#but the pain of being truly alive. The wounds that can only be healed by the weapon that dealt it

[onewomancitadel]

Idealism in RWBY

One of my favourite scenes in the whole show that made me sob like a baby when it aired and still makes me cry even thinking about it is the scene where Jinn bends the rules for Ruby and gives her a moment to close her eyes and breathe. It is absolutely beautiful and from a pacing perspective one of my favourite scenes - the shot of wings slowly beating and then stopping - Ruby closing her eyes and feeling the thing between all things - and then the reveal of Summer whose eyes become hers. It is conceptually excellent. That what she construed of as being laserbeams from her eyeballs actually necessitates looking inside herself and asking what that power really means is my favourite, favourite stuff.

In case it's not obvious from my finale criticism of V9, I actually deeply value the emotional sincerity and idealism of RWBY. It's a rare thing to earnestly get a scene specifically like that without it being undercut with a stupid joke (I hate this) or even such a scene at all. The proliferation of powerlevelling and 'hard magic systems' have basically broken peoples' ability to intuit actual narrative and the point of fucking storytelling. I love when characters make very forward emotional statements which are earnest and heartfelt (one that comes to mind is Blake -> Nora -> Penny, 'it's only part of you' - when Nora is almost passed out in pain she manages to convey a deep lesson for Penny which manages to give her strength and effectively foreshadows her Aura transformation), what I particularly do not like is when it is platitudinous and/or doesn't feel earnest and earnt.

The fact that there were absolutely parts of this volume that felt like that to emphasise Ruby's disillusionment and then subsequently they doubled down on it with Jaune (and validated it) made me really confused, because even the scene of Ruby's return the dialogue does not feel earnt and I really don't know what I'm supposed to make of that relationship - fix? - with her team and Jaune. It wasn't developed properly because really what they were developing was her disillusionment with her mother as opposed to strictly her team, but to be totally fair there is still a door open there in the next volume. I don't think they'll go in that direction any further, unfortunately.

But it's not like they actually struggle with emotional sincerity. This is why I felt it to be such a prominent weakness. I also didn't like the joke undercutting Jaune's transformation that he makes just because - first of all it's very quick - but second of all, it has major implications for other characters afflicted with Curses, but like, come on! You are the emotionally earnest show! You don't need to feel embarrassed about a handsome prince transformation! This is fucking Sheik revealing Zelda, this is Midna's true form, this is the Beast healed type shit (I can think of so many Zelda examples probably because Zelda is the archetypal princess, in my mind). You can be totally forthcoming and earnest about it, it's okay. But this is why the sequence felt weird because presumably whoever is his love interest should have something meaningful to say about it. Jaune was deeply disillusioned and wounded this volume, they found him and called him crazy (I did like this realistic rendering of the Maidens finding the Old Man - 'dude's a weirdo' is funny) and now everything is normal? It's not right because I don't think they generally fumble this stuff. I want more earnesty, I want more sincerity, I want more fundamental idealism.

I value the pain in the story because you can't have joy without pain. You don't get the effect of redemption and characters being saved in the story without Penny or Pyrrha or I/ronwood. This is why I/ronwood's fall is so carefully paralleled with Cinder's (burgeoning, and foreshadowed) rise. What a lot of twee 'everything is okay' stories do is they ignore the actual definition of happiness in life sometimes to the point of just being thoughtless but equally on my entire blog I take umbrage with narrative cynicism, and cynicism, and easy, lazy pain - easy cynicism because it's protective. What is more hopeful to me is idealism which is validated in the face of tragedy. That with RWBY I have the hope of that tragedy being transformed into comedy is actually rare. A lot of my favourite heart-touching stories off the top of my head are basically 'hopeful tragedy', because the promise of comedy is actually really rare.

I guess what I'm also curious about (that there is some assumption I don't value the idealism of RWBY, lol, or its emotional forthcomingness) is that to believe in something like Cinder's redemption, not just on a textual basis, actually by virtue means you have to believe redemption is always possible. It's never too late. You can be forgiven. You might be lost and disillusioned for the whole story but you're forgiven. You can commit a deed in the story which everybody holds against you forever and you're forgiven. You can be mean and terrible and ruin everything and be forgiven. It can take a while to get home but you'll get there.

Salem's redemption and the redemption of Ozlem is realised through her character; it is a major thematic statement and precipitates the resolution of the story. That Cinder's redemption might involve a romance which is similarly Ozlem in reverse is hopeful. Even after everything you can work back. The tragedy is the promise of comedy, the breakage is the promise of wholeness.

I celebrate darkness and disillusionment in the story because that is the path to true knowledge. Yet cynicism is its own protective insulation and refusal to confront joy. Breaking through those falsehoods is a thematic interest of RWBY, and if I sense something emotionally, tonally discordant, I'm going to point it out.

[riveroftales]

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗳 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗲𝗺𝗶 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝘆𝗮?

「𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓」

𝖢𝖢'𝗌 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾: I hate myself for this

Blind!Genya who cries in pain as he falls to his knees, covering his eyes. He could feel the warmth of his own blood bleed out of both his eyes and leak through the cracks between his fingers.

Blind!Genya who couldn’t help but cry actual blood as his eyes stung without a care in the world about himself. His older brother, the person he looked up to, his only living family member alive, blinded him.

Blind!Genya who spends several days with bandaids around his eyes like a blindfold.

Blind!Genya who is devastated to learn he can’t see even after the bandages are removed.

Blind!Genya who can’t navigate his surroundings as well as Himejima.

Blind!Genya who is basically forced to quit the corps.

Blind!Genya who struggles with even the simplest tasks as drinking water and can barely locate where his own mouth is.

Blind!Genya who shuts himself out in disgust of his own self for being so dependent.

Blind!Genya who feels an unfamiliar feeling rise up in him every time Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Inosuke come to visit and the topic of his brother is brought up. A feeling he only feels around demons.

Regretful!Sanemi who didn’t go on missions for several weeks and almost got fired himself.

Regretful!Sanemi who didn’t get that small feeling of happiness knowing his younger brother was safe from demons.

Regretful!Sanemi waking up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat as he looked at his hand. He could still see Genya’s blood dripping from his fingers.

Regretful!Sanemi who realised he was more like his father.

Regretful!Sanemi who tags along with Tanjiro and the others but stays outside, listening to the conversation Genya was having.

Regretful!Sanemi who’s world shattered when he heard Genya say that he didn’t have an older brother anymore.

Genya dropped to his knees, wails echoing through the walls of the hallway. Fresh blood dripped on the floor as he covered his eyes with one of his hands, feeling his own blood stain his skin.

The pain was so bad. Blood demon art felt so much better than being blinded by his own older brother who he loved so dearly.

“‘Nemi..!” He sobbed as he started to cry blood. There weren’t any tears, but he could tell that they were mixed with the blood. His eyes stung so much more.

Sanemi, on the other hand, was frozen completely. His index and middle finger on his right hand was dropped at his side, Genya’s fresh blood rolling down them.

Words were caught in his throat. Not knowing what else to do, Sanemi stayed silent before turning around on the balls of his heels and walking away silently, leaving behind Genya.

Genya was still sobbing — partially from the pain, but mainly at the fact that the only person he had left in the world hurt him.

Sanemi had always been telling people that he didn’t have a younger brother, and never stopped harassing him to quit the corps.

As time went on and as Genya’s wounds healed but his vision didn’t, he came to terms with Sanemi’s words.

A month after he quit the corps, Genya started saying his older brother died protecting him from their demon mother because to him, that was the day he truly did lose his brother.

Too bad he had to lose his own vision to finally figure it out.

[eunseoksimp]

masterlist

"love can be the most exquisite form of agony"

Osaki Shotaro

Golden Boy | nsfw

shotaro is everyone’s favourite person. extremely lovable and kind to those around him, but there’s only so much he can take, especially when you keep pushing his limits.

Hopeless Romantic | sfw

in the quiet corners of your heart, a one-sided yearning blooms—a hopeless romantic lost in dreams of unrequited love. every glance, every fleeting touch, fuels a fire of longing that dances in the shadows, a tender ache that whispers of what could be but never was.

CPR | sfw

amidst the depths of heartbreak and endless gray, where every step felt heavy, you stumbled upon shotaro osaki. his quiet compassion and warmth cut through the cold, offering solace and his gentle presence beginning to mend your shattered heart. with his presence, he pulled you back from the brink, making you believe in the possibility of healing and reminding you what it feels like to be truly alive again.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Song Eunseok

He loves me, he loves me not | slight nsfw

all her life, han yumi was used to those around her making her feel unloved. desperate to fill the want of being desired, she finds love in a place she probably shouldn’t.

He loves me, he loves me not 2 | slight nsfw

eunseok, increasingly obsessed with yumi despite his steady and improving relationship with his girlfriend, begins dedicating all his time to his partner. this shift leaves yumi feeling insecure, hurt, and utterly heartbroken. in response, she starts distancing herself from him, a move that triggers euneok's mental breakdown as he grapples with the consequences of his divided heart.

Between the lines | sfw

the importance of communication and understanding, and the consequences that can arise when those elements are lacking. a relationship in turmoil, leading to frustration and distance between the two individuals.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Jung Sungchan

Poison | nsfw

the pain and heartache that can come from being involved with someone who is emotionally manipulative, deceitful, and simply not right for you. capturing the essence of the rollercoaster of emotions that one experiences when caught in the grips of a toxic love affair.

Poison 2 | nsfw

in this tumultuous love affair, you were the puppeteer, pulling the strings of sungchan's heart with a cruel precision. the pain and heartache he experienced were the price he paid for the moments of connection you allowed, a constant reminder of the toxic grip you held over him. as the days turned into nights, the line between love and manipulation blurred, leaving you searching for a connection beyond lust.

Coming Down | nsfw

explores the theme of addiction and it’s effects on relationships. the internal conflict of a man caught between the allure of a hedonistic lifestyle, and the genuine love he has for his girlfriend.

Jealousy | sfw

caught in the throes of a jealous obsession, your feelings for sungchan have grown dangerously intense. relying on him for emotional support, you crave his attention and validation in everything you do. the news of his love for another girl shatters your world, igniting a desperate desire to do anything to keep him by your side.

Hilarious | sfw

sungchan being the asshole ex who doesn’t realise what he’s lost until it’s gone. based off of the song hilarious by charlie puth.

Entangled | sfw

the relationship between you and sungchan is a tumultuous storm, a volatile mix of passion and pain, bound by an intense love that is as toxic as it is profound. sungchan, an underground fighter, using the ring as an outlet for his inner demons and you, clinging to him as you seek solace from your own unhealed wounds. two broken pieces clinging to each other in a toxic dance of dependency and desperation.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Park Wonbin

Infatuation | nsfw

an exploration of secrecy, infidelity, and the complex emotions that arise from these actions. a woman who is in a painful relationship with a man who she loves, but is seen as nothing more than the object of his desires. an unfortunate tale of a woman making a God out of a mortal.

Infatuation 2 | sfw

in the wake of the collapse of your turbulent relationship with wonbin, the arrival of the enigmatic donghyuck offers a glimmer of hope. you seek solace in his genuine compassion, but in return wonbin’s obsessive desperation takes a darker turn. consumed by jealousy and fear of losing you, he resorts to cunning manipulation, exploiting every secret and weakness to reclaim you.

Infatuation 3 | slight nsfw

you finally take wonbin back, hoping to rekindle the love that once burned so brightly. but the pieces of your relationship, shattered by past betrayals, no longer fit together as they once did. as you navigate the fragile threads of a love that has been tarnished, you find yourself spiraling deeper into a web of confusion and pain. a poignant journey through the anguish of clinging to the past, and the inevitable realization that some things, once broken, can never be fully repaired.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Hong Seunghan

Sandstorm | slight nsfw

The complexities of a turbulent relationship between two people who love each other but struggle to see eye to eye. They attempt to compromise and reconcile but realise that with each other, they are like a violent sandstorm.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Lee Sohee

Solace | sfw

the struggles of trying to connect with someone who is deeply guarded and emotionally unavailable.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Lee Anton

Stargirl | sfw

anton had passed by many eyes but he seemed to only get lost in yours. the bass guitarist for a popular college band, the supposed opposite of him, taking your position in the light whilst he lurked in the shadows. and yet all he cares about is seeing you shine, his favourite stargirl.

Pleasure is all mine | nsfw

anton finally gives into his hedonistic sexual desires and you just can’t pass up the opportunity.

Siren | sfw

at seonghwa academy, you reign like a queen—flawless, untouchable, and cold as ice. your beauty is your weapon, used to control and manipulate those who fall under your spell. but when you catch the eye of anton, a brooding athlete with a quiet intensity, you meet your match. beneath his silence lies a dark obsession, a twisted desire that mirrors your own. as you engage in a dangerous dance of power and control, the line between.

[swmmi-kti]

The blind and the mute

DNI/BYF

Part: Two

Pairing: Gyomei x Kakushi fem Reader

Warnings: Death (look a kid dies).

You were not born mute. You weren’t you wish to speak at most moments. However You seemed to have lost the ability to freely talk when your family had been attacked by demons. 

You had Tried your hand at wielding a sword, But that was not your place. It was not what you were build for. For no amount of anger, sadness and resentment you held in your heart. You could never bring yourself to slay such pitiful beings. 

So you were a Kakushi. It was a rewarding job that you loved dearly. Helping wounded slayers and sometimes on the rare occasions if the circumstances were right, you saved a life. 

Truthfully that was all your skill could manage. You did survive final selection, you did slay demons. But you healed much better than you slayed. 

Your medical knowledge that your mother had passed down on you was a great thing to have. Especially when it came to the raw power of wild herbs. It helped make people’s pain and potential death be that much more avoidable. 

