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soap-ify · 4 months

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nsfw below , mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader.

03 — i'm sorry i'm the one you love.

chapter summary — a visit to simon's place after finding out that he's sick was definitely not the best idea.

tags / cw — some fluff, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, suicidal thoughts, major self deprecating thoughts, heavy themes, simon's past, simon fucks up royally, reader has anxiety, simon can't communicate for his life, some nsfw. [3.1k words]

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Simon’s immunity to being sick was one of those traits about himself he was the most proud of.

But oh well, maybe he wasn’t completely immune.

Queasy stomach, constricted nose, trembling muscles — Simon would rather die, ironically enough. He hated this feeling, made him feel like an imposter in his own body, wanting to crawl out of this mess that left him nauseous.

He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten sick. Maybe it was the horribly cold weather in the place the taskforce had pinpointed one of the targets at. Or maybe it was the drunk woman who was all over him in the bar they went to after the mission was over. God, that woman.

An uneasy pit formed in his stomach as he thought about that night, that woman pinned beneath him as he—

Fuck it. He didn’t want to think about the details. All he knew that he kept on thinking about you while he was fucking her, and it only made him want to rip his skin off even more. You. You were probably waiting for him at your home, wondering if he was safe. Alive even.

The mission had gotten extended due to some issues, and he was just so fucking frustrated and tired. That woman was just… there, flirting with him so shamelessly, and he was too exhausted to stop her, thinking that she might somehow fill the void in his chest, or even give some temporary solace to how lonely and isolated he felt despite being around everyone else.

He was so wrong. Every thrust into that woman felt like being restrained, as if hands were gripping onto his throat tight, mocking at his incapability of coming to proper solutions to his damn problems. He felt trapped, chains tying him as he dissociated more and more.

That woman was sickeningly satisfied that night, and Simon just felt more and more ill, confused and lost amidst the overwhelming storm that raged inside his head. Was he guilty? He wasn’t even dating you. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t fucked anyone else since meeting you, other than this. You made him forget others.

No, it wasn’t guilt. Well, it was but there was something more too.

It was just that Simon became more and more self aware of how noxious he had become to himself. His own doom.

Anyways, it was probably the cold weather that made him sick.

Now back in his shitty apartment after five weeks, all he cared about was getting some damn medicines and sleeping it off, and trying not to think about you.

Which was hard, too hard. You had somehow built your own corner in his head, started living there too. Permanently? Probably. He knew he should tell you that he’s back, but again, does he really ever tell you anything?

A cough escaped him and he groaned in annoyance, the urge to just suffocate himself with his pillow really strong.

Kyle was an angel, really.

“The mission was so exhausting. Problems here and there.” He groaned, tipping his head back while lounging on your couch, opening up the small box of chocolates he had bought for you. “Try it, mate. Got it at the airport.” He grinned, tossing you one piece of wrapped chocolate. You undid it and tossed it in your mouth, immediately feeling the sweet ball of chocolate melting at your tongue, a happy noise escaping your throat.

“Holy shit.” You gasped in awe, earning a knowing chuckle from Kyle.

You were sitting with your legs crossed, constantly shifting and fidgeting, your sock-clad feet somewhat restless as you tried to resist the urge to ask about Simon.

Though it seemed that your mouth worked faster than your brain.

“How’s Simon?” You asked, voice a bit strained and you suddenly regretted every single thing in your life.

Kyle was a bit surprised that you were asking about his gloomy Lieutenant out of everyone else, though he didn’t question it, not an ounce of suspicion on his face. “Sick.” A snort left him before he could hold it back, a hand coming to cover his mouth as he snickered. “He was so mad ‘bout it. You should’ve seen him.”

Sick? Truth be told, you had never considered the possibility of Simon getting sick. The concept just seemed so… foreign? Maybe you had just always thought of him as something else. That creepy balaclava never helped.

A sudden overwhelming wave of worry churned in your stomach, your fingernails digging into your palm while you swallowed the lump in your throat, your brain desperately trying to hold onto the scattered rush of thoughts and form a plan somehow. You weren’t even that mad at him for ghosting you or not indicating anything about his return. He was sick.

“That sucks…” You awkwardly replied, biting your inner cheek.

As soon as Kyle was gone, you grabbed your jacket and keys, leaving your apartment too with only one place in mind.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Simon’s voice was sickeningly hoarse, and he didn’t look any better — pale hair all messy and the dark circles around his eyes a bit more prominent, a black surgical mask covering his mouth while he coughed a bit. You don’t think you’d ever properly seen his hair before fully except a few strands. You liked it.

He looked at you standing at the front door of his apartment, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours that were full of concern, a plastic bag in your hands that seemingly contained some vegetables, some meds and other food. Shit, I should have tidied up my place, his brain screamed at him.

“Kyle told me you were sick. I got worried.” You mumbled sheepishly.

Of course it was Kyle. Simon tried hard to not click his tongue and nodded reluctantly, stepping aside so you could get in.

“You shouldn’t be standing and walking around, Si…” You frowned, quickly putting the plastic bag on the kitchen counter. Before he could even protest, you were already gently pushing onto his chest, trying to make him move until he sighed and sniffled, letting you push him into his bedroom.

“You don’t have to, love.” He grumbled weakly and proceeded to lay on his bed, watching you pull his blanket over him, disappearing out of the room for a moment before coming back with a bowl of cold water and a towel, gently beginning to dab the wet towel on his burning forehead.

Simon felt… weird. A part of him felt embarrassed for letting someone else take care of him, someone as sweet and kind as you, someone who genuinely cared. He was used to being the one always watching out for others, making sure his teammates were safe and sound.

And the other part of him felt so nice — the part that had just been trapped in there ever since he dug himself out of that damn grave years ago, the stench of the rotting corpse still vivid in his head. The real Simon. You were making that part of him feel loved even if you weren’t aware of it.

He doesn’t remember when was the last time he felt so comforted. And it terrified him, this feeling of warmth that was spreading in his chest, a feeling he had somewhat started loathing at some point in the past few years.

But he wanted it more, wanted it like a starved dog wandering in a street, wanted it like a man needing water. And he was scared that this need of his would terrify you — that you’ll catch him ravenous and berserk, devouring your love, or even you, in such a manner that will make you shriek and leave him forever. Leave him after learning who he truly was. Disturbed. An Outcast. An unwanted dog.

Not a man, never a man.

A cough rumbled from his throat, and you left the wet towel resting on his forehead, your hand reaching down to rub his chest through his shirt in circular motions. “I’ll make some soup for you.” You mumbled softly, the urge to press a soft kiss in between his brows strong. But you couldn’t do it. He would probably hate it anyway.

You pulled away and looked at him one more time before leaving his bedroom, ready to make some warm soup for him with the groceries you bought for him.

This allowed him to close his eyes for a few minutes, trying to cancel out the loud buzzing in his head. Though that wasn’t a good option too, really, but there was nothing else he could do. Sleep never came to him anyways.

First it was just darkness, the only sounds in the bedroom being of his slightly heavy breathing, soft sniffles leaving him. Then it came slowly, images flashing in his head. Brutal and unforgiving. Blood, bodies, knives, guns, shouts, his family, Tommy, Beth, everyone. A meat hook, a scar, more scars, Roba, his father.

His father.

“Soup’s ready!”

His eyes snapped open as soon as he heard your melodic voice from the kitchen, soft footsteps drawing closer to the bedroom. Sweat had formed on the back of his neck as he panted heavily, clearing his throat. Clear your damn head.

“Here you go.” You walked into the bedroom, a warm bowl of soup in your hands as you gently placed it on the nightstand beside him.

Simon sat up on the bed and gave you a silent nod of gratitude, grabbing the bowl of soup, fiddling with the spoon, eyes elsewhere. He couldn’t meet your eyes, feeling too vulnerable and naked.

You shifted on your feet, a small smile moving up on your lips once he finally took a taste of the soup, happy to not see any sign of disgust on his features. You knew he wasn’t going to show that he liked the soup anyways. These were the little things you took note of, the subtle relaxation in his brows and the content sigh that escaped his mouth.

Minutes passed by and you managed to sit on a chair nearby his bed, silence lingering in the room while your eyes looked around, taking in just how bleak everything was. White walls, grey sheets, a severe lack of pictures or literally anything on the wall.

The only thing you could find was the little picture of him and the rest of the taskforce hung on the wall. It was sweet. The four guys were on a beach — Johnny having a beaming grin on his lips while Kyle had an annoyed one, trying to get the other’s hand off his ticklish sides. John had a cute big smile that highlighted his cheeks and the scrunch of his nose, like a quokka. And then there was Simon, face covered by the balaclava, classic. Though he didn’t appear to be brooding or anything, no. Instead, his eyes held a relieved and satisfied look. Transient happiness. The skin of his exposed torso was all flushed, and you could barely hold in a smile.

“Do you burn?” You asked, trying to hide the subtle amusement in your voice.

“No, I tan.” His hoarse voice replied, taking another sip of the soup, sounding so damn serious despite the lie. Typical Simon.

Silence soon filled the room once again, though it didn’t really feel comforting as it usually was between you too, sometimes. It seemed tense and thick, your right leg bouncing up and down restlessly. Restless for what? You wanted to do something, but you didn’t know what that something was. Everything just felt so odd today, so distant. Even with the little banter here and there, something seemed wrong.

“Um…” You finally managed to croak out, clearing your throat before looking at him. “There’s a new ice cream parlor that just opened around the street recently, and people seem to like it quite well. Would you like to go there sometime?” You asked with the little courage you had gathered in the past few minutes. Basically asking him out on a date, playing with the fire. But maybe it would help cheer him up, right?

He was silent for a while, and you momentarily thought that he didn’t hear you before he finally spoke, voice devoid of any emotion.

“No.”

Silence. Somehow more agonising than before. Heat spread through your cheeks and ears, an uncomfortable heat that made you feel too ashamed and humiliated, too weak and shocked. No. There were no signs of hesitation in his voice, and your mouth began working faster than your brain, anxiety simmering beneath the surface.

“O-Of course not now… When you’re not sick.”

“Still a no.”

You swallow the heavy lump in your throat, your heartbeat accelerating while your fingernails begin digging into your palm, breathing becoming all the more shallow. Were you annoying him? Please don’t speak, don’t make him more angry. Don’t say anything else, don’t breathe, don’t—

“Why are you being like this?”

Your strained question finally made Simon look at you, his stare too callous. The heat was unbearable, and you almost struggled to breath, trying your best to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the itchy sensation spreading through your skin. Inhale, exhale, inh—

“You don’t ever shut up, do you?” He threw a question back at you, though it was rhetorical and just cruel. Too cruel. Were you really talking too much? Your mouth quickly shut at that, breath catching in your throat, confusion and uncertainty screaming through every little action of yours.

Your heart felt too heavy, begging to run out of your chest, leave you abandoned or just simply run for its life, find some sort of freedom and solace. Your throat tightened up, restricting you from saying anything. But Simon would like it, yeah?

Simon saw it, the consequences of his words written bright and clear on your face, your shy smiles and little jokes being replaced by… that, horror and hurt etched on your pretty face. If he could somehow reach for the knife stuffed beneath his bed in front of you, he would and do something about this fucking mess that he had become.

Those words came out of his mouth in the spur of the moment — the headache and congested nose, the sick feeling in his chest and then your genuine care — everything was too overwhelming. Why are you even wasting your time over someone as damaged as me?

He hated it, hated how the more overwhelmed he’d get, the more he’d snap and say shit he never meant. He didn't know how he’d become like this, maybe because of the shouts he always heard when he was still a rookie, maybe how everyone prioritized strength and anger so much to be seen in the battleground, to be strong and good at your work. The military really did train him into a violent dog, didn’t it?

Or maybe he was one ever since he came out of his mother’s womb.

But Simon wasn’t going to show the vulnerability seeping into his being. Not yet, probably not ever.

You couldn’t meet Simon’s stare any longer, your eyes looking up at the ceiling, tears already prickling at the edges of her eyes, and it stung.

“I just want to sleep. I don’t need you here.” He spoke in a way that came out more as a cold hiss while he clenched his jaw behind his surgical mask, and it made your resolve even weaker, fighting back your tears and trying not to flinch once slammed the empty bowl on the nightstand, proceeding to lay back down on the bed and pull the covers all over him.

He doesn’t need you here.

You sniffled softly and nodded to no one in particular, walking over to his bed and gently patting his shoulder through the blanket. “Get well soon, Simon… I left the meds on the kitchen counter.” You spoke, unable to hide the way your voice cracked.

And just like that, you walked out of his apartment, pretending to ignore the ache in your heart.

Pretending to have not noticed the random tiny bottle of perfume laying on the couch. The perfume clearly did not belonging to him.

You didn’t like walking through the streets. There were always too many people around, making your clutch the ends of your sleeves tight and quicken your steps up.

But today, all you could see were the happy couples, smiling and holding hands. Young, old, married, dating. It was so sweet that it made you want to cry and plead for some love too, something that would make you forget about the cracks forming in your heart and the loneliness creeping behind you like a ghost. Literally.

You had come to the conclusion that there was probably something wrong with you that just made you so… So unlovable? Was it how anxious you were? How talkative you’d get? How you’d just speak without thinking?

Why can’t Simon and you be one of the couples holding hands right now? Walking through the streets and giggling at some awful jokes he’d make, spending time together, being in love.

As soon as you reached your home, you collapsed on your bed and let the tears finally fall down your cheeks, a silent pained sob escaping your lips. It hurt, it hurt so bad. You hated it, you went over there to check up on Simon, not anger him.

You hated him, he was so mean to you. But you loved him too. Loved him like the ocean loved the moon, always staring at it in awe, wanting to get closer but never reaching it.

You hated that fucking perfume you spotted in his apartment. Probably belonging to some other woman. Did Simon call her ‘love’ too? You know there was no point in feeling so mad when the agreement was clearly ‘no strings attached’ — no catching feelings. But you somehow always managed to fail at this kind of stuff.

You choked on your sobs and curled up on your bed, too exhausted and tired, hands reaching out to grab the stuffed toy you had and clutching it tight against your chest, breathing heavily, wanting it to somehow ease the storm brewing within you, every sound coming out of you more painful than before.

“I just wanna sleep…” You whimpered to yourself, closing your eyes while the tears uncomfortably slid down the bridge of your nose in this position. Simon’s words.

Sleep and just get lost in a world where you’d be happier, in a world where you weren’t struggling with everything.

Sleep and somehow disappear.

notes — the demons really won with this one.

#simon and reader really can't have anything good #my peak evil moment #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #call of duty #yaaiad : masterlist #rurufic

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sillygoosealert · 1 month

Note

UUUUUH SAD ANGST SAD ANGST IDEA

Terminally Ill reader who doesn’t treat it and hides it from Bi-Han because he’ll think it’s weakness, and he’s super hard on them for being ‘lazy’ until one day he wakes up to them cold beside him in bed (Bi-Han pov for extra angst)

STOP THIS INES GETTING TO ME

Are you ignoring me? Answer me..

Bi-han angst, no comfort

It’s 4:00 in the morning, it’s time to get up

However, you have trouble even processing that

It's like you’re in rim sleep- 24/7

This upsets Bi-Han greatly, as his spouse, you should be better than this

And he lets you know this

Every day

And every time he sees you

After his habit of nit-picking started, you looked even more exhausted

He would feel pity and let you take a break- if you hadn't started to slack off

Maybe you thought he didn't notice when you stopped to go dry heave for a minute and then continue

Or when you sat down for a minute after only an hour or two of work

He did.

And he wasn't thrilled about the whispers and looks not only you, but he got after you started

Most of them were indifferent- or pitiful

And he hated that

People were pitting you for no reason, not one good enough at least

When you got to your room that night, he snapped

‘Do you know what I saw today?’ he hisses, furrowing his eyebrows

‘No, what did you see hun?’ you are whispering, not sure what he's mad at- or who he’s mad at

‘You sitting down, while on duty’ now he’s fuming, he can’t help when he gets mad. He has his fathers rage

‘I had to take a moment to rest, it isn’t easy working for hours at a time’ You look tired, you’re pale, skin sunken in around your eyes

He noticed, but he noticed other people just like doing their work too

‘Are you pregnant?’

‘What? No, I would tell you if I was pregnant.’ you look..upset? If anyone should be upset it should be him

‘Then you have no excuse. Nothing is stopping you from doing your work.’

You don't say anything as you reach for the door

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m not sleeping with you tonight.’

He says nothing as you leave

The next day he sees you, yet says nothing

He's too busy anyways

You come back to your room that night, you're actually there before he arrives

Pathetic

He says nothing as you shiver and cough and wheeze

‘I love you’

He hears you whisper not long after he gets into bed

‘Get some rest, I know you need it’

That was his way of saying it back, you knew it

He was far from pleased with your recent performance- but he would never let you think he didn't love you

‘Can you say it back?’

‘Why? We've talked about this before..’

He has told you he isn't fond of saying it

It isn't him

‘Goodnight Bi-Han.’

You're ignoring his question

He doesn't know why, and it upsets him

So he turns away from you as he closes his eyes and eventually falls asleep

When he wakes up and turns to you, your back is facing him

He shakes you gently

But no response

So he shakes you a little harder

No response

‘You have to get up today, I'll give you a few more minutes but that's it.’

After he dresses he goes back for you

‘I know you're awake, and I know you're upset..’

He cares about you, he really does. He wants to pour his heart out every time he has the pleasure of holding you in his arms

He wants to say ‘i love you’ every night and every morning, to make sure you remembered

He wants to start a family with you, and hold you close when you are with child- with his child

And he wants to tell you that

But he won't, or maybe he just can't

‘And we can talk about it later, however we have to get up’

You don't even move to look at him

‘Are you ignoring me?’

