#its making my anxiety spike again and my thoughts are spiraling a little

[cutebisexualmess]

you ever think you're doing amazingly and then one day pulls the entire thing apart and you've gone back three steps and feel like shit again

[morganaspendragonss]

white noise, what an awful sound

“Their unit is not on the grid. It’s like they have disappeared.”

If Grace says anything else after that, Carlos doesn’t catch it. A ringing erupts in his ears and he staggers, all the breath sucked out of him. TK’s missing. Not running late, not on his way; missing.

ao3 | 3.3k | 2.08 speculation

It’s more than an hour after TK’s shift was supposed to be up, and he still hasn’t come home.

Carlos doesn’t want to worry; Owen told him that medical caught a call right at the end of shift, so he knows that TK will be pulling overtime. It’s actually worked in their favour a little, because they’ve been able to set everything up for TK’s party in the time they’ve been waiting. But, from what Owen said, it was only supposed to be a simple call, and whilst Carlos knows as well as anyone that the simplest calls can often turn out to be the most complicated, they really should have been done by now.

He sends off a couple of texts, telling himself that TK is just busy and will reply when he can, even though his instincts are screaming at him that something is wrong. By the time they hit the two hour mark, everyone seems to be getting concerned - which, in a house full of first responders, is not something to be taken lightly.

Carlos crosses over to Owen. “Have you heard from TK?” he asks, trying desperately to keep his voice as low and steady as possible.

Owen shakes his head, flashing Carlos a smile which doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re just running a little over,” he says, and Carlos isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“We can’t think like that, Carlos,” Owen says, not unkindly. “He’s probably just in the shower.”

“He would have texted,” Carlos persists. “You know he would have, Owen. Something’s wrong.”

Owen grimaces, glancing around the room of people, who have started to take notice of their conversation. He sighs. “Try calling him,” he tells Carlos. Then, turning to the room, “Can anyone try and get a hold of Nancy or Tommy?”

“Already did, Cap,” Marjan says. “Nancy’s not picking up.”

“Tommy neither,” Judd adds, and Carlos’s heart plummets as the sound of TK’s voicemail confirms that he, too, is still unaccounted for.

“This isn’t right,” he says, allowing a little desperation to bleed into his tone. He can feel it in his bones; TK wouldn’t leave them hanging like this, especially not on a day like today. Carlos has no idea what could have happened to make all three paramedics drop off the grid, but he knows it’s not just lack of cell service or traffic.

Owen closes his eyes and hangs his head, apparently coming to the same conclusions. “Alright then.” He pulls out his phone, and Carlos frowns.

“Who are you calling?”

Owen sends him a wry look, showing him the three oh-so-familiar numbers he’s dialled. “Desperate times, right?”

Carlos manages a nod, but there’s a lump in his throat at the thought of these being such desperate times that they need 9-1-1. Logically, he knows it’s the right step, but he guesses he still has that little flame of hope left in him - hope he doesn’t want crushed by the confirmation they’re about to receive. Owen places the phone on speaker, and Carlos watches it nervously, waiting for a dispatcher to pick up.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” It’s Grace, and Carlos could cry with relief. If anyone can help them find TK, it’s Grace Ryder.

“Grace,” Owen starts, “it’s Owen.”

“Captain Strand? Is everything alright?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Owen takes a steadying breath, looking once more around their friends, before continuing. “EMS 126 were sent out on a call at the end of our shift, two hours ago. There’s been no word from them since, and we’re worried something’s happened to them. Could you tell us anything about where they were sent and why?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end before Grace speaks again, hesitant and slow. “Captain Strand, that’s not information I’m sure I should be giving out to civilians.”

“I’m not a civilian,” Owen argues. “I may not be on shift, but I’m always Captain of that firehouse. Please, Grace. They’re our family.”

Grace sucks in a sharp breath, then the sound of typing comes through the speaker. Carlos allows himself a single moment of relief before the anxiety takes over again as Grace speaks.

“EMS 126 were dispatched to a pregnant woman in distress,” she reports. “They… Oh.”

Carlos exchanges an alarmed look with Owen, his panic spiking at Grace’s words. 

“Oh?” Owen asks, not even trying to hide the worry in his voice anymore.

“Captain Strand, their unit is not on the grid. It’s like they have disappeared.”

If Grace says anything else after that, Carlos doesn’t catch it. A ringing erupts in his ears and he staggers, all the breath sucked out of him. TK’s missing. Not running late, not on his way; missing. Something happened to him and his team between leaving the firehouse and now, and they’ve all just been sitting here, doing nothing, for two hours. He should have spoken up earlier, when he first got his bad feeling - maybe that wouldn’t have prevented this, but they could be on their way to finding him right now.

And Carlos knows better than anyone here how crucial every second is in a missing persons case.

When he comes back to himself, a hand - Paul’s - is resting on his shoulder, and Owen and Gwyn are locked in an argument, the call with Grace clearly over.

“What’s going on?” he asks, turning to Paul.

Paul shoots him a sympathetic grimace, squeezing his shoulder. “Cap got the address of their last call,” he answers. “He’s insisting on going, but he won’t let anyone else go with him. Gwyn disagrees.”

Carlos stares at Owen, finding himself firmly in agreement with Gwyn, though likely for different reasons. In his mind, it’s a non-issue; he’s going to search for TK, and there’s no-one who can stop him - certainly not Owen Strand.

He strides over to them, not caring about interrupting their quarrel. TK’s life is on the line, after all. “I’m going with you,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Son -”

“You can’t stop me, Owen.” He levels him with a hard stare. “Besides, I’m a cop, and you need back up. I’m going.”

Owen watches him for a long moment, then sighs, nodding reluctantly. “Alright,” he says, clapping Carlos once on the shoulder. “Let’s go find them.”

*

Carlos jumps out of Owen’s truck before it’s even stopped moving, flicking on his flashlight as he strides through the garage, praying that he’ll round the corner and find them all in one piece. Behind him, Owen is yelling out for them, the only reply he gets the sound of his own voice echoed back. It sends Carlos’s heart plummeting into his shoes, even as it only confirms what he’s known for a while - they’re not finding TK here.

All they do find is a brown van, all its doors open, and a pile of bloodied rags lying next to it. Carlos refuses to think about whose blood it could be; if he does, he thinks he’ll lose it, and that’s the last thing anyone needs right now, himself included.

“Where would they go?” he asks, turning to Owen. They hadn’t seen the ambulance on the way in, so they must have left in it at some point - or someone had.

Owen shakes his head, a trembling hand running through his hair. “I don’t - I don’t know,” he says, sounding more lost than Carlos has ever heard him. It’s a jarring sight; Owen is usually so put together, so unruffled in the face of emergency, and his appearance now cuts a striking contrast. Carlos understands - much as TK has complained about his parents in the past months, it’s clear they love him, even if they might not be the best at showing it. 

Carlos is sure he looks similarly distressed; his curls are beginning to escape from his fingers running through them, and his heart is pounding a mile a minute, but he tries to school his expression into something stronger, as much for his own sake as for Owen’s.

“I don’t know what to do, Carlos,” Owen admits, body sagging in defeat. 

Carlos hesitates, then pulls out his phone, tapping through to his contacts. “I might,” he says, and Owen looks up at him in surprise. “My dad is a Texas Ranger. He’ll be able to help, I’m sure of it.”

Owen immediately nods, seeming to steel himself up a little. “Do it,” he says. “I’ll call and update the others; I’m sure they’ll want to know.”

He walks away, giving both of them some semblance of privacy to make their respective calls. Carlos pauses for a brief second, glancing down once more at the pile of bloody rags, his mind flashing back to four years ago, the last time someone he loved went missing. He knows - he knows the situations are nothing alike, that Iris’s and TK’s disappearances are worlds apart. But the grief crawling up his throat and clutching at his heart can’t help but make comparisons, warning him that he’s going to lose someone else.

Carlos swallows roughly and shakes his head, dialling his dad’s number before he can start spiralling. Now is not the time to fall apart; he has to be strong.

His dad picks up on the second ring. “Carlos? ¿Qué pasa?”

“Dad,” Carlos answers, surprising himself with how steady his voice is. “I need your help.”

*

They’re on their third dead end of the day, and Carlos can feel his grip on control slipping. 

His dad had tried to get him to leave when he’d arrived at the garage. “You’re off duty; you shouldn’t be here, mijo,” he’d said, attempting to steer Carlos towards Owen’s truck. “Let us handle this now.”

“No,” Carlos had insisted, shaking his dad’s hands off him. “I have to be here. One of the missing paramedics - it’s TK, Dad.”

It had taken a few moments for the penny to drop, his father’s frown growing once it did. “Your friend from the market? I thought he was a firefighter.”

“He switched fields.” Carlos had drawn himself up, staring his dad down. “I’m not going anywhere until I find him.”

Something had flickered across his dad’s face then, something Carlos hadn’t understood. Whatever it was, his expression had quickly cleared, and he’d lain a comforting hand on Carlos’s shoulder.

“Alright, mijo,” he’d said. “You can stay.”

Now, Carlos can feel his dad’s eyes on him as he stares blankly at the building they’d been so sure they’d find TK, Nancy, and Tommy in. It had been empty, because of course it had, and Carlos is starting to wonder if they’re ever going to find them.

They’re supposed to be celebrating right now. TK hadn’t wanted anything special, but Carlos knows he’d secretly been looking forward to tonight, his one year anniversary of sobriety a source of pride for them both. They should be celebrating it; instead, TK could be injured or worse, and Carlos feels like he’s going out of his mind.

(They’d found the ambulance an hour ago, abandoned on the side of the road. There had been blood staining the inside of that, too, and Carlos had had to swallow back bile at the sight.)

His dad comes to stand at his elbow, a hand on Carlos’s back. “So,” he starts, gently, “this TK boy?”

Carlos closes his eyes, desperately wishing for his dad to drop it. He knows what’s coming next, and he knows there’s no avoiding it this time. He doesn’t have the strength to lie.

“Dad -”

“Who is he, Carlos?” His dad’s voice is careful and measured, lacking any hint of judgement, but Carlos still tenses, not fully prepared for the fallout of this conversation.

He avoids his dad’s eyes as he answers, keeping his gaze fixed on the space in front of him. “He’s my boyfriend,” he says. “We’ve been dating for just over six months, and I - I really love him, Dad.”

The last admission is said quietly, but Carlos feels like he’s shouted it, such is the silence that follows his words. His hands start to shake at his sides and a sick feeling begins churning in his gut, but, still, he doesn’t look over.

“Six months…” his dad eventually says, voice strained. “Which means you were together when we met you at the market. Why did you lie?”

A flash of white-hot anger surges through him, tears burning the back of his eyes as he rounds on his dad. “I could hardly tell you the truth!” he cries. “You’ve made it clear you’d rather not hear about my sexuality. I was trying to protect us!”

A sob crawls up his throat, but Carlos pushes it back, determined not to break down in front of his dad’s entire team. His dad’s face is stricken, a surprising emotion glinting in his eyes.