Maybe that’s why you got to be around Hashira so much more than normal. Sure its nothing to brag about. But you managed to catch the eye of the insect pillar. And on times where you could in fact spend time training under her. You did. 

She understood that you didn’t talk. She had seen that side before on her youngest adopted sister. She never asked what happened why you were here and not living a normal life. 

And even if she asked you could never recall exactly what happened. All you remember was screaming so loudly, that the moment you had awoken alive your throat hurt. 

Really there was no explaining. Unfortunately this happens a lot too. 

Nevertheless today was one of those days where you had learned a lot for today and Shinobu was letting you go. Deciding to take the usual route back you didn't expect to run into anyone. But that isnt how it works. 

You bumped into the stone hashira. Truly you didn't know how in god's green earth you managed to bump into such a unit of a man but well. Here you were. 

“Pardon me” he spoke waiting a bit for your response. 

You knew he was blind. Which now laid a bigger question. HOW in the world were you going to apologize to him? But without so much thought and maybe out of pure reaction you tried to speak. 

All that came out was a pathetic squeak. 

One that startled Gyomei!. 

“Oh! Are you running a cold? Perhaps you could go and see shinobu for that, It doesn’t sound good” 

You huffed in annoyance. You wished you had someone here to explain why you didn't respond. Or why you couldn’t. 

Really the only ones that knew of your condition was shinobu and Giyuu. Solely cause well he spend time around the insect pillar. You let out a frustrated huff of course coming out horse and unnatural. 

“Come lets get you there” 

Which you didn't know how to respond given the fact that well, he was guiding you back to where you just came from. You kept tapping his hand making the faintests of yelps but that didn’t stop him. If anything it seemed he kept pushing you. 

“Kocho. Sorry to bother you so much but it seems one of our Kakushi is sick” 

“Oh here let me- Oh! Y/n?” 

You looked at her. You smiled nervously as you shrugged at her. Signing to her that you tried to explain. But well how can you communicate when one you can't speak, and two he can't see what your saying. 

“Ah i see. Himejima it's alright. This is actually Y/n! You’ve never met but she actually can not communicate like us.” She looked at you asking you if it was okay before continuing.  “A demon ruptured her throat. We aren't completely sure if Y/n can talk yet or at all. But that rasp you hear is just gasps. Nothing a little medicine won't heal” 

Gyomei stood there. Perhaps a little dumbfounded? Yes he knew there are people that don't speak but he never thought about having to communicate with them. Not that it didn't cross his mind at all but he was also a man of few words. 

“Oh, Deepest apologies” he spoke, bringing his hands together clutching the beads he always had. 

“Y/n understands” 

You let out a huffed hmm nodding your head even though you knew he couldn’t see that. Signaling to Shinobu to apologize for the inconvenience that you may have caused. 

“Oh nonsense Y/n-san. Now remember to take your medicine companied by tea before you sleep” Shinobu spoke, patting your shoulders before you got the message. 

‘I’ll be going then. See you sometime next week And thank you for today's lesson’ you signed as you stepped around the Stone hashira and walked out for the second time that day. 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

That's how it was for so long. Making the smallest of sounds whenever you did get to see Himejima. And he greets you as well. You were content with this, However you got closer after one mission he had gone on. You were one of the few Kakushi to help the injured. 

You had managed to help the wounded and that's when you noticed Himejima lowered on a very very young body. Without thinking, without even telling your friend you booked it to him. 

There on the floor was a young boy. No older than your youngest late brother. 

“I’m afraid his wounds are too great for us to do anything” 

You saw this scene before when your youngest brother died at the hands of demons and to hell you weren’t gonna let them have this one too. You didn’t care. Yes, the wounds are great. His leg is sliced open and his gut is bleeding out. 

He already looks like he’s dying but you were going to try. Give every single lesson Shinobu gave you and put it to the test. This poor boy is already heaving close to death and you knew it. But you would be damned if you didn’t at least try. 

You pushed the stone pillar out the way which wow okay rude but also wow what the hell how are you so strong. 

These thoughts ran through his mind but in the moment of silence as he felt you and felt what you were doing he couldn’t help but admire your dedication. 

But one can only do so much. So as you hastily stitched the wound down and stopped the bleeding you watched as he stopped breathing. 

You couldn’t believe it, You didn’t want to believe it. It was like losing your family all over again. You couldn’t help how you cradled the poor boy. How his little head rested on your chest as you tried so hard to feel a heartbeat. 

But there was nothing to do. So you wept. There was no sound to your sobs, there was only the breaking sound of you trying to form words that possibly could never come. 

You didn’t even feel Himejima bring you to him. Didn’t feel how he held you as you cried. You couldn’t believe it. 

After that you never really left the butterfly mansion unless it was to help the wounded. But you often found yourself beating yourself up over what happened. However with this new life you found that Himejima stayed with you. Talked with you and tried to make you feel better. 

All you could feel was rage. Hatred. You felt all the things you never thought you could feel. How dare Muzan Kibutzuji take any more lives. Lives of innocent children and how dare you be so weak. 

To anyone else it seemed there was a new flame to the passion of learning the medical field. To Gyomei it seemed all that uncontrollable rage could finally be put at ease. 

Yes it didn’t exactly suit you. Your aura before was too calm too mellowed out by the years of sorrows and now all that followed was your rage. 

So he made it a point to always (whenever time served) to speak with you. To teach you how to let go of that rage in a healthy manner. You knew and he knew as well that no matter how much hatred lay in your heart for demons you couldn’t slay them. 

Today you decided to join himejima. He had invited you to eat with him today and Genya. And while you knew he meant well in easing your mind it kind of irked you a little. 

You were fine before. You would be fine this time too. But you figured it would be nice to just have dinner this time. Other times it would be techniques or what not. 

Stepping into his estate wasn’t uncommon but it wasn’t all too terribly common. However the smell of food welcomed your hungry form. 

It wasn’t long before you joined the two. Safe for Gyomei to assume that you enjoyed Genya’s company. 

Genya was a charm and while at first he was avoidant and even so after an hour he kinda barely spoke to you. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how your hand rested atop his head like how you would pat your younger sister. 

It was nice to be around someone that reminded you of home. 

Gyomei may not be able to see how anyone else does. But he can see it, sense how you two seemed to get along so well. Two souls that lost something. Two souls that found peace together. 

To be honest you wanted to thank Himejima, really. But how could you. Your medicine had managed to heal you but somehow it seemed almost impossible to talk. 

Everytime you tried solely to say your own name out of muscle memory you couldn’t it felt like it burned you. 

You hoped that perhaps if your medicine kept working than maybe just maybe you could show your gratitude to Gyomei one day.

[merrivia]

Will I ever get over the bond between Damen and Nikandros?

Never.

Warning: this is barely a meta and more just an outpouring of love.

This simile makes me weep. Nikandros is home to Damen, is feeling earthed and grounded and rooted to where he belongs.

The ‘ekthanos’. The ‘long walk’. The Akielon rituals of mourning. The result of what Kastor should never have done, by the brother Damen should have had.

The loyalty and the love here. No hesitation. This was so healing for Damen. I truly believe that Damen and Laurent could not have come together if Damen hadn’t been able to come back to himself. And so much of the latter is due to Nikandros.

That Nikandros is willing to risk his life like this just for the memory of Damen, to keep him alive in his mind. That he carried it on his person, a keepsake to remember Damen by always.

Nikandros doesn’t love Damen because he was the Crown Prince or is the King. He sees him for who he is and loves him for his unwavering goodness and unconditional love and loyalty, even if he knows it can make Damen blind to the truth. But equally, that’s why Damen loves him back. Nikandros gambles everything for Damen when he pledges himself to his cause.

Despite everything Damen has been through the one person who he can rely on never to hurt him is Nikandros. Even Laurent has hurt him in ways that Nikandros never would. Damen allows him to touch him and the pain Nikandros feels here, to know Damen was so grievously hurt.

I can't stress enough that Nikandros touching Damen is so meaningful here. It is, strictly speaking, a huge breach of etiquette to have unpinned Damen’s chiton, spun him around, touched his back. It’s out of pure shock and horror.

“Physically sick with the effort of repressing his anger”. Oh Nik.

Nikandros, who lost his father, wanted to honour him, and it wounds Damen that as the King, he has to take Ios from him. The fact their friendship survives this switch in status shows how strong it is.

He’s the only person he tells of Laurent’s plans, the only one worthy.

We also learn more of their past at the Kingsmeet:

That Damen felt a fierce pride in Nikandros' accomplishments; that he felt the loss of him so keenly.

This part always breaks my heart. When Damen returns from the Kingsmeet without Laurent and Jord goes for him:

The only who can recognises that Damen, big imposing warrior Damen, can feel pain, that he needs grounding with touch, that knows him- “…can’t you see—” he’s hurting…his heart is breaking.

And finally I love that he’s there and acknowledged in The Summer Palace, that he tried to protect Damen from Laurent in the aftermath of Ios as he didn't yet trust him:

And yet only some months later, he is teaching Laurent to wrestle, reconciled. Ignoring cute huffy Damen, Nikandros graduates to one of the few people in Laurent's inner circle and that is also lovely.

Damen having Nikandros is both a testament to how Damen, despite being the heir to the throne, treated like a god, was naturally grounded and loving, and why he remained so. True brotherhood and one of the best relationships in the whole book, a reminder of the power of your found family.

[maracujatangerine]

82. Taking Note

CW: mental health issues, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The pale light of an overcast winter’s day flattened all the colours; the yellow curtains, the violet saintpaulia on the windowsill, the pet’s own blonde hair, everything taking on a washed-out tinge of grey. Coriander sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand, staring at a blue notebook. Miss Lydia had asked it to choose one of the notebooks at her bookshop yesterday.

“Perhaps you would like to try writing down your thoughts?” She had suggested, gently. “It is not for me to read. I promise that I won’t. Cross my heart, and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!”

She laughed, but the look in her brown eyes was serious.

“You can write down anything you want, and it will be for your eyes only, okay?”

The pet had nodded and told her that it understood. Now, Miss Lydia was out. She had gone for coffee with Cecilia, and the pet had elected to stay at home.

The notebook it had chosen had a Japanese-style drawing of a cresting wave on the cover, the white tips of the wave rendered with splashes in glossy silver. The white pages were neatly lined in black.

The radio was on in the background, a piece by Händel tugging at some half-remembered string at the back of the pet’s mind. Cory knew that Miss Lydia had left Radio 3 on for the pet’s sake, but that she wouldn’t mind if it changed the station, just like she hadn’t minded that the pet had chosen to stay behind when she went out.

It used to agonise endlessly over such small decisions. Did Miss Lydia want it to say yes or no? Would this thing make it a better pet, or would that?

Nowadays, more and more, it felt like it could trust that its owner said what she meant. If she needed it to come, she would let it know. If she gave it a choice, she truly wanted it to make up its own mind.

That was an unprecedented freedom. Generosity beyond its wildest dreams. It knew it was extraordinarily lucky.

It should be happy, should it not?

And it was grateful, it was!

But happiness eluded it

In the beginning, everything had brought it joy. Or, well, at least relief.

Having its wounds treated, feeling its body healing, aches and pains receding to the back of its mind and gradually fading away.

Hunger, the dull gnawing of an empty stomach, the weakness and loss of focus that comes with days and days without enough food to eat. The terrible fear of feeling your own body consuming itself to stay alive. No more!

In its life with Miss Lydia, Coriander could still feel hungry, sometimes. At the end of a long day, before lunch at work, out on a hike in the woodlands. But it never felt truly hungry. That bottomless need for sustenance was a thing of the past.

These things brought relief. The joy came later.

Miss Lydia gently petting its hair, and Coriander genuinely wanting - and daring - to lean into her touch.

Playing the tin whistle for Miss Indira and the doctor responding with enthusiastic applause.

Laughing together with Miss Lydia without the pet having to carefully guard every word to avoid angering its owner.

Working at the shop and being given a nod of approval from Miss Carla at a job well done.

Sitting in the garden and watching flowers bloom from seeds they had sown together.

These were all things of joy, of beauty. Miss Lydia was consistently fair and kind. The pet felt healthy now, strong, even. Its damaged shoulder still impeded its daily life, its scars ached sometimes, and the nightmares refused to go away, but these were mere trifles in the grand scheme of things.

So, why wasn’t it happy?

It should be. It had been.

But now, lately, it was like some undefined malaise had taken hold of the pet. A depressing weight that suffused everything, that stole joy out of everything, just like the grey winter light leaked the colours away.

Looking down on the pages, the pet realised it had written the same sentence over and over.

Why did this happen to me?

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[heartfullofleeches]

Do it!! We love your ideas chief, that’s why we’re here!

Also ghoul reader is hot as fuck

[Light body horror. Angst]

Well- two important factors about ghoul reader are both their body and mind deteriorate over time, but can be rebuilt to full structure by eating human meat/brain healthy meals.

This led me to think of a "healer" ghoul reader who can sorta transfer/reconstruct the healthy cells to others and heal people that way. Lose a kidney? Ghoul Reader can create a new one and negate most side effects by eating some ground beef left in the freezer. A personal sacrifice of their flesh for another being.

Given the nature of their healing properties, Ghoul Reader is extremely caring and always puts others before themself. They make friends with the wrong person- someone who hardly cares about their well-being and uses Reader for their personal gain. They had been scarred horribly by mistakes they'd already made and without them even asking Reader starts to slowly heal them. Their body needs more work than reader's can take, but they just write the ghoul off as lazy and trying to keep them around. Reader's body mass continues to shrink no matter how much they eat. It hurts them to put so much strain on their body... it hurts so much... but they still try. They still keep that "friend" in their heart and notebooks so they'll never forget them when their memory blanks. They care about their friend. They love them. They want them to be okay and love themself for who they are-

But they never knew how truly rotten that person was - inside and out.