Maybe he should understand- give you space and time

But he doesn't understand, he didn't do anything in his eyes

‘Answer me. Are you ignoring me?’

The silence is loud and he stomps over to the bed, forcefully turning you over

Tears stain your cheeks as your eyes are glazed over

An empty look for a once-radiant person

Then he lets go of your cold, lifeless body

There is nothing left in you

It's gone- everything is gone and the world isn't spinning anymore

He isn't breathing

Or blinking

He's just staring

He didn't even realize he was backing up until he backed into a wall

Then he goes to the bed a checks for a pulse

Nothing

He picks up your body and cradles it

His own tears now staining your face

He knows he couldn't have changed you dying

Well, maybe he could have

But he really wishes you knew he at least cared about you

But you didn't

And you never would

🎀

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rainswept · 5 months

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love / lyney, wanderer, kaedehara kazuha

— ⟢ summary ⊹ : what is it to them? — ⟢ info ⊹ : 300-500 words each, character-centric. angst (you cannot convince me any of them would be able to have a healthy relationship). quotes are lyrics from various songs by the crane wives. — ⟢ cw ⊹ : all used as metaphors: disease (lyney), gore (wanderer), death (kazuha).

LYNEY — “ THIS RING AROUND MY FINGER IS LIKE A CHAIN AROUND MY THROAT. ”

Lyney knows love well. He meets it first when he is born alongside Lynette. He meets it again every day of his life.

He sees its face in the stray cats on the street, in the sky when it rains, in the Hotel. He sees it in his audience when he steps on stage. He sees it in his words, when he grins and presents someone he is forgetting as he speaks with a rose. He knows love well. But love has never known him.

He has never wanted it to. The idea of love knowing him as well as he knows it is a fear just below his skin, creeping up his limbs and clawing at his spine. It is searing fire in his senses, lumps in his throat. It is cold, rainy nights, and it is the peril that gained him his Vision. It is the anticipation of a magic trick and the devastation when it has gone wrong. It is death. It is disease. It is one he carried knowingly, with little remorse or regard to spreading it until he felt the effects of it himself.

You smile. You laugh. When you look at him, practically with hearts in your eyes, and he realizes he is looking at you the same way — he nearly keels over. It twists his organs into knots: it constricts his lungs until he can’t breathe, swims in his stomach until he throws up, forces his heart to beat far too fast until it gives out. He can’t take it.

He thinks he knows love well, but he is an outsider all the same. When he meets it, face to face, and it spills back to him all the secrets he held from it all these years — he finds he does not know it at all.

— “ ARE YOU SO SURE YOU TAMED ME? ”

WANDERER — “ NOTHING COULD’VE BEEN DONE, IS THAT RIGHT? ”

— “ ‘CAUSE I WAS BORN WITH A HOLE IN MY HEART. ”

The cavities where Wanderer’s most important organs should be ached. His lungs, whenever he saw others breathe; his stomach, whenever he saw others eat; his heart, whenever he saw you.

The Kabukimono was a pathetic lost soul. Kunikuzushi was doomed from the start. Scaramouche was his best shot at being someone. But they all had at least one thing in common: they did not know love.

Out of everyone he’d ever met, you were the worst. The way you put up with his words, his anger, his teeth gnashing and words spitting like a stray ember; he was a wildfire, you the rain, and all he’s ever held dear the burnt crisps of what used to be a forest.

The flames lap at his ankles like they want to swallow him whole. He watches as they wrap up his leg, around his torso, his neck, burning the white wood that makes him who he is — yet he knows he is the one allowing it to.

It was awful. At first, with your tender words and forgiving actions, all you did was stoke the fire settled in the pit of his stomach. Your breath turned the slow-burning thing into a raging inferno — but, soon, the wind you brought that fanned the flames turned into the rain that tried to snuff them out.

And it almost worked. He almost let it work.

He’d cough as ash and smoke rose like bile into his throat instead of fire, wince as some foreign feeling roused from an eternal slumber in his chest. He’d swallow, forcing it back down, even as it felt like hot coals being shoveled into his throat.

He placed his hands over his mouth when swallowing wasn’t enough. He coughed, choked, but to anyone else it would appear as if the flames had simply scorched his throat beyond repair. If he allowed the smoke to rise and billow from his maw instead of searing fire, was that not an admission of weakness? Surrender? Who was he, if not a manifestation of the furnace he had nearly died in? He owed his “life” to a human heart. But he had never wanted one, not like that.

So, somewhere in the back of his mind, he vowed never to allow someone to present him one again. Wanderer has chosen to be heartless, no matter the form, for someone offering him theirs was nearly as cruel of a harvest as Niwa’s.

— “ WE WERE FUCKED FROM THE START. ”

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA — “ HEARTS DON’T WITHER, HEARTS DON’T BREAK. ”

To Kaedehara Kazuha, love is a soft ocean breeze and thrashing storm. It is the scent of sea-spray, the sight of the sunset over the water, the lap of gentle currents, the feel of sun-baked sand underfoot. It is the wild, vengeful waves, chaotic and messy and unbridled; it is the rage of whirlpools; it is the shock of lightning bolts when they strike far too close without warning. It is the happiness of a successful voyage and the dreadful feeling one gets when they know their ship is about to sink. And sink it did.

Water overwhelmed his senses. Frigid, it stung his nose and lapped against his throat, splashing into his mouth and filling it with the taste of salt. Lightning struck a horizon he could barely see over the surface, thunder groaned like it was the one in pain, his ears filled with the splashing of water and rain. He heaved for breath as he spat it out, thrashing against the wild waves that surely wanted him dead, too.

Kaedehara Kazuha lost nearly all he had when his boat had turned to floating crates and his crew to dead, bloated bodies, but he did not lose his life. No, in fact, he grabbed hold of a wooden plank and swam to shore alone.

Exhausted, he collapsed against the warm sand, kissed by the sun that had appeared somewhere in the fray. He was weak, tired, and frail, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered until the weight of what truly happened sank in.

Ever since the lightning had claimed nearly all he held dear, Kazuha was afraid he’d never be able to separate the duality of his feelings. Even so, love was a warmth nestled deep in his heart, beyond where even the cold seawater could seep in. It was never something he thought he’d lose, and he was right. He was never worried about that.

The love he felt for you was different from that of the crew he’d left behind, but it was love all the same; thus, after the fluttering of his heart like a seagull’s wings, regret, sorrow, and longing always came in tow. It was as the ripples behind a boat: if the vessel was moving, so were they.

He could still sail. He always had been able to; death did not change that. But he couldn’t deny that he now sailed differently — and now he was unable to go out to sea without the lingering worry of the inevitable storms like an anchor left down.

— “ BUT MINE IS TIRED, MINE STILL ACHES. ”

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batwynn · 4 months

Text

Stiles is on his hands and knees—not praying, but maybe begging for a break. It’s been so much nonstop, and he’s no longer tired. No. He’s something else completely. It’s transformed him so much that the back of his hands look unfamiliar. The dirt under his nails is at least a week old. The blood older. Stained. He’s long since given up trying to wash his hands clean of it. And why should he? There’s always more. It’s always his fault.

That something else twists under his skin and asks, “why?”

Stiles doesn’t know anymore. It’s something Scott said when it all began. That taking responsibility was important, because no one else would or could. But he was also, like, nineteen so maybe that depth Stiles felt in statement was a little naive.

“Why?” It chitters, twisting its way from the pit that is his empty stomach.

He hasn’t eaten in… days? Maybe? He’d been raw dogging his ADHD meds with barely a sip of water between them. Same with the ibuprofen. Stiles knows he has an ulcer, but who the fuck has the time for that? Who has the time to pat them on the back anymore. Responsibly implied appreciation, at some point. Big Damn Heroes. Is that what they did it for? Christ, they were naive.

His left ring finger is a little crooked—nail bed broken. The skin looks inflamed around it like infection is kicking off and Jesus Christ, who has the time?

He hears someone breathing nearby and he knows it’s the only sign of life he’ll get for a while. Derek’s been out for an hour at least. Once again riddled with holes, all silent pain and loud anger. And Stiles is still on his knees, begging.

Begging.

The something else clicks its claws in his ears now. The question remains. Why?

Why is it their responsibility? Because no one else could? That’s not exactly true, though is it? Adults around the world live with supernatural things in their lives. A whole shit ton of them took on the responsibility of shooting the fuck out of them when they got spicy. So why, again, was it them? Why teenagers? Why didn’t Stiles tell his dad right away? Let some of that burden off of his shoulders when Scott got bitten?

Oh, right. Wait. That was his fault Scott got bit. His responsibility. Is that where it started?

And then—and then years later it was his fault all over again. The thing wearing his face, anyway. His face, though.

A sudden, ugly cough bursts out of him. It sounds so bad, but luckily it doesn’t wake up Derek. Stiles sits up properly and looks over at him. They’d both collapsed on the floor of his loft after the battle, already beyond thinking about bed or couch or anything soft. Derek’s blood is smeared across the floor and soaked into the carpet. The brand new carpet. Something about it fills Stiles with unbridled rage. It was one of those rare Derek smiles—something soft and private that he felt so lucky to see. A dusty blue pattern on white. A little fancy, a little foolish, maybe. Who gets a white carpet when their lives are… this?

Still.

Derek deserves a white carpet. He deserves to smile when he gets something for himself. He deserves to decorate, and like things, and have a life, and think about the future. Not whatever this is.

Stiles looks back down at his hands again, resting on his thighs. They’re shaking now that the weight is off of them, like the pressure removed gave them permission to show weakness. He doesn’t bother to stop them. No one’s looking, anyway. He doesn’t need to be strong, and smart, and all together. He can be a little untethered. A little something else.

Derek’s breathing shifts, and Stiles knows he has only a few minutes before the man is awake again. He knows that it will be minutes after that where Derek will shove the weakness down again, and pick himself up off the floor. He’ll check Stiles over. He’ll listen to his heart, his rattling breath. Check the air for the scent of sepsis. And then, satisfied that he’s not in immediate danger, go fetch a bucket and a mop. Stiles will try to save the carpet when Derek doesn’t allow himself to.

Stiles picks at his non-fashionably sliced up jeans.

“Why?”

Because he’s the only one who will and the only one who can.

#Sterek #sterek drabble #long post #stiles stilinski #Sterek fanfic #tiny little thing #I don’t know I just needed to write something again

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scuttlingcrab · 3 months

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Too Close for Comfort

I was inspired to write a quick scene after I saw this amazing piece, which I can't stop thinking about. I wanted to try something new and fun and hopefully on brand.

Summary: What happens when Tav gets a little too close to the devil? (Raphael POV x Female Tav)

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

“You halfwit.”

Tav was sprawled out on the ground, clutching the burning wound in her stomach. No matter how hard she pressed, the blood found its way through her fingers, staining the ground beneath her.

Raphael stood near the campfire, holding an infernal weapon that dripped with her blood. He could stab that creature again. He summoned the blade away as he approached her, clenching his fists. His dark eyes were full of fire and rage.

“No wonder this realm is in disarray, you mortal buffoons don’t know how to conduct yourselves.”

Tav shifted her head to grin at Raphael as he got closer, coughing up blood.

“Can’t… can’t really take you seriously right now… you might want to wash yo-your face.”

Raphael grew hotter, his temper about to reach a boiling point; he was on the verge of erupting into his cambion form.

Tav had summoned Raphael that evening for a private meeting, pulling him away from his work. She insisted it was urgent and he was cursed to entertain her. Raphael had wasted hours lecturing these creatures about what's at stake but they never understood, never cared to listen. He was on the cusp of greatness; he could practically feel it tickling his fingertips. He could taste the triumph on his lips that he’s craved for millennia, and yet this inept group of heroes continued to be his final roadblock.

The moment Raphael stepped through his fiery portal to indulge Tav, she pounced on him like a cat in heat. She had taken Raphael’s head into her hands, tousled his hair and released a fury of kisses across his face; the final blow was that horrid wet kiss on his lips.

“Have you no decorum!” Raphael roared.

Flames exploded from his hands as he summoned his infernal weapon. He lunged it deep into the pit of Tav's stomach before shoving her away. She landed on the ground with a cry, the creature too stunned for even one of her annoying quips.

He was still peppered in those damned kisses, her taste lingered on his lips. He violently snapped his fingers, removing the evidence from his face, putting his hair back into pristine condition once again.

Tav let out a pained laugh, she was beginning to shiver. Her face getting paler with every passing second.

“Oh? Still find this amusing?” .

“It… was worth it.” Tav smiled again, blood lining her teeth.

“If it wasn't for your antics our business together could’ve been concluded a fortnight ago! I have no time for these mortal games, little mouse.” Raphael growled.

He glared at Tav and watched as her chest rose and fell like a passing wave, her movements getting slower and slower. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, alternating between long staggered blinks. He knelt down and grabbed her bloodied chin in his hand, squeezing it.

“You’re an exasperating creature, dare I say the worst kind.”

Tav forced a final smirk before her eyes flickered shut. Her body grew limp and that damned smile finally faded from her lips.

Raphael let out a long sigh, clearing all the air from his lungs. He looked up into the sky; there were no clouds tonight, the stars were glistening. An otherwise beautiful evening had it not been soiled thanks to that little mouse.

He thought hard for a moment about leaving her there, in a pool of her own blood. Let her companions discover the body, that would teach them all a fine lesson. But alas, they had a deal. He rolled his eyes as he picked up Tav's cold body.

A blazing portal crackled into existence in front of Raphael and he stepped through.

#raphael #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #raphael bg3 #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #writing #fanfic

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little-mouse-gardens · 4 months

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A party for the goblin king

Yan fae king future Donnie x reader

Here is a little blurb I wrote based on my yandere fae king turtles au. Just a little idea that popped up in my mind while I was was listening to *cough* crane wives song curses *cough* and I couldn’t resist the urge to let my brain-rot run wild.

Tagging @lexiechr, @souperwrites, @radicallxser and @saltydoesstuff for feeding into my brainrot for these silly fellas >:3

Note : Let me know if there’s any spelling errors (autocorrect currently hates me for some reason)

Tw : Mentions of violence, alcohol, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, kidnapping (I do not condone this behavior in real life. this is only for entertainment purposes only), slightly suggestive???

Nothing about this place felt safe to you.

Nothing at all.

The warmth of the fire pit and torches. The glow of lanterns around the courtyard filled with so many types of goblin like fae running around partying and celebrating.

The savory scents of roasted meats and vegetables or the sugary scents of pastries of all kinds wafting into the air

Sounds of joyful music, laughter and the occasional cheering or rather yelling over the games being hosted down below from where you were seated.

All of it should have made you feel warm, safe or welcome.

However it was anything but welcoming to you. Considering you were currently seated in the lap of the being who’d been tormenting your cottage and kidnapped you the second those protective seals had been broken.

The horror of getting dragged into the woods over his shoulder from the safety of your home still angers you even in this moment.

Memories of pushing against him as he whispered sweet promises of an eternity of love and laughter by his side still echoed in your mind.

Absentmindedly messing with the hem of the soft silk robes he’d clothed you in and occasionally messing with the necklace of amethyst beads he’d claimed to have hand carved and strung himself while you angrily contemplated your circumstances.

What you wouldn’t give to be away from him and this nightmare you’d fallen into by chance. Just one smack to his smug face would quell that rage burning inside you.

Speaking of your captor, Donatello seemed to pick up on this change in your mood. His eyes moving away from the party to look at his beloved resting against him. Every fiber of his been fighting the urge to just start peppering kisses all across your body.

Slowly, he shifted you around in his hold so you were sitting sideways. His hand gently coming up to cup your chin and tilt your head to face him.

“something the matter, dearest?” He asked, his tridactyl hands slowly tracing patterns and shapes across your back and shoulders. The goblet of wine he’d been sipping and the letters of congratulations from his goblin subjects to him and his new spouse settled to the side on a table, “you seem distant? Is the music not to your liking? I did made sure the musicians learned your favorite songs”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at the soft shelled terrapins smug tone. Shifting around uncomfortably in his hold to try and have some semblance of space between you and him.

“No, everything’s fine” you replied as casually as possible, turning your head away so you didn’t have to lock eyes with him. though a hint of your nervousness crept through that facade you held, “I’m just a little tired is all. This party’s been going on for what? Like three hours now?”

Donnie let out a deep chuckle at your reply. Your efforts to distance yourself from him and the twinge of anxiety creeping into your voice not going unnoticed by his keen senses.

Shifting you around again in his embrace so you were facing him, he reached a hand up to mess with the flowers neatly styled into your hair.

“Now, my darling” he crooned, slowly twirling a strand of your hair in his hand. The action combined with that low purr in his voice making warmth rise to your cheeks. A thought in the back of your mind screaming to run yet your body would not move an inch.

That smug smirk of his seemed to compliment that soft loving yet possessive look in those dark eyes that. Eyes that practically stared into your soul everytime they looked at you as he gazed at you. His free hand making sure you were securely seated across his lap, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, “try to enjoy the evening, Hmmm? After all I spent a very, very, very, that’s three verys, long time planning for this celebration of our love. Your allowed to relax you know”

Before you could even ask how on earth you were supposed to enjoy this when he kidnapped you and put you through hell, he leaned in and pressed a tender yet passionate kiss to your lips.

His beak cold against your skin as you sat there wide eyed and frozen in surprise. A soft smile gracing his face as he felt your muscles relax slightly. Feeling his hands come up and rest on the back of your head when he pulled you closer to him. Basking in the softness of your lips and the scent of flowers still clinging to your skin from the bath.