“Oh, Carlos -” he starts, but he’s cut off by one of the Rangers shouting for them. He throws Carlos a look that lets him know they’re not done with this conversation yet, before they both run over to the Ranger, Carlos arriving slightly ahead of his dad.

“We’ve found them,” the Ranger says without preamble.

Carlos stares, the words sending a spark of hope through his chest, but he refuses to give in to it just yet. “How sure are you?” he demands. He knows it’s not his place to ask these questions - he’s barely allowed here as it is - but he doesn’t think he could take one more false lead, one more dead end. The Ranger, to his credit, only momentarily shows his surprise, quickly schooling his expression back into one of firm neutrality. He nods, once.

“Positive.”

And, for the first time since they’d heard the news, Carlos dares to hope.

*

He’ll never get used to this. 

The heart monitor beeping by his side, the smell of bleach, the hardness of the chairs. It’s not something he should really have to get used to, but, with a family full of first responders, hospitals are a fact of Carlos’s life. Especially with a boyfriend like TK, who seems to insist on gravitating towards danger even when it’s no longer his job.

“How do we keep ending up like this, huh?” he whispers, gently running a hand through TK’s hair. 

TK’s asleep, having first woken up around an hour ago. Hopefully, he’ll be discharged later, if all his tests come back okay - which, thankfully they should. 

Carlos’s eyes drift to the bandage around TK’s head, the wrappings around his ribs, the scratchy sheets which Carlos knows covers extensive bruising. They’ve been lucky, he knows this, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forget the sight that greeted him when they burst into that restaurant. Tommy and Nancy were standing by the table, next to an unmoving body, both shaken but unhurt. TK had clearly borne the brunt of the attack, and Carlos hadn’t needed to stop to wonder why; his boyfriend’s too much of a damn hero for his own good sometimes.

Apparently, TK had tried to pull the fire alarm, but had been caught before he could, receiving a blow to the head for his efforts. They’d also broken his nose and several ribs, and his body is littered in marks from the kidnapper’s boots. Carlos’s heart had nearly stopped when he’d first seen TK, cable-tied to a pole and barely conscious, but now he can only thank god that it isn’t worse. 

“Carlos.”

Carlos stiffens as he hears his dad’s voice behind him, dreading the conversation they’re about to have. He tightens his grip on TK’s hand, not yet brave enough to look away from him.

“Hi, Dad,” he says, voice hollow. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

“Yo también, hijo.” His dad heaves a sigh, footsteps coming closer until he’s at Carlos’s side, easing himself into a second chair. “You know we love you, don’t you?”

Carlos winces. “I know. I’m sorry I yelled at you like that earlier, I was just -”

“No, mijo,” his dad interrupts. Carlos looks up at him sharply, confused by the weariness in his dad’s tone, and he’s taken aback by the sorrow in his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever seen him cry before, and Carlos doesn’t know what to make of it. “It is me who should be apologising.”

“Dad -”

His dad holds a hand up, cutting Carlos off. “Your mother and I… We have only ever wanted what was best for you,” he says. “When you came out to us - Carlos, I was so proud. I was shocked, yes, but I could see how hard that must have been for you, and I thought you were so brave. We thought that if we carried on as normal, then you wouldn’t feel like anything had changed. Because, to us, it hadn’t. You were still the beautiful son we had always known and loved, and being gay wasn’t going to change that.

“We thought that you would be more comfortable with it like this, but I see now that we made a mistake. I’m so sorry that we made you feel like you couldn’t talk to us about these things. I’d like to change that, if you’re willing.”

Carlos blinks, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’re really okay with it?” he croaks. “You and mami?”

“Of course we are.” His dad chuckles, rubbing Carlos’s shoulder. “You know what your mother’s like; she’ll be fawning over him as soon as she finds out.”

Carlos manages a laugh, though there’s still a little lingering dread in his stomach at the thought of having to tell his mom. He’ll have to do it, and soon, but he can’t get rid of a decade of uncertainty and fear so easily. At least, this time, he’ll have his dad and his boyfriend by his side.

A groan from the bed pulls his attention, and he looks over to see TK’s eyes blinking open. They immediately seek out Carlos, a frown creasing his brows.

“You’ve been crying,” TK murmurs, reaching a hand up to Carlos’s face, only to freeze before it gets there. TK’s eyes widen, frantically darting between Carlos and his dad. “Uh, Mr Reyes, sir. Carlos said that you helped to find us; thank you.”

“Hey.” Carlos catches TK’s hand, still hovering in mid-air, and smiles at him. “It’s okay, Ty. He knows.”

TK’s lips part in shock. “You told him?” he whispers.

“Kind of had to,” Carlos replies, laughing a little. “I could hardly say I was having a meltdown over a friend, now, could I?”

TK’s face clouds with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Carlos,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Did you ask to get kidnapped?” Carlos asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but -”

“Then you have nothing to apologise for.” He presses a gentle kiss to the inside of TK’s wrist, never breaking their gaze. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

TK smiles, visibly relaxing. He squeezes Carlos’s hand, then brings their joined hands to his lips, lingering for a long moment. Carlos loses himself in it, his heart aching at the thought that he could have lost all of this today. But TK is here, and he’s going to be okay, and that’s all that matters right now.

A throat clears behind them, and Carlos jumps, turning to look guiltily at his dad.

“I see I’m no longer wanted here,” he comments wryly. Carlos flushes, but his dad just laughs and pats his shoulder as he stands. “I’ll see you soon, Carlos.”

“Thank you again, Mr Reyes,” TK calls. 

Carlos’s dad grins at him. “You take care of my boy, TK.”

TK’s gaze flicks over to Carlos, his eyes full of so much love that it shocks him. “With my life, sir.”

It’s a promise that goes both ways and, as he leans over to kiss his boyfriend, Carlos knows that he’d do anything to keep it.

[supercxrpschild]

hearts to heal

hi, please read this prior to reading the piece !

so, i wrote this over the last few days. I was not in a good place, and I needed to write something cathartic. I wrote this because I feel so utterly alone and to have not one, but 4 people care so deeply about you, to hold you, to comfort you, take care of you - I crave it more than anything. 

there is a trigger warning for self-harm. it is not romanticed, this isn’t a story of giving up. it’s a story of family and hope - but please do be aware that there is scenes depicting it. there is also mentions of OCD, anxiety and depression. 

please be kind about this work, as i wasn’t sure whether or not to share it. 

Word Count: 2146 (i think my longest yet? it kinda got away from me...)

Alex frowned at the text she just received. It was from your school alerting her that you had not turned up to your first class.

“Something the matter, Director?” Brainy queries, leaning across the desk.

Alex looks up, “hm?”

“Your face has contorted into a displeased expression.”

“Oh, sorry Brainy. It’s all good, it’s just y/n. She didn’t turn up at school.”

Brainy furrows his brows, “That would make it day number 4, wouldn’t it, Director Danvers?”

Alex thought for a minute - he was right. She had been so wrapped up in work that she couldn’t keep track of days. She didn’t realise this was the fourth day within a week that she had been alerted by the High School of your non-attendance. What else hadn’t she noticed?

“Dammit. Brainy, I’ve gotta go. Do you think you could cover for me today? I know we have a lot of stuff going on but-”

“I will be happy to assume your duties for today, Director.” Alex smiles gratefully as she moves to go grab her stuff and head home,

“Thank you Brainy, I owe you.”

Alex rushed to her car, bumping into Kara on the way.

“Alex? Where are you going?”

“Shit, I’m sorry Kara, I forgot about our lunch today.” Kara shook her head and held her sister’s wrist, “Don’t worry about that, what’s up?”

“It’s y/n, she hasn’t been going to school and I just, I’ve been so busy here and we’ve barely even caught each other. I’m going home to check on her, I’m just so worried Kara, what if something’s really wrong and I just never noticed?” Kara moved her hand, so it was now holding Alex’s, trying to ground her some.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. You had a lot on this week, with the President visiting and then those alien’s taking hostages downtown. Y/n and you have an understanding for when work becomes like this. It’ll be okay.” Alex nods, rubbing her free hand across her face. “Now go get home to your girl, okay? And call me if you need anything. I’m with Lena tonight, but we can both come if need be.”

Alex thanked her sister again and then drove home, her heart beating out of her chest as she climbed the stairs to both of your apartment.

“Y/n?! Y/n, honey I got a text from the school – they said you weren’t there.” Alex called out as she dropped her bags.

“Y/n?” Alex looked around, everything was off and untouched.

As she walked around the apartment, she ran her hand through her hair, messing it from the slicked back style she had put it in a few hours before.

She walked into your room, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw your curled up in bed asleep. She debated for a moment on whether to wake you up or not, eventually going over and sitting by you, rubbing your arm softly.

“Mom?” you mumbled sleepily,

“Yeah honey.” You blinked the sleep out of your eyes,

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Alex said, her hand now moving the brush the hair from your face.

You shifted uncomfortably. It had been a good week of being able to hide everything from your mom, but it was never going to last forever.

“Y/n?, you wanna tell me why you haven’t been going to school?” You shook your head and tried to snuggle back down into your covers.

Alex moved so you were facing her again after turning away,

“Y/n, I’m so sorry I haven’t been here. But I’m here now and I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Your mom’s gentle hand threaded through your hair, though she chose not to comment on the state of it.

“I’m fine mom.” Alex used her free hand to move your face towards her. Your eyes were sunken in, dark circles under them. Your face was red and splotchy, and you looked exhausted.

“Baby, I can tell right now that you are not fine, so out with it.”

Tears began welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t break now, not after hiding things for months and months. What would she do when she finds out? Probably send you away, probably hate you.

You pushed the tears away, swiping at them furiously. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I know you don’t want to, y/n.”

“Then why won’t you leave me alone?!” Alex sat shocked; you had never raised your voice at her.

“Y/n- ”

“No! I don’t want help; I don’t need help. I am FINE.” You huffed and turned away.

Alex decided to give you a moment. A moment so she could think about what to do next. She didn’t want to force you to open up to her, because then it would lack genuineness and could damage the trust between you both. But she was so damn worried about you.

Within that minute that Alex had left you alone for, you managed to get past her and lock yourself in the bathroom – Alex only becoming aware when she heard the door shut.

“Dammit y/n.” She whispered to herself before knocking on the door.

“What mom!? Am I not allowed to pee alone anymore?!” You and her both knew that wasn’t what you were doing; and knowing your mom – a badass DEO agent – you had very limited time before the door was busted open.

You felt below the sink, pulling the blade from where you’d hidden it. Wasting no time, you slashed at your thighs, the relief immediate.

Right on time, Alex forced the door open.

“Oh baby.” You looked up at her, begging her not to get any closer. “Let’s put that down, alright y/n? Then we can get you cleaned up and talk.” You shook your head, feeling yourself become unwound.

“No, please. I just, I just need to do it two more times. It doesn’t work if its only once, please mom please.” Alex cringed slightly, how didn’t she notice that you had been on a downward spiral? That your OCD was coming back full force? That your eating habits changed, that your anxiety and depression were spiking again – how didn’t she realise?

“Y/n, please put it down.” You scooted across the floor, putting as much distance between you both as you could.