"Finally... All those horrid scars were a damper on my social life. I'm even more beautiful than I was then. That being said, I can't be seen around something like you. It was fun."

That isn't what friends are supposed to say.. After all they did for them... Gone without even saying goodbye. That was the ghouls first time being betrayed to such caliber- and it crushed them. They wouldn't feel this pain if they were just another mindless creature, but they were proud of the person they'd become. The "normal" human being who walked around same as everyone else. They were just like them... only rotting... maybe that person wasn't so wrong to leave them behind...

Ghoul Reader shuts off from the outside world after that. They stick to their routine as it's all they've ever known, but they've lost that rosy view of the world. Is it worth making friends anymore? What's the point of trying if they'll just be abandoned again? They were more human than the people around them. Unlike them - they felt pain. They wanted to forget it all - so they did. Most of it at least.

While out one night reader notices a musky scent in the air. So faint only their nose would catch it. They follow the trail to a body lying behind some dumpsters - stab wounds having torn deep holes through their vital organs. Their pulse was weak - fading. Despite all the pain they've been dealt, Ghoul couldn't let someone die for another's mistake. They fixed up the near corpse and waited for them to wake up so they couldn't get home safety.

"Ugh....I'm still alive....lame...who the fuck are you?.."

Ghoul Reader explains everything that lead up to the encounter and their healing capabilities.

"Eh....with how my nights gone - I'll believe anything at this point. Thanks for the help, bud."

It was nothing. Ghoul Reader gets up to leave.

"Aye! Where ya going? You save people's lives on the regular and expect nothing back? Lemme treat you to dinner. Know a good spot close by and I still have the wallet I was gutted over. Let's get going already!"

Reader learns more about their new acquaintance. A petty thief trying to get on the right track in life. They spun some wild story about seeing a guy dropping his wallet and them trying to return it with the guy flying off the rails and accusing them of stealing it. The details were spotty, but Reader nodded along to every word. They needed a place to stay for the night as their home was too far to trek back too at that hour. They give Reader the rest of the cash in the wallet in exchange for their couch and they become the first real friend Reader makes.

Everything Reader gave they always tried to give back double. The near death experience gave them a new outlook on life. It was something to be cherished and not thrown away so easily as they had in the past. They wanted to share that new view with their only friend. Reader was a better companion than people they'd know their entire life. A little bitey when they got hungry, but everyone gets a little cranky when they're starving.

The friend gets a call over. Reader had skipped breakfast and wasn't sticking to their usual diet. They sat alone, unable to move and succumbing to the painful cramps of hunger. They begged their friend to bring them meat from the store, but their friend wanted to end their suffering as quickly as they could. They pulled out their trusty switchblade, embedding its teeth in their pinky finger. Ghoul Reader tries to stop them.

"Y/n, you saved my life. It's as much yours as it is mine. I'd give anything to properly replay you, but I'll never be able to and I don't mind living with that debt on my shoulders if it means we're together. This is the least I can do for you- so shut up and eat my damn finger."

-

A week after Reader tries them their finger back there's a knock on the door. Their friend refused treatment seeing it as a marker of their loyality to reader. They make sure reader is well fed at all times. A face reader has seen before stands behind the door. Some model they've seen on billboards and flyers. What could someone like that with them?

"Y/n. I know you probably don't want to see me after what I've done, but I need your help. I got into an accident after a few drinks last week. Nothing serious before you ask, but I've got these bruises and I have an important party to attend this Saturday. I'll allow you to be my plus one if that fixes things."

....

"I'll be out with a friend Saturday, but thank you. I can still fix you, but if you don't mind me asking - how do you know my name?"

Reader leads them to their couch and heals their spotty face all while the stranger is left bewildered. They're acting like nothing happened. Why are they acting like nothing happened? Who was this new friend and who the hell was that standing by their bedroom door?

"Are you seriously going to play this game?"

"What do you mean?"

"Pretending like you don't know who I am. That's harsh even with everything that's happened."

Ghoul Reader backs away from them.

"I've seen you in pictures, but that's it. I don't know who you are."

"It was cute at first, but I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to start. You know who I am."

Ghoul Reader racks their brain for answers, but there's no result. They begin to hyperventilate. "I don't....I don't know who you are....Stop it, please!"

"Not til you say my name. I'll own up to my part when do that simple thing."

They grip at their face, talons catching on their softened skin. "I don't know who you are...Don't make me remember..... Get out.... GET OUT!"

As the stranger leaves and heads towards their car a notebook flies out reader's window - aiming for their skull had they not stepped out of the way in time. Inside are pages of filled with scratched out ink held on a weakened spine. It was a miracle they held together. The pages stick togethered, water damgaged by crusted specks of blood and smaller dots of a clearer fluid. The words written were near illegible, but there's a few key points they could make out. A birthday, the begining and ending characters to a person's name, a repeated phrase pieced together over the various pages. Don't forget. Never forget.

They'd been erased completely from reader's conscious mind. This notebook had been kept to prevent that very thing from happening. All those precious memories thrown away. The stranger was happy with the life they'd been robbed of - but no one had ever been their for them like Reader had. A new stain falls to the page.

Flipping to the final page, a note slides off the back cover.

"Come here again - and I'll erase you permanently."

It wasn't reader's hand writing. The person in the window holds up a new journal - comforting a sobbing ghoul on their shoulder.

[bbcphile]

I’m rewatching Mysterious Lotus Casebook, and the final beach scene hit even harder when I realized how many times we’ve seen that beach before, and what an important a spot that beach has been in Li Lianhua’s life: it’s consistently been associated with both suicide and second chances/rebirth, and his final appearance there combines both purposes!

The Eastern sea beach appears for the first time when Li Xiangyi drifts onto it in the flashback to ten years ago, barely alive, after the battle at sea with Di Feisheng. It initially seems to offer a second chance, since he drags himself, wounded and poisoned, back to Sigu Sect and his fiancée.

Once he learns how many people blame him for the deaths of many civilians and 58 members of his sect, that his sect is disbanding, and that his fiancée was miserable with him and had broken up with him by letter, he returns to the Eastern beach to die. He’s internalized the blame, and is convinced he only ever brought pain and death into the world, and seems to hope that by returning to where he washed ashore, it will be like he never left the water - he is ready for it to be his grave. In his mind, Li Xiangyi truly died here, and he hopes his death will bring the world the peace his life couldn’t.

But, thanks to Monk Wuliao, who finds him on the beach and uses his golden acupuncture needles, Li Xiangyi lives on, reborn into his new identity as Li Lianhua. This rebirth has a simple goal: in the 10 years he has left, he wants to repay his debt to his master by finding and burying his shixiong Shan Gudao’s remains, and then lying down beside them (and dying there) as penance for what he felt was all his fault. 

Ten years later, the beach on the Eastern sea is supposed to be the site of another rebirth: Di Feisheng chose it as the location for a rematch for their battle from ten years earlier. He assumes Li Lianhua used the Styx flower to cure his Bicha poisoning, so to Di Feisheng, this battle would be the start of their new lives, both at full health, healed of poisoning, free from the manipulations and control of others, and able to show their friendship and skills off to the world. Di Feisheng essentially views this as an opportunity for Li Xiangyi to be reborn and better than ever, and they can have a reunion match as a celebration, possibly to make up for the battle between their sects that hurt so many people before.

Li Lianhua was planning to show up to fight on the Eastern sea beach, but since he didn’t cure the Bicha poisoning (and didn’t tell Di Feisheng or Fang Duobing), he was presumably planning to either die by Di Feisheng’s hand (cementing Di Feisheng’s reputation as the best) or possibly just planning to use the last of his Yangzhouman power, lose the fight, destroy his reputation, and then slink off somewhere to die when no one was watching.  Either way, the only end result of using his energy to fight would be death. So, like the other time he returned to the beach after the battle 10 years ago, here, he planned to return in order to end his lives as both Li Xiangyi and Li Lianhua. Presumably, after everything he’d learned about the Nanyin conspiracy, the truth about the emperor’s bloodline, how his master truly died, and what had really happened to Shan Gudao, he’d become more convinced than ever that only death and pain come to people he loves and who love him, and the only way to keep Fang Duobing and family safe from the emperor was to no longer be in the world.

Because Xiao Zijin intercepted him on his way to the beach and demanded a duel (because, like Shan Gudao, he was jealous of his abilities and couldn’t stand the idea of being inferior to him), Li Lianhua can’t follow through with his plan to fight Di Feisheng at the beach and die there, so he decides to use the last of his energy to shatter his sword, a symbolic death of his reputation and skill and identity that he expects will be quickly followed by his actual death, when he uses his last remaining energy to fly off the cliff and onto a boat, which he expects to be his final resting place.

But, in the final moments of the first extra episode, Li Lianhua returns to the Eastern beach, three months after the fight was supposed to occur there. 

And while the ending is deliberately ambiguous–we don’t know if Di Feisheng, Fang Duobing, and Huli Jing arrive on time to actually see him there and take him from the beach, or if they imagined him there and were too late, or if he’s a ghost–I think the beach’s history as a site of both suicide attempts and rebirth can hint to a happier ending: maybe Li Lianhua went there, as he had done before, expecting and hoping to die, and Di Feisheng and Fan Duobing, like Wuliao before them, find him, save him from himself, and get him at least another ten years.

And this time, with those two by his side and more truths out in the open, maybe there can be real healing from all the trauma and self-blame. And it can be yet another rebirth—not a return to Xiangyi with power, fame, and people wanting him dead and killing people he loved for it —and not to Lianhua, who for most of those ten years was only staying alive to find and bury Shan Gudao—but to a version of himself who can accept love from the two people who understand him most in the world, who aren’t going to feel threatened by his reputation or jealous of his power, who can help him work through all the revelations of the last year that broke his heart into pieces he still hasn’t figured out how to reassemble, and to help him find new things to live for that aren’t penance, since none of it was his fault.

The final clue to the mystery of the ending might be found in the beach’s location: the Eastern sea, not the Western sea, which Di Feisheng invoked when he mourned for Li Lianhua, saying “The bright moon has already sank into the western sea." Since the moon rises over the eastern sea, the site of this beach associated with both suicide and rebirth, maybe the location of the beach itself is a hint: that what has set is just the Lianhua persona, like the Xiangyi one before, and what will rise is a third identity, where he can finally learn that he is more than his martial arts and brains, more than what he owes others, what he can sacrifice to repay them.

Maybe the new version of this impossible doctor, who always saves others, and even brings them back from the dead, can do the same for himself, with help. 

[dc-and-arfrona]

Losing You - Headcannons - Batboys

BatBoys! x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+

Masterlist

Summary:How do they deal after losing you?

—

Bruce Wayne / Batman - 

Bruce’s POV

Gotham City was still and somber, mirroring the shadows that draped over my heart. The night's silence amplified the cacophony of emotions that threatened to consume me. They had left – the one person who had dared to venture beyond the cape and cowl, penetrating the fortress I had built around my true self. [Y/N], whose presence illuminated even the darkest corners of my soul.

Memories of our shared moments danced before my eyes as I brooded in the dimly lit Batcave. How we met at a charity gala, where I found solace in their laughter amidst the superficial conversations. The way their eyes sparkled when I revealed my true self as Bruce Wayne, not the vigilante they called Batman. How we fought side by side against the criminals, not only as allies but as kindred spirits.

But darkness can never fully coexist with light. The battles I faced as Batman scarred my soul, and I couldn't ignore the toll it took on our relationship. I saw the worry etched in their eyes, the fear that I might never come back one night. They deserved a life unburdened by my relentless crusade.

Now, in the aftermath of our break-up, I find myself lost in a maze of emotions, grappling with the void they left behind. It's not just the love I miss but also the human connection, the sense of belonging they granted me. Gotham's protector could never afford such luxuries – I had a city to save, a legacy to protect.

[Y/N]’s absence gnaws at me, a constant reminder of the fragile balance between Bruce Wayne and Batman. I wander the empty halls of Wayne Manor, haunted by the memories of our laughter, our secrets, and our stolen moments of happiness. Every shadow whispers their name, a painful reminder of what I let slip through my fingers.

I still cherish the letter they left, the words etched onto paper with grace and understanding. They wished for me to find peace and to heal the wounds that I had ignored for far too long. But could I ever mend my fractured heart without them by my side? Could I be Bruce Wayne without the [Y/N]’s light to guide me?

As the nights pass, I continue to patrol the city's grim streets, relentlessly pursuing justice. But there's a hollowness to it all, an emptiness that echoes within the confines of the Batcave. My silent ally, confidant, and lover has vanished, leaving me to grapple with my emotions in solitude.

In the stillness of the night, I yearn for their presence, their touch, their warmth. And yet, I understand their decision. They deserve a life filled with light, love, and unencumbered joy – a life that my alter ego, Batman, can never truly provide.

I take a deep breath, resigning myself to the painful truth that love doesn't always conquer all. [Y/N] has become a beacon of hope not only for the people of Gotham but for me as well. They showed me that love could bloom amidst darkness, but it also has the strength to walk away when necessary.

So, I will keep [Y/N]'s memory alive in my heart as I carry on the never-ending fight against crime. Maybe one day, the shadows will lift, and I will find a way to honor their sacrifice by finding my own peace within the storm. Until then, I'll remain the Dark Knight, haunted by the absence of [Y/N], forever chasing after elusive happiness.

------

Dick Grayson / Nightwing - 

Dick’s POV

The nights in Blüdhaven were always alive with a chaotic energy that mirrored my own restless soul. As Nightwing, I soared through the city, the rhythmic flapping of my cape the only constant in a world full of uncertainty. But tonight, something felt different, as if the very essence of my being was shifting.