Eventually, he pulled away to let you breathe. A small yelp of surprise escaping you when he teasingly nipped at your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy chuckle from him.

Resting his elbow on the arm rest of his throne and propping his head up with his hand. A look of pure adoration in his eyes that both frightened you and made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

“I love you, my dear” he murmured, his voice soft and eyes half lidded. tracing a heart across your neck with his free hand. his guilded claws brushing against your skin that you couldn’t tell if it was meant to be affectionate or a subtle reminder that you’d belong to him.

“so, so much” he murmured, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to press your frame against his plastron. The party becoming more of a blur as you quietly rested in his embrace. Peppering kisses across your head as you fought back the urge to push against him.

Looking back on it?

Maybe you should have just cut your losses and moved when you and the chance.

Now you dance and shed your tears in the loving but possessive arms of the goblin king.

#rottmnt #yandere donnie #yandere donatello #yandere tmnt x reader #yandere rottmnt #yandere rottmnt x reader #yandere fae king turtles au #rise of tmnt #future donnie #future donatello #future donnie x reader #yandere future Donatello

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epiclamer · 1 year

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Feeling like reading horny rn so flirty villain and flustered hero except hero finds out that villain is actually kinda,,, yknow,, shy and then things turned steamy hehe

ofc no rush i just wanna slip a request here-

CW: SMUT

Role Reversal

There had been an array of different situations in which the hero and villain had wound up stranded together. Hero never planned their whole month out for the sake of it, because they always got stuck. Whether it be for a week, or a single hour, they always got stuck.

Never before had Hero a problem with it. Sure, their ideal Sunday night was not to be trapped in an air vent with their nemesis or turning green out on a boat at sea. But it never caused any damage that couldn’t be undone.

Just an inconvenience.

Hero tapped their fingers mindfully on the dark oak table, eyes boring into the king sized bed covered in rose petals ahead of them.

Unfortunately, planning around constant disturbances—such as this one—enabled any chance at up-keeping intrapersonal relationships. Or so the agency liked to call them.

The hero figured love-lacking was just as efficient.

For the second time this month they had been broken-up with because of their constant disappearances. Even when they tried to explain the situation, they just weren’t around enough.

They were always with Villain.

Villain this and Villain that, a new trap or a new mission always led them back to each other. And it was because of this that Hero couldn’t keep a relationship. It was because of this that they couldn’t love nor be loved.

A gentle tap on their forehead startled the hero out of their thoughts. Whipping around to see the partly dressed villain, water droplets pooling at the ends of their hair.

“I know it’s infuriating, but I don’t think you can kill a bed with your eyes, sweetheart~” Villain laughed, a chest laugh, an honest laugh, one bordering on intimate.

Hero’s eyes scanned over their nemesis once, twice, three times— Before the villain caught their attention once more, grasping the other’s chin with their fore fingers, tilting it up until their gazes met.

The smile that graced their lips only fuelled the hero’s boiling pit of anger even more. Did they think this was funny? Locked and stranded in a love hotel? Never being cared for or loved? Being dumped because of these stupidly constant rendezvous?

They huffed, pulling their face from the villain’s hold as they stood up and turned around. The image of the half-dressed and freshly showered criminal still imprinted in their mind.

“It’s because of you that I can’t have nice things.” It came out harsher then they had meant, but Hero kept reminding themselves that Villain was at fault for their losses. If anything, they deserved to be treated harshly.

Villain scoffed, voice cracking for a moment before they masked it with a cough. “Oh really?” Both hands landing on either side of the hero pressed against the counter, caging them between the tile and Villains body.

It took every molecule in the hero’s body not to turn around and clock the villain in the face. Maybe if they were lucky they’d dislocate their jaw.

The villain’s breath was on their ear now, hot and heavy as they teased and teased and teased. “Make me pay for it.”

They snapped.

Hero turned around, everything slowed down to a blur, unspilled emotions bubbled up inside them after such a long day. Heartbreak mixed with rage and suddenly both their hands were on the villain’s face and they kissed them. Lips against lips and they didn’t hesitate another second, catching the now flustered villain off guard enough to stumble them backwards into the wall.

All they could think about was Villain. How much they hated them for ruining their love life, how much they hated them for taking up their entire schedule. Hero was so sick of the villain’s flirting and innuendos.

Yet, they wanted nothing more then to have them right here and right now.

The crime-stopper pulled away, getting a good look at the villain’s red and blotchy face. Their wet hair falling over their eyes, swollen lips and heavy breaths, eager eyes practically begging for more. They were so fucking perfect. Hero was going to devour them tonight.

“Get on the bed.”

Villain only hesitated for a second as they tried to comprehend what was going on, but it was a second too long for the hero. They pulled the other back into a kiss, working furthermore in sync now that they were used to the rhythm, Hero dragged the villain backwards and onto the bed.

Flipping them so that the hero was on top, legs straddling the villain’s as their kiss grew rougher and passionate. Pulling away once more, Hero grinned when they had to pin the villain’s shoulders with their hands to keep them down.

In every encounter the two of them shared, Villain always flirted. They had this suave attitude that drove the hero mad and hardly even flinched in the face of danger. Even the Superhero found them charming.

But in this moment, Villain was theirs. Finally, they had broken through their hard shell to their blushing mess of an interior and it was a better rush of reward than any crime-stopping had ever provided.

Hero noticed the villain’s desperateness. How even now as they were pinned to the bed, they pushed their hips up against the hero’s in search of friction. How they groaned when the other pulled away and chased the hero’s taste on their lips. “You’re so needy…”

With an evil glint in their eyes, Hero leaned their head back down, mouth moving instead to Villains neck rather than their lips, gently rocking their hips against the villain’s momentum. “You just need it so badly, hm?”

They didn’t wait for the villain to answer, “can’t go so much as a week without my attention…” they bit down gently as they sucked a hickey under the villain’s collarbone and the other moaned as their hips shot up. Movements suddenly sporadic as they lost their momentum, animalistic almost as their hands reached to push the hero’s hips down even harder.

“All worked up over the slightest movements…” The hero watched in satisfaction as the villain’s body dripped with sweat instead of water. Losing any cleanliness it might have gained from being washed as Hero began to reach even lower with their trail of hickeys, making their way down painfully slowly.

Villain whined as the hero continued with their torture. Slowing their grinding to just a fraction, merely to tease the villain. They wanted to edge them. Wanted to make them beg and scream all night long before they got to finish. Wanted to keep the villain from the end until they were broken.

Releasing a hand from Villain’s shoulders as they reached it down, letting their fingers dip below the waistline of the criminal’s pants a few times before pulling them down. Not wasting anymore time as they altered their positioning, sitting lower—on the villain’s thighs—until they were sat comfortably enough to let their hand wander back to where the villain wanted it most.

Toying with them with featherlight touches. Torturing them with occasional rubs against their palm. It went from ghostly delicate to perfectly harsh and back again. Over and over and over as Hero’s mouth made it’s way lower and lower and lower.

“F-Fuck, Hero— please…”

They smiled, lips resting just above the villain’s sensitive skin. They could lean down a single centimetre and devour the other in a fury. They could make the villain see heaven for hours with just their tongue. Put them on cloud nine while they worked them until they were dry.

Very slowly, Hero leaned forwards, lips connecting with the villain’s abdomen once more. Fully aware they could make the villain’s night if they went just a touch lower. Before beginning their crusade of kissing their way back up. Because, where was the fun in that?

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hellfireghoul · 1 year

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i’d love it if you could write one where the reader is crucio’d by rookwood while fighting him with sebastian after she refuses to tell him where the ancient magic depositary is. it’s 100x worse than the scriptorium and rookwood is about to use it on her again when sebastian, blinded by rage, uses the killing curse on him. reader is still in severe pain and passes out. sebastian takes her to the hospital wing and won’t leave her side, he blames himself because he thinks it was so bad because it was her second time experiencing the curse. they comfort each other when she wakes up. bonus points if she also tells him rookwood was the one who cursed his sister so he knows he avenged them both

Hi anon!

Ahhhh my first ever fic request, and I am more than happy to oblige. This is SUCH a good headcannon idea and let's face it, what should've happened in the game.

Thank you for sending in your request, I hope you love it and it was along the lines of what you were thinking.

Don't be shy if you want to request something, I'm happy to write away.

Always Safe With You

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

Anon request summary: Can you write a fic where the reader is getting tortured by the Cruciatus Curse by Rookwood, and Sebastian snaps and puts an end to it.

Warnings: Spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy. Other than that, some mild violence and swearing. Mostly just Seb fluff.

Words: 2.8k

“Foolish girl.” Rookwood’s snarling voice thundered through the air, his mouth curling in a devilish grin as he threw yet another curse your way.

You and Sebastian were surrounded, dark wizards at your every turn at the hand of Victor Rookwood. You’d just failed to tell him where the ancient magic depositary was, and as a result of him disliking your cocky answer, he’d flung you across the castle ruins like nothing more than a ragdoll. Wincing, you clutched at your side feeling a sharp pain splinter across your rib, as you attempted to regain your stance and fight again once more.

“Y/N!” Sebastian yelled, blocking a blast of scarlet light with Protego. You couldn’t answer him, but your gaze met his briefly in a silent ‘I’m okay.’

Stumbling to your feet, your wand clutched firmly in your right hand with a grip that turned your knuckles white, you faced Rookwood head on. The devilish smile still hadn’t faded from his expression, yet you kept your own calm as you strode back over towards him, screaming ‘Bombarda!”. A jet of opal light burst from the tip of your wand and lunged at Rookwood, but he dodged the spell with such ease it incensed you.

“I won’t ask you again child, tell me where the repository is.” He snarled, his voice raised to be heard above the sounds of battle rattling around you. You opened your mouth to speak again, not to respond but to hurl another jinx his way, when all of a sudden, you felt your feet rise off the ground. A tight, unbearable pressure clasped around your throat, the air leaving your lungs almost as if they’d been punctured.

Rookwood grinned menacingly, raising his wand higher to further lift you in the air, controlling you as if you were some puppet. You desperately tried to wriggle, to be set free from these awful constraints but the more you tried to move, the tighter the grasp seemed to become on your throat. It felt as if you were being consumed in a pit of invisible Devil’s Snare.

“Tell me!” Rookwood shrieked, your face turning almost blue from lack of oxygen when you felt that immense pressure ease off, only a tiny bit, allowing you to breathe. You gasped for air urgently, coughing and spluttering but your arms were still snapped to your sides in a rigid, magical bind.

“Go… fuck yourself.” You breathed, recovering from your coughing fit but still panting. Rookwood's weary expression turned into nothing short of blind rage, he growled as he relinquished the magical binds with a violent flick of his wand, slamming your body to the ground and knocking out every ounce of strength you had left in you. Sebastian was screaming out for you, you could hear him somewhere amongst the carnage. You couldn’t call back out to him.

“You’ve had your chance, I always said children should be seen and not heard.” Rookwood muttered, twirling his wand between his thumbs casually before pointing it at you and yelling, “Crucio!”

A spark like electricity surged out of Rookwood’s wand, hitting you dead on and then all you knew was that pain. Deep, agonising, pain. As if every single nerve ending in your body was being set on fire twice over. Your vision evaded you, you saw only white as your screams rendered your throat hoarse. Excruciating sharp pains attacked your every living cell, everywhere from your toes to your fingertips had you screaming out in agony.

“No!” A faint voice yelled from the distance, but the outside world seemed blurry, irrelevant at this moment in time. Nothing existed past the deep surge of pain. You’d experienced the Cruciatus curse before, and it was very unfortunately inflicted upon you by someone you loved deeply. This however, was different. The pain was similar, but it wasn’t in the same region. It was as if you could feel the hatred being bestowed upon you, feel every single hateful ounce in Rookwood’s body was being poured into your very soul as you writhed on the ground being endlessly tortured. You thought it would never stop, your mouth screamed words you didn’t even recognise. Pleas for it stop perhaps? Or were you calling out for someone? You had no idea. Until… it did. It stopped. Just like that, all the pain, the agony, gone. As if it was as simple as pushing a button. Your vision faded back into focus, and you blinked rapidly through spilled tears you weren’t even aware of, as your eyes fixed on your attacker.

“Shall we try that again?” Rookwood barked, pacing in front of your limp body. You lay rigid on the ground, your body still in complete shock rendering you weak and useless. Clutching your side, you simply laughed humourlessly at Rookwood’s words, his rage at your silence the only positive you were taking from this situation.

“Go… fuck… yours-” You breathed once again, but you were cut short as the man cast the Cruciatus curse on you once again. Your body bent and folded backwards in a rigid contortion, your eyes screwed shut as the pain engulfed you once more. The screams that left your mouth were enough to send chills down any decent wizard’s spine. The noises were utterly torturous to Sebastian’s ears. He desperately wanted to get to you. Needed to get to you. He cast a huge blast that sent two enemies soaring off their feet, and didn’t waste a second of his breathing space to scramble over to you. Sebastian yelled your name in horror, pleading you’d hear him as if somehow that would make it all go away. Make it all stop. And then he heard it, your blood-curdling screams of his name, as you called out to him in complete agony, desperate for help.

His eyes fixed on your quivering and writhing frame, and for a moment, he was rooted to the spot. All he could do was stand there and watch helplessly, as unwelcome memories flooded into his mind like an assault. He’d done this to you once. Caused that exact pain, that exact suffering he was seeing in front of him now.. He didn’t know why it had only sunk in now, after all, he’d seen what he’d done to you before. Or at least, he thought he had. This seemed like a whole new experience, witnessing the attack as an on-looker made it appear all the more brutal. This is what he’d done to you. The thought was almost unbearable to think about, and panic rose up his throat and throughout his body in a wave of heat leaving him shaking and desperate.

Sebastian's glare suddenly flitted to Rookwood, who’s wand was pointed firmly at you, his face contorted in one of rage and concentration. Your agonising screams thundered in Sebastian’s ears, and it all happened very quickly after that. He raised his wand without a second thought, pointed it at Rookwood and yelled “Avada Kedavra!”.

A burst of green sparks lunged towards Rookwood from Sebastian's wand, flying across the castle ruins like a bolt and engulfing the target. Another flash of green, and in a split second, Rookwood’s lifeless body slumped to the ground with a hard thud. But it had stopped. Your screams had stopped. The pain had stopped. He’d done it.

An outpouring of rage and yelling emerged from the remaining enemies, and Sebastian was quickly snapped out of his initial shock by having to defend himself from the flurry of oncoming attacks. Curse after curse was being flung his way, and he dodged them all with deceptive ease and he tried to make his way towards you lying motionless on the ground. As he did, a particularly tall dark wizard set his eyes on you. You were still writhing on the floor, unable to open your eyes fully as your body was too winded from enduring a second violent attack. In a split second, Sebastian followed the wizards gaze as he rose his wand and began to recite the killing curse at you. Not at you. Never you. Sebastian didn’t hesitate, his knee-jerk reaction was to cast ‘Imperio!’, rendering the dark wizard completely under his control. The enemy stopped dead in his tracks, a bright green glow emanating from his lifeless eyes.

“Kill them all.”

Sebastian’s echoing, whispery voice floated in the wizards head, a soft but tantalizing command, one he was unable to resist. The enemy immediately followed orders, and spun around on his heel casting the killing curse at everything that moved. Sebastian was at your side in an instant, cradling your head from the ground and helping you to your feet.

You awoke the next day to the faint smell of pumpkin juice and something you couldn’t quite place, all you knew is that it was foul. Your face grimaced as the smell grew stronger.

“Oh, well what do you expect?” The shrill voice of Madame Blainey cut through the morning peace.

You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to your surroundings as you wrinkled your nose trying to rid your nostrils of the putrid odour.

“You do make a fuss, it’s horklump and bubotuber ointment, will heal that nasty cut on your arm there.” Madame Blainey informed. Glancing down, you saw one arm was in a loose, fabric sling, and the other was being treated in the hands of the matron, her dabbing some of the foul smelling ointment onto a particularly large and deep wound, which was seemingly disappearing as she applied the medicine.

“There, you see. Miracle worker this stuff. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Madame Blainey strode around your hospital bed and disappeared behind the white curtain, revealing a solemn faced, chestnut haired boy sitting to the left of you.

“Sebastian!” You breathed in complete relief, happy to see a familiar face. “How long was I asleep?”

“A good twelve hours.” Sebastian croaked, his eyes curved in a way that made his entire face look desperately sad. Merlin, what you wouldn’t give to just reach out and give him a huge hug.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked, a response to his concerning expression. No way was he letting you get away with that. You’d just been brutally tortured and near enough almost killed right in front of him, and you were asking him how he felt?

“You don’t need to concern yourself about me, Y/N. Not one bit. How are you?”

You sighed, and nodded saying that you were okay and feeling better, your eyes searching his face for more clues on what was going on in the boy’s head. It was almost as if he sensed you were trying to read his thoughts, and he couldn’t keep himself together any longer.

Sebastian crumpled in front of you. The cracks in the persona he had been putting up for so long now was finally giving way, the wall coming tumbling down around you both. A stream of tears coated his cheeks, and he shoved his face in his hands as his shoulders heaved up and down from his gentle cries.

“Sebastian?! What’s wrong? What on earth’s the matter?” You asked, propping yourself up in bed on your elbows. You winced as you did so, suddenly very aware that you had ribs and oh yes, they were hurting.

The boy didn’t respond, still wallowing in his own sobs and this prompted you to reach a hand out towards him in an act of comfort. As soon as you made contact, he lifted his head from his hands and pushed you away gently.

“No, you need to be resting don’t be leaning like that, please.” He eyes were red and swollen, soaked from tears. You had never seen Sebastian cry before now, and it hurt your heart.