“I need it mom, please.” Tears rolled down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Alex was doing the most to keep hers at bay. She couldn’t do this.

You look down at your thigh, blood dripping. You didn’t notice your mom flipping open her watch and pressing the button that had your aunt rushing through the door within the minute.

“Kara, please, I can’t – I don’t wanna hurt her. I don’t know how to stop her.” Kara took over, seeing her sister’s frantic state and pulled you into her lap, shushing you softly. You were no match for her kryptonian strength as she threw the blade towards your mom, who then flushed it.

You wailed and wailed, trying desperately to get out of Kara’s grip. She never wavered, just calmly whispering to you. Eventually, Alex pulled herself together and sat down on the bathroom floor with you both, noticing you beginning to stop fighting.

“My sweet, sweet girl.” She whispered, holding your face in her hands, kissing away the tears of anguish and suffering.

“Mommy.” You reached out from your Auntie Kara’s grip, latching onto Alex. “’m sorry mommy, ‘m sorry.”

“Shhh, shhh honey. It’s all okay. I’ve got you.” Alex paid no attention to the blood that was getting over her clothes. All she cared about was holding you tight.

Kara sat quietly, watching her niece and her sister who were both clearly in pain and scared. Alex usually always had control of situations, so when Kara came in to see her frozen and desperate it scared her.

“Hey, I think we should have a look at your leg, y/n.” Kara said softly, not wanting to break up the mother-daughter moment; but being the only one who got a good look at your thigh, she knew the depth of the wounds.

Alex tried to ease you off her, coaxing you until you eventually let go. She didn’t realise the damage you’d done. Not only the new, deep cuts; but the hundreds of scars covering your skin. She felt like she’d failed.

“Baby, I think you need stitches for a couple of these.” Alex said, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I’m not getting stitches. It’s fine, Mom.” Kara interjected,

“They’re pretty bad sweetheart.”

You shook your head. “I’m not going to a hospital. You can’t make me.”

Kara looked at Alex, trying to see if they were on the same page.

“We could call Lena, then her and I can do it.” Your mom says, nodding to Kara who pulls out her phone.

Kara lifted you onto the bathroom counter. There were some perks to having two people trained in some sort of medicine in your chosen family, you guessed. They could perform small things like this. But sometimes, like today, it just didn’t make things any easier. Your Aunt Kara tried to talk to you, keeping your eyes on her as her sister and girlfriend cleaned your wounds and stitched them up. You had tears of pain dripping down your face, but your bared it. Just.

“We’re done, y/n. You did so well darling.” You blushed slightly at Lena’s praise. Reaching for your mom, she had no hesitation in pulling you into her arms, albeit struggling a little.

There was a knock at the door, and given you wouldn’t let your mom go, Kara went and answered it.

It was Kelly, who had brought over homemade soup, bread and some ice-cream.

With you still attached to her hip, Alex kissed her girlfriend and whispered a small thank-you. Kelly smiled knowingly and rubbed your shoulder.

The four older women would do anything to make sure the youngest of their family was okay, and seeing you so obviously not, was painful.

“Should we eat something bub?” Alex asked gently, you shook your head. “Kelly brought your favourites.” You shook your head again,

“Don’t wanna eat.” Alex sighed. You’d truly slipped so far backwards.

She tried to put you down on the couch, eventually compromising so you were sitting on her lap. It was a long hour of persuading and encouragement from all four women, but you ended up eating something.

Kara tried to lighten the mood, talking about anything and everything to keep your mind off the food. It worked for the most part, but you just couldn’t stop thinking about how utterly fat you were. You shouldn’t need to eat.

It felt like you were just a lifeless sack, being passed from one person to another; your brain having difficulty processing what was going on until it was happening. Your mom placed you into a full tub, scrubbing your dirty hair and body. There was faint commotion somewhere else in the apartment, but you couldn’t focus long enough to figure out what it was.

Kara and Lena worked on changing your bed, giving you fresh sheets and blankets. Kelly called a couple contacts she had that were good at working with adolescents. It would be hard to bring up the fact that you have to go back to therapy; you weren’t too fond of it. But Kelly was happy to help make it as comfortable as it can be, even looking for someone who was in the same building as her so she could be there if need be.

Lena offered to braid your hair while your mom, aunt Kara and Kelly talked outside. You welcomed the attention and began to drop off as nimble fingers threaded through your freshly washed hair, despite it only being the afternoon.

“You can go to sleep darling, it’s okay.” Lena said gently as she finished the second braid. You surprised her by turning into her and nuzzling her neck; desperate for the comfort wherever you could find it after isolating yourself for so long.

Alex walked in, telling Lena that both Kara and Kelly had to go back to work, at least for an hour or two.

“I’m happy to stay if you both need someone here?” Lena replies, smoothing your hair as you get nearer to sleep.

“Thank you, Lena. But we’ll be alright; plus, I’m pretty sure the other two are coming back tonight, if you want to come too. They’re worried about her.” Lena nods,

“I am too.” Alex realises how much you mean to all four of them. This little girl, who was maybe not so little, had such a huge part of their hearts – hearts that now ached alongside yours. Though, hopefully, they would be hearts to help heal yours, too.

[imfiguringitoutlovely]

you're going through a depressive episode||kaminari

pairing: denki kaminari x depressed, he/they reader

type: angst, fluff, it was supposed to be hcs but its more of a drabble?

warning: mentions of depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, dissociation, symptoms of ptsd, mental breakdown

author's note: I've started spiraling again and i really need this right now. please do not read this if you feel like you're in a vulnerable state of mind. also, reader and kami are in class 2-A at this point. and ill have another lams x reader fic come out soon, im sorry, ive been swamped with academic shit.

it'd been officially a little over six months since you'd started dating kaminari. he was the one to make the first move, mostly because you were sure that he was straight after all his antics with mineta and all. but you were wrong. this shocking (im so sorry) guy had a few secrets apparently. number one was that he was bi. number two was that he loved the way you laughed. three was the way he could stare at you smiling all day. four was how much he adored your sense of humor. and so on and so forth.

you picked up on these things. and yes, it was sweet. they made you smile, made you feel loved and appreciated. made you feel secure for a while. and then your depression trickled in and reminded you that the things he loves the most about you disappeared in waves from time to time. it reminded you that you couldn't always show what he loved, you couldn't always embody the reasons he'd fallen for you.

school was getting increasingly stressful. quirk training left you feeling constantly drained. your family wasn't being supportive of neither your schooling or relationship choices, and they didn't hesitate to constantly remind you. and then there was your constant reality, the villains and everything going on with UA. you started to feel like you were fading away, fighting against quicksand. you have to try to fix one problem, but then three others worsen and you have to try and fix those, but then there's more.

you were starting to reach a breaking point. your reality was starting to fall apart. not only were you losing touch with everyone and everything around you but you were spiralling out with your own identity. who were you? who did you want to be? were you really fit to be a hero, or was it a stupid dream? was it even your dream?

your anxiety got really bad as a response. so you were low on energy, out of touch, and you'd get spikes in adrenaline that you were too exhausted to fully process which left you a panicked mess.

despite how bad it was, it took your friends a long time to notice. you hid it because you felt like you didn't deserve to be helped. everyone else was dealing with all these things so easily, it seemed, and you weren't even getting everything they were. your life seemed mild compared to theirs, and so you held it in.

kirishima was the first person to catch on. the whole bakusquad (including you) were eating lunch at a table. you sat next to kaminari, as you usually did, but this time you sat by the edge of the bench. usually you sat in the middle, but you figured you'd sit at the end so you could step away if your anxiety started revving up. this was...fine. it didn't catch any attention. no, what signaled kirishima to suspect something was off was when your boyfriend asked how you were feeling about training.

you had zoned out, deep in your thoughts that all centered around the problems you had to fix that you had no more energy to deal with. you were staring off into your bowl of udon that you'd barely touched when he asked.

"i think it's a little overkill. making us come up with another special move? i'm still trying to get my first one right." he sighed in exasperation, though of course it was light hearted. "what do you think, [Y/n]?"

you hadn't even caught his question. you only heard ringing in one ear and distant voices in another, but they were mixed up and hard to make out in your head.

"[Y/n]? [Y/n]~?" He then tried a nickname and your hero name, but no response. It wasn't until Bakugou yelled that you snapped out of it.

"hey, idiot two, idiot one is asking you something!" but the sudden boost in volume made your anxiety hit hard. you jumped a little in your seat, entire body tensing and going into flight mode as your eyes focused on the people around you. you were too panicked, though, to realize the way kirishima seemed worried, or the way kaminari seemed to start to take the sign, too. you just looked so... so confused and scared until you processed why he'd yelled and what everyone was waiting for. you didn't look okay, and you didn't sound ok, either.

"o-oh. um." you cleared your throat. "well i get why they're making up do it. it'll help...in...fighting. so... im gonna use the restroom, sorry." and you stood and rushed off.

the whole table thought it was off. but they let it go as you being tired or overthinking the special move training. again, only kaminari and kirishima were really noticing the off-ness.

the next time anything showed was during training. catharsis. this was supposed to be the way your frustrations were let out, right? so why the hell was it making you feel worse?

you were training on your general combat skills, which meant minimizing the use of your quirk unless you could ensure it wouldn't be destructuve to the environment. your mind was so foggy and you kept making mistakes. mistake after mistake after mistake, and it was starting to get annoying. of course you were paired with uraraka who'd gotten trained for this during her internship, so it was going.... g r e a t for you. by great, i mean you ended up being flipped over her and slammed onto the ground two times already with her then pretending it took all her energy because she felt bad for you.

by the third time she managed to get you on the ground, you gave up. you just laid on your back, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. the sounds of the other fights going in in the gym started to just fade into ringing, and you closed your eyes to try and calm yourself down. but the ringing got louder. the floor felt like it was sinking with you still on it, but you didn't bother trying to move away. everything you felt started feeling off, distant. second-hand. your breathing slowed, but you weren't calm. you were leaving yourself, running away from all the aching and anger and disappointment. you hadn't even noticed the way uraraka was crouching by you in complete concern, her brows furrowed before calling mr.aizawa over to help.

aizawa spoke directly to you, and because he was there, the rest of the class started looking over to see what was going on. kaminari especially, who ran over after he saw you just laying there.

"hey, what's going on-?" he kneeled next to you. "[Y/n]? [Y/N], what's-?" he grabbed your hand, gently, put a little spark went through and you immediately opened your eyes. you tensed up as the ringing in your ears overlapped the sound of small conversations coming from your classmates who were starting to crowd around you. aizawa shooed them off quickly, but kami wasn't having it. uraraka apologized before taking over kami's fight. aizawa helped you up, taking note of how after the slight shock you'd gone into a state of immediate distance. he took another moment to look at you, asked if you were physically okay, and then shooed your boyfriend off while granting you permission to sit out the rest of training, something Aizawa was known to only do when push comes to shove.

kaminari could barely focus on the three way fight he was dealing with because you were hurt. mentally or physically, you were hurting but you didn't talk to him about it. how could he help you if you didnt want help?

after class, your teacher insisted on talking to you. he recommended you to the school counselor, who you already knew after the summer camp incident. you went, but you never went back. that night, too, kami went to your dorm. he wanted to have a sleepover. he was a cuddly person, actually (which led to a ton of static all over you and your bed), and typically you adored it, but right now you wanted to shut yourself in to think, to fix. when you let him down, he noticed how... almost robotic it sounded... this had been going on for too long. he had to say something. he had to-

the idiot didn't think and put his thin-slipper covered foot in the doorway before you could close it all the way. his foot died. he inhaled and swallowed his pain before pushing the door open a bit.

