing the ways he is NOT him (let her have her?!) and not knowing what to do with it. Having the choice made for them in the night, chasing after and fleeing away for their lives. Finding safe haven with a guiding star.

Taking only a moment to breathe before rushing ahead. Nearly tripping and falling when Caleb’s past comes calling but (barely) managing to get up again, returning and making their way into Aeor with Essek at their side. Felling three of the Tomb Takers and then the chase is on, racing against the clock and Lucien before catching up with him and Cree at a gate. Noticing something strange in how Lucien reacts to certain words, keeping it in mind as they jump after him into the astral sea.

Dealing with the figurative and literal nightmare that is Cognouza, stopping Cree, plane shifting a threshold crest, saving Yussa. Witnessing a coup by Lucien, who, for some reason, still tells them to run. Leaves them alive (why did I leave you alive?). A battle for the fate of the world.

Fighting back, talking back, and something inside him listens. Hears them as they reach out. Hammer, hammer, hammering away with both weapons and words in the hardest fight of their lives. Some even losing their lives, until, finally, they triumph, Cognouza Incarnate slain. Two lost lives restored... and one more left to try. To give another chance.

It fails.

They mourn, heartbroken. Figuring that if nothing else, he's no longer trapped. Wishing that they could have done more. Hoping that he will be able to rest. Caduceus sending up a prayer.

It succeeds.

Elation, shock, reunions, tears. Single words that speak volumes. Showering with love, they did it, they kept their promise, they did it! Returning to the Blooming Grove hand in hand, all nine of them at last.

Checking in with their restored friend that night and the next day. Coming back to himself and yet not. Memories are gone but he's not blank either, knowing he's with friends but not knowing how he knows. A mind that can't remember but a heart that does, feelings instead of names. A new name and a new start.

Danger follows them, briefly, but it is smacked down, dealt with. Humbled and brought low and given the amount of respect it deserves, which is to say, none. They exhale, exhausted but accomplished. Taking time for much needed rest.

Noticing things about him during the rest. Hugs that linger, clinging a little too tight. Hours spent lying in the grass, hands running through the blades over and over while watching the clouds. Visits to flower after flower, touching petals and breathing deep. Almost crying over a new food, a new taste before eating himself sick. Leaning in at any music, any song, attention lost towards anything else. Closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of nature in the evening, just being. Existing. Living.

Later traveling to Nicodranas. Him watching the ocean, transfixed. Walking to the shore, closing his eyes and breathing in as the sea breeze blows through his hair. Starting to cry without even knowing why. (His mind can't recall the memory, not yet, but his heart does, aching at the clarity. An ache that can hopefully be soothed, now that that longing has been fulfilled.)

Not even questioning it when he joins the crew of the Nein Heroez. Parting ways, but also knowing that they will ALL be seeing each other again soon (too much love amongst them for anything else), starting the next journey. Getting a second chance.

Living life. Being happy. And knowing that he will never have to be alone again.

[descentivity]

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind. 

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself. 

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

[ajeepgirl]

Hold On

Premise: Lena is severely wounded in a battle.

Inspired by the songs Hold On by Chord Overstreet and The Other Side by Ruelle

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32889202

Kara always thought that the moment she looked back from her pod as a young adolescent girl and saw her own planet exploding would be the memory that always felt like time stood still. She remembers feeling so frozen, so helpless, so alone, in that moment as she realized that everyone she has ever known and loved, she would never see again. She remembers the chill that ran through her entire body, as the reality of her situation dawned on her, turning to face the endless void of space in front of her. She recalls the sudden shock she felt when moments later she was rocketed into the phantom zone by debris from her own planet.

She would question it, for years, really. Why her. Why would the chaos of the universe or Rao itself decide that she be destined to spend the next twenty years in stasis in her pod, endlessly floating as she was half asleep, half unconscious, because of the pod. But still, be awake enough to replay the destruction of her world, over and over again. And even more so, why her cousin would be gifted the ability to arrive safely on Earth, without her. Of course, Kara never voiced these thoughts to anyone when she finally arrived on the planet herself, so lost in her own anger and grief that she never quite got to process losing her family, her people, and her planet. And when she arrived on Earth, she was full of more anger over the fact that she couldn’t do what her parents had asked her to do. She failed them and their dying wish for her. All because Kal was now an adult. Not only that, but he was the Champion of Earth. A Superhero. Superman. And here she was, being tucked away, far away, from the only person she remembers only as a baby. She has no idea who this man was before her. He can’t speak their language, not fluently like her. He reminds Kara of Daxamites who would come visit in efforts to broker piece between their planets, never quite understanding how the language is supposed to flow. It is chunky and hard to hear. Which is why Kara quickly learns English and never speaks Kryptonese with Kal ever again.