I couldn't shake the memory of their face – that special someone whose enchanting presence had woven its way into every corner of my heart. We had shared laughter, secrets, and stolen glances that spoke volumes in the silence of the night. They were my confidant, my partner, and my inspiration, illuminating my path even in the darkest moments.

But like an ethereal mist, they had slipped through my fingers. We had parted ways, the painful decision to let them go still etched into my soul. I couldn't bear to see them caught in the crossfire of my dangerous life as Nightwing. They deserved a chance at a life free from the perils of my world.

Now, as I leaped from rooftop to rooftop, my mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Their absence left a void that I couldn't fill, no matter how fast or far I ran. The laughter that used to echo in my ears was now replaced with the haunting silence of regret.

In the cover of night, I found myself at our favorite spot – the old clock tower where we had shared countless memories. Its towering presence seemed to echo the towering weight of my heart. I gazed out into the city, the twinkling lights mirroring the stars in the sky, and I couldn't help but wonder if they were looking at the same stars too.

Every crime I thwarted, every life I saved, it all felt hollow without them by my side. They had brought warmth to my nights, and now, their absence left me with nothing but aching loneliness. It was as if a part of me was missing, and I feared I would never feel whole again.

As I stood there, engulfed by my thoughts, a soft breeze brushed against my cheek, and I closed my eyes. And in that moment, it was as if I could feel them beside me – their presence lingering in the very air I breathed. The memories flooded back, and I realized that no matter how far apart we were, they would forever be a part of me.

They had taught me the beauty of vulnerability, of letting someone in even when it meant exposing my deepest fears. And as Nightwing, I had to be brave, but it was in their arms that I found solace, knowing that it was okay to be human, to feel pain, and to love.

With resolve in my heart, I knew what I had to do. I had to find them, to tell them that they were my anchor in the storm, that they were the light in my darkest nights. Even if we couldn't be together in the same way, I wanted them to know that they had forever changed me, that they were my north star guiding me through life's chaos.

As the city below continued to buzz with life, I took flight once more, my heart now infused with hope. I would find them, and together, we would navigate the uncertainties of life. For in their eyes, I had found a love that transcended the boundaries of time and distance – a love that whispered of forever in the depths of my soul.

----

Jason Todd / Red Hood - 

Jason’s POV

The weight of the Red Hood's choices bore down on him heavily, leaving scars both visible and unseen. Gotham's nights were filled with darkness, but within Jason Todd's heart, the darkness was unyielding. As he patrolled the city's shadows, he couldn't escape the memories that haunted him, memories that connected him to the one person he thought he had lost forever – the one who held a special place in his heart.

They had once been his guiding light, the one soul who could see through the jagged edges of the Red Hood's armor and into the wounded heart of Jason Todd. But circumstances had pulled them apart, leaving him adrift in a sea of turmoil.

On this particular night, the weight became too much to bear. Seeking solace and understanding, Jason found himself at Roy Harper's doorstep. Roy, a friend and fellow vigilante, had always been a source of comfort, someone who understood the struggle between darkness and redemption.

Roy welcomed Jason with a knowing nod, and they settled in a dimly lit corner of his apartment. The air was heavy with unspoken words as they exchanged glances filled with shared history.

"I've been carrying so much pain, Roy," Jason finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I miss them, you know? The one who meant so much to me. I miss who I was when they were with me."

Roy listened attentively, his eyes reflecting compassion. "I know, man. Sometimes the pain can feel unbearable, but that doesn't mean you have to carry it alone."

Jason took a deep breath, struggling to find the words to convey the torment in his heart. "Being the Red Hood is all I know now. It's like there's this void inside me, and I thought I could fill it with vengeance. But it's just made everything worse."

Roy placed a hand on Jason's shoulder, offering silent support. "You're not beyond redemption, Jason. None of us are. The path you're on might be dark, but you still have a choice. You can choose to heal, to find a different way."

Tears welled up in Jason's eyes, and for a moment, he allowed himself to be vulnerable in the presence of a friend who understood. "I want to be whole again, Roy, but I don't know where to start."

Roy smiled softly, recognizing the flicker of hope in Jason's admission. "You start by forgiving yourself, by accepting that mistakes are a part of being human. And then, you take one step at a time. Reach out to those who care about you, let them in. It won't be easy, but healing rarely is."

Jason nodded, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little lighter as he released some of the pain he had been carrying. "I'll try, Roy. I'll try to find my way back."

"You don't have to do it alone, brother," Roy reassured him. "I'll be here for you, and so will others who care about you. We all stumble, but it's how we pick ourselves up that defines us."

As the night wore on, Jason and Roy shared stories of the past, of battles won and lost, but most importantly, of hope. In the quiet moments between their words, Jason felt a glimmer of healing, knowing that he wasn't alone in his journey toward redemption.

And in the depths of his heart, he realized that the one who held a special place in his heart had never truly left him. They had left an indelible mark on his soul, one that reminded him that love and hope could still bloom amidst the darkness. With Roy's guidance, Jason understood that there was a chance for healing, for a second chance at life – a chance he was determined to seize, one step at a time.

------

Tim Drake / Red Robin -

Tim’s POV

The city lights shimmered below as I stood on the rooftop, my cape fluttering in the cool night breeze. Restlessness gripped me tonight, and memories of [Y/N], the one who had once held my heart, haunted my thoughts. As Red Robin, I dedicated myself to fighting crime, but this evening, I needed something more – a way to find peace amidst the chaos.

An idea struck me, and I decided to revisit the places where we had shared some of our most cherished moments. Each location held memories of laughter, intimacy, and genuine connection. I hoped that revisiting those places would help mend the pieces of my heart that felt fractured.

The first stop was the cozy café where we had shared our first cup of coffee together. Sitting at our old table, I sipped my coffee, reminiscing about how we had spent hours talking, sharing our dreams and fears. The warmth of the café and the memories it held brought both comfort and a pang of longing. It reminded me of a time when everything felt so much simpler.

Next, I strolled through the park where we often sought refuge. The trees had grown taller, but the bench we used to occupy remained, untouched by time. Sitting there, I gazed at the stars overhead, recalling the nights we spent stargazing together, finding constellations in the vast night sky. It felt like those moments were just yesterday.

The nearby arcade was my next destination. Surrendering to playful nostalgia, I immersed myself in the flashing lights and sounds of the games. Memories flooded back of the times we playfully challenged each other, laughter echoing in our ears as we vied for high scores.

My final stop was a quaint bookstore where we had lost ourselves in countless stories. I picked up a book they had recommended, feeling a connection to them through the words on the pages.

With each place I revisited, a sense of peace settled over me. These memories weren't just reminders of what was lost, but a testament to the love we once shared. Amidst the bustling city, I found moments of stillness, a chance to remember who I was before the pain and burdens of my vigilante life consumed me.

As I walked through the dimly lit streets, I realized that while I couldn't change the past, I could honor the memories we created together. Instead of dwelling on what had slipped away, I chose to cherish what we once had and find a way to carry that love with me into the future.

Revisiting those old date places allowed me to find peace – not by forgetting or letting go, but by acknowledging the significance of what we meant to each other. As Red Robin, I would continue to protect the city, but now, I knew that amid the chaos, there would always be a place where I could find a moment of tranquility – a place where our love still lingered.

------

Damian Wayne / Robin -

Damian’s POV

The weight of our recent breakup hung heavy on my shoulders as I sought refuge in the quiet solitude of my room. The emptiness seemed almost suffocating, a reminder of the void you had left in my life. I tried to distract myself with training and missions, but no matter how fast I moved or how fiercely I fought, I couldn't escape the pain in my heart.

It was then that I noticed Ace, my loyal Great Dane, gazing at me with his big, understanding eyes. He had been a constant companion throughout my life, a loyal friend who never judged me and offered comfort in his own special way. I had never thought to seek solace in him, but at that moment, the idea seemed like the only respite from the anguish.

With a heavy sigh, I plopped down onto my bed, and without any prompting, Ace hopped up beside me, nudging my hand gently with his snout. The warmth of his presence offered a sense of comfort that I hadn't realized I needed.

I buried my face into Ace's fur, taking in his familiar scent, and wrapped my arms around him. His steady heartbeat echoed in my ears, and for the first time since our breakup, I felt a flicker of tranquility. Ace didn't judge me or offer advice – he simply offered the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his presence.

It was as if he knew the turmoil in my heart and understood that sometimes words weren't enough. As I held him close, my mind drifted back to the moments you and I had spent together, the laughter, the shared secrets, and the happiness that seemed so distant now.

In the past, I might have scorned the idea of finding comfort in a pet, but with Ace by my side, I realized that his loyalty was just as valuable as any human connection. He didn't expect me to be anything other than myself, and his affection was unconditional.

As I lay there, wrapped in the warmth of Ace's embrace, I found myself slowly finding peace. The pain didn't vanish entirely, but it felt less suffocating, as if I had a friend who understood my grief and was willing to bear it with me.

Ace and I stayed like that for what seemed like hours, finding solace in each other's company. I couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence, a gentle reminder that even in the midst of heartache, there was love and comfort to be found in unexpected places.

As the night wore on, I drifted off to sleep with Ace by my side, his warmth and loyalty providing a balm to my wounded heart. In the embrace of my furry friend, I found a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, with time, the pain would ease, and life would regain some semblance of normalcy. Until then, I knew that I could count on Ace to be there, offering his unwavering comfort and companionship.

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Okay, maybe I felt a little bad for leaving y'all on such a cliffhanger, so here's the next chapter, special delivery.

Ghost’s footsteps echo on the mall’s floor, his muscles screaming at him to stop and rest. 

He ignores them, not like he can feel it much. His entire being is focused on finding Johnny. 

While he was walking down south, he kept having this intrusive thought to open Limbo again. Just to check if… he could find a face there, ink-covered and muted, of Johnny.

He growls. He doesn’t entertain the thought.

Ghost starts shouting for Johnny, hoping for the best case scenario, where his comms are the only thing damaged on his person.

He should’ve known to never hope.

After time stopped having any meaning, the minutes of silence piling up like heavy rocks on his chest, Ghost starts truly fearing Johnny might be gone.

He sees the south exit, the doors closed shut. Something numb spreads through him.

Ghost heaves, stare fixated on the damning evidence that Soap never left the building, when he hears a groan.

“...ugh…” a familiar voice pierces him.

Ghost turns to it, heart finally beating, and he finds Johnny on the floor, body struggling to move.

He hesitates only for a moment before breaking into a run towards him, the blood burning from his chest to his legs, heralding the message ‘he’s alive! He’s alive!’

Ghost slides to a stop, about to take his Sergeant in his arms and never let go, when he sees the blood.

Soap’s face, contorted in pain, covered in dark red on the left. Ghost shakily turns his head to the side, watching as blood oozes out of the bullet wound… his temple is pierced. He turns him the other way, a matching gash on his right.

Soap groans weakly, and Ghost lifts him slightly to let his head rest on his thighs. He knows he’s cold, or he feels so at least, but the floor is colder.

His breath stutters thinking of where the bullet went through. He said middle was a few things… Soap might not wake up until he heals.

Ghost brushes a hand over Johnny’s hair, some of it matted with blood. He carefully untangles the ends when the man stirs.

“... Johnny? You with me?” he mumbles softly, and it still sounds too loud for his ears.

Soap’s eyes scrunch under his brows, “urgh…fuck… ma heid’s minced…” his beautiful eyes open to look up, blinking to focus. His face is contorted in confusion.

Ghost can feel himself smile in relief, “morning”.

Johnny blinks a little more before abruptly pushing himself off Ghost, growling with a gravely voice, “the fuck are you doin’?!”

Ghost instantly crawls back, his heart dropping, “shit, did I hurt you-”

“Who teh fuck are ye?!” Soap shouts, glaring at him.

“Wha- you don’t-” Ghost sputters, at a loss.

The Sergeant ignores him, clutching at his head, “where are we…? Where did you bring me?!” he seethes through clenched teeth.

What? He doesn’t remember the mission-

He doesn’t remember.

The bullet… 

“How old are you?” Ghost hopes against hope he’s wrong.

“The fuck’s it to ye?” Soap snarls. He sighs a moment later, looking away with contempt, “seventeen.”

Fuck… Ghost can feel his hands shaking. Johnny just went back ten years mentally. Of course he doesn’t remember the mission, or him. 

He doesn’t remember his own death.

Soap seems to search for something, unsheathing a knife he found strapped to his shoulder, and clumsily jumps at Ghost.

“Listen here you creepy bastard, ye better tell me what the fuck is going on before I make ye!” he waves the knife in front of his eyes. 

Ghost’s eyes haven’t left Johnny’s. He never looked at him with such… hate. 

Ghost directs the knife’s point away from his eyes, “I’m a Lieutenant under the British army, you better settle down, soldier.” it hurts to talk to Johnny like a stranger, but he can’t risk him deeming himself an enemy.

Soap immediately backs away, surprised, “ah-sorry, sir. I just… I cannae remember shite…” he trails off.

Ghost sighs, “we were on a mission, it went to shit. You hit your head at some point, probably have temporary amnesia. Sit down before you hurt yourself further.”

That seems to calm Johnny, and he carefully lowers himself to the ground.

“What do you remember, Sergeant?”

“Sergeant?! Fuck, how much did I forget?!” 

Bloody hell, he needs to be more careful with what he fucking spouts. “It will come back to you, Johnny.”

Soap frowns, “stop callin’ me that. I think I would’ve remembered a fella like ye, with the fuckin’ Halloween getup ye got there.”

‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you.’ Ghost bitterly thinks to himself.

He sighs, “talk to me then, tell me what you do remember.”

Soap tenses, “I don’t even know yer fucking name, and I’m supposed to tell ye everything?” there’s something behind the anger, that Ghost recognises from many weeks ago, in a dark barrack room, lit only by furious fire.