"[Y/n]. what's going on? what's wrong?" he looked so worried. he wasn't dumb. you knew that. despite all the jokes the class made and the way he got when he pushed his quirk, denki was smart. he just took a little longer to understand certain subjects and often times had trouble concentrating. it didn't make him dumb. especially when it came to being aware of the people around him.

"wrong? nothing. just need to work on some studying is all-"

"for?"

"a test." he went quiet. because he knew there wasn't a test. you knew there wasn't a test until friday and it was monday and you never really studied until a night or two before. there was an uncomfortable pause that lasted way too long. way, way wayyyy too long. he was the one to break it.

"you don't need to tell me what you're not comfortable saying. but i need to know what the overall issue is so i know how to be here for you. i know im not great with tough feeling, but i want to be here for you." he watched as you went back to your desk. your textbooks were closed.

you knew you couldn't answer with "nothing". "i guess school is stressing me out. you know, with training and all-"

"you know you can always talk to me and ei about setting up a study group. we can do it for homework too-"

"no. no, it's alright."

"...then how can i help you? i want to be here for you. i want to support you the best i can, [y/n]. i know i seem stupud but i'm not blind-"

"i know you're not stupid or blind. i didn't say you were, babe, but i just need space-"

"that's what i've tried to give you. that's what i'm trying to do, but the more i give you, the worse you seem to get-!"

"then stop! then stop and go, kaminari! if im- i know im being stubborn, i know im closing myself off, but im trying to fix everything, okay?! and im-im trying to... im trying to fix this, to fix... to..." your tears started falling, quick. you stood and tried to find your breath, but the wind was knocked out of you. anxiety. "i need to fix it. i need to-to suck it up and-" you leaned on the desk, your breathing quickening and becoming sporadic. "i- i'm-"

denki was in shock. he'd never seen you this way. he was in front of you in milliseconds, trying to guide you through breathing. eventually it worked, but at that you'd already hit your limit. you were sobbing, hesitantly leaning into him even though your senses were bit overwhelmed.

"i just- i didn't- i need to fix everything..."

that night, denki held you. he laid with you in bed and held you as you cried it all out, head starting to ache from it all. he didn't speak until you were starting to calm down.

"you don't need to."

"w-what?"

"fo fix anything. you don't. we go through everything as a class. and as for us, we go through everything as a pair."

"...i have depression. and anxiety. diagnosed."

he paused, but spoke when he realized you were getting anxious again. "is it getting treated with anything?"

"no..."

"then we'll go to the counselor tomorrow together."

"you don't have to-"

"i want to. with you. okay?"

okay.

okay...

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 13: Home Alone?

Summary: Mikey is home (almost) alone and trying to get up to no good, but there is someone stopping him from leaving

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Content warning: featuring dementia, swears, mentions of demons

Mikey hated everything in that moment. He hated that he was alone in a quiet lair while his brothers got to go off on an adventure. He hated how his muscles ached and how his mind was still fuzzy like lint had clogged it up. He hate how small the buttons were on this damned remote and how he kept pressing the wrong ones—

Mrrp, said Klunk with a tilt of his head; the head tilt made him lose his balance and tumble over onto his back. Now that was something Mikey could never be mad about. He leaned down and scooped the kitten up in his hand.

“Oh Klunk.” Mikey put Klunk on his chest and left his hand hovering, ready to catch the kitten should he fall. “This is so boring. Isn’t this boring?”

Mahhh, said Klunk.

“Well what would you know? You’re a cat.”

Prrrb, said Klunk.

“Yeah…” Mikey relented, sinking deeper into the couch, “You’re right.

Meep, said Klunk. He rubbed his head against Mikey’s hand for a fraction of a moment before jumping over it. He landed hard on the ground, but recovered enough to wobble off. Mikey watched Klunk go until he could see the kitten no more.

“Et tu, Brute?” Mikey sighed. This day just kept getting worse! 

His eyes began to wander away from the TV. This environment was still strange and foreign to him, the walls feeling so tight that he thought he might pop if they squeezed any harder. It had only been a day but he was already feeling homesick. His lair had wide open rooms and high ceilings where he could skate and run around and play with his ball. If he tried any of that here, he’d break everything in this place and probably himself too. He didn't see himself skating any time soon anyway.

How long ago had his brothers left? It felt like hours, but when he checked the clock it hadn’t even been one! They were taking forever and Mikey wasn’t sure how much of the silence he could take. He could move his body now with little pain, and even if he was a bit stiff he was still leagues ahead of an average human. If someone as big and obvious as Raphael could thrive in this city without being spotted, then so could Mikey! In the heat of his thoughts, his mind was immediately made up. Even if his brothers and friends came back before he had returned, he would have still gotten to see the beauty of the city! He was willing to take any punishment, even the hashi, for the promise of adventure! Splinter was busy meditating and Yoshi was in his room, so if Mikey wanted to escape it had to be now!

Mikey pushed himself to his feet, forcing his muscles to obey him. If he could spent twelve hours in the hashi with aching muscles and straining will, he could do this too. He wanted to! The ladder that he had seen the other turtles climb with all the effort it took to breathe seemed to stretch out before Mikey in an eternity, the end lost in shadows. His vision spiraled with vertigo and he almost fell before he forced himself to look down and breathe. He could do this. He could do this! A ladder had nothing on him!

He grabbed one of the bars.

“Hello?”

Mikey’s blood went cold at the voice. A low voice of slow hesitance, speaking in a Japanese tongue instead of an english one. 

“Hello?” The voice called again.

Mikey turned his head slowly toward the call. It was coming from the hallway on the opposite side of the living room, and in that hallway was Yoshi. The gray rat relied heavily on the wall, his tail dragging without any conscious effort to hold it up off the ground. Mikey froze. His body tensed as it expected to be grabbed around the ankle and tossed by an agitated father, but nothing like that happened. In fact, even though Yoshi was looking at him, it didn't seem Yoshi actually saw him.

He could still go. He could still leave without getting caught but for some reason he didn't. Yoshi didn't move from his spot and neither did Mikey. The box turtle jumped when the sudden hum of the heater rumbled to life. It dislodged a piece of lint from somewhere under the couch and the lint was carried on the breeze until it ended up at Yoshi’s feet. Yoshi’s lack of expression didn't change as he turned down to look at whatever it was that was tickling him.

The rat’s next breath gave out shaky, more like a whimper than anything else. His feet shuffled backward, trying to escape the lint as it clung to him stubbornly and followed. Scuffling across the ground with such urgency, he stumbled over himself. First his feet, and then tripping over his own tail. Mikey was there to catch the rat before he had even begun to fall.

“Careful Yoshi!”

Yoshi gave another frustrated whine and kept trying to evade the lint as it blew past him. Mikey didn't know what to do, so he just stood there and watched, keeping Yoshi away from what agitated him. Now that Mikey was so close to Yoshi, he started to notice more changes in the rat he once knew well. Yoshi’s fur felt oily and stuck up in spiked instead of lying flat, like he was in a permanent state of anxiety. His hair had the same greasy look of his fur and, now Mikey was essentially holding the rat, he could feel Yoshi had several layers on despite the lair’s heat.

“Hey sensei, why you got so much on?” Mikey asked, his immediate instinct to start to strip some of the jackets and scarves off.

Yoshi shoved against Mikey and, for fear of hurting the small rat if he held on, it was all Mikey could do to let Yoshi escape. The gaunt rat scrambled for his freedom the moment he was able to.

“Aren't you hot?” Mikey called.

“I have to get to set.” Yoshi said, hurriedly fixing buttons into the wrong holes. When he began to climb the ladder, Mikey was quick to get in his way.

“No can do Yosh, you don’t work anymore.” Mikey said in Japanese tongue.

Yoshi took a few steps back, straining his neck to look up and up at the massive box turtle. For the first time since he entered the room, Yoshi’s expression distorted from the stiff disinterest, his eyebrows knitting together and mouth dropped open. He blinked, and his eyes were darting around the room following invisible threats.

“Who are you?” Said Yoshi, and his words wavered between English and Japanese as he yelled them at Mikey. “Where are my sons?”

“Hey, it’s okay dude— Er, sensei dude. They just went out on a mission.” Mikey did his best to reassure.

“When will they be back?”

“I don’t know.” Mikey said, and he only watched as Yoshi wandered past him.

“Y-you need to go before my sons get back. This is my house!”

“I know, I’m just visiting!” Mikey said, breaking from his still curse enough to pursue Yoshi as the rat left at a quick lumbering pace. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Yoshi didn't respond. Mikey recognized the path Yoshi was taking toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

Yoshi stopped, shaking his head slightly as an open-mouthed smile came to him. “Yes.”

Mikey, now having some sort of game plan in mind, continued to follow Yoshi until they reached the kitchen. He first set up chamomile to boil before reheating lunch from previous night. Mikey turned to help Yoshi into his chair but the rat was already there, scratching absently at his fur. Looking closer still and Mikey could see patches of fur missing, skin rubbed so raw from scratching that he was bleeding. His clung loosely sound his bone with very little fat or muscle to define his figure. Ten minutes later, Mikey was sitting at the table with Yoshi watching the old rat while he ate; well, it was more like ***poked*** than ate. Yoshi was using his chopsticks to clink against the plate, moving the gyoza around like a sliding toy.

“Aren’t you hungry Yoshi?” Mikey asked, pointing at the plate.

Prompted by the words, Yoshi made an attempt to pick up a gyoza, and just as quickly dropped the gyoza and one of his chopsticks. He picked up the chopstick and tried again, and again. Each time, he’d either drop the chopstick or the food or both. Once the gyoja even fell from his mouth and splatted onto his lap; Mikey was quick to clean it up, but there was still a sauce stain remaining of the third layer of robes that had been forced on.

Yoshi seemed to finally realize he had tea, though it had long since gone cold. He reached over and grabbed the mug in both paws, but that didn't stop it from slipping out of his hands and spilling its entirety over his lap. The rat hissed, reaching to try and swipe it off by himself until Mikey sped over with a towel and worked urgently to pat him dry. Yoshi tried to help, but Mikey was quick to shut him down.

“Okay, lunch over.” Mikey said even though Yoshi hadn’t eaten even a single bite. He placed his hand in the small of Yoshi’s back like he had seen Raphael do the previous day, working to guide Yoshi back toward his room. Yoshi complied for a short time, then started to hesitate and drag his feet.

“Who are you?” Asked Yoshi, expression tight, “Where are my sons?”

“...let’s get you back to bed, Yoshi.”