But here she is now, once again feeling like she is watching herself, watching what is happening from somewhere else, from above. Because this, much like the destruction of her own planet, this cannot be happening. For the second time in her life, Kara feels like time is frozen as she looks down at Lena’s motionless body. And here she is again... frozen, helpless, and so, so alone.

There is blood everywhere.

Too much blood.

Kara knows it.

Her own heart is pounding in her ears. She is too afraid to even attempt to use her own superhearing to see if Lena’s heart is beating. She is too afraid to know the answer.

“You can’t be dead,” she finds herself saying out loud, instead.

Over and over again.  It starts out slow, drawn out, almost a whisper, like she is trying to convince herself first, and then Lena herself. The more she says it though, the quicker it starts to come out and the louder she starts to say it. Like she is trying to will Lena awake just with her words.

“YOU CAN’T BE DEAD!”

Lena doesn’t move.

“Kara, Kara, can you hear me? Did you find her?” It’s Alex, coming over the comes, apparently whatever issue they were having with communication has been fixed.

Hearing her sister’s voice, Kara is finally spurred into action. She reaches down gingerly, her hands shaking as they brush back dark, bloody hair from Lena’s face. She reaches under her and gently lifts her up.

“I’m bringing her to the Tower,” is all Kara says in response.

Alex and Brainy work on Lena for hours.

Kara paces outside the room the entire time, the image of Lena laying in the rubble seared into her brain. She doesn’t notice Nia approaching.

“Kara, how is she?”

Kara, eyes glassy, finally looks over to Nia. She is walking with a limp; her suit is torn, and her arm is in a sling. She clearly didn’t come away from this battle unscathed either.

“There was so much blood,” Kara says, the image still at the forefront of her mind.

Nia nods as she takes Kara’s arm and guides her over to a couch to sit down. “She is a fighter, Kara.”

“She wasn’t supposed to be out there.” Kara says it as she rocks a little bit back and forth, her arms wrapping around her stomach.

Nia puts an arm around Kara’s shoulders. “You and I both know that Lena was never going to stay behind. Aren’t you the one that told me she literally told you she isn’t some ‘damsel in distress’?”

Kara’s lip turns up at the memory before she shakes her head. “Yeah but… but she knew… she knew this was too much of a risk. I was supposed to do it.”

“She did know the risk, Kara. But she wasn’t ever going to let you face it alone.”

“But why, I just…”

“She loves you, Kara.”

Nia says it bluntly. Everyone knows exactly why Lena used her watch and showed up in the middle of the battle, right where Kara was, to use some weapon she just finished designing, to save Kara. And it did, it saved Kara’s life. However, Lena also knew it was supposed to be wielded by Kara because it had too much energy in it. Too much for a human to manage. That’s why Kara was supposed to be the one who used it. She could withstand the energy output.

Kara had been knocked down. She was severely beaten and bloody by the time Lena arrived. And when Lena looked around for anyone else who might be able to wield the weapon, she didn’t see anyone. And she had lost contact with the others. When she tried to reach them, all she got was static. She didn’t have time to do anything else. They were going to kill Kara if she didn’t act. So, Lena took aim, and fired.

Kara remembers her head falling to the side, as she laid on the ground, breathing raggedly, trying to find the strength to get up. Her vision was blurry. She thought she was dreaming, really, when she saw Lena, at first.

But then she saw the weapon. She had just enough time for her brain to register what was about to happen and for her mouth to form the words.

“Lena. No.”

And then all hell broke loose.

The weapon fired. And everything around Kara exploded in a massive burst of energy. Debris and dust flew into the air like a tiny bomb had gone off. In reality, it kind of did. The alien that had nearly killed her was laying several dozens of yards away now, incapacitated. But Kara wasn’t concerned about that now. As she gathered her strength to stand, she used what remained of her powers to use her x-ray vision to search through the dust, unable to see otherwise. She was looking for Lena.