“Sebastian, talk to me. It’s all okay now. I’m fine, Rookwood is gone. You… you did the right thing.”

“It’s not that,” Sebastian said after a moment, his sobs coming to a stop which only left the occasional sniff and wipe of his eye with the back of his hand. You allowed the silence that followed for a moment, anticipating him to say more.

“It’s… well Merlin. It was unbearable. Hearing you like that, Y/N. Your screams they were just…” Sebastian trailed off, swallowing thickly before continuing almost through gritted teeth. You reached out your hand and ordered him to take it, he did so and you gave his palm a tight squeeze.

“And I just thought, I did that to you.”

“What? Sebastian I’m not-” You gasped.

“No, I did that to you, Y/N. I’ve used that spell on you before. I’ve inflicted that level of… pain on you before. I couldn’t bare it. Something came over me, I just snapped. I know it was wrong, but he - Rookwood - had to be stopped.” Sebastian hissed Victor Rookwood’s name through clenched teeth, seeming that it took him a lot of physical effort to utter such a vile excuse for a wizard’s name out loud. A silence fell over the two of you for a moment, and all you could do was stare at Sebastian as you processed his words.

“I don’t blame you Sebastian, for any of it.” You broke the silence first, in a whisper, still gripping onto the boy’s freckled hand.

“You should, Y/N.” Sebastian uttered through a shaky exhale. “I’m not… good. I’m not a good person. You deserve so much better, and in all honesty I’m…” He paused and averted his gaze from yours, fixing his stare at the floor as he tried to fight back a sob again.

“I’m… scared. Scared of what’s happening to me. Scared of what I might do to you.”

Horror engulfed your expression as you stared at your best friend. Your best friend since your first day in this castle you now called home. Your best friend, who when you brushed hands with your breath hitched in your throat and you swore the room got a few degrees warmer. Your best friend, who you loved as more than a best friend. He was your everything. You shuffled forward, and swung your legs out of bed so you were now sitting facing him, ignoring his protests as you did so. You cupped his face in your hands.

“Sebastian look at me,” You waited until he made eye contact with you, his deep brown eyes on yours. “I don’t believe for one second, you could ever hurt me.”

He began to mutter small protests, and you shut him up in an instant.

“No, listen. I feel the safest, when I’m with you. If you hadn’t have done what you did, I don’t know if I’d be laying in this hospital bed right now, here with you.” You spoke truthfully. You didn’t. If Rookwood had’ve been allowed to carry on, Merlin knows how far he would’ve taken it. Images flash across your mind of his rageful expression, his eyes filled purely with hate. It was then it hit you, hit you so hard it caused you to lean back on your bed and release your hold on Sebastian. You gazed off to the side for a second, your mind racing and a string of words echoing around your head like a prayer.

“Children should be seen, not heard.”

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as the realisation dawned on you.

“What? What is it?” Sebastian was giving you a puzzled look.

“Sebastian… I think I know who cursed Anne.” You breathed, meeting his eye once more, his face filled with even further confusion.

“I’m not following.”

You explained what Rookwood had said to you just before the initial Crucio blast, Sebastian’s mouth fell slightly agape.

“You mean to say, it was Rookwood that cursed my sister all those months ago?”

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a hard line but your eyes filled with sympathy as you watched your best friend piece together the puzzle. There was a lingering pause between the two of you, until Sebastian spoke.

“That means… that means I avenged you both.”

“It does indeed.” You agreed, quietly. Sebastian took a deep inhale, seemingly still deep in thought as he slumped back on his chair, his eyes still puffy and red from sobbing mere moments ago.

“It doesn’t make me feel much better but…”

“It makes you feel a little better?” You finished his sentence, with a warm, slight smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah, a little better.” Sebastian nodded, matching your smile as a wave of relief washed over him. He reached forward and grabbed your hand so your fingers were interlocking once again, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Merlin, I am never letting you out of my sight again.”

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #fan fic #anon request #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow imagine #hogwarts legacy headcannons

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keirawantstocry · 3 months

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It’s me again. I’m crawling out of the depths of hell to request poly morning crew angst (if you want) to cure my eternal writers block and because I love your writing and also feel pain

- Fitpacbo

oh beloved fitpacbo welcome back from the pits of hell <3

I take angst very Seriously so buckle up babe

“Nooooooo,” Pac howled. “No, no, no, I. It can't be.” Tears blurred his vision to the point he could only see colors as he fell to his knees. In front of him was his daughter. Dead. “Sunny, hey, no, you're fine.”

From beside him Tubbo whipped out two swords. “Who fucking did this?? I'm going to fucking kill then. Nobody,”-he choked on a sob- “can touch my fucking daughter.”

Pac gathered up Sunny's body in his arms, rocking her back and forth as Fit took Tubbo by the arms. “It's okay. It's okay. She'll be up soon. She has two lives.”

“Not any more!” Tubbo screamed back. “She has one! One fucking life!”

Pac let the tears roll as he rocked Sunny back and forth. Finally à violent gasp clawed it's way out of her throat.

Tubbo and Fit both dropped their weapons and fell to their knees next to Pac.

“Poppet. Sunny. Darling. I'm right here.”

Pac eased his arms against Tubbo's to let Sunny rest between the two of them. Their eyes fluttered as she let out a few weak coughs.

“Pai?” she signed, before sitting up, grabbing Tubbo's shirt and burying their face against his neck.

“You're safe now,” Fit said, the only one of them who wasn't crying, as he reached out and stroked Sunny's back.

Pac couldn't stop the onslaught of tears that continued down his face. “Oh, amorzinho, it's okay, we've got you.”

“I'm going to fucking kill them,” Tubbo repeated again and again. “My baby, my beautiful daughter.”

She sobbed into his shoulder while their little body shook.

“We're going to kill them,” Fit corrected and Pac saw the rage simmering under the surface, both in his eyes and his body. “Nobody fucking hurts our daughter and gets away with it.”

#qsmp #my writing #fanfiction #poly morning crew #sunny qsmp #q!tubbo #q!fit #q!pac #THATS THEIR DAUGHTER AHHHHHH

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mysterious-trail-of-goop · 4 months

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I LOVVEEE Jason todd and Peter Parker fics because their stories are almost exact parallels except for the fact that Peter had a support system and Jason didn't.

They both grew up dirt poor and surrounded by tragedy. But Peter always had uncle ben and aunt may to keep him optimistic and happy. Jason had an extremely abusive father and a mother who had drug problems and that home environment made him cynical and untrusting.

They both experienced the loss of a parental figure (Uncle Ben and Catherine Todd) and became heroes shortly after.

They both got superhero mentors (Tony and Bruce). Except Tony (and u can fight me on this) was horribly manipulative, threatening Peter with releasing his identity (effectively threatening his family and friends), forcing A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD to fight CAPTAIN AMERICA, WHO DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS A CHILD AND WASN'T HOLDING BACK. Jason got Brucie boy who despite being emotionally constipated did LOVE Jason as a son.

Both their mentors/father figures took away their ability to help people over a well intentioned mistake. This taught their mentees (whether on purpose or not) that they were only accepted when they are useful and that their love is conditional. This is NOT what bruce intended but he is too traumatised a up his own ass to verbally affirm his love for Jason, and because he never TOLD jason that he was his son, or that he loved him, Jason never knew.

After their ability to superhero was taken away both of them rebelled in an attempt to find love (Peter trying to prove he IS worthy and win Tony's love and Jason tried to get affection from Sheila Haywood because he believed so deeply that Bruce's love was impossible to attain)

In both cases they ended up with a warehouse on top of them.

Peter had slowly been realising over the course of Homecoming that Tony DIDN'T love him, and that tony WASN'T coming to save him from the building. So peter knew he had to get himself out of that situation and he only had this revelation because he had an example of what real love looks like (MJ, Ned, May etc). When jason was in that warehouse in Ethiopia he took Sheila's betrayal as proof that he was undeserving of love and therfore, he thought no one was coming to save him AND ACCEPTED THAT. Particularly heartbreaking because Batman WAS coming to save him, but didn't arrive in time.

Peter (in my au at least) heals from Tony and Vulture with his family, friends and other heroes (cough daredevil cough). But Jason never got that chance, after he was resurrected he found out abt tim and abt the Joker surviving and took it as FURTHER confirmation that Bruce never loved him.

Jason returns to Gotham and eventually comes to a sort of truce with batman but he feels like he can never truly be a part of the family again because of what he's been through. Batman believes so deeply in second chances, but thats the issue. Bruce EXPECTS jason to change, change his methods and his morality. Even though nothing about who jason is was his choice, he literally couldn't change if he wanted to.

Peter (despite having a no kill rule) doesnt expect this from him. Sure he will actively sabotage kill shots or stand in the way, but he won't ask him to change (experience with deadpool and punisher).

This results in Jason changing his methods OF HIS OWN FREE WILL, because he sees how much the killing upsets Spider-Man, and how he has never asked him to stop.

Jason would be fiercely protective of Peter, because symbolically, it is jason seeing and accepting that he is NOT peter and he shouldn't be. But also how easy it would have been for Peter to end up like him.

Ultimatley Peter is able to give Jason the one thing he needs, a support system. And Jason can give Peter what he needs in Gotham, someone to look after him, feed him, clothe him, help him through the Pit rage.

Basically this duo is super important to me and you can pry them from my cold dead hands.

#jason todd and peter parker #i love them sm #THE PARALLELSSS #Ahhh #green through and through #menaces #my faves #fanart but im the creator #is it rlly fanart?#who knows #fanfic kinda #peter parker and the batfam #dark matter by mystercyclone #a shining spiderweb by selador

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theknightmarket · 1 month

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"We've made it this far."

In which the Engineer and the captain are released from the effects of the wormhole, as they've always wanted. TW: cursing, angst, slight reference to gore Pages: 26 - Words: 9,500

[Requests: OPEN]

“Please, just hold on.”

After dying so many times, it was weird to be on the edge of it. You’d tossed yourself off the cliff enough to memorize the feeling of falling, of becoming weightless and letting everything go – like a kind of acceptance, even if you were going not of your own volition. It had always been okay, though, because you’d come back seconds later, spat back up from a raging ocean with salt and spray into the arms of that cryo-pod.

“I can get you out of here, don’t worry, I can do it.”

But this time, you were looking down, your feet on the ground and the water seeming so far away. You had to make the choice now, of staying on that crumbling cliff, battled by the wind, and forced to stare straight at the fate you were faced with, or letting your feet shift and lose traction.

“Come on, please, I know you can do it.”

In theory, it was an easy decision, but you didn’t want to have to work for it anymore. You had done the hard part, the surviving at the peak, and now, you knew that this would be the last time. It wasn’t as though you could take a step back; you would always be watching the tips of the waves snap at you. You didn’t want to watch anymore.

You croaked out a simple, “Mark…”

Your faithful engineer, kneeled at your side, likely for the last time. He wasn’t going to fall. He couldn’t.

“No, no, please, don’t do that, just a little longer,” his pleads reached your ears well, but you forced yourself to ignore them, “our medics will be here, just wait.”

“Mark, I can’t.”

“No, you can, you have to!” Guilt tapped at the edge of your mind, you didn’t let it in, and it stayed right where it was. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. You were. You really were.

“Come on, the- the colony haven’t said goodbye, the crew…” His thought went unfinished, but you understood him. You always did, even when he didn’t understand himself. You were half sure he didn’t know what he was saying, the panic and dread overwhelming him in a fight for majority.

You assured him, “They’ll be fine.”

“Not without you.”

“Mark, look,” a cough wracked your upper body like an earthquake, “look at it all, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

You were so damn proud of him, of the whole ship, of everything. You never told him directly, so you could only hope he knew. It would make this whole thing easier if he knew that you were proud of him, that you trusted him. He’d be easier on himself.

“Not far enough! We still have more to do, we- we can’t do it without you. You’re our captain.” A distant memory from just a few days before floated to the forefront of your mind. It was hazy, corrupted by the pain, but it was there. “You’re my captain.”

A deep breath in, as far as the pressure would allow you, before you whispered, “You built the ship, you hired the crew, you fixed the warp-core.”

And suddenly you wished that you hadn’t been able to take that breath – that you had stayed silent and let the moment envelop you. The spark of realisation that you cherished in Mark’s eyes dug a pit in your stomach.

“No,” was all you could say with what little energy you had left.

“But—”

“Uh-uh. Not this time.”

You couldn’t, he couldn’t, neither of you would be able to handle another round of what you went through together. That quality of stubbornness you both possessed would surely fail you, abandoning you to the madness of eternity, worse if you failed.

“Why not!? I know how to do it, and we know how to fix it.”

“We got off on chance, you’re not trying that again, Mark, I can’t—”

Shit. That little energy was becoming smaller and smaller, but neither did you have it in you to let Mark create another wormhole. You couldn’t live with yourself if he gave you a second chance.

“I’m not losing you,” you muttered, “and, yeah, I know how ironic that is.”

You wanted to laugh, but all that burning the candle at both ends was catching up to you. The numbness that had crept up on your legs hours ago was lurching onto your torso. It wouldn’t be long before it was biting through your arms and neck, and you wouldn’t be aware of it when it reached your temple.

“So, hey, just… just give me this. Please?”

The look in his eyes washed away. Leaving Mark like this was not your plan, but when had the universe ever listened to you? You could be thankful that you hadn’t gone insane in a place lightyears from your home, that Mark was not leaving you. You admitted that it was a selfish thought, but you didn’t think you could keep going if you lost him. You’d fought hard, but now you were done fighting. You knew he could do it for you.

And so did he. It was a cold admittance that he wouldn’t be the one to save you, this time. It felt all too much like giving up on the person who had sacrificed themself time and time again for him. Although it left a poor taste in his mouth – bitter, unwelcome, downright painful – you had proven to be steadfast in your decisions. There was going to be no convincing you.

“I love you.” If Mark was given a do-over, no strings attached, that would not be the first time he was saying it to you, aloud, just the two of you, and it wouldn’t be the last.

And maybe he would have gotten to hear it from you just once.

Your final breath cascaded against his knees, a waterfall that seemed eons from growing dry but dripped slowly into the grave it dug for itself. There was no sound, no last rites read, except for the heartbroken sob that broke free from Mark’s chest, echoing around the cavern walls.

Seeing the sun after so long in space was strange. Of course, you could look out of one of the many windows that Mark had installed and see a sun, but to stand in the rays of light from the sun of this galaxy? It made you want to brush off your duties, it made you want to throw your jacket off and run into the forest, it…

It made you miss Earth.

After exploring space for so long, you were always surprised that, wherever you landed, you felt homesick in the bottom of your stomach. The feeling slept when you were in transit and reared its head when you started to set up a colony, but it never truly disappeared after that. Hell, not even the visits back to your birth planet fixed the issue. The best thing you came up with was bringing little pieces along for the ride.

But you didn’t have the time to reminisce. Just as you’d mentioned earlier, you had a colony to establish, and it was well on its way already. A dozen sectors sketched out, concrete paths linking each one to the other. There were still a majority of people left in their cryo-chambers, those that weren’t necessary for building or planning, who were being looked after by Celci. Gunther was on observation for threats – a duty he often groaned about – and Bert was waxing poetic while the rudimentary power generators were being built. So far, everything was looking good. As in, nothing was going to blow up immediately and force you back on that ship.

No, instead, there you were. Standing in front of your growing colony, the sun glinting off the metal of the parked ship, your feet on the ground of a healthy, new planet. How could you not let a prideful smile work its way onto your face underneath the helmet you had yet to take off? You had made it, and, if you squinted, you could practically see the bustling city this place would become. Stores on one end of the street, restaurants on the other, further down would be a sector of houses with a public park and a fountain. Young families would walk to their parents’ house, the group of teenagers would have no problem just talking to each other during dark nights, old lovers would duck from the rain into shaded alleyways to share one last kiss before heading home for a warm bath.

You caught the eye of your head engineer leaning against the head of the ship.

And not that you knew it, you had also caught his eye, only that was a gross underestimation. Mark had been with you every step of the way on the ship, he’d seen what you could do, what you had done to save the crew and colonists. You’d long ago seized his admiration, and, soon after that, his affection, leading to where he stood in that moment; watching you as you ordered everything that needed to be done to be done, waiting for his own set of instructions that he would carry out perfectly.

Until you made eye contact with him, smiled, and then began to walk away. Mark’s feet were moving before he could process what was happening, and if he started to jog after a few steps, that was between him and the ship wall that he pushed off from. He slid to a stop when he was close enough to you, an unsure half-grin on his face.

“Hey, Captain,” he said as he fell into step beside you.

“Is everything alright, Mark?” was the only reply he got, though that was likely because of his expression more than any doubt you held.

To ease your concern, he tried not to make it too obvious that he was nervous.

“Yeah!” The barely hidden voice crack did not help, but he continued anyway, “Yeah, it is, I mean- is there anything you want me to do?”

Requesting work was difficult for him. Not because he naturally took things easy, but because he had been on his feet for the last he-didn’t-know-how-long. Hours, days, he hoped not weeks. It didn’t feel right to not do anything.

“Why don’t you take the day off?”

Panic struck him like a physical force. He didn’t remember doing anything wrong, you could have still been angry about the whole incident, but he thought everything had been cleared up on the ship’s bridge. Had you already given him a job and he hadn’t been paying attention? Well, could you blame him if he wasn’t?

It was in this train of thought that he realized you were waiting for a response. So, you weren’t mad. That was good.

“Is now the best time?” he asked, “It’s your decision, of course, I just think—”

You stopped short of the next sector, some grid for farming, “Look, you’ve been to hell and back—” and hell and back and hell and back and hell and back, as you were both well aware, “—I think you deserve some time to yourself.”