Mikey placed Yoshi back in his room and turned off the light, hoping that would be enough to encourage the old man to go back to sleep. He gave a farewell bow to Yoshi and closed the door. It hadn’t been that long, he reasoned. Maybe he could still get some exploring done before his brothers got back! He went back into the living room, back to the ladder that more resembled a marathon to him. Fixing Yoshi the wasted food had only served to make his soreness worse, but he could do this. He could—

“Hello?”

Mikey turned around, and Yoshi was standing there in the hallway, leaning into the wall just as he had before. Mikey gave a long sigh. His dad certainly wasn’t doing a good job taking care of Yoshi like he had promised to do.

“Yoshi, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I can’t.” Said Yoshi, “There’s a man in my room.”

In the half minute it took Mikey to get from the living room to Yoshi’s bedroom, he blacked out. His mind registered nothing except needing to get to that room, and only once he was there did his mind start to kick into overdrive. Nunchaku in hand, he took a stand in the doorway using the wall as a shield, his peripheral senses reaching out into the room searching for movement or danger. He didn't move, nor breathe, and neither did anything in Yoshi’s room. Just the steady gurgle of his fish tank’s filter as it worked, the new occupant (a beautiful shubunkin goldfish named Cleo) bobbing happily in her water. Mikey didn't let his guard down, even as he entered the room with his weapon swinging in his left hand; he could still hardly close his right hand.

He worked to clear the room, looking under every surface that could possibly be hiding anything living. The longer he searched, the more confused he became when he found nothing out of place in the entirety of the room. He turned on the light and took another glance, finding only the normal stuff. Bed, closet, clothes piled up ready to be sorted. The fish was still swimming happily around in her tank, and Yoshi’s bed was still made up as if he hadn’t even been laying on it. One of the piles of clothes were disturbed, but it had been like that when he had brought Yoshi in the first time; Mikey figured that was the pile Yoshi had dressed himself with.

Yoshi was in the doorway now. For someone slowed by age, it seemed he still had the habit of sneaking up on people.

“Yoshi, where was the man?” Mikey asked.

“There.” Yoshi said, pointing to the pile of tossed clothes, “He’s there!”

Mikey frowned. “Yoshi, that’s just clothes.”

“No! No, he’s right there!” Yoshi’s voice grew high-pitched in his agitation, “He has no hair and his eyes are green!”

Mikey stared at the clothes, trying to see what Yoshi was seeing. An impulse struck him and he turned off the lights, and like a blanket of evil, shadows swallowed the room and turned the pile into a demon. A dark shape looming in the corner, its presence seeming to reach out and trace a chilling claw across the ambiance of the room. Mikey turned the light back on, and the demon turned back into clothes.

“Ah. I see him now.” Mikey said, a smile coming naturally to his face as he played up his expressions and gestures for the sake of Yoshi, “What are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to be in here!”

Mikey strutted confidently over to the pile of clothes and gathered them up in his arms, yanking them away and making sure Yoshi could see him.

“You get out of here and let Mister Yoshi sleep!” Mikey dropped the clothes on The other side of the door, dusting his hands clean, “There. Don’t you move, mister, I’m not done with you!”

Mikey closed the door and guided Yoshi carefully over to his bed, this time making sure Yoshi got into it and was covered.

“Don’t worry, Yoshi, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

“Thank you…” Yoshi breathed his relief.

Mikey left Yoshi in the bed and shut off the lights before closing the door and melting into giggles. He gathered the clothes up in his arms and carried them with him, not quite sure what he was going to do with them but he was sure he’d figure it out. He got as far as the stairs before stopping dead.

The sound of footsteps fading away met his ears, and the shadow of a fleeing humanoid was disappearing down the lit tunnel that led to Donatello’s room. It was only a momentary glance, but it was enough for Mikey to be certain in what he had seen. The clothes fell from his arms and littered the stairs like fallen snow.

Mikey screamed.

[undertaker1827]

Hey, could you make Fluffy Undertaker where he helps his s/o that have anxiety? She's worried about online classes and because her depression/anxiety made her lost all the last year? Sorry about my English~~

Yes of course, and your English is really good!! Just as a little side note, all the remedies Undertaker uses in this are real ones, none medicinal and very effective. Obviously check allergies if you’re going to try essential oils, but all of this stuff genuinely helps. Anywho, sorry this took so long and hope you enjoy!

❗️Warnings; reader has a panic attack at the beginning ❗️

Masterlist

-

Undertaker knew something was wrong as soon as he saw you. He had left the parlour for all of a few minutes to get some milk, but when he announced his return and received no reply, he was immediately on alert. He slowly put the groceries down on top of a coffin then made his way through to the back rooms. His face fell to a concerned frown when he heard quiet crying. He pushed the door open to the kitchen only to be met with the saddest thing he had seen in quite some time. You were on the floor, curled up with your knees to your chest and you back to the nearest wall.

Your hands were trembling ferociously and your whole body felt weak. Nausea was climbing its sickening way up the back of your throat and your breaths were heaving, rattling, hardly allowing any air to enter your lungs at all. Mentally, you were spiralling. Having lost your entire last year, going back to online cases now seemed even more daunting than perhaps it was to others and you couldn’t get a lid on your panic for the life of you. You only realised Undertaker was repeatedly saying your name when you felt his hand rest gently on your arm.

The reaper felt your whole body jump as soon as he touched you which only served to deepen his concern. The reddened, fearful eyes that looked back at him hardly seemed to belong to you. In an attempt to gain your focus, he pushed his bangs back from his eyes and immediately commanded your gaze. You failed to stop panicking, but at least you knew he was there now.

“Y/N,” the mortician murmured in a low voice, “I just need you to breath, alright?” You broke into feverish apologies for your current state, for everything else you could think of in that moment and it didn’t take him long to realise that you had been like this for a while, maybe even as soon as he had left. With that in mind, he stood up and quickly rummaged through one of his cupboards, reappearing seconds later with a whole lemon. He crouched down in front of you once more and held it up to you.

“Bite this,” was all the explanation he offered. Now both upset and confused, you went to say something else against the idea only to have him force the fruit into your mouth regardless. You bit down out of reflex then started gagging on the sour taste. By the time you pushed his hand away and half-choked on the juice, you were so intent on asking what the hell Undertaker thought he was doing that you hardly realised you had been shocked right out of your panic attack. You stopped midway through berating the reaper and frowned, glancing back at him to be met with a grin.

“How did you do that?” You asked incredulously. You had never managed to get out of a panic attack that easily in your life.

“Grabs your brain’s attention,” he replied, “it can’t keep panicking because it’s too busy trying to work out what the hell you’re doing. Anything sour and fairly horrible tasting does the trick, but citrus is especially useful. Now why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable, hm?” With that, Undertaker helped you to your unsteady feet and supported you as you walked to the sofa, hands still shaking. He again helped you to sit down, fingertips running up and down your arm as he told you he would be back in a moment. You swallowed harshly and bent forwards, resting your head between your knees until the feeling of sickness finally dissipated.

Undertaker had paused when he left the room, a silent sigh passing his lips. He hadn’t asked you what was wrong because he already knew. You frequently mentioned starting online classes again and he could practically smell your fear spiking. He made a massive effort to divert your attention in those moments to prevent something like today from happening. As he started making his way back to the kitchen, he continued to mentally berate himself. He knew how worried you were about this, so why hadn’t he realised you were on the brink when he left earlier on? Eventually, he decided he would have to analyse it later. He fished around the back of several kitchen drawers until he found small glass bottles containing a benzoin tincture and lavender oil, then set about making you a cup of chamomile tea.

You turned towards the door when you heard the mortician come back in. He smiled warmly at you then gave you the tea, proceeding to set up a mist diffuser for the lavender oil and returning with the benzoin tincture. He sat next to you and handed over the small bottle. He explained that you needed to breath it in without actually touching the oil to your skin.

“All of this will help to calm you down, Y/N, I promise,” he reassured you softly. You found it did indeed relieve your panicked state of mind and body, leaving you feeling relaxed, if not incredibly tired. The mortician slowly reached out a hand towards you, asking if you wanted to cuddle. He wasn’t sure if you would want to, or if you would just want some space.

“Would you mind?” You asked quietly, immediately feeling better about yourself when Undertaker grinned widely.

“’Course not! I’m here, whatever you need,” he reminded you, then just about engulfed you into his arms. You buried your face in his shoulder and deeply inhaled his comforting scent as he started running his hands up and down your back, one coming to rest over your lower spine and the other between your shoulder blades. He left gentle kisses on your head and whispered comforts to you until he felt your heartbeat finally return to normal, until your fingertips remained steady whilst they were buried in the folds of his jumper. You stayed there long into the night, eventually falling asleep in the mortician’s embrace.

[slytherinbarnes]

there are ghosts in the sky, ii

ii. how deep is the moon?

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 12.4k

Warnings: violence, fighting, language, angst, anxiety, blood, death, mentions of Shumway.

Summary: the battle for your body begins, but who will come out on top? you or josephine?

a/n: part 2 is here and it’s my favorite of the three! what do you think so far?!

au series masterlist // sub rosa masterlist // full masterlist

It takes a second for the flood of panic to leave your system, and it’s quickly replaced with confusion.

Despite your last memory being of you stretched out on a table, surrounded by skeletons while being murdered by Russell Lightbourne, you are now in Arkadia, in the room you shared with Bellamy before Praimfaya. Your clothes are the same ones you used to wear back then, long since discarded. The closer you look at the room though, the more you realize it’s not right.

In fact, it’s a mess.

Clarke’s sketches clutter the walls, taped over each other, overlapping in some places. Weirdly enough though, some of the sketches are from your memories, not hers, etched out perfectly despite her not being present for the memory. Scattered among the sketches are star charts, each of them labeled differently, and you reach out to touch the closest one, simply labeled, “The Kiss. October 11, 2149.”

As soon as your fingers brush over the paper, you get a glimpse of a memory: Bellamy, hovered above you, the sound of Grounders and Delinquents fighting in the background. But all you see is him, and all you feel is him as he leans down to kiss you. You pull away in shock, not expecting the memory to appear around you so vividly. You reach out and run your hands along the cluttered wall, and your hand passes over a sketch, transporting you out of your room again. This time, you're standing in Vincent and Maya’s bathroom, with Bellamy’s arms wrapped around you. You pull away again, walking along the room, scanning the belongings. A stack of books sits on the desk in the corner, and you smile as you look down at them, The Illiad on top. You reach out to grab it, but when you do, you see Gina in front of you, slumped over the desk, bleeding out. You gasp and drop the book in shock, stepping away from it, suddenly realizing that not all of the memories in this room are good ones. 

As your eyes scan over the sketches and star maps and assorted books, you see memories from every year of your life, both the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. There’s a star map near you, and you get curious and move towards it, reading the label, “Sister. March 28, 2150.”

When you reach out and touch it, you see you and Octavia hugging, right before the Final Conclave, days before Praimfaya. Beside it is a sketch of McCreary torturing you and Clarke, your fight with Bellamy outside of the Second Dawn bunker because of his relationship with Echo, you nearly being killed in Shallow Valley by the Eligius prisoner, sitting with your family in your living room on the Ark. You step back, almost overwhelmed with the memories, your memories, that are held within this room, and as you take a deep breath to center yourself, you hear a door creak open behind you. You turn your gaze to the door to the room, light now filtering in through the crack, and curious, you walk towards it, pushing the door open wider and stepping outside.