Johnny is scared.

“Simon Riley.”

Soap stops, and looks up. For a moment, Ghost can almost pretend he knows him, with the way Johnny’s eyes light up in reverence, somehow knowing how this is truly the first time he’s heard that name.

But the heavy fog of nonrecognition over his eyes is not clearing away. Still, Johnny starts talking, “I… I joined the army a year ago. Ma was furious.” He starts, “wait, no, that was… two years ago?”

Ghost inhales shakily. Soap moved to eighteen now?

“Go on.”

The Sergeant leans back, wincing as he places his head gently against the wall, “I… tried for the SAS. They told me I’m too young.”

For some reason, imagining young Soap getting rejected makes him huff.

“I went on a few missions… oh.”

Soap’s face pales, “I… I remember the first person I killed. He… killed my squad mate. I…” He looks ashamed, “for a moment I was proud that I managed to shoot him first but - fuck, you must think I’m fuckin’ pathetic.” he looks at Ghost, the anger in his eyes mellowing.

“No shame in feeling guilt, shows you’re a good man.” he tells him again, “if it helps, I’ve killed more people than you can imagine.”

Johnny dead pans him, looking unimpressed, “aye, sir, very comforting.” he huffs sarcastically, before he gets that far away look he wears when memories flood his mind, “tried for SAS again…” He looks up, smile melting Ghost’s heart, “I got in! I actually got in! Youngest to ever do it!” 

“Good man, John, knew you can do it.” the name acrid in his mouth, but he wants to encourage this version of Soap. Despite everything, he can’t help but be fond of him.

Soap chuckles, “feck off, Simon, I bet ye already knew it.”

Oh, his heart is a treacherous beast, with the way it’s banging at his chest at the sound of Johnny saying his name, wrapping around smiling lips.

The Scot quiets down, continuing to observe the memories trickling in, “after my first mission they started calling me… Soap? Shite, please tell me the name didn’t stick.”

Ghost has the pleasure to inform Soap, “you’re actually quite proud of that one.”

Soap grimaces, “awa an’ bile yer head!”

“Speak English”

Johnny gives him a shit-eating grin, “means fuck off, sir”

“Much better. How old are you, Soap?”

The Scot contemplates his answer for a moment, “...twenty. Still going on a lot of missions, I’m studying to be a demolition expert- I am a demolition expert.” he corrects himself mid-sentence, “fuck, blowing shit up is so fun, do I still do that?”

Ghost bitter-sweetly reminisces over what lays in Johnny’s future, “you’ll see.”

Soap pouts, “cryptic bastard… I still don’t remember ye.” He starts getting up, Ghost immediately closing in to fuss over the Scot, “stay down!”

“Shouldn’t we go to exfil, sir? I can walk…” he raises an eyebrow at him.

He has a point, but Ghost worries Johnny’ll get overwhelmed when he learns he knows no one around him. He barely dealt with him without getting into a fight.

Then again, Ghost might be the most uninviting person on earth. Even fucking Shepherd looks more friendly than a giant man wearing a skull mask.

“It’s not your legs I’m worried about, Soap. Let’s not jostle your noggin around, alright?” he pushes lightly at his shoulders, making him slide back down. “Now, tell me what else you’ve got going for you.”

Johnny scrunches his face in concentration, and Ghost watches as terror slowly paints itself over his features. He wants to ask why before he remembers himself.

Soap is likely 21 now. 6 years ago-

“I died.” the flames on his fingers light for the first time since Ghost found him. “I saw moths,  they were glowing like they were on fire…a Reaper… it told me…”

Johnny takes a deep breath, staring right at Ghost’s eyes, making his heart stop, “my team is dead. It saved me, not them, because of what I wanted.” 

Bright fire flickers in the edges of his vision, but Ghost can’t look away from Johnny’s eyes, the emotions passing through them a window to his mind.

“It asked me what I wanted” Soap is barely breathing now, whispering the tale of his horrible second birth, “I said I wanted to live. It said…”

“I wanted revenge. On the man who killed my friends. He-”

Something dark makes itself known on Soap’s face, the flames now covering his entire forearms, white-hot and wild, “Konchar.” his blue eyes wide, he looks at Ghost with such hatred he feels something akin to fear.

“He killed them, Simon.” a voice so twisted comes from Soap’s mouth, “he murdered them, I needed to destroy him. I-”

Johnny’s face slackens, all rage replaced by agony, his eyes watering, and Ghost sharply inhales.

“...Soap?”

Johnny pushed himself away from ghost, further into the wall, mumbling, “n-no, no I couldn’t have- I didn’t- I didn’t want this!” he starts hyperventilating.

“Johnny” Ghost goes to place a hand on his shoulder, worry overruling panic, “you have to breathe-”

Blue eyes, dripping with little teardrops, plead Ghost for forgiveness, “I’m- I’m a monster - How could I do this-” Johnny chokes on sobs, “why did it choose me?! It should’ve let me die!” He curls on himself, shaking, yelling, “IT SHOULD’VE KILLED ME! IT SHOULD’VE-”

Simon took hold of Johnny, smothering his screams in his chest, wrapping arms around his body, as if he could protect him from the onslaught of the worst John MacTavish has ever known.

As if Simon was ever successful at protecting that which he holds dear.

Johnny grabs at his shirt, the flames burning so hot they scorch through his clothes, right down to his chest, to his lungs, to his heart.

Simon doesn’t let go, even after the fire dies down, the wailing dims, and Johnny is no longer shaking. He doesn’t let go, until Johnny pipes up from his place near his chest.

“Ghost?”

He relaxes his hold on him, letting Johnny lift his head, eyes red-rimmed and face watery. Only when he sees recognition in his eyes does Simon realize, that he never told Johnny his callsign.

“Johnny?” he gently says, damn hope making itself known in his words.

Soap gives him a weak smile, full of sorrow, but so tender, Simon wants to sear it into his brain, “I remember everything. You. The mission. I…” He rubs lightly at his right temple, the gunshot wound fully healed, “one of those weird things shot me right before I escaped. Did you… with Limbo…?”

Simon takes in a deep breath, with the way he finally found the Johnny he was looking for, “I did. Barely got them reigned in.”

“And Gaz…?”

“Secured with the kidnapped revenants, called in exfil for us.”

He liked the relief on Johnny’s face, “thank Reapers.”

“Rather you thank me, Sergeant.” Simon grumbles, smiling when he hears Johnny’s laugh, and feels his fist tap his shoulder.

“Awa an’ bile yer heid, sir” 

“Oh, I know that one.”

“Ye feckin’ better”

Garrick spots them when they both make their way to exfil, their helo already waiting for them, and sprints at them at full speed. Ghost has half a mind to dodge him when Gaz decided to collide with Soap instead.

“FUCK BOTH OF YOU! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING ON COMMS?! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I’m sorry, Gaz…” Soap mumbles under the weight of the Sergeant.

Gaz turns to glare at Ghost, “you! You’re the one that needs to apologize!”

Ghost huffs, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He really should’ve radioed Garrick that his Sergeant is alive, but he was… a little preoccupied with his heart splattering on the floor.

He looks behind Gaz, at two people laying inside the helo, “the revenants need medical?”

“You will need medical after I’m through with you-” Gaz starts.

“Sergeant”

“I called in a medic, he said they’ve just been drugged for transport by El Sin Nombre, they’ll wake up in a few hours.”

Ghost nods, “good lad, now” He lifts Johnny up, the poor sod stuck under Garrick, “we’re RTB. I’ve had enough of this fuckin’ mall.”

Soap smirks, “not a fan of shopping, sir?” he jokes, but his tone is flatter than usual.

Ghost looks over Johnny, at the state he was left in, at the sorrow fogging his eyes. He aches to clear it away, but at the moment nothing feels strong enough to bring Soap a wind of change.

“Not in the slightest, Johnny.”

On the helo, Gaz tried to lift their spirits, but both himself and Soap are too busy mulling over the day.

As the minutes pass, Ghost’s feelings take a backseat, and he combs through what Johnny told him.

‘Konchar’...

Something ignites in Ghost. Johnny, unknowingly, has given him what might be a knife to cut the red tape that holds his file together.

He needs to talk to Laswell. If there’s someone that can find out what happened at Johnny’s Reaping by a single name alone, it would be her.

Johnny stares out of the window, tracing the hull of the chopper with a finger, its flame dimmed and mellow.  

Ghost wonders what he sees, as the clouds pass by, what his eyes reflect.

And he wonders, just how much pain he hides behind them.

Finally, something is revealed about Soap's Reaping, just in the most painful way I could think of, with him literally reliving the worst day in his life :D

[onewomancitadel]

Now when you're not fending off people who want to control the conversation you can think about the metaphysical connection of Jaune and Cinder. Her pain is his pain because she made it that way. And when they lie alone at night thinking about it they don't know they nurse the same wounds. When Cinder killed Pyrrha she did it because that was the way she saw the world working, kill or be killed, and the damning act is the same one that unwittingly gives her hope of moving beyond it.

You can't avoid connection, you can't avoid touching someone, even when you don't know it. Even when it hurts.

[the-crimson]

Q!BBH and Generational Trauma

For a long time this has been something I’ve noticed in the halo family that I’ve strongly related to. Idk if it’s an intentional theme bbh and Dapmin (and pommin but im mainly gonna focus on Dapper) put into their characters but it’s definitely there. So heres my perspective on bbh’s character arc so far observed through a lens of generational trauma.

(Quick side note. Writing this post was a journey tm and my initial view of bbh and god’s relationship and what the afterlife scene meant shifts dramatically half way through XD)

Even if a parent does everything right, they will still hurt their children. It’s part of the job. It’s part of life. Even if we choose to be better than our parents, the scars they left will bleed onto our children. I think every family has an element of generational trauma - I certainly do but im not gonna trauma dump on yall - but the severity of it is a spectrum.

Q!bbh was cast from his home due to the conditional love of God/the Father and this has left a clear impact on him. His self worth is in the gutter and he lacked a sense of purpose. According to everything we know of bbh’s life before the island, he didnt really care for much of anything other than finding the next source of entertainment - i mean, he remembers the salem witch trials fondly because of the drama of it all regardless of the fact that hundreds of innocent women were murdered.

Was God being intentionally cruel or abusive? Probably not. From His perspective, he may see casting his angels from heaven as a temporary punishment - like spanking a child for throwing a tantrum - without really understanding the damage such treatment is actually doing. He isnt teaching his children the lesson he thought he was just as spanking a child doesnt teach them to behave, only to fear. Bbh redeemed himself in the eyes of the Father and thus was granted the choice to return home. The Father was doing his child a kindness, he was welcoming his lost angel back home because what fallen angel would ever choose anything other than Elysium? And thats the point of conflict. The Father thinks he is doing right by his child but hes only causing bbh more pain. Bbh has to choose between his own children and eternal salvation (that he knows can be taken away on a whim). His heart has been severed in two.

Bbh’s wounds from his disownment run so deep he doesnt even notice them and thus, doesnt notice how they impact his children. Dapper has taken after so many of bbh’s characteristics and a complete lack of self worth is one of them. Selflessness to the point of self annihilation. The fear of being a burden. The need to feel useful otherwise why am i even alive? Dapper was borderline suicidal because they felt useless and nearly killed themself trying to be useful by farming soul hearts and they learned all of this behavior from Bad. Bbh showed Dapper unconditional love but it wasnt enough. Bbh couldnt save Dapper from his own trauma.

Breaking cycles of generational trauma takes more than just realizing how you were raised didnt work and trying something else. Bbh never healed from the wounds left by the Father and thus they were passed down to his own son.

When i started writing this analysis, i thought that this was the tragedy between bbh and the Father. God was too stuck in his ways to understand what His child needs, what would truly make bbh happy. I thought that the Father had not changed. His love remained conditional. Bbh could only come home if he chose god/heaven. The door might be closed next time. This is his only chance of coming home. But now after laying it all out like this… it made me wonder why the Father decided now of all times was when bbh redeemed himself. My initial cynical reading was that the Father was putting bbh through a test of loyalty. He only truly earned his redemption if he would abandon his children in favor of god/heaven but now… i can see a more hopeful reading.

God watched bbh become a father. He watched bbh become a better person through fatherhood. He also watched as the trauma He caused was passed onto bbh’s child. If the Father wanted bbh to come home because he’d redeemed himself, then the Father could have snapped bbh away at any time. Perhaps thats what He would have done 14,000 years ago when bbh first fell. What if the Father recognized his mistake? What if this was His attempt to fix things after seeing just how much damage He’d done? What if he did finally understand what bbh truly needed?

Bbh was stuck in his trauma because he lacked agency in his current state. The Father still had all the power between them by holding heaven hostage. The only way bbh could ever start to heal from this damage was if he was given back the choice that was made for him. Bbh needed to choose one way or another in order for him to take the first step towards healing even if it causes him anguish in the moment. He needed the choice. He needed the freedom to refuse.

But giving freedom to your children can be scary. What if they make the wrong choice? What if they screw up and ruin everything? For a god who expects perfection from his children, freedom must be terrifying. Giving His children freedom means giving them the option to turn away from him. But that is part of being a parent.

What if unlocking the gates was an apology? Im sorry i hurt you. Im sorry i made this choice for you. I see you. I wont take this choice from you again. Its too late to change the past but you can change the future. Dont make my same mistakes.

What if it was a gift? God relinquished his leverage over bbh and gave him the option to come home. An opportunity for bbh to break the cycle. A chance for bbh to make a choice for himself for once. To free him of the shackles that tied him to God. To heal and stop his own son from continuing the cycle of generational trauma.

After all, the greatest gift a god can give is the freedom to choose one’s own destiny.