“No no no… where are you…”

Kara hadn’t registered the silence on her comms, which had been cut off from her several minutes ago when she was still being thrashed by the enemy.

It takes another minute before her vision allows her to see Lena’s warm body laying on the ground. She had been thrown a good fifty yards from where she had fired the weapon. Her powers nearly depleted now, she stumbled and crawled across the debris as she makes her way over to Lena.

J’onn, Brainy, and M’gann had to meet them and help Kara fly Lena back to the Tower, with her powers all but gone when she was only halfway back. Kara refused to let any of them take Lena out of her arms though. Instead, they all helped carry Kara, holding onto her in what might be awkward ways, if it wasn’t for the urgency of getting them back to save Lena’s life.

Kara collapsed from exhaustion once they had returned, but of course she refused to sit under a yellow sun lamp. She refused to leave Lena’s side until Alex insisted that she couldn’t be in the room with them, as they worked on her.

Which is why Nia found Kara outside the room, pacing.

“Did you hear me, Kara? Lena loves you.” Nia says it a little softer this time, but with no less conviction. Even Nia, the youngest of the group, is a bit tired of how these two have continued to dance around each other after everything that has happened between them.

Kara’s behavior now, is no less convincing to Nia that they are, indeed, in love with each other.

She nods, her eyes telling Nia that she isn’t really all here with her, that part of her is somewhere else entirely right now.

A few more seconds go by before Kara says softly, “I can’t lose her, Nia. I’m lost without her.”

Nia gently squeezes Kara, letting her know she is here for her, and just holds her as the tears finally come. A sob escapes Kara’s mouth as the reality of the situation finally hits her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alex and Brainy work on Lena for twelve hours. J’onn and M’gann make several trips to the blood bank.

Lena’s heart stops beating four times.

Each time, it takes them longer and longer to bring her back. As they get Lena’s heart beating again, a part of Alex’s brain, way in the back, registers that it is a good thing Kara solar flared because otherwise, she would be using her superhearing and she would definitely be freaking out every time Lena codes.

When they finally come out of the room, both Alex and Brainy’s feet drag. Their eyes are sunken in with dark circles beneath them. Nia is still seated nearby, with Kara’s head on her lap. Both are asleep. Brainy looks at Alex, asking without words if they should wake them. Alex shakes her head and turns away from them. Brainy follows her in the opposite direction towards a room down the hallway that has a few spare cots. They both immediately pass out from exhaustion.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Kara wakes up a couple hours later, she sits up slowly, wiping away the grogginess from her eyes. Nia mumbles in her sleep as she sinks further into the couch. Kara half-smiles, thankful for the friendship and bond she has with Nia as she stands up and walks slowly towards the doorway of Lena’s room. As she does, she sees Alex walking out of the room down the hallway in a fresh pair of clothes. She is drying her hair with a towel as she spots Kara.

Kara sees her and immediately looks from the doorway to Alex and then back again.

“Kara, wait.”

Alex lets out a sigh as she watches the doorway close behind her sister. She had wanted to prepare her, had wanted to let her know what she was walking into. Kara has never dealt with this level of injury before. She has never had to see someone in this condition before. It can be quite alarming.

Alex decides to give Kara ten minutes alone with Lena before following her.

Once inside, Kara freezes, taking in the scene before her. There is the constant hum of machinery and the constant beep, telling her that yes, Lena’s heart is still beating. There are all kinds of wires and chords and machines around her. Kara isn’t sure what all of them are for though. She never learned about all the Earthly medical stuff that Alex knows from medical school. She takes a few deep breaths as she slowly approaches, unsure of exactly what to do now that she is here. She swallows as she sits down next to Lena’s bedside. Kara finds herself reaching out and taking Lena’s hand and placing it between her own.

She sits quietly for a few minutes, just listening to the machines tell her over and over again that Lena is alive, that her heart is beating. As the memories from the battle, of her conversation with Nia, and the memories of her entire friendship with Lena flash through her mind, Kara’s eyes fill with tears. She lays her head on her hands as she begins to speak.

“You have to wake up Lena… please… I… I can’t… You can’t leave me here alone without you… not yet… I still need you.”

Alex walks in a few moments later. She stands behind Kara, putting a hand on her back.

“When… when will she wake up Alex?”

Alex doesn’t answer right away. She waits for Kara to look up at her, tears still falling from her eyes.