Except outside is actually inside, because you get a flash of light before you realize that you are now standing in the church that you, Madi, and Clarke used as your home in Shallow Valley. When you look down, your clothes are different again, your outfit one that you wore frequently in the valley, and as you step deeper into the room, you realize now that you’re not alone. A figure stands near one of the windows, peering out, their back to you. But you don't need them to turn around for you to know that it’s your father, because you just know.

You let out a little gasp at the sight of him, and he turns to face you, a smile on his face. You feel tears rise to your eyes as you look at him, his face a little older than it was at his death. He whispers, “Hello, sweetheart.”

He opens his arms and you crash into him, pressing your face into his chest, smelling his scent of grease and Ark soap. Tears fall down your face as you hug him tightly, only pulling away when a thought starts to nag in your head. “How are you here?”

His voice is calm, yet serious, when he asks, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I died.” And saying the words out loud, they shock you a little, because it feels like they have solidified the truth of what you already knew. You’re dead, your mind in some sort of afterlife, and that’s why you can see your father. That’s how he’s here. Your dad seems to sense that you're spiraling, because he turns you around and starts to guide you over to one of the tables in the room. “Come here, let’s sit.”

You plop down into the chair, looking at your father in shock, your voice a quiet whisper. “It's over. I've been fighting for so long.”

“I know you have.”

A horrifying realization hits you hard, bringing tears to your eyes. “I didn't get to say goodbye to Bellamy, or Clarke, Madi, Mom.”

Each new name that pops into your head, each unsaid goodbye, makes you more emotional, and as your dad gazes at you with a sad expression, you hear the clap of thunder outside. The lighting in the room changes quickly, the sunlight fading and now hidden behind a wall of clouds, and you stand and turn to the window, walking over to gaze out at the suddenly stormy sky in confusion. “What the hell? It started when I got upset.”

Behind you, your dad calls your name, drawing your attention back to him. “Listen, what do you hear?”

You listen for a second, your ears only picking up on the soft patter of rain on the window, so you roll your eyes and look towards him. “Rain?”

He laughs, and the sound brings a smile to your face, but his amusement fades as he locks eyes with you. “I'm serious, la lune. Focus. Between the raindrops, what else do you hear?”

You close your eyes, listening hard, focusing on the sound between the raindrops, and slowly, your ears start to pick up on a different sound, a steady thumping sound. The longer you focus, the louder it grows, until you open your eyes and look at your dad in surprise. “A heartbeat.”

He smiles and nods, and you look at him in shock, “I'm still alive.” But before he can say anything, you shake your head, instantly refuting your own statement. “No. No, I saw it. Russell killed me.” 

“He didn't.”

You shake your head again, starting to grow frustrated. “You're just in my head. I loved being here with Clarke and Madi, and I love you, so here we are.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your dad stands from his place at the table and crosses the room over to you, pulling you into his arms at the first sign of your now falling tears. Your emotions are all over the place, confusing you, and you feel yourself growing frustrated as you struggle to understand what’s going on. You pull away from your dad slightly so you can look into his face when you ask, “I don't understand. Am I dreaming?”

“This place is reacting to you, so we're just in your subconscious somehow. Beyond that, there are no answers for you here, so go on. Go figure this out. I'll be here if you need me.”

You look up at your father, into his smiling face, your grief over losing him hitting you in a way that it hasn’t in months. You suddenly realize that you’re grateful for this moment, that you get to see him again, but you know that walking out the door and leaving him behind will just amplify your loss again. Because if you do figure this out and leave all of this behind, you’ll be leaving him behind too. And subconscious projection or not, that loss still pains you. Your father motions towards the door, urging you to leave, and you whisper, “I love you, Dad.”

“Forever, my little la lune. Now go on.”

You nod and turn away from him, heading back to the door of the church, stopping just as you reach it to turn and look back at your dad one last time. He smiles and waves at you, and you smile back before turning and pushing the door open, temporarily blinded by the light again. This time when the light fades, you’re standing in the halls of the Ark, the whole ship empty and abandoned. You hear a scream from behind you, followed by muffled yelling of, “Sanctum is mine!”

You spin around, your anxiety spiking, your eyes landing on a door at the end of the hall. Despite your limited knowledge of the Ark and its appearance, you know this door is out of place. It’s red, with a wreath hanging on the front, and it clearly looks like the door to someone’s house, not one that belongs on the Ark. You mutter, “What the hell is going on?”

And as if the ship was just waiting for you to ask, you hear a door creak open behind you. You turn and look at it as you whisper, “It is reacting to me.”

You walk towards it and push the door open, your clothes now changing again as you step back into your shared room with Bellamy. This time, you’re wearing the outfit you were wearing in Polis, when Clarke shut down the City of Light. As you look up from your clothes and gaze around the room, you realize that someone else is here. A woman in a red dress turns to face you, and you feel a chill roll down your spine as you lock eyes with Alie, who gives you a small smile. “Hello, Miss Griffin.”

You shake your head, backing away from her slightly. “No. Clarke pulled the kill switch, she destroyed you!”

“And I saved you.” You look at her in confusion, and she motions to your memories scattered all around the room. “Why do you think you're still here? I may be gone, but this precious repository of your memories is here because of me. You're welcome.”

You look around the room and then to her in confusion, trying to understand why Alie would be responsible for your safety. But then you remember the chip, the one forced down your throat as you tried to protect Clarke, the contents of the chip still inside your head. “The neural mesh is still in my head. It must have interfered with the drug they used to wipe my mind.”

“Correct, and so you see, you exist because of me. But you won't if they figure out how you freed Raven.” She motions to a drawing on the wall, one of Raven tied to a bed, her mouth opened in a scream. You glance at it and then back to Alie. “We EMP'd the chip, but only in Raven and my Mom.”

“If I were you, and in a way, I am, I'd keep this memory safe.” She pulls the sketch off the wall, balling up the paper and pressing it into a tight ball, closing her hand around it. When she opens her hand again, the sketch is now transformed into one of the City of Light chips, small enough for you to easily hide. You take the chip from her hand and tuck it into a small pocket inside your jacket, before turning your gaze back to Alie. “Thank you. But for the record, you tried to steal all those memories you're now saving.”

“I tried to spare you the pain and horror of your existence.”

You shake your head. “There is no joy without pain.” 

She turns away from you, gazing at your various memories before turning to face you again. “I never did understand humans. Those painful memories aren't even here. They're cast away deep in your mind, where you don't have to face them, and yet, you can't let them go.”

You look around the room, realizing that she’s right, though you don't want to admit it. There are sad and painful memories here, but the worst ones, the ones that really hurt you, are locked away somewhere, left out of the sketches and star maps and books of your mind. But as you stand across from Alie, you start to get a nagging feeling in your mind. one that’s reminding you of a red door at the end of the hall. You look up again as Alie starts to walk away, presumably to leave you alone, but you call out to her, “Wait.”

She turns to look at you, waiting for what you have to say. “You said this is a repository of my memories.”

She nods, confirming her earlier words, so you continue, “But there's something here I've never seen.”

“I told you to keep your memory of Raven safe. But I never told you who from.”

“Who is it? Who’s in my head?”

“I think you’ll find that you already know the answer to that. Maybe it’s time to open another door.” And before you can say anything, she turns and walks away, disappearing into the wall like a forgotten ghost. You walk out of your room, back into the halls of the Ark, moving towards the large red door slowly, growing more nervous with each step. The same yelling you heard earlier is repeating now, punctuated by a chorus of screams, and as you come to a stop right outside the door, the Ark announces, “Proximity alert.”

You reach out and touch the handle, turning the knob slowly, but the door flies open first, freaking you out. You scramble backwards, away from the bright light, watching as a figure makes its way towards you. As the door swings shut behind them and the light starts to fade, you come face to face with a familiar looking blonde, one who is grinning at you and saying your name. “It's nice to meet you. I've heard so many things, most of them murdery, but, you know, no judgment.”

The sight of her tugs at a memory, reminding you of the picture you, Bellamy, and Clarke saw in the creepy shrine on Sanctum, and you stare at her in confusion. “Josephine?”

“In the flesh, but you shouldn't have opened that door. This body is not big enough for both of us.”

The sight of her hits you like a ton of bricks, truly confirming what you were sure of all alone. “Russell really did it. He stole my body.”

“And clearly made a mess of it. It's been hundreds of years since a mind wipe failed. She looks around, slightly impressed. “But I gotta say, this isn't bad. Not as organized as my mindspace, of course, but mildly impressive.”

“Mindspace?”

“The brain creates these constructs when two minds share a body, like lucid dreaming only not as fun. It's a self preservation thing, trying to keep the minds separate so the body doesn't die. You kind of messed that up when you opened the door, so, you know, thanks for the accelerated brain deterioration.”

You feel a wave of panic wash over you. “What’s going to happen?”

“Brain hemorrhaging will lead to a stroke, and we all fall down. It's messy and hurts like a mother, would not recommend it. Two minds, one brain never ends well, so this,” She motions between the two of you, looking annoyed. “It's a problem. How did you even survive?”

A voice in your head reminds you of the chip in your pocket, one that Alie explicitly told you to keep safe. You glare at Josephine, your panic starting to subside as you focus on your anger. “You just want to know so you can figure out how to get rid of me.”

“Weren't you listening? If we don't do something, this body dies. Is that what you want?”

Your voice starts to rise as you counter, “Of course not. But why can't you just find a new body and give mine back?”

“I could, I suppose, but it's risky. The last Primes who went on ice died forever, and I'm not really into that. Besides, just between us girls, I kind of like your body.”

Your anger flares, your blood starting to feel white hot within you. “You're a sociopath.”

“Judgy. Besides, like you're one to talk, Wanlida.” Your fist clenches at your side as you remind yourself to stay in control and not lash out. Yet. “The way I see it, you have two options. Tell me how you survived so I can fix it, and I'll make sure your people live happily ever after. Or don't, and eventually we'll both die anyways. The difference is, I'll be reborn in someone else, tell my father what happened, and he'll kick your people out to die in the woods.”

You practically spit, “Go float yourself.”

She shakes her head in confusion, clearly starting to get annoyed that you won't just roll over and take it. “I have no idea what that means.”

“It means that I'm not telling you anything, and I don’t go down without a fight.” 

Josephine scoffs, her expression turning to one of slight amusement. “Wow. You're selfish, not to mention dumb. Your mindspace contains all of your memories, so try not to think of where you keep them.”

Of course, as soon as she says the words, your mind flashes to your room within Arkadia, and the door at the end of the hall swings open, practically inviting her in. You feel a flash of frustration as she pushes past you, heading straight to the room, her voice taunting you. “You control your mindspace. Too bad you can't control your thoughts!”

You turn and jog down the hall after her, glaring at her as you walk into your room and see her gazing at all of your star maps and sketches with distaste. “This is a disaster.”