[woozten-x]

#. 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 : 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐇𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧

[ ; m.list including other Neos! ]

─ Synopsis: Life is truly unfair, but what happens you decided to take a path of being a grim reaper? Perhaps it is less painful, but it had grown to be similar to the time you were alive. Your soul remains wounded...However, maybe there is one way to heal - but, can you save him?

The angel with clipped wings - Lee Donghyuck, a soul begging to be saved. 

─ Pairing: Reaper!Haechan x Gender-Neutral Reader

─ Genre: Heavy Angst, Fanfiction (including chapters, no exact amount yet), Angst w. Comfort (sometimes), Wholesome/Fluff (sometimes)

─ Content Warning: Talks about death, portrayal of suicide in the beginning, self harm (referenced)

─ Concepts: Reaper!AU, Reaper!Haechan, PROLOGUE - introductory, reader uses they/them, other neos appear! (Taeyong, Doyoung, Johnny, Renjun and Jaehyun to be exact), some random side character shes not that important, reader is a rookie reaper!, mentions of depression / mental health issues, the other neos are there for comic relief, reader and haechan have a past together, reader doesn’t know tho only haechan - yall learn it as the chapters progress, basically enemies(?) to lovers, haechan kind of a jerk

─ Count of Words: 3.3k

─ Inspiration of the work: See You Again by Yerin Baek, Sorry, Heart by NCT Dream 

❒ a/n: this will have more parts!! i planned on not doing it originally, but it makes more sense to break it into parts. i will try to release the other parts one by one since this project is a bit more... story driven - if that makes sense. ty to my cat for motivating me by stepping all over my notes while i write this<3

the next chapters will be longer bc this is just a prologue! i will involve content warnings for each chapter because there will be heavy topics discussed surrounding death.

this whole fic premise is inspired by Goblin + Tomorrow kdrama(s) !! but, it doesn’t exactly follow their concept(s) or plot. its just inspiration and has a similar idea to those dramas (so if you see similarities, you know why ahah) i will switch out one song for each new chapter. sorry heart stays tho because its mainly inspired by that song + that song owns my whole ass heart im just biased

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ

Every memory replays before you, the message of ‘life plays before your eyes during death’ is true after all; the vivid images, the many emotions you’ve felt throughout your lifetime have brought a sickening amount of nostalgia. The recollection causes you to feel sick, your hot wrists suddenly becoming cold - everything felt crushing, as the idea you’ve thought of before to bring you here was a complete lie.

It wasn’t peaceful at all.

No sign of tranquility overcame you, only the coldness and a heavy burden replacing your beating heart. Suddenly, you are met by the sight of the person - no it’s no person, it was you; your figure laid across the floor, crimson pooling underneath you amongst the trashed bedroom you’ve lived in for years. You regained your own composure, beginning to understand what has happened.

You’ve given up.

Staring at the sight of your own figure, your soul numb by the scene before you; the same scene you’ve craved for so long, you had finally obtained it to only receive nothing. Oh, it is startling and…

“Y/N L/N. Born on Y/BD and deceased on April 18, 2023. Cause of death: Suicide.”

The voice appears behind you, looking towards the owner of it; you meet a black-haired young male, his features sharp yet gentle. His round eyes of dark brown did not leave the black card in his gloved hands, he wore a suit with the tie loosened around the collar and he held a strong aura despite his gentle-like yet handsome face. You blink several times, speaking up - “Who are you?”

He looked up, meeting your eyes and his blank expression had melted away into surprise. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to ask such a question during these circumstances, but he stared at you; the beauty marks printed upon his tanned skin becoming evident within the sunlight seeping inside your room, the door of your bedroom now open to reveal your mother.

The scream from your mother made you turn your head, a heavy ache resonating in your chest once hearing her distressed voice. Instantly, she cradles you in her arms like an infant, crying out to any god willing to spare any time to help her child; however, it was far too late.

He looks at your mother before looking away, a dull ache rising at the temples of his head. He did not want to feel this way, not again. He looks at you, “I am the reaper who is guiding you to the afterlife…” He tells you before walking up to your closet door. Placing a gloved hand on the doorknob, he did not spare another glance towards you, only motioning for you to follow close to him.

“Can I…Can I stay here a bit longer?” You say barely above a whisper, the cries of your mother causing you to freeze in place. You did not want to leave just yet. He looks at you then at your mother, her weeps heard upon deaf ears with your lifeless body held in her petite arms; he only shook his head.

“If you stay any longer, you won’t find any reason to leave.”

“I wouldn’t huh?” You say softly, looking back at your mother. Drowned out in the mourning of the sorrow of one, you finally move away to walk up to the reaper. He gives no assurance to your dismay, his hand twisting the knob and stepping through the door; with one final glance, you are following after him and met with a bright light. Within a blink of an eye, you are appearing in a seat surrounded by a vintage style kitchen.

It held a cozy interior, the colors holding a soft brown palette. A wind chime held a whimsical tune, no breeze causing the sound however; your eyes watched the silver cling together, humming softly by the collision. This was the afterlife? The more you comprehend it, it felt like a nightmare; the heaviness you’ve carried throughout your life never diminished, why was it still there?

Hanging your head low, you met the sight of your hands, the coldness remaining. The wounds surrounding your wrists became scars, becoming a reminder of the unthinkable. You wanted to cry, but no tears had come; you weren’t sure, but the coldness rushing through your veins made you feel numb.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Looking up, you meet eyes with a man; strikingly handsome features carving his face, his silver strands of hair complimenting his pale skin. He looked like an angel with a kind smile playing at his pink lips, his eyes holding an indescribable amount of innocence.

He sits down in front of you after pulling out the chair, “I am Taeyong. I am the one who listens to each soul’s story and gives them a choice.”

“Choice?” You furrow your brows, unsure whether you are following his words. Weren’t you given a place in Heaven or Hell by what you’ve done throughout your life?

Taeyong nods, “I can explain that further once I get to know you better. I would love to listen to your story.”

A cup of tea appears in front of you once he waved his hand, the silver rings surrounding his fingers glimmering underneath the light on the ceiling; you breathlessly look down at the cup, the steam swirling above. You stare into the cup, your reflection looking back at you. Taeyong observes you, his expression softening - “Would you prefer coffee? I can always change it to your liking.”

Shaking your head, your cold hands meet the warm cup and you feel the curse of numbness finally fade away. It was replaced by an unspeakable misery, however. Tears well up in your eyes, grasp tightening around the cup with trembling hands and you bow your head low - the cold tears dropping onto the tabletop and into the cup, as falling droplets of a downpour.

Taeyong reaches over, placing a gentle hand upon your trembling shoulder - “You can let it all out now.”

After those words, you had fully sunk in your own agonizing pool of regret. You never wanted this yet here you were, explaining your untold feelings to a stranger - a stranger who will guide your soul elsewhere. You are not sure whether you are worthy in any place, holding a scattered self-worth since you were born; you have solely admitted to feeling wrong since the day you were born.

Since the day you were born, your life has been a misfortune.

“Would you like to know something, Y/N?”

Sniffling and wiping at your eyes with the back of your hands, you look at him with a blurry sight. The tears seem never ending for you.

Taeyong gently smiles, “Souls will always have the same scars from their past life. But, they learn to overcome each one in the next.”

His words linger in your head and you shake your head. You weren’t sure whether it was greed or it was the unbearable past of sorrow, you managed these words - “I don’t want to live another life. Not again. It hurts too much to go through it again.”

“Is that what you think?” Taeyong asks, tilting his head slightly to further comprehend your words. Your answer.

Without a second thought, you nod your head - “I can’t go through it again…” You quietly say. The plead in your voice and your gaze was enough to convince him, sometimes some souls cannot fathom the unfairness of reality. Taeyong nods, “You are just like him.”

Confusingly looking at him, he did not explain any further and smiled at you once taking your hands in his. “You will become a reaper. You will carry the past upon your back during the wakes of your new life, are you sure you want this new life?” Taeyong tells you, his eyes tenderly meeting yours and closely observing it. Though, he was surprised to see no hesitance.

“Yes. I will continue my life as a reaper…” You answer back, the promise of your words becoming one you soon regret.

Supposedly, this biggest regret can become something better however.

. . .

“The newbies got out of training today, huh?” said one tall reaper, his dark brown hair styled over his round face. The raven-head reaper looks up from the files settled on his desk, the task of organizing boring him to death; he was glad to have someone break the silence within the room. The room where it held a division of reapers, solely known for collecting souls from the other waking world.

He sits back in his seat, a small groan emitting from his lips while stretching - “Mark was telling me all night about it…Apparently, there’s a new role?”

Johnny looks at the younger reaper, the two having a 100 year age gap; he seems intrigued by the other’s comment. “New role? Does that mean another division?” He questions and Donghyuck only shrugs, closing the file sitting atop of his desk. His eyes began to sting the longer he sees it.

“It’s a temporary role, I think. They will be divided and we will most likely have a few under our wing,” Donghyuck said with a grin. He seems to be fond of the idea; after all, what’s terrible about seeing new faces around the office? As a reaper, things grow too tiring and boring far too quickly. He needs a change.

Before Johnny could reply, another black haired reaper enters with a brunette following behind him. “We have to clean up a bit,” Doyoung nags, the raven-head pointing out at the trash filled to the brim with empty ramen cups eaten by a culprit in the office. It was definitely not Donghyuck. The younger whines, “Are you nagging because the new reapers will be joining our division?”

“No, Donghyuck. I just don’t want roaches creating an economy in our office.” Doyoung rolls his eyes, a hearty laugh escaping the brunette who entered in the office with the older; his dimples deeply imprinted on his pale skin, as he greets Johnny with his deep voice. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, sitting back in his seat - “Have Renjun do it. You can’t boss me around because I am only a few hundred years younger.”

Doyoung scoffs, “I think it’s been a decade.”

Instantly the younger reaper shook his head, picking up the calendar from his desk and revealing the many marked days with a bear stamp - “Wrong! I kept counting just for this day to prove you wrong.” He declares triumphantly, a smirk drawn over his pink lips and Doyoung only sighed while Johnny and Jaehyun laugh at the interaction shared between the two.

No matter how many years or decades, Doyoung can never catch a break with him.

A knock is heard on the door, the voice of Taeyong’s heard from behind before it opens. Instantly, Doyoung stuffs the nearby locker with the bin filled with trash and approaches the opening door, respectfully greeting the other people behind the door, whilst Donghyuck curiously watches afar from his desk sitting in the corner of the room.

Renjun enters and Donghyuck instantly boos, “Who let him in?!”

Renjun raises a fist in his way, instantly placing it down when Taeyong enters. Behind Taeyong, there are two new reapers following closely behind like lost ducklings; the two of them intimidated, despite the similar uniforms they shared with the others in the office.

It took a moment for Donghyuck to let his eyes scan the new faces, the excitement from before becoming a diminished flame of a candle. He wondered if fate is cruel to put him in the same room as you.

“These are the new recruits joining your division. Like always, please make them feel welcome! Please introduce yourselves,” Taeyong gently encourages them with a bright smile. Awkwardly, the two new reapers stood, you clear your throat and bow respectfully - “My name is Y/N L/N. It is very nice to meet you!”

Next to you, the next recruit introduces herself - “Kim Sunmin! Nice to meet you.”

You scan the room, taking in the interior of the ordinary looking office; you wouldn’t think any reaper would work in here considering its normality. You met eyes with the raven-head sitting in the corner of the room behind his desk, his familiar face causing your eyes to lit up; it was the reaper who brought you here! You had completely forgotten about him until now. How could you forget his face?

The constellation of beauty marks printed beautifully on his tanned, handsome face. You can’t forget a person like that, if you saw him again. Once the introductions were cleared and Taeyong had left the room, Doyoung had spoken up - “You two will have partners whenever escort missions are assigned. Just simply do what you have to do, and if there is any problem you could always speak to me or anyone in this room. We are all equal here.”

“Actually, just keep the questions for Doyoung. The fun is for everybody else~” Johnny jokes, Sunmin chuckling at his reply while you stand with a small smile. It still felt intimidating, however. You have no idea how long you’ve studied for to bring you this far, but you felt incredibly drawn to the quiet reaper sitting in the corner of the room; naturally, your eyes are landing on him.

He stares back at you, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure whether he was the quiet type or it was simply because you were a stranger in a familiar environment. You decided to walk around the crowd, approaching him who didn’t leave his desk to introduce himself; it is essential to get to know him, you’ll be working with him for an eternity, after all.

As you stand in front of him, his eyes never leave yours and you bow politely towards him. “I am Y/N L/N.” You introduce yourself, looking at him with a smile. For a brief moment, you see a flash of pain in his eyes; your own friendliness being ineffective, as he remains tense and his lips have grown slightly pale.

Your own enthusiasm falls from your face, concern replacing each detail of your expression - “Are you alright?”

Reaching out towards him, a hand nearing his shoulder and he instantly moves your hand away. His hand was cold in comparison with yours, the shock evident on his face and body. Rising from his seat, his hands slamming against the desk and the commotion led the others’ attention landing on you and Donghyuck; he breathed heavily, sounding like he was having difficulty breathing.

“G-Get away from me…” He whispers and you confusingly look back at him. You weren’t exactly offended, but lost; what did he mean by that? The two of you only met once, how could you affect him this much?

“Donghyuck? What’s up?” Johnny approaches the younger, the taller glancing at you before looking at the raven-head; observing him closely. Donghyuck says nothing, moving away from the desk and his shoulder colliding with the older’s when walking out hastily. Johnny seems speechless, never seeing the reaper the way he is no matter how long they’ve known each other.