“I… I don’t know Kara. She took massive amounts of internal damage from… the battle… We were able to repair everything that we could find… but her body needs time to repair and heal itself… right now she is still in a medically induced coma… we will wean her off in the next day to see if her body can handle it… and then see if… when… she wakes up… we won’t know anything for sure because of the brain damage from the skull fracture.”

Alex talks more after that, using more medical jargon that Kara doesn’t hear, as she rests her chin on her hands and stares up at Lena’s face. All she wants to do is sit here with Lena, for now until she wakes up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They end up keeping Lena sedated a few extra days after the first attempt to bring her out of the coma sends her vitals spiking to the point that Alex was sure Kara was about to have a heart attack. On the fifth day, when they try again, the process goes much smoother.

However, Kara is not doing a good job waiting.

“It could be a few hours or a few days, Kara,” Alex reminds her sister, before walking out to meet Kelly for lunch. Kara has barely eaten over the past week, despite everyone trying to convince her that she needs to eat. She continues to insist that she needs to be here, beside Lena, for when she wakes up. She has doubled down with that statement since Lena has been taken out of the coma.

That was 38 hours ago.

When Alex leaves, Kara smiles at Lena. “What does she know anyway, right Lee? I’ve always liked it best when it’s just the two of us. And you’ll wake up when you’re good and ready. For now, I’ll keep reading to you.” Kara continuing to read to Lena from the book she was reading before Alex had come in to check Lena’s vitals. It has become their thing, over the past few days – Kara reading to Lena. Refusing to leave the Tower, barely leaving Lena’s room, she asked Nia to bring her a set of books, a very specific set of books, from her apartment, that she knows Lena likes. And she has been reading them to her every day.

She is getting to the part of the current story, where the protagonist confesses her love for her best friend. It’s a big moment, considering they are on the run and being persecuted for witchcraft by their village. Kara never really understood the appeal of historical fiction. Though, she has been slowly getting it over the past few days. Many of these books, underneath the overarching historical elements that fuel the tragedies in the stories, are telling stories about romance and growth and acceptance. These are aspects of storytelling that she can get behind.

Kara gets to the end of the chapter, where the confession happens and the two characters are immediately torn from one another, because of course they are. She sets the book down and again finds herself reaching out and holding Lena’s hand gently in her own. She intertwines their fingers and finds herself tracing patterns over Lena’s knuckles as she thinks about her own story and what it might look like if it were written by someone. How might someone tell her story? She thinks back, recalls watching the tapes with Mxy, remembers how he summarized her relationship with Lena at that time. She thinks about how someone might write a story if they were telling it form the perspective of her and Lena.

She sighs as she looks back up at Lena’s face before she looks back at their hands, a sad smile forming on her face as she blinks away the tears. “Please wake up Lena… You are my sun. You are my everything. I… I still need you. I don’t want to live this life without you… I don’t know if I can…”

A few seconds of silence go by before Kara suddenly hears, “This might sound a bit anticlimactic after that amazing declaration… but… I love you too, Kara.”

As she says it, Kara’s face shoots up, her eyes zoning in on Lena’s face in disbelief as Lena looks back at her. She is talking. She is responding. She is awake.

“Lena,” she breathes out, still not quite processing the actual words that Lena has said.

Lena smiles. “Hi darling.”

“You’re awake.” Kara’s eyes are full of tears now, free flowing down her cheeks.

“And you’re crying,” Lena responds with just the slightest bit of wit.

“Lena,” she says again, this time more emphatically. “You love me…. You love me?” Lena laughs knowing she is watching Kara process out loud because the first one was a statement and the second one was a question. She nods. Her smile widens as she raises her other arm up and signals for Kara to come closer.

Kara stands excitedly before her mind catches up. “Um… I don’t want to… hurt you… you’re still healing.”

Lena smiles again, softly this time. “We will be gentle. This bed is plenty big enough. Come lay down with me, please?”

Kara nods as she takes the last two steps forward. She helps Lena adjust slightly on the bed, before laying down next to her, immediately engulfing Lena in her arms.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” Lena immediately says, sadness in her voice. Now that she has gotten a closer look, she can see the bags under Kara’s eyes and hear the rumble in Kara’s stomach.

Kara shrugs. “I’ll be fine, I can sleep now that I know you’re ok.” Lena lets it go, still too tired to argue with Kara in her current state. She makes a mental note to circle back to this particular issue at a later date.