“Get out of my head!”

She rolls her eyes and glances your way. “Now, now. Sharing is caring.”

She brushes her fingers over a few memories on the wall, including Octavia being the first delinquent on Earth, you and Bellamy putting the Flame in Madi’s head, and Finn giving you the star charm to give to Clarke. She reaches the one blank spot on the wall, where the overlapping sketches and star maps are clearing missing one of their own, and Josephine turns to you with a smirk. “Are you hiding a memory from me? Rude.”

You snap, “You'll never find it.”

She brushes past you again, checking out more of your memories as she walks around the room, talking to you as she moves. “You know, I study all life, but insects always fascinated me most. They're merciless, ruthless. I respect that. People are so messy, so emotional. Because of that, they give themselves away. I could always figure people out, even as a kid. I could tell when they were nervous. Their pulses would beat faster. Eyes would dart. Breath would quicken. It's physiological. You know what my spidey senses are telling me about you right now?”

She comes around and stops in front of you, and you glare at her and answer, “That I'll never help you wipe my mind?”

“You think you're a badass, but your bravado covers self doubt. You had to physicalize your secret so you could keep it close, where you have control. I bet you have it on you right now. Now let me have it.”

She swings a punch towards you, and you almost smile as you realize you’re back in your element. Because the thought of Josephine taking your body freaks you out, but a physical fight is right up your alley. You spent months learning how to fight from both Lincoln and Octavia, and right now, in your mindspace, you have no injuries. No cut up leg to hold you back, no injured shoulders or bruised ribs. Right now, you are at your best. Which is why you deflect Josephine’s punch with ease before immediately following the move up with a punch of your own. It lands on her face, and she staggers backwards a little, but you bear down on her, punching her again. You remember the move Bellamy used on you during the eclipse, when he grabbed your shoulder and held you in place so he could punch you, and you use the same move on Josephine, except you hold her in place and bring your knee up to hit her in the stomach. 

She doubles over in pain before she feels a rush of anger, which she channels before she runs at you, wrapping her arms around your center and pushing you backwards. The two of you fall through the door behind you, now out in the halls of the Ark. You scramble to your feet first, and as Josephine tries to get up and come at you again, you deliver another punch to her face, knocking her to the ground. Black blood is now dripping out of her mouth, but you don't care, still so pissed off that she’s even here, in your body. You knee her in the chin and she collapses to the ground on her stomach, trying to crawl away from you, but you press your shoe down onto her back, pinning her in place before you swing the heavy metal door of your room towards her head, hitting her in the skull.

You slam the door against her a few times, until you’re sure she’s dead, and then you drop down to the ground in a heap, staring at Josephine’s dead body in shock, panting as you try to catch your breath. Your hands are shaking, your brain trying to process what is likely your most brutal kill, and you close your eyes and take in a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down. But as you do, you hear an alarm ring out, and you pull your eyes open as the Ark announces, “Warning. Collision alert.”

You look to the place Josephine’s body was just in, the ground now empty, and you mutter in horror. “No.”

You pull yourself to your feet and run to the hallway with the red door, watching as the knob twists and the door swings open, Josephine walking back into the Ark with a smirk in her face. “We're back, bitches.”

You ignore the stolen words from your stolen memory, focusing only on the horror of her return, your head shaking in disbelief. “How?”

“Come on, you're smarter than that. How do you think we're resurrected? My mind drive backs my consciousness. I can't die in the mindspace, but you can, unless whatever fluke kept you here can bring you back. You, my friend, are playing for keeps. I took a sedative about an hour ago, so that gives me all night to kill you in here or find the memory of how I can kill you out there. Got a preference?”

Your mind runs through a hundred different scenarios at once, before your fight or flight instincts kick in, ultimately choosing flight. You turn and take off running, putting space between you and Josephine’s taunting voice. “Easy or hard way, either way, you die!”

You ignore her, running through the Ark until you reach a set of doors, which automatically open for you, temporarily blinding you with light again until it starts to dim. But as they dim, you realize that you’re no longer on the Ark. You are now back in Polis, after Praimfaya, in the room that you and Bellamy used to put the Flame in Madi. You look around the room, trying to find a place to hide, but you stop when you see a figure standing in the middle of the room, their back to you. You already know it's Madi, even before she turns around, all dressed up in her Heda clothes. “Madi?”

She turns to face you, her expression blank, her voice emotionless. “Hello, ani.”

“Madi, you have to help me, I have to hide from Josephine. She’s trying to kill me.”

“It’s always something with you, isn't it?” 

You shake your head, looking at your niece in confusion. “What?”

“Me and Clarke were never enough when we lived in the valley, and you spent all of your time thinking about and wishing for Bellamy. You always wondered why my relationship with you was different from my relationship with Clarke’s, and it's because Clarke was actually there for me. You never were.”

You shake your head, tears rising to your eyes. “What? Madi, no, that isn't true.”

“Isn't it though? Isn’t that why you put the Flame in my head? Because, compared to Clarke, I’m expendable. Even though it meant ruining your relationship with her, you were willing to sacrifice me and put a target on my back just to save her. But it was more than that, wasn't it? Because without Bellamy there to put the idea in your head, without him there to convince you, you would have never done that to me! He convinced you that it was the only way to save Clarke, but you never even stopped to consider another way.”

“Octavia would have killed Clarke!”

“Octavia almost killed me!” You stare at her in shock, not used to hearing her yell. “But that didn’t matter to you, because all you cared about was following Bellamy, at the expense of me, and your relationship with Clarke.”

“But it wasn't at your expense, Madi, because you were safe, I protected you. And Clarke, she forgave me. She understands!”

“Does she? Then why isn't she here right now?”

You look around in shock, realizing that your twin is missing, and there must be a reason why. Madi, of course, is well aware of that reason. “You’re afraid to face her because you think that she, and everyone around you, thinks that you’re just a shadow to Bellamy. You’ll sacrifice anyone and everyone to keep him safe, the rest of us be damned.”

“That’s a lie! I would do anything to protect Bellamy, but that doesn't mean I’m willing to give up Clarke or you or mom or just anyone else to do it.��

She shrugs, a sinister smile on her face. “I don't know why you’re arguing with me, ani. After all, I'm just a subconscious projection of you.”

Before you can answer her, an alarm starts to blare, warning you, “Collision alert.”

The doors slide open and Josephine steps inside, smirking at you. You look at Madi in fear, whispering, “Madi, you have to help me!”

“No.” You look between them for a second before you take off running again, moving through the room towards the door that leads to the streets of Polis. Madi watches you go and shrugs at Josephine, “Have fun!”

Josephine laughs, yelling at your retreating figure, “Even your projections hate you!”

You ignore her and push open the door to the outside, the light taking you over before it subsides again. Your clothes have changed again, your body now covered with a sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes. Your stomach drops, aware of the last time you wore these clothes. The light around you is still bright, but it’s not because you’re still transitioning into the next space. It’s because you are in a bright white hallway, surrounded by bright white rooms, with bright white lights. Your gaze travels up from your clothes to a sign on the wall, confirming your suspicions as you read the words, “Mount Weather: Quarantine Ward.”

Your gaze moves over to the door, the glass smashed, and as you peer through it, you can see that there’s a body bag sprawled out across the bed, a body sitting inside. You push the door open and step into the room slowly, walking over to the body cautiously, afraid of what you’re going to find. You take a deep breath to give yourself strength, and then you reach out and pull the zipper down, slowly revealing a face covered in radiation burns. Not just any face though, Maya’s face. You whisper, “Maya?”

Her eyes suddenly snap open and she smirks at you, and you step back a little, unsettled by the sight. “Hi.”

She sits up, her skin marred by radiation, because of you. You, Clarke, and Bellamy made a choice to save your people. You pulled a lever to save them, but it was at the expense of everyone else in the mountain. And looking down at Maya now, at the death you had a hand in, despite all the help she gave you, you know that you haven't really ever dealt with what you did in Mount Weather. Those deaths, whether you’re actively thinking of them or not, are part of your darker memories, hidden within you. This isn’t the scary place, not yet, but you realize this must be the road that leads there, your journey away from Josephine taking you closer and closer to the darkness. You shake your head as you stare at Maya, backing away from her, heading to the door. “No. I don't want this, I don't want any of this.”

“That's the thing, la lune. Some part of you does want this, or I wouldn't be here.” She climbs out of the bed and comes to stand across from you, cocking her head to the side. “I have a question for you: Why are you fighting so hard to stay alive?”

“I have to-”

She cuts you off, already aware of what you're going to say. “Save your people. Yes, I know. Too bad I wasn't in that group, huh?”

“Maya.” Your voice cracks a little, tears rising to your eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to save everyone, but Cage, and Lexa, and Emerson, they forced our hand. They were killing my mother. I had to, I’m sorry.”

“Tell me, are you sorry about Jasper, too? After all, killing me is what sent him off the deep end.”

You shake your head, “No, that wasn’t me. Jasper made his choice.”

“Wrong. His death is on you too, Wanlida. You do things, but other people pay the price.”

“Enough.”

She smiles at you, the expression so mismatched to the words coming out of her mouth. “You've killed more people than you've saved. Do you realize that? If you actually cared about saving people's lives, you'd walk away. Because how can anyone do better with you still around? You’re the reason that death finds them, after all. Clarke can't kill them if you don’t lead her there.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you're cut off by the alarms in the room ringing, repeating the words, “Radiation alert. Radiation alert. Radiation alert.”

Maya glances at them, and then turns her smile to you. “She's coming. Why don't you give in to her? Just give up control for once.”

Her words remind you of something, of Josephine’s earlier words to you. You control your mindspace. You look at Maya with realization. “Control. I'm in control. I have an idea.”

You pull the City of Light chip from your pocket, holding it out in your palm so Maya can see it. And then you close your palm and your eyes, thinking of your journey to the darkness, of the scary place hidden with your darkest memories. You open the door to it, find the little lock box in your mind and drop the chip inside, locking the box behind you before closing the door and opening your eyes. When you open your palm, it is now empty, the memory hidden deep inside of your mind. 

Just in time too, because Josephine pushes open the door to the room just then, looking at Maya with intrigue. “Whoa. you have a little something…”

She trails off, pointing to Maya’s face, and Maya reaches up to touch her damaged skin before she catches on to Josephine's cruel joke. She laughs, before she glances at you, and you mentally adjust projection Maya’s attitude towards you so that she’ll help you. Maya turns to Josephine and mutters, “She hid it in the cave.”

You play along, glaring at her and exclaiming, “Are you kidding me?”

Josephine laughs, looking between the two of you with amusement, completely falling for it. “I mean, your projections are the best.”

She turns her focus to Maya, “Care to take us?”

Maya nods in agreement, transporting all three of you to the entrance to a cave. Maya motions towards it, and Josephine nods at her in thanks. “Thank you, melty girl.”

She starts walking into the cave, everything around you growing darker and darker as the tunnel grows skinnier, until finally the cave opens up into a room. The room is adorned with a few meager belongings, a bed of furs in the corner, and Josephine looks at it in disgust. “Ugh, gross. Who the hell would live here?”