Renjun instantly chases after the other, a thick silence hanging above everybody once the two left. Stunned, you stand at Donghyuck’s desk not sure what has happened, until Johnny approaches you with an understanding smile. “He probably had a bad day. Don’t worry too much about it, rookie.” He comforts you, patting you on the shoulder.

“…Let's go out! My treat, as a celebration for Y/N and Sunmin’s arrival!” Doyoung suggests, breaking the tension overbearingly carried amongst everyone within the office. Everyone else nodded, wanting to enjoy the day regardless of the unexpected situation; although you tried your best to smile and focus on the present moment, you can’t help but feel guilty.

But, how could you feel guilty with something you don’t know about?

An arm is draped over your shoulders, Johnny standing next to you and giving an assuring smile and squeeze on your shoulder - “Don’t worry too much about it? Sometimes, this job takes a toll on you. Don’t take it personally.”

You slowly nodded, knowing many instances of many reapers’ mental health issues. It wasn’t exactly surprising, considering every single reaper holds a story of their own.

Just like you, they possibly find no reason for living.

. . .

Walking through the corridors of the dorm, you are left alone with the footsteps echoing the halls and your own thoughts. Though today was fun, especially with a fun time with your new co-workers and soon to be friends, you are left with the heavy burden cursing your heart or chest; you aren’t exactly sure if you are considered a being with a beating heart or you particularly own one.

The more you live as a reaper, you’ve realized you are nothing but a soul carrying the past memories with a heaviness straining your heart. Was this punishment for becoming one?

Surely, you could regret it now, but it was too late now. You’ve come this far to only feel this constant heaviness, a curse engraved in your soul; living is somehow still painful like you were alive. Does this pain go away? You haven’t lived long enough as a reaper to exactly answer such a question, but you have no one to ask. Despite your peers being friendly, you felt out of place.

Once again, your soul is feeling wrong.

Walking to your room of the new dormitory given to you based on the division you were assigned to, you are met with the sound of someone singing. His voice light, carried throughout the halls in a gentle melody; his voice angelic, considering how lovely it was in your ears. Meeting your room door, you look around the halls, wondering what door it could be. Was it next door?

You shut your eyes and listen, the heaviness within your chest being lifted. Even for a moment, you found peace. The more you listened, you felt an uplift of your own lips; feeling calmed by the steady notes singing throughout the dormitory. You wondered, if anyone else heard it or not. Whether they do, you were glad to be able to let the person singing have their time to shine.

You weren’t sure how long you stood, but the song came to a stop with a low hum then a silence replacing the field of notes you were surrounded with momentarily. Pouting to yourself, clearly disappointed. Taking a deep breath, you take out your room key until you hear a soft cry. Freezing, you look towards the sound and hear the shakiness of someone’s breathing before another cry escapes his lips.

Who knew, the angel with the most beautiful voice was in pain.

Unlocking the door, you decided not to interfere knowing it was not your place to do so. You were still a stranger to these people, you can’t get too close. Entering inside your room, you quietly close the door behind yourself and rest your body against the door; his cries are not any louder, but only distant once you are inside. Sinking to the floor, you sit with your knees propped up against your chest.

“Your voice isn’t fit for those tears…” You whisper, wishing your words could be carried to him as a message of comfort. However, it wasn’t possible.

On the other side of the wall, the reaper with an aching voice continues to cry whilst curling up on his bed. Hugging himself as an attempt to comfort himself, he gently hums amongst his cries; trying to calm himself down. Donghyuck hasn’t cried this hard in so long, yet somehow the past had come to haunt him.

Though, the past is a reaper’s misfortune, this different type of misfortune had punished him severely. What was he going to do?

The knife stuck in his chest is remembered once again, wishing for the tragedy to end by the one who can save him.

Yet the savior is the one who stuck this blade in the first place.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Longass Crop Circles Notes (I Don't Think I've Changed Chapter Two):

I don't want to talk about how many weeks these notes have been sitting in my notes app because I couldn't bring myself to go through them yet. My sincere apologies @spicymiilk

-Ah that incredibly relatable feeling when you want to get to one part of your story and you have to force yourself to slog through to get to it. It happens to us all.

-KIRI AND LO’AK GOING TO SPECIAL SCHOOL WHILE NETEYAM IS REGULAR IS SO FUNNY TO ME. Poor Lo’ak I’m being so mean to him. But you really want their asses GONE gone.

-Calling Jake a white man and saying he can’t understand their hair is so funny. Dude NEVER helped with ANY of his kids hair ever??? He’s never done Neytiri’s for her because he’s her bitch? Come on Jake, I expected more. Even I’ve done my cousins hair a few times. Maybe Spider will fare better?

-Obsessed with the way Neteyam is about his morning routine and solitude, it jives so well with my opinion of him. He’s got to have things his way, and under his control. Taken care of well. He’s going to have a field day with Spider. I see we are already leaning heavily into Neteyam’s "I can fix him" complex. Even when he wants to help Jake, which I know is something wheelchair users don’t often want if it’s something they do all the time themselves. It’s the innate feeling of standing by and doing nothing while watching someone struggle, when it’s their day to day life. And if that isn’t Neteyam’s whole thing? I’m obsessed with how he just cannot handle anyone else’s bad vibes without trying to fix it right away. Speaking of;

-If there is not a moment where Jake allows Neteyam to help him when he needs it, I will throw myself off a bridge, Andrei. ~growth~ the opportunity is there and it’s ripe.

-JAKE AND NETEYAM BANTER, I did not realize I was in a drought until I got a little bit of rain and I realized I was DYING OF THIRST. PARCHED FOR THEM.

-Jake “Detective” Sully: You are gay, son, try not to be too gay to the new foster kid you stalk at the local Micky Ds.

-I am literally obsessed with My Father Jake Sully who was neglected and hurt as a child being the most desperate man alive to connect with and heal kids in the same situation he was in. It fits so so well in his character for me. I feel like he spends most of his life trying to heal old wounds and make up for the past, in a way.

-Neteyam “I thought this kid was named Miles for years but I guess legally on his birth certificate it def must say Spider because it couldn’t be a nickname, that’s for sure” Sully

-I am CACKLING at them both lying to each other about McDonalds as though they both don’t know exactly how often the other one is there because they both find the other hot I’m dead.

-Spider mad at Norm for enforcing child labour laws has me wanting to make memes about it. The children truly do yearn for the mines.

-All the tiny little details of how Spider focuses on the people around him, on their moods and their movements and the way his brain works is so well done. That survival mindset takes years and years to unlearn, if you ever can fully. It’s well done as always.

-OH MY GOD EVEN NEYTIRI ALSO THINKS NETEYAM IS BEING TOO GAY THIS IS AMAZING.

-Justice for Jake, I will get him one of the cars paralyzed people can drive. Also his joke about driving Neytiri up the wall? HE’S A COMEDIAN. GET HIM A NETFLIX SPECIAL.

-Spider can’t look at Tuk because he was close with a little abused foster girl, where is the nearest bridge. NO REST FOR US, ANDREI?? ALL THE PAIN AND TRAUMA POSSIBLE CRAMMED INTO ONE EPIC.

-God the line about Spider’s therapist saying that his habit will lead him down a dangerous path, but he doesn’t understand why because he only ever hurts himself because he doesn’t see damage to himself as damage because he doesn’t see himself as worthy? Not worthy of the phone, of food, of attention or love? Truly my fav paragraph of the chapter. You are a master at establishing a character in a few subtle lines. It's a tactic that I only get after a few rewrites; instead of saying "Neteyam wants to fix everyone" you show us him in a situations where he wants to and can't help. Instead of telling me Spider doesn't care for his own safety, you tell me he's confused by his therapist saying his coping is dangerous. Instead of saying emotion, tell me something that would make me feel that emotion. Writing 101, and yet so hard to pull off properly.

-I laughed out loud at Neteyam trying not to look at Spider’s muscles I am dying. Neteyam should ask him out loud.

-EVEN TUK HAS IT ON LOCK, SHE SAYS NETEYAM HAS A THING FOR PEOPLE WHO SOUND A LITTLE SAD. This is so not funny but so funny because it’s all specifically for me.

-Neteyam later in life is like that dumbass gum commercial where the guy reveals he’s been keeping the gum wrappers every time the girl gives him one and drawing on them when and where she gave it to him? That’s Neteyam when the piles and piles of smiley face receipts fall out of his trench coat pockets.

-“I didn’t realize that was you” filthy liar. Spider’s smiley face drawing rizz is crazy. You bet your ass he wasn't doing that to every fuckers receipts.

-WHAT ON EARTH IS LO’AK DOING AT SMART PERSON SCHOOL, EVEN YOU DON’T KNOW ANDREI.

-THE CUTE BOY AT THE WINDOW ASKED FOR HIS NUMBER? AS IN, SPIDER, PHONELESS SPIDER, OR ANOTHER SNEAKY BASTARD BUTTING IN.

-Also these people have real memory problems, I’ve never forgotten any awkward interaction I’ve ever had in my entire life, especially not with a crush. I couldn't hear my crush at a party last year and I just laughed and said yeah and she was like "no I asked what you think" and not a single day goes by it doesn't play behind my eyelids like the DVD in The Ring. So, unless Spider has asked every single man at McDonalds out, he remembers when he asked a guy out and the guy sped off like he had a warrant out from Dominic Toretto.

-Oh my god, it was Spider. And this man sURVIVED that encounter? This man who can’t survive a strong breeze rn? What was he going to do with number, call him from phone booths? Send smoke signals to the write telephone wire? I am cackling at the idea that he had rehearsed this so many times and yet never actually thought through not having a phone.

-The smiley face on the paper. That revived Spider from his death post awkward encounter. There will be smiley faces on the invitations to their wedding and only Tuk will understand.

[asukamood]

Promise

WARNINGS: Suicide ideation, Suicide attempt, violence, blood.

This takes place way before Nightmare met Cross and Error, perhaps three decades before the Apple Incident took place.

***

“Argh!” Nightmare crashed into his hideout with a loud thud, the impact momentarily making his head ring. Through the last shards of the messy portal he managed to create seconds before getting his head slashed, he could hear Dream’s voice in the distance, ordering a retreat. Then the last remains of the magical door faded away, leaving his mind to repeat what Dream told him during their usual chase like an alarm.

“For a world without tears, I’m afraid I will need to take your life.”

That sentence was all he could focus on. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing at all, making him almost touch a random bell while he was reaching for the bandages on the counter, bandages he had stolen a few days ago at a pharmacy.

It was the first time Dream had ever told him head on what exactly he wanted to do with him. Perhaps he had implied his demise was his objective before yes, but that did not lift any weight from his words at all.

He wanted him dead.

The only person who ever cared, at least a little, wanted him gone.

He forced back the tears that threatened to come out with a scowl. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

That knowledge did make his heart sting though. He recalled how they were inseparable when they were young or how holding hands seemed natural to them, what the hell happened for everything to come crashing down like it did?

Had he done something?

Was he at fault there?

Even if he were, what justified Dream creating an entire fucking multiversal oragnisation meant to chase him down?

Having his childhood… well, he guessed he should refer to him as an ex-childhood best friend? Chasing him around the world like a prey was bad enough, why did he have to drag the entire world with him?

He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a slight pang of pain on his arm, stronger than the rest of the echoing pain from the battle he just ran away from.

While he was thinking, he had been absently and messily patching himself up. The bandages were loose, barely able to hang on his arm and the blood wasn’t exactly stopping either. The reason why it hurt was that once he was ‘done’, he had been grazing his wound with his hand and one of his nails finally hit a wound, the action earning an immediate reaction from his nervous system.

… What was he doing this for actually?

Was there really a reason for him to try so hard to stay alive?

His daily life always took that miserable shape.

Run, get hurt, heal, run, get hurt, heal, and so on.

He hadn’t slept in years. While he did have insomnia back then, he could at least get some sort of rest because his life had been somewhat decent. But now, even the slightest minute of sleep was torturous, atrocious visions plaguing his mind and preventing him from ever feeling rested.

He was so tired of this life, maybe he could just give in and let Dream do what he wanted?

Then again that would require him to get hurt some more before that were to happen. Nightmare prided himself in being someone strong, but there’s only so much one can take before truly losing it.

His appearance barely changed from when he was 19 but there was little that remained of his sort of will to live from before. What was he trying to save there exactly?

Perhaps, he should actually just kill himself.

The hand reaching for additional bandages froze at the suggestion.

Killing himself…

That would guarantee little additional pain, control over his death and few problems. After all, Dream hadn’t found this hideout yet and it’s not like there were any neighbors to signal something strange happening.

When he was young, he would threaten something along these lines as a sort of twisted joke as he usually would but now… now he was actually considering it.

Who wouldn’t? It would actually solve so many problems of his.

Dream would get him dead like he wanted and Nightmare wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, was that what people called a win-win situation? It must be. Most parties involved would be satisfied with the result, even if Nightmare had the intuition that perhaps his crush ex-best friend would regret it.

The only one who would truly mourn him was Kevin and while he would hate to do this to his poor pet, he really felt like he was reaching his limit, he couldn’t keep this up and he hoped his concerningly intelligent chicken would understand.

Before he went, he did think that perhaps leaving Dream a few words would be somewhat nice. While he was the catalyst of all this, he had known Nightmare all his life, the latter would feel somewhat bad if he were to leave without any kind of last words even if it were only to honor the few years of happiness the two had shared.

He skipped treating his wounds altogether and sat on the floor of his base, a paper and a pen in hand.

But then he drew a blank.

It felt like he had a million things to tell him but none of them sounded right on paper or even out loud. He seriously couldn’t think of anything good to write. It was a problem, since he was definitely not going to wait around and come up with something better to say. Dream would find him eventually and then he wouldn’t have the time. Him escaping Dream’s men wasn’t even guaranteed, for all he knew, the next time he would be caught for sure.

It frustrated him.