As they curl up together, Lena smiles into Kara’s chest. “You know, if I had known this was all it would take for you to finally admit you love me…”

“Lena Kieran Luthor.”

“Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

Lena chuckles to herself at her morbid joke, tucking her head further into Kara, relishing the feeling. Despite her own protest to the joke, Kara still turns her head and gives Lena a kiss on the head.

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

“Always.”

[multifandomgirl-us]

First - Jason Todd

AU where you have a clock counting your time back till you die.

It made no sense. He was supposed to have more time. His clock said he had another 60 years or so. How is that to make sense when you are burying him at this moment? When the quiet sobs and cries of all who knew him can be heard in your surroundings. His death made no sense to you at all. It gave you no time to prepare like others had. At least everyone else that had passed away in your life followed their clocks, but not Jason. He always did have to be the first to do things you guessed. The first to be your friend, the first to try and steal Batman’s tires, the first person to take care of you, the first boy you loved, the first male you knew you could trust, and now the first person known to the modern world to defy their clock. 

As his casket was slowly lowered into the ground, your sobs grew stronger and Bruce’s grip on your shoulder tightened. His own way of showing his grief you guessed. As dirt was added on Jason’s grave, you watched with your blurry eyesight. A blur… that was a great way to describe the events that occurred the rest of the day. A day filled with almost as much sorrow as the day you found out Jason had passed. 

Jason wasn’t supposed to be out at this time. He was supposed to be helping you train. A sort of punishment instilled upon him by Bruce for disobeying Bruce’s orders. But as you went down to the cave to meet him to train, he was leaving on his bike. Heading to god knows where and only a note left for you to read. 

‘Left to help Bruce, we’ll train later’

You were hoping Jason wouldn’t lie to you but you had a feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth. So, you hopped onto the comms and paged over to Bruce to ask him.

“Did you call Jason out to patrol with you? I thought he was grounded,” you questioned.

“He is grounded! Go get Alfred, and tell him to scan for Jason’s location,” Bruce answered, confirming your suspicions.

“On it Bruce!”

You rushed up and into the kitchen, where you thought you would find Alfred but no luck. Your little legs could not go very fast but you used your top speed in order to find the self-proclaimed butler. As your legs carried you passed Jason’s room, you stopped, excited and relieved that you had finally found Alfred.

“Alfred! Bruce needs you to scan for Jason’s location, Jason snuck out!” The man followed you down to the cave and immediately went to look for your best friend. As soon as Jason’s location was pinged, he sent the coordinates to Bruce. You were just hoping that nothing had happened to Jason. He was reckless and jumped into situations without ever assessing the area. You knew one day it would get him hurt or worse yet killed and unfortunately for you and everyone else, today was that day. All you remember is Bruce getting to the warehouse, a large explosion, and you crumpling to the ground, tears clouding your vision. 

Apparently crying was all that you could do anymore, you felt helpless, useless even. The next few days after the funeral Bruce was gone. Either in the cave or out on patrol, hunting Joker down. You remember being on call when he finally found the clown prince. You finally had hope that Jason could be avenged. That he could be at peace, knowing his killer was no longer able to hurt anyone, but to your dismay, Joker remained alive. Bruce simply put him in Arkham, like that has done any good. You were angry, furious even at the man you looked at as a father. His only response being “We don’t break code.” 

You knew getting angry wouldn’t do anything so you trained. Trained until you could take care of the problem yourself. Unlike Jason though, you were better at hiding your emotions. You followed Bruce’s orders, let him boss you around and make you the best you could be. Unknown to him was your plan to get rid of the Joker. You never wanted to kill anyone but for Jason you could make this one exception. The monster had taken your person away. Your plan was fool proof, until Bruce caught on. Which landed you where you were now.

His hand gently caressed your face as you sat in the gardens of the manor, wiping away the tears that fell down your face. You sniffled as you looked into his eyes. These tears were different from those you had been shedding. These were tears of joy, joy over you waking up from the nightmare of a world in which he was no longer with you. You hear him ask ‘What’s wrong?’ but as you try to answer, nothing comes out of your mouth. You try again and still nothing comes out. Slowly, his hand disappears from your face and he is slipping away from you once more. You try to scream but again, nothing can be heard. Your mouth can be seen making the movements of you trying to call out Jason’s name over and over, but once again...silence”

You gasped awake trying to scream once more but then you realize you are no longer in the garden. You were in your cell at Arkham, put there by a man who you thought would get why you were trying to go against the code. The code that got your best friend killed. The code that he refused to break even though it cost him a child, a partner, your best friend. 