‘Time to yourself’. He didn’t want time to himself, he wanted… well, he wanted a lot of things and, to put it bluntly, he wanted some time with you, but you weren’t about to take a rest anytime soon, so neither was he.

“And while I appreciate the offer, Captain, there’s a lot to be done that I think is more important than having a break.”

You watched his face for a second, looked up and down as he started to sweat underneath the layers of his uniform. “Repeat that for me.”

“And while I appreciate the offer, Cap...”

His trailing off made clear the realization he came to. You sent him a knowing look, as he groaned like a kid told he couldn’t have another cookie. Of course, it made you smile, too. His dramatics were the highlight of your day when it wasn’t his stubbornness and jokes.

Today, he was vastly leaning into the former. “Only five minutes!” he demanded, scrolling through his arm-piece to set a timer.

“Ten.”

He scrolled slightly further. “Seven.”

“Fifteen.”

And slightly further. “Twelve.”

Your bout of laughter echoed through the trees around you. “You aren’t getting this, are you?” Mark’s arm was tugged away from him as you swiped through the timer yourself. He might have argued about it more if he weren’t so preoccupied with being close enough to kiss you right now if he had the gall to lean that slight bit towards you.

And, you were his captain, obviously, who was he to challenge your authority?

“Take the day off, Mark, and that’s an order from your captain.” You left him with a pat to his shoulder, luckily not noticing the vibrant blush spreading on his face that was too strong to blame the sun for.

He muttered to himself when you were a few steps away, “Pulling rank isn’t fair.” And he was certain that it wasn’t. It was a trump card, some ex-machina that you had no right to use on him.

But he had his own little trick up his sleeve, or, rather, on his belt. You insisted on using some of the old-world commodities, even by Earth standards. The communicator on his hip with the antennae and grating would be his ace in the whole for your dumb day off punishment—

“And no using your walkie!”

“Damn it.”

You were tired. Really tired. You’d slept a day and a half after the whole wormhole incident, and yet here you were, looking at every slightly level surface with literal bedroom eyes. You constantly had to remind yourself to pay attention, but that just made you think about paying attention and not listen to the person you were talking to – who, in this case, was Celci. As such, you were half sure it was important to the whole colony, relying on her reputation, mostly, because again, you weren’t paying attention, and you were actually imagining lying down on that rock you’d seen half an hour ago with the moss and grooves.

You weren’t listening, again.

“Or I could send you the report for you to look over later?”

When you snapped back to reality, you were none the wiser as to what that report was about, but it gave you time to figure it out. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great, Celci, thanks.”

She gave you one look and then asked, “Captain, is everything alright?”

The half grin took most of your energy, so you promptly dropped it when you remembered that she couldn’t see your face. “Am I that obvious?”

“If you need a break, I can go and check the excavation site and one of the techs can do the propane levels. I’m sure I could get Mark—”

You immediately rushed to cut her off, “No, no, I’m fine. I appreciate the thought but I-I’m fine, really.” Jostling your body and comically widening your eyes, you made yourself as presentable as you could with a quarter of your fuel in the tank. You dusted off your suit and cleared the screen of your helmet, extremely thankful for the metal that made it a one-way mirror. “See?”

Celci hummed at you. Not a good sign. She was arguably the most responsible on the ship, and if she thought you were putting yourself through the ringer, she would do everything in her power to get you to relax. The only problem she faced was ranking, and it was the only thing protecting you from being forced into a nap. You had to get away before she could figure out how to circumvent your title.

“C’mon, Celci, don’t you think I know my limits?”

Disapproving silence. Even starting to walk away from her, you knew how little she believed you.

“We only have to get through another three hours of work, and then everyone’ll be able to finish up; myself included.”

“Well, Captain…” And there was the crack you needed. Hesitation.

“Besides, if we get the thermos running, we’ll be able to house some of the colonists and you can focus your efforts on the desert habitation.” That was her little pet project. When you’d scanned the surface, you found two nearby biomes that would barely receive any rain but stayed in the negative fifties for your entire surveillance period. It was backhanded to bait her with the idea, you knew that, but if it got you out of a glorified grounding, you were willing to do it.

Especially since it seemed to work, if Celci’s sigh and hands on her hips were anything to go by.

“Alright, Captain, as long as you finish as soon as the day ends.”

You exchanged a nod with varying degrees of satisfaction with that encounter, before going your separate ways. In fact, you did get a little jolt of energy out of it, as you waltzed along the concrete path. Any thoughts of taking a break were washed out of your mind by the torrent of work you still had left to do; all the sites to check out, all the staff to organize, all the paperwork to send back to the headquarters. The latter was always the worst part, but it was the price you paid for independence on the planet. Free reign was only yours if you played by your boss’ rules.

“Captain!”

Speaking of boss’ rules, as if on cue, Mark jogged to your side from wherever he was before, falling into step quickly next to you. You wouldn’t deny that seeing him gave you another boost of energy, which you immediately used to pat him on the back.

“How’s your break going?”

“I’d rather be doing actual work, but it’s fine. I appreciate it.”

“Good.”

And it was. You were glad he was taking it slow today. He was important to you, and the colony, and you didn’t need your head engineer passing out in the middle of an important task. Or passing out in general. Or doing anything else bad for his health that you could readily prevent.

He appeared alright, for now, although that wasn’t going to get him back on a job just yet. “Actually, I was wondering if—” he started to say, but a crew member cut him off with the crunch of their boots as they rushed towards you from out the surrounding woods.

Their report was normal enough, a few more pieces of information about the excavation site. They’d found another source of aluminum in the caves, which you noted down in case your supplies ran low. Mark waited at your side while you spoke to the person, half-way between listening and grumbling to himself. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly as you dismissed the crew member.

“Sorry, go on,” you said. The pair of you continued to walk, heading nowhere in particular aside from in the vague direction of the housing project.

He did as you prompted, getting out, “Well, I wanted to know—” before someone else called for your attention. Given you were nearing the first constructions of houses, it made sense that a builder caught up to you – despite that, you noticed Mark’s pout as he averted his eyes from the conversation you’d been drawn into. Just a material substitution you needed to sign off on, it was nothing to get worried about, but it was obvious that wasn’t what he was annoyed by.

You gestured with a grin for Mark to continue. Mouth only somewhat open, he paused and looked around, then rounded to your other side to cut you off from the majority of the workers. It was a futile effort, given that you were fast approaching the mass of houses, but it amused you either way. A combination of that drama and humor you were so fond of.

“I think, considering what we went through—” There was barely a crack of a twig in your ten-foot radius when Mark grabbed you by the hand and ran off the path. He didn’t know where he was going, and you definitely didn’t, but you were going regardless. His boots carved a line from the housing district all the way back to the ship. Hardly anyone was there anymore, only a few cryo-techs were loitering around to survey the colonists, so it was his best bet to get you alone, however creepy that made him sound.

You weren’t given time to question him when you eventually skidded to a stop in a quiet area behind the ship itself. Mark was talking even before you caught your breath.

“I think that you should take some time off too because you went through the same things that I did, and, yes, I know you’re the captain, but having some time to recover from it all would be just as good as me taking some time, even better, because you made all the decisions back there, so you should just relax and I have some suggestions for how you can do that.”

By the end of his little speech, neither of you were breathing at a steady rate. You both sucked in as much air as you could handle and then let it go again, minds catching up with the situation. For you, it was processing his words and what he wanted from you – for Mark, it was realizing just what he’d spouted and how utterly unconvincing he was.

It was another challenge to understand that you accepted. “I’m listening,” you said, simply, as if you couldn’t say anything else.

Mark spluttered, not thinking he’d get so far but being so far that he had to continue.

“I say we should take some food packs from storage, find an empty room, and have a proper lunch. We won’t talk about work or duties to be done, or anything else, and we’ll lock the door so nobody will interrupt us.” That last bit came from the depths of his soul, Mark grimacing as he spoke. “The colony will be there when we get back. And, if you think about it, getting some rest will help you make better decisions in the long run.”

“Okay.”

Okay. You’d said okay. You’d okayed it. You were going with his plan. Pride overwhelmed him against his mind’s efforts to keep up with his heart and stomach’s backflips. His body froze in response, giving you the concerning impression that you’d broken him with a single word. Lucky for you, he rebooted himself in a few seconds, though he was still unable to curb his enthusiasm.

“Yes. Yes! Alright, let’s go.”

Mark went to reach for your hand but quickly noticed that he was still holding it from when he’d dragged you with him. Instead, sheepishly, he smiled at you and started to walk towards the ship’s entrance, you chuckling to yourself in tow.

If you were going to take a break, you might as well be taking it with your favorite person. What did you have to lose?

“I’m hoping for cool fish.”

“Nope.”

Within half an hour, the both of you were settled on beanbags, eating soup out of Styrofoam bowls, and drinking the champagne you had left over from the salute at the start of the trip. To you, it was the height of luxury, especially now that you were out of your stuffy uniforms and into more casual clothes. The only ones you owned were your workout gear and nightwear, but you opted for the less sweaty version of a tank top and shorts. You didn’t think it was so bad, but Mark had spent the first ten minutes of the lunch break looking anywhere but you. It didn’t help when you went to get your helmet and jacket because he immediately jumped to push you back down into your seat. Not that you – or, though you were unaware, Mark – was complaining.

Still, you kept the outer layers of your uniform close by in case of an emergency, the chances of you being notified as minimal as they were with both your walkie-talkies having been switched off. It was you who pushed for them to be present, but the compromise made them pretty much useless.

Yet not even the potential of a natural disaster pulled you out of the relaxed state you had entered. Slipped down halfway into the beanbag, spread out as far as you could get, you felt calmer than you’d ever been before. Mark would say the same, had he not been seeing your face for the first time.

By the sun, moon, and stars, you were… downright gorgeous. He never liked relying on rumors, so he had taken the stories of you being handsome and/or beautiful to be one weird game of telephone. Now, though? He was regretting not asking to see your face sooner, but you were still in front of him, and he was going to relish the view for as long as he could, emergency be damned.

“First chance I get, I’m throwing you in an ocean,” you promised, taking a sip from your champagne flute.

“I’m taking you with me.”

“I want to see it. Maybe we’ll find a fifty-foot-long eel with three sets of teeth and mandibles on its face.”

“You’ll find some cool rocks and suffocate before you could even see the thing.”

Dammit. Just like that, with one sentence, Mark smothered the banter you had going. His jaw clenched, your shoulders heightened, the mood was thrown out the window – poor choice of words, again. He had meant it to be playful, but certain recent events tainted the very concept of losing oxygen, of holding your breath for longer than a minute. Gallows humor had yet to set in, and, based on the glazed-over look in your eyes, he couldn’t help but think it never would.

But you were the one to break the silence. “So, what now?” you asked as you placed the flute gently on the floor, glass clinking even as it stood straight.

“Cap,” was the only mumbled answer you received, though it didn’t deter you.

“I know, it’s just…” you sighed, “we can’t not talk about it?”

“Why not?”

Your gaze shot to meet Mark’s eyes, ready and raring to argue, to question how he can deny it. The flame died the second you saw the look. The watery film that threatened tears dumped dirt over your fury. It made sense that he would want to leave it behind. You had the colony to think of now, instead of the death after death after death you’d both faced in the wormhole. You understood that want to ignore it all, but you couldn’t fall into the trap. You couldn’t face another night with it hanging over your head. The bags underneath those wet eyes of his told you he couldn’t either.

Shakily, you whispered, careful not to set him off, “Because it happened. And it was a serious moment in our lives that we can’t ignore. And- and what if it all goes wrong again and we need to prepare to deal with it?”

“Then we’ll do what we did last time.”

“Get stuck?”

“Get through it.” Distantly, you wondered why you were the one to make that first speech. You were the captain, sure, but Mark made you believe him with just one incomplete sentence. He made you trust him in three words, no matter how much your mind fought to tell you otherwise, your heart did indeed trust him. “I mean, we’ve come this far, how hard can it be?” A weak chuckle. “I’d wager getting Gunther to not shoot the first thing he saw when he got off the ship was a lot harder than what we did.”

You didn’t feel like laughing. Instead, talking about the crew, it made you feel… something else. An intangible well of guilt and shame. You could get through another wormhole, but everyone else? What if they got caught? What if they started to remember all the death and fire and pain? You wouldn’t be able to help them, not like last time. If they remembered, they’d be at the edge with you, staring over the side. How many of them could take it? The crew or the colonists themselves? You would have failed them all. You might not have killed them, but they’d be casualties, nonetheless.

“Hey.” Your head snapped up to see Mark at eye level with you, leaning over to bring a hand to your upper arm. “We’d get through it. I know we would.”

But you still looked forward, unblinking, and it only took a second for Mark to realise he was wrong. If he wanted to be scientific about it, he would have just called it trauma bonding – if he wanted to be emotional about it, which he didn’t but he was going to be, he would have thought that all your time together brought you closer, not only because of the danger you experienced, but the comradery. Seeing you in action, seeing you take care of everyone, seeing you be the captain you were meant to be; Mark was sure he understood you. That meant he could see that guilt and shame as clear as day in your eyes.

He let himself fall forward to flop down next to you in your beanbag. Even though he was slightly uncomfortable, pressed against the strangely stiff surface, he stayed right where he was. Nestled against your side. He couldn’t think of a better place to be.

“I don’t understand why you do this.”

“It’s one of my charming quirks.”

You still didn’t feel like laughing, not even at your own poor joke, so you dropped your gaze to Mark. “What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You pretend like you aren’t the captain.”

“Do I?” Plead the fifth or whatever it was people said, and you didn’t care about the irony of you being the one to deny now.

He narrowed his eyes, barely shifting closer but shifting closer regardless. You felt your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah, you do,” he pushed as the hand that was on your arm circled around to the other shoulder. You resisted the voice in your mind that told you to bury your head in his neck, whether that was to avoid hearing him or to relish in his closeness that you never had the chance for.

You didn’t though, head remaining held high, so you were forced to listen when he continued, “You tried to get a smaller crew, you go in on the explorations yourself, you ignore the medics who try to help you.”

Another voice in the back of your mind perked up to rebuke it all, but you silenced it. What would be the point of lying? Mark knew you, you knew he knew you, there was no reason to fight it.

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know.” Your voice was small, smaller than you or Mark had ever heard it, but the admittance felt like it was enough to send a shockwave through the cabin. The jacket that showcased your title to everyone on the planet seemed to blaze in your mind. “Am I really their captain yet?”

“’Yet’?” Mark parroted you, and that was the go-ahead you needed to spill your thoughts.

“I missed the construction of the ship and the selection of the crew. The hour that I got onto the thing, everything went to shit, so many things went wrong. I- I don’t know if I deserve this, being the captain, when I didn’t spend any time with the people running the ship. Hell, even without the whole wormhole thing, we were going to be in cryo-sleep for the entire journey. I wasn’t needed.” The flood of words tumbled out with reckless abandon and then stopped like crashing into a wall like a bike going eighty. You didn’t think you would go through with it otherwise. Inner voices or a sense of decorum threatened to overtake you.

And yet, even though you got to the end of your rant, red-faced and breathless, you were knocked more off-balance by Mark’s question. “How many times did you die?”

“What?”

His eyes were trained on you. “How many times did you die?”

“I don’t remember, maybe thirty?”

“So, you died thirty times for yourself?”

Indignation sparked within your heart. “No, I did it for the ship,” you stated bluntly, “the crew and the colonists.” You weren’t certain what his point was, but if you had to use your authority-voice on him, you were going to.

“Repeat that for me.”

“I did it for…”

That was his point, then. Your shoulders relaxed, though you didn’t notice that you’d raised them, and your eyebrows unfurrowed. In return, Mark’s smile brightened, like he’d caught the canary. Caught you, more like.

You stared deadpan down at him but brought a hand up to card through his hair. Without his beret, it was looser, more befitting of him as a person instead of the head engineer. The corners of his mouth perked up even more. “See, I don’t like it when you use my own tactics on me.”

His laugh reverberated through your own bones, especially when he dropped his head to your collarbone. It wasn’t awkward, in fact, you were soon chuckling along with him at his happiness more than your joke – it felt natural, but you were still aware that this was the closest you had ever been. Relaxed into the beanbag the two of you now shared, trying to avoid knocking over your flutes of champagne, practically cradling each other in your arms. If the wormhole had been like this, maybe you would have appreciated it more.

“Someone who doesn’t deserve to be captain would have left the ship to explode and taken an emergency pod back to the nearest planet.” His speech, like his trailing off giggles, shook your muscles as sparks of electricity. “They wouldn’t have died for them, and you did. You are their captain.”

Hesitation. You saw it as bright at the sun of your new home in the sky. You saw it rise in Mark’s eyes, you saw it crescendo, and you saw it dip into the horizon.

“You’re my captain.”

Whatever thought ran through his mind, it was gone by the time he pushed through the final inch between you, leaving barely a breath in the interim. You could feel the puffs of hot air bat against your jaw, nose and lips. The role he gave you meant more than the legislation, the rule, the empty title. Now, it was trust. Him in you, and you in him.

For a moment, you thought he might bridge the gap, but his mouth opened before anything could progress. That didn’t mean either of your minds had strayed from the idea. He whispered under his breath, as if it would escape the room had he spoken any louder, “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

“As in a date?”

“Yeah. A date.”

Mark could feel his heart beating faster. He could have denied it and represented it something like the scenario you were in now. There was a part of him that thought he should have; it shied away from the very possibility of rejection and cowered in the clasp of regulations and human resources. But he had already taken the leap, the words hovering in the air. It would be a proper date – with candles and music and something better to eat than soup in a Styrofoam bowl. You’d talk about whatever came to mind, plans for the future instead of the past, and you’d share a bottle of wine as you spoke. The flicker of flame would highlight you from below and he would see exactly what he was describing in your eyes. His future. If the night went well, you’d clear the table together, strangely domestic against the memories of the journey over, and then, with the candlelight still dancing on the table before the fire was snuffed out, he hoped to share a kiss together. He could almost feel it already.