The pen has been hovering over the sheet for a while now, letting some inkling escape and staining a part of the paper black. He wasn’t going to get anything done if he kept hesitating like that.

He scribbled the first thing that came to mind.

“Was it what you wanted?”

…

Wow.

That… was very pitiful.

He put the pen away as he crushed the paper into a ball before throwing it away. If that was all he could come up with, perhaps he should refrain from writing anything at all. It’s not like it was going to help.

He got up from his seat, limping slightly to the opposite end of the room.

During encounters with the Justice Reigns’s guards, Nightmare would often have weapons chucked at him and/or those that got stuck in one of his limbs. He had sorted them there with the intention of using them as second weapons in case his staff got destroyed in battle, even if he did hope it wouldn’t. (He would never say that the true reason as to why he keeped them was to chuck them back at the ones who attacked him out of pure spite.)

Who knew Nightmare would one day use it to harm himself rather than protect?

He almost wanted to laugh at the situation but he didn’t, because what he was going to do was definitely horrible. He muttered a quiet apology to the sleeping chicken in the other room as he reached for a blade in his ‘collection’.

He flipped it with his fingers before gripping the handle tightly. He tipped his head back as he placed the knife to aim right for his throat and right as he was about to hit the target, he suddenly froze.

***

“You know I don’t like it when you fight with other people.” Dream said, an upset frown on his face as he wrapped Nightmare’s bloody arm with some bandages he had managed to buy from a merchant.

“I’m not at fault here, they’re the ones who decided to pick a fight with a 13 years old guy.” Nightmare huffed, hissing a bit due to the pain. He tried to decrease the noises to a minimum though, knowing it worried the other when he would do that.

“...” Dream didn’t say anything at that and just continued to do what he was doing, somehow more upset. “I’m worried about you, you know? There’s a real chance that one day, these fights will escalate into something much more serious and then…”

Nightmare waited for him to continue his lecture, not really interested in its content. Though, he did care when he suddenly heard him sniffle.

He turned to him quickly, discovering the other with a tear-stained face whose eyes were staring at one of Nightmare’s worst injuries in the current fight.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you were gone.” He broke into a soft sob, increasing Nightmare’s panic as he desperately tried to come up with something to comfort Dream with. He racked his brain in search of a solution before holding his pinky up.

The other looked at him in confusion as Nightmare averted his gaze.

“I… promise not to leave you alone.” He muttered, glancing at him before looking away again, this time red slightly dusting his cheek. “So please don’t cry anymore, I don’t like seeing you cry like that.”

Dream paused before a smile eventually made its way onto his face. He wiped his tears away as his free hand came up to wrap his own pinky around Nightmare’s. “I’ll hold you to that then.”

They both stared into each other’s eyes like they were the only ones in the world before chuckling, laughing at themselves at how childish they were being.

***

“...” Nightmare lowered the knife before chuckling too, this time bitterly.

He let the blade go back to its original place before he went to sit down and bury his face in his arms.

“I find it funny you were the one worrying about me leaving when you’re the one who left.”

[crystal-verse]

Day 9 - Lend an Ear

[this one is 2k words. oops. the post-5.0 wolgraha grabbed me by the throat i guess, oops]

Your back and hip ache, and you're sure tomorrow will leave you stuck in bed from the fatigue and pain, but for tonight -- you are free of the Light choking your chest and your veins, Emet-Selch is dead and will never haunt you again, and the Exarch (Raha, your Raha, and it feels so, so strange to think of him thus again) is alive and whole.

There's revelry, amongst the people of the Crystarium, and you cannot blame them for that -- the other Scions, too, are drawn into the revelry themselves. Mehka glances at you, concerned (it was she who had initially thought to hold the Light, but you had known, somewhere in your bones, that if either of you were to carry it, it should be you), but you wave her off, and she soon turns away to speak with Y'shtola.

Beside you, the Exarch -- G'raha Tia, that seaglass-eyed scholar with both eyes stained red, now -- shifts. You are reminded, again, that you are not the only one who will be aching -- the many layers of his robes hides much of his skin and the crystal that has consumed it, but even still you can see bruises and other cuts and gashes, and you've no idea what damage the bullet in his back did, if anything. There is some unreadable emotion in their gaze, but beneath that all -- you think that there is love, there.

It is -- difficult, still, to speak after so long, but if anyone is to hear your voice (if anyone, anyone at all) it should be them. "We should go to the Spagyrics." Your words are soft, and for a moment you wonder if the Exarch (Raha, you should call them Raha) heard you.

"I. . . would rather not." Their words are no less soft than your own, though slightly louder. "If -- if you are injured, I may spare some of my time to aid you. I do have a not insignificant amount of healing experience, as you may recall."

Indecision wars at you -- you want to make sure that he is unharmed, that his injuries are seen to, you had not even considered your own. But. . . perhaps. Perhaps there can be. . . a trade? "I. . . would like that." You say, carefully. "So long as I may spare some of my own effort to look at your own wounds?"

Raha so very visibly debates, in his head, before nodding. "Very well. Shall we?"

Together, the two of you set off to the Tower. It's a slow process -- now unhooded, it seem as though the entire Crystarium wishes to see their Exarch, wishes to speak with him. But your shared, slow progress is no less progress, and 'tis not too late into the evening by the time you are both at the doorway. The gatekeep waves you both through, and Raha leads you through the crystalline corridors, up pathways you'd never seen. Away from the Ocular, you think -- you do not recall the exact pathway, but you know that this one is different. It is a simple sort of room that Raha takes you to, small and plain and not nearly as opulent as you'd expect the keeper of the Tower to dwell in. (Though. . . remembering the G'raha Tia of some years past, the plainness begins to make sense. Even then, back at the Waking Sands, he had been one always focused on the grandure of others and yet never attempting to claim any of that himself, not truly. Fine with a simple room, fine with plain clothing, fine with simply being yet another Scion.)

To a bathroom you both go, and you are lucky enough that you'd taken your own healing kit with you to the Tempest -- you'd not known if you would need it, and 'tis helpful to have the physical vials and potions and bandages, even if healing magic itself in theory could eliminate their need. You do not summon your faerie, yet. You will wait for that.

Raha's hands are gentle, as he pulls upon the white magic and weaves it into you. They blush, to begin with, when you shed all but your smallclothes to allow access to the many wounds and aches, but that soon falls away into a calm, dedicated focus, that which would be seen on any medical professional. The gashes on your chest and arms are healed, and Raha coaxes your dislocated fingers (you'd forgotten about that, somehow -- the pain bleeding into everything else) back into their joints. Your tail, broken in several places, is carefully held while Raha keeps healing with that keen focus, and when he has finished, all injuries healed as much as they can and all aches soothed as much as they will be, you sigh and lean forwards to press your head against his chest.

"I. . . want to talk to you." You tell him, as softly as he had held you, is holding you. "Pray, lend an ear?"

A quiet breath. "I would be honored to hear whatever you would wish to tell me," they say, and there is reverence in their voice.

"Thank you." Then, before you forget -- you have neither your codex nor the aetherical quill that comes with it, but you are of the K tribe, and arcanima of any kind still comes easily to you. Oberon -- or. . . what is left of Oberon, is summoned, the faerie's light dimmed but Light increased (and oh, how it had broken your heart to see what had become of them, as Titania -- but that is gone, and in the past, and Oberon is still here). "Where to start. . . "

Well. You should start with actually healing Raha, to begin with. "I -- would you undress, please? At least so I can see to your chest?" You are less well-versed in any professional healing, but your battlefield healing has been well enough, and -- it is Raha. You can set aside your embarrassment for long enough to do this.

"Oh -- of course!" Raha slides his arms out of the sleeves of the robes, and -- oh, you'd forgotten just how it fit on them, didn't you? The hood being so large and spacious, enough space for them to slide their sleeves out that way, letting the fabric fall down to rest around their waist as they sit. "You were saying?"

"Right." Right, right. "I knew you were G'raha Tia." You tell them, before you can lose your courage. "For. . . a long time, I think."

Raha startles, at that. "You -- truly? How?"

"It's embarassing. . ." you're not sure you could justify yourself, were you to tell the actual reason. (Fray had certainly laughed at you, to begin with, before the agony of it had sank in.)

"I shan't judge you, if that is what stays your tongue." Raha promises, a genuine earnestness in their gaze. "Though -- neither will I judge you if you wish not to speak of it."

You fidget with a roll of bandages in your hand, and choose to keep your gaze firmly on the crystal planes of his shoulder as you speak. "I, ah. . . well. You have very memorable lips."

A beat of silence, and then -- Raha bursts into giggles, his flesh hand lifted, in vain, to stifle them. "Wicked white -- that was it, truly? My lips?"

You huff. "It's not my fault that you have pretty lips." You smack his arm in jest -- only to panic at the sudden hiss. "Sorry, sorry, sorry--"

"No, no, 'twas not your fault." Raha grits their teeth for another moment, before forcibly relaxing. "Tis not you who inflicted these wounds on me, Sae'pheli'ehva."

". . . even still." The bruises are mottled purple and black and green, a few barely-healing yellow, and while Oberon flutters about pressing bits of healing magic onto him, the various cuts and gashes and places where the crystal has pulled away from the skin and muscle is not so easily dealt with. "I. . . I missed you. Is it silly to say?"

Raha hums. "I do not think so. I certainly missed you, those many long years."

A jar of salve pulled from a pocket. You sniff at it -- ah, good. Some kind of medical glue, if you recall, so this should help with the crystal and muscle problem, once you can get the bleeding to stop. (At least it is sluggish.) "Why me, anyways. . .?"

A longer hum. "If I may be honest with you. . . "

"You may. If you want to be." You'll not be able to use the sleeves of your undershirt for anything again, not with the blood that will sink into the fibers, but that's alright. The bleeding's stopped enough for the salve, so you dip a finger into the jar and get to work. Oberon is still pressing little Whipsering Dawns into them, so you shall leave the smaller cuts to them, and focus your attention on sealing the crystal to flesh, and possibly stitching the larger gashes.

"Thank you." Raha lifts an arm at your prompting -- the right one, rough planes of crystal, so you can reach the skin and muscle beneath, the area just below where his ribs end. "To be entirely honest -- I had fallen in love with you, quite shortly after our first meeting. And, in the Eighth Umbral Era when I awoke. . .the only thing written of you was of your deeds as Warrior of Light. There was little and less of you as a person, though Mehka was granted that honor. It seemed. . . a cruel joke, for the one to capture my attention so easily to be the one to be forgotten by history as much as you were."

. . . oh. "I -- I had wanted to try loving you, I think." You set your hands in your lap. Work up the courage to look at them, meeting their eyes. "I had wanted to. I think -- I want to, still. But. . . the Scions needed me, and you were busy with whatever work you had come to Eorzea for to begin with, and. . . well. Things never worked out, is all."

Raha looks at you so very, very softly. "I am honored that you would want to try loving me." He takes your hands in his own, crystal-and-flesh upon your own mismatched hands, brown-and-black skin. "I know that love does not come easily, to you."

"Ha -- no, it really doesn't. And. . . thank you."

"For?"

"For everything. For loving me, unconditionally. For being willing to avert my death, even if it seemed an impossible dream. For making the Crystarium so full of love, and for being willing to extend that love to me. For making the Crystarium a home, and for letting the Crystarium be my home." Tears well at your eyes, but they're good ones. "So. . . thank you. For everything."

Raha has no words to give you, after that, but his watery smile, tears in his own eyes, is gift enough.

"Now -- could you turn around, please?" You ask, shaking yourself and trying to sink back into that medical mindset. "I'd like to look at your back."

Raha turns, with less pain you hope -- the larger gashes will still need to be stitched, but there are only three of them (one on his chest, from just below the right ribs across to just below his left armpit; one on his shoulder, cutting through where the remains of that vibrant vermillion tattoo is yet to be encased in crystal; and one on his left hip, disappearing below the fabric), and you will have time to get to them later. His back is -- just as bruised as his front, truly, but though there are more scratches and lacerations they are mercifully less severe than the injuries on his front. The bullet wound -- you hiss through your teeth at the sight of it. The bullet is still there, even, embedded in the flesh, and you cannot imagine the agony that it has been, for Raha.

"This is going to hurt now," you say, pulling a pair of tweezers from your toolkit. (They weren't meant to be there, but they've been irreplaceably helpful.) "I'm sorry."

You know that it must be painful, but Raha does no more than twitch once, when you reach to pull out the bullet, but you can see some layers of tension slough off once the bullet is out. Adloquium and Excogitation are cast quickly -- these spells are most familiar to you, and so you cast them with your hands pressed against their back, you can feel even more clearly how the last of the tension leaves Raha's body. "Is this better?"

"Yes. Much." With the pain mostly gone, you can now see how the exhaustion weighs on Raha. You finish the healing as quickly as you can without sacrificing any quality (helping to pull the robes entirely off of Raha, when you need to see to his legs), and then dismiss Oberon, with a sigh. "Is there somewhere I can rest, for tonight?"

"Mmh." Raha stretches in a very cat-like way, then stands, both their clothing and yours gathered in their arms. "If it would not be presumptuous of me -- I could lend you my own rooms?"

Hm. "Cuddle me like you let me do back at the Waking Sands, and it'll be fine. If that's alright with you?"

Raha's ears wiggle in a very cute way, and though the both of you are exhausted, you feel a surge of victory. It's not quite love, yet, but you still want, and even as the Exarch trying to keep his distance Raha had still been so kind and so loving, and -- this is a good first step, you think. Laying together, sleeping in each other's arms as you both heal from the struggles of the times before. (You would like to get used to this, you think, as you settle into the bedding. Raha's arms around you, protective but not caging, a gentle embrace. It's more than you'd hoped for, all those years ago.)