You realized it was just a dream, a wonderful dream that brought you out of your current nightmare. As you let your heart calm itself, you laid facing the ceiling, and wished that you could go back into the dream world. Maybe you could act crazy enough so the guards would sedate you and you can go back there. As you contemplated how you were going to slip back into your dream state, grunts and gun fire interrupted you. The shouts of your fellow inmates soon took over though, screaming at whoever it was to get them out. You sat up, curious to see just who it was that caused such a disturbance and ruined you going back into your dream land. Although the shouts of your neighbors were loud, you could still pick out a pair of boots, stomping their way towards your cell. Two shots went off at what you were assuming was the lock to your cell from how close it sounded. You crept toward the door just wondering why this person was so interested in breaking you out and just who it was. The door swung open revealing a tall muscular figure with a red helmet on and a clock reading 00:00:00:00. 

“Who are you?” you yelled at the strange figure. They simply stepped toward you with a syringe while you backed away from them. All of a sudden, they lunged at you, trying to inject whatever it was into your system. You fought back and forth which ended with you pinned against the wall, arm across your throat and needle in your neck. The plunger was pushed down and soon the dark cell which contained you turned completely black. 

“Jason! Where are you?” your little voice echoed in the damp.

“Shhh! Get over here!” Jason whisper-yelled to you. As you turned the corner, a sleek black vehicle you recognized to be the batmobile sat in the ally. 

“Jason are you crazy! You are seriously stealing the tires off of the batmobile?”

“Yeah, imagine what these will go for! I’m sure the guy can afford it anyways.”

“Ahem.” The sound of the deep voiced vigilante was heard behind you and your immediate thought was “Oh, shit!” You quickly turned around, ready to do what you could in order to give Jason time to run even though that would be pointless. Only this time when you turned around, it wasn’t the outline of Batman with street lights illuminating his background, it was just darkness. Darkness surrounded you and suddenly there was nothing below your feet. You fell through a black void. No destination in sight or anything to grab onto so you could slow down your fall, just darkness. You tried to scream, but like with most of your dreams, it was useless. Nothing came out and…

“Ugh,” a small grunt left your lips as you felt the bed that you just got tossed on bounce with your weight. The impact had woken you out of your daze only for you to realize that both your hands and feet were bound and the person who had taken you out of your cell was going through a bag that was sitting on a table about 5 feet away from the bed. 

“Morning,” you barely heard come from the figure in your daze.

“Who are you and what do you want?” you yelled at the Kevlar covered man.

“Oh princess, you don’t get to know that quite yet. You are just gonna have to be patient,” his deep voice resonated through your ears as he headed for the door. The door clicked close and the deadbolt was set. After he left, you worked on getting out of your constraints. The knots were done well, so well you almost gave up. But you didn’t know what this creep wanted and you did not want to find out. 

You had no clue as to when the man was going to reappear but you wanted to be ready in case he came back early. You quickly went for the knife sitting on the table but as you picked it up, you froze. Underneath the knife was a picture of you and Jason. 'Why would a stranger have this?' You asked yourself. Now you were curious and knew the only way to get answers was to dig around, so that's what you did. You opened every drawer and sorted through all the cabinets and when you got to one that was locked, you picked the lock to find not only more pictures of you and Jason, but also of the manor, Bruce, and Alfred. With all that, was your criminal record, the most recent being attempted murder. You should be sorry but the clown had it coming and you still seek revenge for what happened.

"You always were a snoop," his deep voice startled you out of whatever was going on in your mind. 

"So you know me, you know who the Batman is...who are you?" Maybe it was the drugs he had given you before but the only explanation should be impossible.

"I think you know princess."

"No, it's impossible. How can…"

"Thank Ra's. He put me in the lazarus pit."

"Jason...I" at this point you were almost in tears. You hesitantly reached up, eager to see his face. He bent his head down in order to help you out and to signify he was okay with revealing himself to you. As you brought the helmet down off his face, he brought his head up and his eyes met yours. As soon as those green orbs looked into your own, you launched at him with arms open to give him a hug. You had finally gotten your best friend back.