While his imagination was a thing to behold, it could not take credit for that sensation, but while Mark was so lost in his prospects, he failed to notice that the future was coming to pass. Or some of it, anyway.

You weren’t sitting at a table, a glass of wine and wax dripping onto the table; you were closer than before, with your lips pressed against his and your eyes closed.

Mark was knocked breathless. The sensation was nothing he could have predicted; the pressure was soft, gentle, like a silk ribbon, but the texture exposed how you would bite the same places when you were worried. Worried? What reason did you have to be worried? You were the greatest captain he had ever heard of, let alone known. He wanted to tell you just that, but he was preoccupied, for obvious reasons, with pushing you down against the hill of the beanbag. Maybe he was bias – your groan reverberated through his skin – but he didn’t really have a choice – your fingertips skimmed across his hair – and he was sure that you were objectively the best anyway – your teeth grazed over his lips – so it didn’t really matter. He brought one of his own hands to hover over your jaw, barely making contact until a particular hum had him brushing his thumb across your cheek. You leaned into it, as if it were a military ration, and he supposed it must have felt like that. Roles like yours didn’t tend to come with company.

Inwardly, he pledged that he would never let you feel alone again.

Outwardly, in an ill-fated scuffle to reposition himself, a dull thunk and something spilling onto the floor caused the two of you to slowly, begrudgingly, part. A few puffs of air settled between you as you turned to see Mark’s semi-full glass that had fallen over.

With a laugh, you settled your head against Mark’s shoulder, both to stabilize yourself and spare him the embarrassment of a steadily reddening face.

“So, that date tomorrow?” Despite the last five minutes, Mark couldn’t help but be shaky in asking. Either that, or it was aftereffects of his heart going 210 instead of the normal 60 beats per minute.

“As long as,” you whispered before grabbing your own champagne for another sip, “we get to find a large body of water tomorrow.”

“That sounds a lot like an ocean, Cap.”

“Well, if you insist, we can find an ocean.”

With your final poke at his expense, enough to wave away the remaining fog of tension no matter the nature, you downed the last of your champagne and settled further into your beanbag. For once, you didn’t regret taking a break, and you were sure you would need another breather after the excavation the following day.

“It’s my project, it has my name signed on the documents.”

So far, the day had proven successful. Three more biomes were scouted out, one of them being a potentially perfect site for farming, and the first real town had been built. At the beginning, it had looked like one of those places built to test nuclear weapons – but then, just two hours ago, they had moved the first colonists into their houses. You had been there to greet them, shake their hands and pass them the keys, but you had to leave before they could get fully settled. Besides, that was Celci’s job. The whole transfer from cryo operation was under her jurisdiction.

However, now that the residents were all making beds and organizing cupboards, Mark had to deal with her. And by deal with her, he meant argue, because there wasn’t another way the situation could ever turn out.

Presently, the pair were standing outside a section of the colony, Mark’s section, with blueprints in hands and scowls on faces. A slap against the paper was followed by Celci’s gesture towards the energy source.

“That means you were the one who started to involve cryo-tech, and that means I need to have some input.”

Mark scoffed, even though he knew full well that she was, technically, just barely, if you looked at it a certain way, correct. Just the word cold was her full job description, but he assumed he would get away with it if she were busy with other things. How wrong he was. Ever the eye for detail, Celci had searched through all the project applications, filtering for anything below 30 degrees, and then promptly set up meetings with all the leads. She wasn’t aware that it was Mark heading this one until she walked up the concrete path. Mark wasn’t aware that it was Celci he was meeting with until he heard her groan.

Go figure, they had made no progress.

“You know, I would love to prove you wrong on this,” Mark hissed, “but, unlike you, I can’t spend all day arguing about this.”

Was it backhanded to boast about your date and use it to get away from an argument, which he totally wasn’t losing, in one sentence? Probably. Was he doing it anyway? Yes.

However, Celci wasn’t one to give up that easily. Mark barely got two steps backwards before she took one toward him in return. “No, you know I’m right, so you’re running away.”

“Actually, I have a date tonight.” The pride and amazement took over the scowl on his face. For a moment, he forgot he was talking to someone and that he wasn’t just staring into his mirror, trying to convince himself it wasn’t a dream while he picked out an outfit.

“Who with? Your Roomba?”

In any other situation, he would have leaned into the mockery, tried harder to think of a better comeback, but the truth worked well enough. With a grin, Mark corrected, “The Captain.”

A flurry of emotions danced over Celci’s face that Mark was so glad he was able to see. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her confused before, much less shocked, though there were plenty of times she looked at him with endless doubt. They rolled over and over like a broken projector before she finally landed on a stranger expression – bemusement.

“Finally.”

It was his turn to look confused.

She tutted and looked him dead in the eye. “You can’t think that nobody’s seen the love-sick puppy look you give them when they’re nearby.”

The splutter was hard to contain, despite it being very obviously undignified, but it was harder to get back on his feet. So many questions swirled around his mind, most of them trying to preserve whatever image he thought he presented, but he came up blank. It was, annoyingly, likely that she was once again right. But it wasn’t his fault, not when you were, well, you. Of course, he wouldn’t call it love-sick, though that didn’t stop it from being accurate.

Mark’s lack of response was enough for Celci to know she’d caught him red-handed. Just typical. With the upper hand, she continued, “But I happen to know that your dinner isn’t until seven, so that gives us five hours for you to see reason.” He tried to protest, opening his mouth to ask how she actually found that information out, before she held up a hand. “Or, what, does it take that long to get your hair like that?”

Inwardly, Mark cursed her. He lost his way out of the conversation, and, in doing so, was welcomed by the colony’s rumor mill. What a prize. At least things weren’t spun out of proportion, but he would have preferred the date to be private at first. He could only hope that the crew had enough sense to leave them alone for the night.

Right now, however, he still had to prove to Celci that he didn’t need her supervision.

“I just don’t understand why you want to get involved with this!” he groaned.

“Because it’s a safety issue if I don’t.”

“It’s not gonna explode.”

“You’ll find a way.”

“I’m not doing anything outside of regulations, it—”

A crackle. Something like a fire burning. His heart rate piped up. Celci started to spin, but Mark was quick to grab at his belt. The walkie-talkie was stirring from its sleep in one of the pouches. He preferred the tech they’d designed for the mission, but he wouldn’t deny you your pieces of Earth. Plus, the stickers were always a bonus.

He drew Celci’s attention as he pressed the button down. Silently, he waved away her own smug grin – the one that told him he looked exactly like a love-sick puppy.

“Hey, Cap, everything alright?”

You never stuck with the whole over and out thing. It was the compromise given they had replaced it with a light to show when the other side’s button was pressed down. To Mark, it made more sense and improved efficiency. What was concerning, though, was that the light was on, red and blazing, but you weren’t talking.

He pressed it closer to his ear.

Just breathing.

“Cap? Captain, are you okay?”

He was struggling to keep his smile.

Especially when your voice whispered through the machine, gravelly and choked, as if there were hands wrapped around your neck.

“Hey, Mark.”

“Captain.”

“I’m, uh—” You were broken apart by a cough, “—prob’ly gonna be late to dinner—” Another cough, “—tonight.”

It sounded like your lungs were being ripped at the tubes and emptied. Mark’s heart felt like it was shattering.

“Where are you?”

Radio silence. The shards cracked further and refracted the light into searing flames through his veins. Just as sharp, he brought his gaze up to Celci.

“Where is the Captain right now?”

“Didn’t make a copy of their schedule?”

It was meant to be banter, a little poke at their relationship, something to get a deadpan look and an eye roll.

Mark looked more scared than she had ever seen him.

“Third excavation site. North.”

And, at the final word, he was gone, sprinting down the concrete path. The wind carried him in subtle support while some of the crew watched the storm rush past them. They had no clue what was happening, but neither did Mark. He only knew that he had to get to you, no matter what. He had to be there for you.

The walkie felt like it was burning in his grip. An omen and a promise at the same time. He pulled it to his mouth, as though just hearing his voice clearer would let him understand everything. “Cap, Cap, come on, what happened?”

Nothing. Silence outside of his body, which itself sounded like a zoo set loose. It was the eeriness of a broken submarine. He could hear the crunching of the water against the sides as it threatened to ball the metal up with the ease of a wad of paper, but there was still a dismal quiet in the meantime.

“Captain!”

And he couldn’t do a damn thing to help.

Some of the pressure released when he heard your whisper, “Cave in.” It was decorated with crackles and pops, but he heard it crystal clear, every single one of your words its own speech. “Do-don’t come, Mark, don’t.”

His footsteps picked up impossibly faster to match his heart rate.

“I swear, I will,” you choked for a second before you were saved with a cough, “I will pull rank on you.”

“You can do that later. When you’re not crushed under rocks. You can do it at dinner.”

“Mark, I’m not…”

“Yes, you are!”

He swept round a corner. The danger signs for the excavation site came into view. Just a little longer. He didn’t know if you had a little longer. Your breathing was already ragged when you called, and it was getting worse. He knew he should have been pouring all of his energy into getting to you – for once, he admitted it would be better for him to shut up and focus – but he couldn’t handle the silence.

“Okay, okay, pull rank on me,” he pleaded, “just keep talking. Please.” You yielded to his request with a smile that he couldn’t see. “You named the colony yet?” His job. Technically, it was supposed to be the captain who named the colony, but you had given that duty to him. You’d argued that he was the one to choose the planet, so he should have been the one to name it. Just the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. It was too early for delegation, you didn’t need to do it yet, and there would be no reason to later because you would be alive and well. You’d do your job and he’d do his. There would be no exchange because a role couldn’t be filled.

But the declaration was fueled by doubt even in his own mind.

“No, I was waiting for you,” Mark answered.

“You should name it.”

“I’m waiting for you.”

Another cough, as if your own body was working to supply your point. “Can’t wait forever.”

“I won’t be.”

The lack of response stirred something horrible in his gut when he slid into the entrance to the rock site. He pushed past the gates and tape, snagged protective gear from its place hanging off the fence, and immediately rushed to the directors. They were shambling about with checklists in hand and smiles on faces. Mark wanted to laugh, cry, freeze still in his boots. Everything looked so optimistic. This was advancement for a colony of a size like this.

Days later, when the clock would strike midnight and Mark would lay in his bed with the sheets askew and pillows scattered, he wouldn’t remember what he said to the workers he spoke to. Whether he interacted with them, or they interacted with him, it didn’t matter. His words were lost to him in the haze of overwhelming urgency and underwhelming panic. Medics arrived and excavators were called over. He only knew that because a few of them went in with him to the mouth of the cave – if some kind of legal body was contacted, he wasn’t aware of it because they never showed in front of him, and they weren’t helping him find you.

One detail he did recognize though was the tug at the walkie from one of the directors that caused Mark to pull back like a feral cat. They seemingly decided not to risk it, and simply slipped another walkie in his belt. Of course, you’d given the rest of the crew those things, instead of the highly modernized tech that would have stopped this entire thing from happening in the first place – but he couldn’t be mad at you. It wouldn’t have been you otherwise.

They backed off quickly when they were done, and he held the original close to his chest until he was well within the tomb- not tomb, cave. A normal cave.

He had to find you.

The team he entered with was small. You always liked close-knit things, he supposed that was why you went in by yourself. Something about comradery. You were too old-fashioned for your own good.

He would tell you that at dinner, give you a light smack on the wrist and a kiss on the cheek.

“Mark, are you still there?” Your voice through the walkie reminded him of where he was. Where you were. You sounded terrible, considerably worse than last you spoke, but that was to be expected.

Focus.

“Of course. I’m not leaving.”

“Thank you."

His heart would have melted had he not been so hyped up on the rush of adrenaline and intangible fear.

“Can you describe what you can see?”

“Lotta rocks.” Your laugh turned into a gravelly groan. “I see a light.”

“Don’t go towards it.”

“I don’t have much choice.” Mark was blissfully unaware of your joke because he was also blissfully unaware that your legs had been mangled by rocks splitting apart your bones and muscles, pulverized like the aftermath of an old blender fed with sticks and banana. You were glad he was.

He was able to, instead, drop down off a ledge deeper into the cave, which was very quickly becoming more of a cavern. It had the distinct feeling of being trapped in an ant hill, with some spaces widening and then others trailing off into sharp points. Wherever you were, getting out would be a problem, too, but seeing a light meant that you were either incredibly deep or just by the surface. He was hoping for the latter.

The next drop down was not promising.

Neither was the walkie startling to life again with your voice. “You know,” you croaked, “when we were in the wormhole, I didn’t think it would end like this.”

“It’s not ending like this.”

You let the words sink into metal grating of the machine before you spoke again, “I thought I’d be shot in that noir place or stay frozen in a cryo-chamber for centuries, I didn’t think I’d just be, uh, crushed.”

The way you phrased it was so inelegant that Mark nearly snorted. However, the reality didn’t let it breach neo-daedism territory.

“Seems a bit boring, in comparison.” He couldn’t tell whether you were mumbling for comedic effect, or your lungs were giving up on you. Uncertainty impaled him like a spear through the chest.

Swallowing, he sighed. “But at least it’s not in the wormhole.”

“At least it’s not in the wormhole.”

It felt too much like a goodbye. A final salute to the ship that sailed off into the distance. Firing the arrow onto the raft. It shouldn’t have given him hope.

But it did; the cavern was bathed with the sunshine from a hole in the ceiling, and the light on the walkie was off.

It didn’t take long to spot you, upper half sticking out from the rubble of a dozen large boulders and even more smaller rocks dusting your back. Frantically, he rushed to your side, barely dodging standing on the discarded walkie a few feet in front of you. You held another to your cheek. Mark wished he had more time to tease you about keeping a whole communicator just for him, then you’d tease him about his own, and then you’d win the argument when he decided to just look at you all alive and active and not steadily dying in a cave. He did not have more time.

He hooked the walkie for the director out of his belt and called for assistance, giving a description of the route he took and then turning it off to pay attention to you.

Your grin was bright but shaky. “You come here often?”

“Captain…”

“Sorry, bad timing.”

“No, perfect timing.” The chuckle that dripped out from his mouth was tainted by tears brimming in his eyes. He took your hand and tried to ignore how cold it already was. If he had come sooner, would you have more of a chance? Would you have survived? Oh, but you were going to survive anyway, you had to. You were the captain. You were his captain.

“Mark, don’t- don’t get yourself worked up.”

“Or what?”

“Oh, you know.”

He wanted to beg for you to continue the joke. His grip tightened as he brought your hand to his lips. He held it there, waiting, not breathing a single puff of air. The fear of disturbing the scene and being the little bit of wind that a rock needed to jut further into your back was buried deep in his bones.

“Please, just hold on.”

“Mark…”

No.

“Mark, I can’t.”

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sorry.”

Was he saying words?

“They’ll be fine.”

Just a little longer.

“Mark, look… look around, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

His mouth was moving, he was sure of it, but the crackle of the walkie filled his ears in place of his own words.

“You built the ship, you hired the crew, you fixed the warp-core.”

The warp-core. He had done it once before. What’s to say he couldn’t do it again?

“No.”

All that pain, all those deaths, he would do it again.

“Uh-uh. Not this time.”

He would do it for you.

“We got off on chance, you’re not trying that again, Mark, I can’t—”

If you would just let him, he could get you back. He didn’t understand why you were resisting. It would be so easy. You would get to live and lead the colony and be the captain that you always wanted to be.

But he couldn’t deny that it was a lot of woulds. And he couldn’t go through with it without your support. The tears in your eyes were not from pain but from fear, and not even for yourself. You were scared for him. Your head engineer.

“I’m not losing you—” Mark snapped back to the present, “—And, yeah, I know how ironic that is.”

It was ironic, wasn’t it? Not only this situation, but that the two of you, as a pair, had gone through so much together, only to get separated when things had finally calmed down. It was as though you had grown so used to danger that you couldn’t survive without it. Domesticity was not for you, nor was it for Mark. In this lifetime, you would never get a break. And that was one of the two certainties he found.

“So, hey, just- just give me this. Please?”

The other certainty?

“I love you.”

Mark kneeled on the dusty ground of the cave with your hand in his. It was just as cold as the air around you, your breath visible as you sighed a single, “I-…” that trailed off before you could get anything out. The words died in your lungs as your eyes dropped shut.

Mark’s sobs echoed throughout your tomb.

[Did you know this started out as straight fluff? Also, I will forever be scared of the leviathan from Subnautica]

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piedpiperart · 6 months

Text

You Could Know Me pt 3

Chapter 2

Peter comes to with a gasp, sweaty and panicking as he lurches to the side to cough out whatever he swallowed in that horrible sea of green. His breathing is ragged, feeling like electricity burning through his body and ringing in his ears. Peter barely feels the hand rubbing circles onto his back or the other holding him up gently, leaning him away from where he’d puked. He groans, gasping for breath as he tries to get his body to cooperate.

Blinking the spots away from his vision, Peter opens his eyes to see a room he’d never been in before. His ears stop ringing in time with his spidey sense enough for him to hear someone talking to him. Something like “It’s okay,”he catches and thinks he recognizes the deep voice.

“Strange?” Peter croaks, going along with the hands that push him to sit up in what feels like a bed. He hears a huff of air closer than he expected and blinks until he catches sight of black and white hair.

“Yeah kid, it’s pretty strange,”The guy says and… that’s not Dr. Strange, Peter thinks. He’s younger than Stephen. Not that Stephen is old, Peter amends, hoping the wizard isn’t reading his mind or anything. But both of them are definitely older than Peter. “You’re doing good, just take a moment to breathe, okay?”

Peter hums, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths. He sort of felt like how he did the night he got bit by that spider. “What happ’ned?” Peter rasps, opening his eyes again to look at the guy with him. He feels a bit better, but for some reason the thoughts aren’t connecting. His spidey sense isn’t freaking out much anymore, and Peter feels like he’ll be safe with the stranger.

The guy pauses before saying,”What do you remember, kiddo?”

And Peter has to close his eyes again to think. He remembers Dr. Strange. Stephen. He was… there was the sand guy, the crocodile man, octopus iron man, and electricity guy. But… Aunt May. Peter makes a whimpered sound before he can stop it,”A’nt May,”He frowns, bringing his hand to his eyes as his face heats up with tears. His head hurts.

Peter feels the guy hold him close in what might be a hug, but Peter’s too out of it to think. His aunt is gone. She was… the last family member he had. Now he’s all alone. Is Dr. Strange gone too? Did Peter somehow cause him to leave like everyone else in his life? After his parents, uncle Ben, Mr. Stark, Mr. Beck, Aunt May…

But… Peter pulls away from the hug to look at the guy with him and he goes back easily. Peters on a mattress on the floor with a few blankets around him. They’re both sitting up against the wall, Jason bracketing him in to make sure he doesn’t fall off. “Who’re you?”

The guy sighs,”I’m Jason. Do you remember how you got here?” He asks hesitantly, and Peter remembers the last spell, only… The green. The green was everywhere. He doesn’t remember anything after that.

“Green,”Peter whispers, hugging himself tighter, careful not to dig too hard into his skin with his super strength. “I- there was green an- and I couldn’t breathe-”

“Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re okay now,”Jason soothes, but winces. “They put you in the Lazarus Pits.”

“What?”Peter looks over with wide eyes. He didn’t know what that meant. He was pretty sure Stephen’s spell went wrong somehow, but that didn’t explain the green water. Was Jason an alternate version of Strange? Peter squints, but no, Jason doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“I know,”Jason starts,”It’s not pleasant to remember. They uh, they put me in the pits before,”Jason gritted his teeth. He knew Ra’s had cameras everywhere, and would try to separate the two of them if he told Peter too much information. Jason was lucky enough to convince Ra’s to let him see the kid on the grounds of managing Lazarus' rage.“You seem to be handling it a lot better than I did though. I came out with a lot more anger issues.”

Peter looked at him bewildered, then looked to himself as if to see any signs of uncontrollable rage. Was he gonna turn into the Hulk, Peter wondered a bit hysterically. The only thing that felt different was the weird buzz of energy under his skin and the itchiness in his wrists. His teeth felt weird too, but he was trying not to think about it.

“Look, it’s gonna be a rough time here, but I promise I’ll protect you however I can,”Jason says seriously, a sturdy hand gripping Peter’s shoulder. He has to resist leaning towards it for the way it grounds him. “I can’t tell you everything, but you need to know a few things about where you are. Keep your head down, do everything I tell you and avoid Ra’s if you can, got it?’

“What- why?” Peter croaked. He was starting to get a headache, and the lights in the room seemed too bright. Jason wasn’t setting off his spider-sense, but Peter could barely wrap his braid around what he was saying. “Where am I?”

Jason frowned, looking at Peter with something akin to concern. “You’re in the League of Assassins base, in Nanda Parbat,”He said, oblivious to the look of unrecognition on Peter’s face. “Listen, you’re gonna be trained here. It’s going to be rough but it’ll be worse if you don’t cooperate, understand?”

“Why? What do they want with me?”Peter rasped. He figured something must have gone really wrong with the spell if it ended with him being kidnapped by assassins. Was it some sort of recruitment thing? Kidnapping kids to make assassins, Peter pondered. He didn’t know how he’d escape this place, but he’d play it safe for now and follow Jason’s lead.

“It’s not important,”Jason said, getting up. Peter squinted though the bright lights, looking over the man. Something was off, but he didn’t know what yet. “Come on, get dressed. It’s better to be prepared.”

Despite feeling overall like crap, Peter was glad to start moving, and had started feeling restless after just sitting for so long. Part of him wanted to climb the walls and hang out on the ceiling, but he shut those thoughts out. He wasn’t sure how safe it would be to reveal his powers in a place with assassins, and Jason might not take it well. He stood up easily enough, avoiding the puke from earlier with a wrinkle of his nose.

“Feeling okay?” Jason asked, hovering close by. “No uncontrollable rage?”

Peter snorted. “No, I’m okay. Just.. tingly?”

“Tingly?” Jason parrotted, resisting the urge to mother hen the kid.

“Like I have a lot of energy, I guess. It’s hard to focus or stand still,”Peter explained, taking to pacing around the room. It was kind of small for two people, but he could see that it was more like a fancy jail cell.

“Alright, well, if you feel any different let me know,”Jason added.

Peter nodded, choosing to trust Jason for now. He got up on shaky legs and Jason handed him a pile of black clothes. They looked similar to the ones Jason was wearing, and Peter was pretty sure it was some sort of assassin uniform. Looking around the room, he could see that it was pretty bare, nothing to use as a weapon either, he noted. Jason guided Peter and his shaky limbs to the adjoined bathroom to change, where he tried to stave back the panic attack.

Feeling the building headache, Peter turned the light off, seeing that there was still enough light for him to see in the dim room. He got dressed shakily, but as he got dressed he started feeling better. By the time he was done Peter felt as good as normal, not mentioning the building dread inside his chest at being kidnapped by assassins or the overwhelming grief of his friends and family.

Peter hoped that the spell had taken him to some Assassin base on earth, but he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t recognized wherever Nanda Parbat was, and he’d never seen anything like the green Lazarus waters. His top theories were that he was transported to another planet or another dimension. Given Jason’s appearance and Jersey accent, he figured it might be another dimension, or he was still on his earth. Hopefully that meant Peter could find some way back to MJ and Ned.

Now dressed, Peter exited the bathroom feeling a bit better. He’d taken a drink in the sink and that helped the gross taste in his mouth. Peter turned to face Jason, who was pacing the room. He turned to Peter, shoulders relaxing in relief at the sight of him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,”Peter frowned,”What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Ra’s wants a meeting,”Jason drawled, running a hand through his hair.

“Why are you here?” Peter blurted. Jason looked at him in surprise, but he continued.”You have a Jersey accent.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I’m from Gotham. You and I are kind of in the same position here, kiddo. Only I’m supposed to be your mentor.”

“Mentor, for assassins?” Peter clarified. “I don’t want to kill anybody.”

“You might not have a choice,”Jason sighed,”I’ll do what I can, but we might not be able to escape for a while. There’s a rescue team on our trail though, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the revelation. He didn’t know where Gotham was but he was glad Jason wasn’t an assassin. “Escape? I can help.”

“Don’t worry about it kid,”Jason said, putting a hand over Peter’s shoulder. “You just try to stay calm. This place can be a nightmare.”

Peter was about to ask more questions when there was a harsh knock on the door. “Speaking of,”Jason muttered, and he gestured for Peter to follow him. Swallowing his dread, Peter shuffled after him.

Turns out there was, in fact, a ninja on the other side of the door. They said something in a language Peter didn’t recognize, but Jason seemed to know and led them down the hall to the left. He couldn’t tell where they were going, but the place felt humid and hot despite the building air conditioning, like they were near a desert.

Peter could feel the dread building when they walked through these giant ornate doors and onto a ridiculously extravagant marble floor. He scanned the room, not surprised to see various ninjas milling about, but wary when he spotted the man atop a throne at the center of the room. He froze for a second, seeing similarities of the throned man to the Green Goblin, and quickly averted his eyes.

The Parker Luck really had it in for him now, Peter thought. Especially if the head of these assassins is anything like Norman Osborn’s alter ego was. He couldn’t get those green, manic eyes out of his head. When the man on the throne started talking, Peter could barely hear him over the panic in his chest.

Peter was brought out of his head by Jason’s hand on his shoulder, and he glanced over to the man next to him. The throne man was talking with Jason in that other language, but Peter felt himself drifting. He probably wouldn’t have understood what they were saying even if they were speaking english. Jason’s hand gripped his shoulder tighter, almost growling out a response.

A few moments later, Peter was happy to follow Jason out of the throne room. He was still in a fog, barely able to feel Jason’s hand on his shoulder or his feet as they touched the ground. All he could think about was the green. Green Goblin. Green water. He was drowning, and no one could help him because everyone he loved was gone.

Something blurred in front of his eyes, and Peter blinked a moment later. He felt his arms move and- oh, Jason was holding his hands. He wasn’t safe, he needed to get somewhere safe. He didn’t know where he was, or how he got here. Everything was blurry, everything green, and he wanted it to stop. His head was spinning and- was he sitting down?

Peter blinked and Jason was seated next to him on the bed. His hands- Jason was still holding his hands and talking. He was talking. Why couldn’t he hear what Jason was saying? He felt a tap tap tap on his hand and looked over to see Jason tapping his fingers, one by one. Why- Peter blinked. He could feel the warmth of Jason’s hands, and the rhythmic tapping helped.

“Can you take a deep breath for me kiddo?”Jason was saying and Peter realized he was on the brink of hyperventilating. He followed Jason’s exaggerated breathing as best he could, but he was still having trouble.

“You’re okay, I promise. Honestly, I expected you to have a bit more of a freak out than that,”Jason rambled. “Usually when my eyes turn green like that I go into a rage.”

“What?”Peter rasped. Were his eyes green? Why? Was it because of the water?”My eyes are brown,”He said, a little uncertainly.

“They’re green now,”Jason said softly. “Lazarus pits do that, make your eyes turn green. If you get angry or too emotional, sometimes they glow.”

“This sucks,”Peter breathed. He leaned over, putting his head in his hands. “Who was that guy? On the throne?”

“Ra’s? He’s the head of the assassins around here. Has control over the lazarus pits, and that makes him important,”Jason frowned. “If you can, avoid him. You spacing out during the meeting worked in your favor, and I was able to talk him into letting me stay with you for a few nights to adjust.”

“What does he want from me?” Peter groaned. If it was to recruit him as an assassin, he’d fight hard to get out of here. There was no way he’d kill someone, especially not on purpose. Which meant he had to hide his enhancements. If it got out, Ra’s would no doubt see it as an asset.

“Ra’s wants another soldier,”Jason grimaced. He looked over to Peter, who glanced up at him with big hazel-green eyes. “I won’t lie to you, training will be tough. I’ll help you however I can, but I won’t be your only mentor.”

Peter decided, then and there that he wasn’t going to reveal his powers to anyone here, not even Jason. If anyone knew, Ra’s might go to greater lengths to keep Peter under control. He knew what happened to Bucky, and he would do whatever he could to keep that from happening. Peter would do anything to keep himself from killing anyone.

Chapter 4 coming soon

#peter parker #peter parker dc #spider man #jason todd #lazarus pits

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lisaas2418 · 4 months

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HEYA I AM BACK

And I begin my posting with some Yuu Angst, you're welcome 😁

So we know that GameYuu has it really rough there is no debate. Well imagine this and even more trauma and struggle.

Congrats thats my Yuusona.

So with the prolouge alone they got already traumatized.

1. Suddenly getting in contact with a carriage that comes out of nowhere and almost getting burned alive

2. Finding out that you are stuck in a world with magic and having almost no where to defend yourself against it.

3. Having to live in an not ideal dorm, which has dust all over the place and a broken roof. With ghosts residing in them, which is not normal in your world

4. Going in that wretched cave at night which is scary

5. The fucking Blotmonster and almost dying to it. (The real realization on almost dying comes when you try to sleep)

Now some basic things all over the chapters:

1. The fucking overblots which you get a few nightmares from.

2. On some occasions getting blackmailed by the headmage who is responsible for you (even though you blackmail him back)

3. Constantly missing those you love in the other world, worrying sick about them and losing your mind over how they feel

4. Your damm mental health being like a roller coster

5. The backstories

And now for the chapters 🙂

Heartslabuyl:

1. Being suddendly in a weird vivid dream that doesnt make sense at first

2. Some tyrant trying to insult your family

3. Getting a scar underneath your left eye from sharp bushes you protected your friend from

(Not much yet)

Savanaclaw

(Dreams getting more used to)

1. Getting a LONG scar on your right side of your body

2. Getting a head concussion on this a sports game you didnt even wanted to be there.

Octavinelle

(That one cave dream)

1. The twins...no more said

2. Becoming homeless and having no choice but to win a bet or you'll be a servant

3. Sleep problems

4. Getting your leg broken

Scarabia

(Why are the great seven mostly insane??)

1. Getting kidnapped in a sense

2. Getting hypnotized even if it was only for 5 seconds

3. Having a heatstroke

4. Being thrown into the cold part of the dessert

5. Getting cuts on your arm due to long overblot and healing constantly

Pormefiere

1. Some dormleader decided to curse your food

2. Attempting to drink the poisened apple juice yourself (but someone came first)

3. Constantly coughing blood

4. Feeling so weak you cant do shit during the fight

5. Getting scratched by your monster cat who was influenced by blot but then disappeared

Ignihyde

(Now it gets worse with the journey)

1. Not able to see your best friend

2. Felling so bad and guilty over everything you isolate yourself until the meeting

3. Your house being invaded amd destroyed by strangers

4. Almost overbloting yourself in rage of seeing your friends hurt or scared

5. Getting kidnapped (again)

6. Having to retell everything that happened regarding blots

7. Just finding out the world could end if you dont stop thesee two idiot

8. Having to watch your friends fight robots and blot monster but being unable to help them due to your blot being gone

9. Being physically and emotionally tired

10. Falling into the pit (bit being saved by your blot just in time)

11. Your legs being numb and not being able to move them

12. Coming back only to realize who will overblot next

Diasomia (I know its not finished yet, but this is how I would see it, I make future changes if needed)

1. Knowing a really close friend will overblot

2. The feeling of missing your world but feeling at home in this one clashing together (it sucks)

3. Starting to believe that all the overblots have been trigered by your presence

4. Repressing all your emotions and still trying to be there for your dragon friend and hoping to change fate by promising to always be there for him, only for him to break your trust by doing this stupid idea

5. Being stuck in a dream while some blot thing mist almost always being there

6. Repressing emotions and constantly putting yourself aside even if the people around you seeing your pain but you are brushing it off as "nothing new"

7. Having to deal with faes being mean to you for no reason but because you are a human

8. Overblotting due to repressed pain

9. Being in coma for 2 months

10. Seeing the person you trusted so much before, not able to forgive him any time soon

And thats not including the events

So yeah my Yuusona had it rough. They were only able to forgive Malleus after 2 months (ironiclly).

Now you might ask why would I come back from a long break and my first post would be Angst. Well cuz I wanted too

See ya next time 😊

#twisted wonderland #twst yuu #angst

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versegm · 10 months

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It isn’t a secret, not really; this isn’t the sort of thing one can conceal forever. But it is an unspoken agreement in the party: we do not speak of Tonelico’s illness.

“There, there.” Mash rubs soothing circles over her back. “Breathe. It’ll be okay.”

Tonelico wheezes, spasms, and another violent cough overtakes her entire body. She hunches over, petals spilling over her lips.

“I’m with you.” There is not much that Mash can do- but at least, she can talk. Let her voice be an anchor through the pain. “I’m with you. It’s okay.”

With a latch spasm, Tonelico retches, and a cascade of flowers tumbles out of her mouth, hanging by vines. She stays like this for a few seconds, catching her breath- then she reaches up and pulls on the bundle of leaves, until the vines snap, retracting back to the back of her throat.

“... Thank you.” She’s smiling, but she’s still very obviously breathless. Her shoulders keep twitching without any of her input. “That would have been unpleasant to deal with alone.”

Mash rubs her back one last time, then lets go. “Don’t mention it.” And, like the rest of the team, she will go back to pretending it’s not here.

*****

They call it hanahaki, the flower-vomitting disease.

“It’s caused by repressed feelings,” Ector explains to her, one day when they are alone, “anger. Sadness. Hope. All these things you keep deep inside. They fester, and plants grow from this fertile soil.”

He does not elaborate. He does not need to.

Tonelico is a good person. She always looks at the bright side of things. She helps people without ever asking for a reward, and smiles regardless of any hardship in her way.

She reminds Mash of Senpai. This is not a good thing.

*****

She holds onto that assumption for the whole nine months she spends in the Fairy Calendar. Tonelico tells her my spear went out of control, and Mash thinks of the petals she finds on Tonelico’s pillow every morning; she tells her I will not save the fairies, and Mash thinks of the leaves she huffs out at times; she tells her there is not a single fairy I wish to save, and Mash thinks of bouquets of carnations pried out of her jaws with bare fingers.

It’s only at the very end of her journey that Mash understands that, like with many things, Tonelico had been playing a role.

It’s a horrible sight; Tonelico breaking down, madness in her eyes. She must be cursing the very skies, but her words are incomprehensible, her voice drowned in the torrent of flowers fleeing her lungs. Some of them are roses. There is blood on the petals.

And yet. Even now.

Mash guesses her true name before she speaks it out loud. By this point, the ice has almost engulfed her whole; she can no longer speak. In her last moments of consciousness, Mash connects everything she knows about Tonelico, and everything she knows about Morgan, painting the only picture that makes sense.

Even now. Even now. Even now. She’s trying to save Britain. Even now. Even now. Even now. She’s trying to save Britain.

It wasn’t anger she was repressing. It wasn’t any kind of rage at all. What she kept so dearly close to her heart, what Tonelico refused to ever speak out loud, was but the simplest and most unrequited-

*****

-love.

Morgan’s body is not in the throne room. Morgan’s body is not anywhere to be found. Mash is familiar with the fairies’ cruelty by now. They must have thrown it into the Great Pit.

The flowers remain, though. Whatever they did to Morgan, it tore these plants right out of her lungs, and scattered them all over the room.

Mash picks one up- a simple yellow one. That simple act echoes with simple times, afternoons helping Tonelico up after a particularly harsh cough. A flower. A simple flower. Morgan’s flower. Morgan’s love.

Because despite everything. Despite everything. Tonelico, Morgan, she loved Britain. She loved Britain to the point of making herself sick.

And it did not love back.

The flowers. The flowers. The flowers. They’re scattered across the room. No one has given them a second glance. Maybe one day someone will come and use them to make a crown, or decorate their house- unaware that they are the last remnants of a girl who damned herself to the bone for her country. Unaware that they are holding Morgan’s spilled love, misdirected as it may have been.

Mash violently shoves the flower in her own mouth.

It tastes bitter. Of course it does. Tonelico’s love could not be any other way. At best it tastes bad, at worst it might be poisonous. Mash doesn’t care. She swallow it whole, barely chewing, and when it has safely slid its way down her throat she bends down and grabs another.

This is Tonelico’s. This is her love. It grew from her entrails. The thought of anyone getting their hands on these, treating them like they would a piece of furniture- it’s unbearable. They have no idea what any of these mean. They have no idea who Tonelico was, truly was . They have no right over her love. They have no right over her body. If anyone is to desecrate her any further, then- let it be Mash. Let it be someone who cares.

Yes, this is a completely insane thing to say, she is aware. But what can she do? She is alone in her grief. Senpai would understand if she explained, but they weren’t there. There is no one left alive who was. The only thing left in this world who must have loved Tonelico as much as she did is the parasite that grew in her lungs, and so Mash gathers its remnants in her palms and eats and eats and eats.

Her throat hurts. She chokes at times. Tonelico choked too, when she coughed those out. This is the closest the two of them have ever been. It’s cannibalism. It’s communion. It’s don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me.

This petal still has blood on it, the taste of copper filling Mash's mouth. This is from her veins. This is from her guts. Every stem she ingests is a part of Tonelico that can never be taken away from her- not by the Fairies, not by the Queen’s Calendar, not by any cosmos denial. This, she will carry with her until the end of times. Tonelico’s love will not die. Mash will survive and therefore it will not die.

#my writing #fate #lostbelt 6 #mashmorgan

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toriafiction · 2 months

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Flowers For My Love

One of my Dick /Jason wips. This one just won't get out of my head recently.

It's a soulmate hanahaki fic. 🌸

Check tags for possible tw / cw

Dick has known since Jason was Robin that they are soulmates. Jason didn't know because, at that time, he was too young for the bond to wake on his end, and Dick didn't tell anyone because he didn't want anyone or anything to influence Jason.

He's still a kid and he deserves to explore who he is and what he likes and have his own experiences like Dick did. He should make friends and date whoever he wants and not feel guilty for it. He refuses to take that from him.

So Dick balances his time with Jason very carefully. He makes sure that he isn't around too much. He's absent more than present but when he is around he makes sure that they spend some quality time together and have fun.

It doesn't matter if that's just sitting in the library talking about what book Jason is reading, playing a game or watching a movie together, going out, or even patrolling together. Sometimes Jason comes and stays with him at Bludhaven. Dick shows him his city and takes him train surfing.

It really is a balancing act for Dick. He doesn't want to woo Jason and doesn't want Jason to slot him into the brother role either. His plan is to be a fond yet distant presence in Jason's life until he is old enough to decide what he wants Dick as without Dick having influenced his decision. It's the only thing that seems right at this point.

He wants Jason to grow up with the same freedom he had and to decide what he wants them to be when he is old enough.

Then Jason dies and all Dick can do for years is mourn all the lost time and the future they didn't get to have together.

After Jason comes back and has really started to settle from the pit madness, Dick tries to tell Jason that they are soulmates. He had tried waiting for the "perfect time" to tell him before, and Jason had died. Dick isn't going to make that mistake again.

This time he has rushed it too much.

The remaining effects/magic from the Lazarus pit are still blocking Jason's side of the bond from waking, and without that connection Jason doesn't believe him. The pit rage surges with a fury. Jason thinks Dick is lying to him, trying to manipulate him and Jason is deeply hurt and feels so betrayed. Dick knows how much having a soulmate means to him, and the belief that Dick would use that is crushing.

Dick coughs up his first petals that night.

He doesn't have hanahaki yet. This is a precursor, a warning. There are no ill effects, just the occasional petals. Jason didn't reject him. He just didn't believe Dick.

But things get worse.

Jason is furious. He avoids Dick and, by extension, the rest of the Bats. Everyone is confused by this sudden change. and not so secretly blaming Bruce. Dick is desperate and scared. He just wants to talk with Jason. When he does, it turns into a huge blow-up that becomes incredibly vicious and cruel. In the end, Jason leaves Gotham. Dick leaves the fight heartbroken and not only with hanahaki but the aggressive variant that can kill in a few short months.

Bruce finds out about the hanahaki first, but even he doesn't figure it out until it has already reached the point that it's dangerously critical. He has to hospitalize Dick in the cave and within just a few days Dick requires extensive medical assistance to survive.

Bruce has had the surgery for hanahaki and they have a conversation that turns into a fight. Bruce is demanding that Dick get the surgery and Dick adamantly refuses.

Bruce has the same problem that everyone who has the surgery has. He can't feel love or any of the connected emotions such as compassion, affection, fondness, or tenderness. He can, however, still feel off shades of happiness or pride, a detached sense of pleased, satisfaction, or contentment. He can feel frightened, angry, and responsible.

He can feel deeply possessive.

Bruce can feel all of his negative emotions just fine but the good ones are so much harder to get to now and they aren't as full and complete. But those few bright and beautiful moments in his life are all connected to his family and he can still vaguely remember what it felt like to love his son.

So, he logics it all out in his head that Dick is emotionally compromised and can't be trusted to make this decision. That he knows better than anyone that after the surgery, Dick will be okay and even thank him for this. Dick doesn't need love like he believes. He can use logic and the code to navigate life like he does.

Bruce sets up the surgery for Dick.

He uses Dick's trust in him to drug him and take him in for it.

The hospital staff doesn't account for a Bat's tolerance, and Dick wakes up while they are still preparing him. Dick absolutely freaks out. He tells them he hasn't consented to the surgery. That he doesn’t want it. The staff already knows. Bruce has already taken care of that. Dick tries begging. He's crying and pleading with them.

"Please, don't do this to me." They just put him under. "You'll destroy me."

Dick goes under but never really comes back up.

He is not okay. Bruce thought Dick could live on cold logic and reason. He thought that Dick followed his code because he believed in it. Bruce believed that he was doing what was best for Dick and that when Dick woke up, he would see that.

Bruce was wrong.

There are a few reasons it is so extremely illegal to force someone into this surgery. One of those reasons is because the state of mind they are in has an enormous impact on how they come out of the surgery. Things like depression, suicide rate, or probability to turn violent are deeply affected by there mental state before their surgery. Patients are supposed to have as much therapy as they can manage beforehand. Then afterwards they need a strong and dedicated support team for the rest of their lives.

Another reason is that because without love or compassion it's nearly impossible to forgive.

Dick wakes up with a screaming void ripped into him. It radiates a cold so severe it burns his soul. Dick is furious. Bruce has betrayed him. Bruce has ruined him. He has literally torn apart his soul and stolen all of Dick's love, extinguishing any hope he had left with it.

Now there isn't anything to stop Dick from pouring his fury and pain out onto Bruce and all of Gotham. If Gotham thought it had seen the worst a Bat could do under the Red Hood's fury. Then it hasn't seen anything yet.

Because Nightwing no longer has any mercy left to give.

The streets of Gotham will run red with his wrath and pain.

Meanwhile, space and time to think is exactly what Jason needed to get his head on straight again. He is doing much better when word of Dicks condition reaches him. When Jason hears that Dick has hanahaki, he rushes home to find Dick.

He's two days too late.

If Bruce would have waited just two more days.

When Jason does find him, Dick is standing in the middle of a warehouse turned bloodbath. They talk, and Dick tells him precisely what happened and about just how broken he feels now. He spares no detail, but neither does he embellish anything.

Jason clutches Dick as tight against himself as he can. Like, if he holds Dick close enough, he can merge his heart with Dick's. As if their broken pieces can heal together and make something whole and new.

"I love you, I have always loved you," Jason breathes the words against Dick's skin like an apology from deep within his soul meant to reach the same depth within Dick's.

"I loved you once," Dick murmurs back. "I meant to love you always."

Jason coughs up his first petals.

Jason's hanahaki is the excruciatingly slow variant. Dick didn't reject him, the exact opposite in fact. However, now, by no choice of his own, Dick is unable to love Jason.

Jason feels crushingly guilty for what happened to Dick. The way he sees it, if he would have just trusted Dick or at least not ran away then this would have never happened to him. It makes Jason cling to Dick all the tighter.

"I don't want to lose you again, please, will you let me stay with you." For a long moment Dick just stares at him. His expression having never been more impossible to read before.

"I don't think I want to be alone," Dick answers after a painfully long silence.

Dick is set hard core on his revenge path against Bruce and this is something that Jason understands in spades. The thing is that Dick is really unstable right now. Just like Bruce, he's unable to feel any kind of love anymore and that includes all the adjacent emotions to it as well. Dick remembers feeling the full range of emotions. He remembers fond affection, passionate love, warm compassion and just being able to care. He remembers what it felt like to love his family and remembering hurts.

So instead, he burns with his anger, betrayal, hate, and pain. It's an icy fury that can't be banked and knows no end.

He's hurting and he doesn't know how to stop anymore. Not when the anger is the only thing keeping him going.

This leaves Jason as the voice of reason and as the one who has to throw the brakes on when things start to go too far. Jason has to help Dick realize when enough is enough. Dick always listens. If Jason is saying, "This is too much," then it has to have gone too far. He doesn't question Jason. He trusts him.

Dick struggles with both raging fury and stretches of deep depression. Sometimes swinging straight from one extreme to the other. Jason tries to help Dick modulate his emotions and mental state. Their relationship is rather unhealthy. Jason clings to Dick, refusing to leave him, and Dick ends up becoming really possessive of Jason.

Jason is with Dick nearly from the very beginning of his new life, and he is his grounding point. Dick knows he's better when he is with Jason, and he feels better around him. Just because Dick can't love that doesn't mean that he can't feel any good emotions. He still feels shades of happiness or excitement. Dick can't love Jason, but that doesn't mean that he can't enjoy him. He still has physical needs, and the way he sees it since he and Jason are supposed to be soulmates, it makes sense to go to him for sex.

He means it as a kindness. He doesn't want to hurt Jason, and Dick understands that him sleeping with other people would hurt Jason. So, if Jason meets his needs and keeps him satisfied, then he will only be with Jason. Even if he sees someone else he wants, in order to keep things good between them, he'll abstain.

He basically hands Jason an ultimatum though he doesn't actually mean to.

It doesn't occur to Dick that sex with him now might be heartbreaking. That, because it will mean more to Jason than simple gratification like it is for Dick. It will be a special kind of torture.

He has no idea why Jason cries in the shower after they're done that first time. He doesn't ask though, Jason had obviously been trying to hide it and Dick isn't sure he actually wants to know.

So with Jason as both his grounding point and the source of most of his positive feelings Dick becomes highly possessive and dependent on him.

"How long are you going to stay with me," Dick asks into the dark, sad and hurt and so very scared.

"My entire life Dickie. I won't leave you until the very end," Jason promises.

They both know that end is coming too soon.

Another problem is that Dick knows he isn't really good for Jason. Even though he really does try there are still times when he is unintentionally cruel. Despite this Dick can't let Jason go.

"I'm going to keep hurting you, and sometimes I won't even care that I am." Dick is going through another bout of depression.

"I know Dickiebird, and I'll let you, I'll forgive you, and I'll stay." Jason does his best to take care of him and reassure him. To help his soulmate claw his way back out of the darkness he has fallen into.

The people of Gotham quickly take notice of Nightwing becoming a merciless killer. The few that still believe in law and justice mourn the fall of a hero. The good but down trodden of Gotham that are starving for protection, relief and change see him the same as they do Red Hood. As what Gotham really needs. As someone that will be the catalyst for a change for the better. The criminals only see death.

A lot of theories get thrown around. The most prevalent is that he just finally snapped. That someone can only face the worst of humanity every day for so long before they can't take it anymore. After all, what change do the Bats see? They just face the same goons and villains every night on repeat.

But there are a few who see and recognize the signs, and they know.

Nightwing, a beloved hero, went down and never got back up.

Jason lasts a couple of years with the slow, torturous progression of his hanahaki. If he got the surgery, he could save his life, but that isn't even a consideration. He doesn't want it, and even more than that, he could never do that to Dick.

Jason had read once that the flowers are a physical manifestation of the shattered pieces of a person's soul after being rejected by their soulmate, like petals falling off a dying flower. He had always thought that it was people romanticizing hanahaki.

He isn't so sure now.

He thinks that someone stripped Dick of all his soft and loving petals and cauterized the wound where he was bleeding out, leaving only a thorny stem that remembers and mourns when it was once a flower.

It's cruel.

But he sees how hard Dick tries. Even now, with no love left in him, Dick still tries so damn hard for the people he remembers once loving. He shows it to most by refusing to see them. By telling them over and over when they hunt him down that the Dick Grayson they knew died on that operating table. That he is just the ghoul left behind to haunt them, seeking vengeance for the sin committed against him.

God, does Jason get it. He understands exactly how Dick feels.

Dick is different with him. He clutches tight to Jason and never lets go. Not even when Dick cuts deep into Jason and leaves him emotionally bleeding. Even then, Jason is grateful. There isn't anywhere else that he wants to be than with Dick.

When Jason's condition gets to the point that he has to be hospitalized, Dick stays with him. He feels a sense of responsibility for him and is grateful to Jason for all he has done for him, and frankly, he wants every last second he has with Jason before he loses him forever. So, he stays with him through long days and sleepless nights. Even when the rest of the family comes to see Jason, Dick doesn't leave.

There isn't much the hospital can do for him. Jason is mostly there for comfort care, but he refuses most of the pain meds. They mess with his head too much and make him sleepy, and he doesn't want to waste any of the time he has with Dick. He has been living with this pain for years now. He knows how to endure it.

It's close to the end, and Jason will have to be fully intubated soon. They have put it off as long as they can. When they intubate him, he will have to go on sedatives until he passes. Dick is lying in bed with Jason cuddled close to him.

Dick sets up and leans over Jason to look him in the eyes. “Let's try again in our next life. This was all wrong, but if we hadn't had our chance stolen, we could have been beautiful together. So promise me that we will try again.”

“I promise, for all our lives, however many that may be.” It's obviously painful and a herculean task, but Jason does it even as it leaves him struggling to catch his breath.

Dick holds his gaze and dredges up every last scrap of memory he has of love. He digs up the warm soft, and tender affection and hot and deep passion. He tries to fill himself with it. He kisses Jason and tries his hardest to give everything he used to feel, all that had always belonged to Jason, back to him in that moment.

“It's okay, Little Wing, let go. I'll be right behind you.”

Jason never sees Dick slip the needle into his IV. After Dick injects the lethal amount of morphine, he simply falls asleep and never wakes.

Dick wouldn't let Jason needlessly suffer through the last few days, and he wouldn't let the hanahaki steal his life. It belonged to him.

After he is certain that Jason is gone, he slips out of the hospital. He makes a single stop by a florist to pick up an order he had placed two days earlier. It is a truly massive bouquet with what a casual observer would consider a bizarre mix of flowers. To Dick, it's perfect and terribly beautiful.

Scabious - unfortunate love

Carolina rose - love is dangerous.

cypress flower - eternal love, memories of past love, or love that's unrequited or in vain.

Orange Blossom - Innocence. Eternal love

Primrose flowers - I can’t live without you

Hyacinths - Please forgive me

Blue hydrangeas - forgiveness, rejection, and regret - gratitude, grace, and beauty.

Sweetpeas - Departure, remember me, good-bye, a tender memory, thank you for a lovely time.

wisteria - devotion that transcends death

marigold - the brevity of life, despaired love, grief, sorrow, despair, and mourning, remembering the dead, power, strength

cyclamen - a new path in life, separation, goodbye or resignation

Love-lies-bleeding - hopeless love or hopelessness

Bleeding Heart - Unconditional love, Heartbreak and sadness, unrequited love

All flowers that Jason had coughed up and choked on over the years. Flowers that Jason had grown just for him.

Flowers for his love.

Dick heads to the top of the highest building overlooking Robinson Park, the place where Haly's Circus performed. He very carefully situates his bouquet by the edge and then climbs up onto it.

“Dick, what do you want?” Bruce asks from behind him.

It might seem like an odd question, but for them, it isn't. They both know what he's doing, and Bruce knows that it's because Jason is gone. What he doesn't understand is what Dick is hoping to achieve by doing this.

Dick looks out over the park where his parents fell to their deaths. Bruce had been there that night. It seems fitting that he will watch the last Flying Grayson fall as well.

“I just want to be with him,” Dick answers without turning to face him. “We'll get it right next time.”

Dick had grown his flowers for Jason when he wasn't there to receive them, and they had been stolen away before he could make it back to Dick, but now Dick falls for Jason just like he has so many times before.

Jason is waiting for him, and they will get it right next time.

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