You see the movement behind her, and you nod towards it with a smirk, “He would.”

Josephine turns around in shock, catching a split second glimpse of Lincoln before he knocks her out. Her body hits the ground with a thud, and you look up at him for the first time, his clothes closer to his Grounder clothes than his Skaikru clothes. Still, you smile at him, happy to see your old friend before you step forward and grab him in a hug. Lincoln smiles and hugs you back, pulling away after a moment and looking down at Josephine’s body. “What have you gotten yourself into, my warrior with a heart?”

“Nothing good. Long story short, she wants me dead.”

“Yeah, well she’ll have to get through me.”

You smile at him before the two of you team lift Josephine and carry her to the corner of the room, chaining her up to the wall, in the same place Lincoln once held Octavia. The two of you wait around for a few minutes before she wakes up, her eyes pulling open and her face pulling into one of confusion. She tugs on the chain and it rattles, but her hand doesn't move far, her movement limited. “What is this?”

You smile down at her. “You have no control here, because this is my mindspace. Turns out, I can create whatever I want.”

She sneers at you, “Cute. But what's your plan here, stall until I wake up? I'll just try again night after night, and the more time I spend here, the faster you die. And let me tell you, that death ain't fun or pretty. You can't win, so why bother?”

You cross your arms, looking down at her, your expression serious. “To make sure you lose. As for me, I'll find a way to survive. I always do.” 

“You’ve got spunk, I'll give you that. If things were different, we could have been friends, but I'm bored now.”

And before you can even comprehend what's happening, she reaches out and grabs a discarded knife that’s lying nearby, which she uses to slit her throat. You and Lincoln watch in alarm as the blood spills out of her neck, and you turn to him to ask what you should do, only to be transported out of the cave and back into the Ark. You’re facing the red door at the end of the hall, and you don't wait for it to open this time before you take off running down the halls, and as you do, you can hear Josephine’s voice calling out to you, “I may not be able to create anything in your mindspace, but I can sure bring something in!”

You freeze in the hallway you’re running through, listening hard to hear what she’s brought in. Unfortunately for you, that what is actually a who, and that who is actually Russell. His voice simultaneously sends a chill down your spine and pisses you off, still in disbelief that he's the reason you're even in this mess. “Let's split up and stop playing games. You're not a cat toying with a mouse. She's dangerous, kill her.”

You take off running again, putting space between your killer and his daughter, praying to the Universe that you survive this night. As you run past a door, the lights flicker on, revealing the airlock that sent your dad out to space. Tears instantly spring to your eyes as the memory flashes in front of you, and you watch him fly out of the airlock again, relieving the experience. You stare at the door, knowing this is the path to your dark memories, and you debate on whether to head here or continue down the hall. But the loud thud of Russell’s nearby footsteps is enough to decide for you, and all you can do is hope that this dark path is enough to stop him.

You step towards the doors and they slide open, and this time you’re not blinded by light before sliding into a place from your memory. This time you’re blanketed in a thick darkness, which slowly grows lighter to reveal the field below Arkadia, a big pole erected in the center of the field. You already know what this is as you gaze at it, your eyes already searching the space for him.

Finn.

He finds you first, his voice casually calling out to you, “Hey, la lune.”

You spin around to find Finn, his shirt stained with blood, smiling at you. You feel your emotions threaten to take you over, but you push them aside and call back, “Hey, Finn.”

He walks towards you, closing the space between you, looking you over. “You know, I told you to keep her safe.”

You know he means Clarke, so you nod. “I know, and I have.”

“Letting her bear it so you don't have to? That’s not keeping her safe. And what about the City of Light and Praimfaya and the Battle for Eden?”

You shake your head at him, refusing to be bullied by another one of your subconscious projections. “No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to make me feel bad about Clarke’s reactions to the things she’s done. She needed to leave after Mount Weather, because she couldn't stand to look at everyone and know what we did. That's not my fault. I have tried to help her bear it. I decided to take the Nightblood serum before she did and I got left behind with her during Praimfaya. I did everything I could to protect her while she was in the City of Light, including getting chipped myself. None of that was easy for me either, Finn, but I did it to help Clarke. I did it to try and keep her safe.”

He nods, accepting your answer, before he counters, “And what about giving Madi the Flame?”

You scoff, annoyed that another one of your projections is bringing this up. “Believe it or not, I did that for Clarke too. I didn’t do it because Bellamy told me to, and I didn’t do it because I value Clarke over Madi. I knew that people would follow Madi as their rightful Commander. I knew people would give their lives to keep her safe. But without a rightful Commander, I had no way to get to Clarke and free her, because even with Octavia in a coma, Wonkru still wanted to follow the wishes of their queen. I needed Madi to take the Flame so we’d have that Commander, but I was willing to do it myself if that is what it took to save Clarke. Even if it meant I'd be killed in the end, at least there would be enough of a distraction to get Clarke out. But Madi volunteered to do it to save both of us, and I agreed. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed, maybe I should have fought her harder on it, but it's done now. I made my choice knowing the effect it would have on my relationship with Clarke, but ultimately she forgave me. So it’s time for me to forgive myself.”

All around you, the trees start to go silent, nature’s warning to you and Finn that you’re in danger. Finn looks at you and warns, “He’s coming.”

You nod, and he slips into the shadows as Russell emerges from the trees, stalking right towards you with a glare. “Miss Griffin, I believe I told you no more fighting, and yet, here you are.”

He comes to a stop across from you, holding out his hand. “Now give me the memory.”

You cock your head to the side, sizing him up. “Seems this is a lesson that you and your sociopathic daughter need to learn: I’m nothing but fight.”

Russell sneers and lunges at you, but you sidestep his outstretched arms before swinging your elbow to his face and smashing his nose, breaking it. He reaches up to grab his nose, blood gushing between his fingers as he glares at you. You punch him across the face and then deliver a solid kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards, and as he peers up at you, you snap, “Make no mistake, the only reason you were able to kill me was because I was already sedated. Without that temporary paralytic, I would have ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

Russell tries to get up and attack you again, but Finn emerges from the shadows, punching the man and knocking him flat on his back. He tosses you a rope, and the two of you restrain Russell’s hands before dragging him over to the execution pole and restraining him there. Once he's tied up, Russell struggles against the ropes, but fails to do anything other than waste his energy. You and Finn watch on before he holds out his hand and mutters, “Here.”

You look down at his outstretched palm, your eyes falling on the knife that Clarke used to kill him, his red blood still staining the blade. You look up and meet Finn’s eyes in surprise, and he nods to Russell before he snarls, “Jus drein jus daun.”

And it’s like the words remind you of what Russell did to you, because your anger starts to rise, and you take the knife from Finn’s hands with little hesitation. You walk over to Russell, who is still angry, though he’s looking at you with curiosity. “‘Jus drein jus daun’? What does it mean?”

“Blood must have blood.” And then you plunge the knife into his chest, killing him. When you turn to face Finn again, you watch him disappear into the Commander’s tent, leaving you behind. You run after him, calling out, “Wait!”

As you push through the flap to the tent, the darkness overloads your senses again before gradually getting lighter, revealing a new location. Your clothes have changed to ones you hoped to never see again, because the sight of them only means one thing: you’re in the Skybox.

But as you look around the room, the one you know is the darkest part of your mind, holding your most painful memories, you get the sense that you are not alone. Because this cell, this solitary prison, it reeks of Shumway. His mark is all over it, your darkest memories flashing as you turn and take in the room, visions of Shumway shoving you against the wall to kiss you and standing in the doorway and taunting you with your father’s death. You feel your anxiety and panic start to rise, bringing a fresh onslaught of tears with it, but you close your eyes and take a deep breath, reciting constellations under your breath until you start to calm down. 

Your calmness doesn’t last for long, because the door behind you swings open, causing the hairs to lift on your arms in alarm. You turn, expecting to see Shumway standing there with that sinister ass grin he always wore, but you are instead met with the sight of Josephine, her smirk just as taunting as Shumway’s used to be. Your stomach drops and you feel your confidence start to crack, which is the only reason she’s able to swing a punch at you and knock you to the side. You hit the ground with an echoing thud, and Josephine stalks across the room to your bed, reaching underneath it to grab the locked ammo box that is hidden there. You look up at her, weakly muttering, “Don’t.”

You’re unable to muster up much more than that, the heaviness of this room and these memories weighing on you. She tries her luck with the combination lock on the box, spinning the little dials before she tugs, the lock still and unmoving. Josephine grunts in frustration and drops the box onto the bed, plopping down beside it before looking around the room, taking it in. “This is the place you were avoiding?”

She shifts her gaze to you, shaking her head in confusion. “It’s not even that scary.”

You sit up, glaring at her as you snap back, “It is if you know what happened here.”

A memory of Shumway attacking you in this room flashes across your mind, and apparently Josephine is able to see it too, because her eyes go wide with surprise. The next time she shifts her gaze to you, it’s full of pity and you hate it. “I didn't know.”

You counter, “It doesn't matter.”

“Memory is funny, you know? The formative stuff like the traumas, the things we can't move past, they live deep in the brain stem. These are the wounds we pay shrinks not to fix. These places control us, make us who we are. It's actually connected to the lower brain function; breathing, reflexes.”

“Please just shut up.”

She shakes her head, looking at you in confusion, motioning to the room around you, “All of this is guilt for the things you’ve been through and the deaths you've caused, but I don't get it. Why are you so torn up? Everything you did was to save your people. I'd do the same thing.”

You snort, “A ringing endorsement.”

“The thing I don't get is why you don't care about saving your people now.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Josephine?”

“Let's say you could somehow fight me off and get your body back. What would that do to your friends and family? Do you think my father would just let me go? What you're doing right now leads to the genocide of your people.”

“I just want to live. I want to see my family again.”

She cocks her head to the side, sizing you up. “Have you ever even once considered that the solution is to sacrifice yourself?”

You think of Maya’s words to you and the words from your father during the eclipse on Sanctum, reminding you that there is no doing better while you’re still around. Josephine can see you thinking of these memories, because she pushes on, “Your people are safe, Bellamy and Clarke made sure of it. I mean, they took your death hard, sure, but they knew the only thing a leader could do was to strike a deal for peace. Now it's time for you to step up. Bow out gracefully, and your people get to live happily ever after.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, calling out the bullshit of her words. “You're lying. Bellamy and Clarke would never make a deal like that.”

“The lack of trust hurts me, but that's why I brought this.” She tries to hand you a book, one that’s been tucked at her side the entire time she was talking to you. You stare at it with apprehension, wondering if this is some ploy that ends with you dead. Only, for real this time. She shakes the book, urging you to take it. “Take it. It's not a trick, I don't play that way.”

You sigh and place your hand on the book, seeing a memory from Josephine’s point of view. She’s standing next to Russell, but she’s facing Bellamy and Clarke, both of them looking distraught. Russell has a small cut on his neck, and he’s panting slightly when he levels a look at your lover and your twin. “If you let us live, I can guarantee safety for the rest of your people. We'll share everything we've learned about surviving on this moon.”

You watch Bellamy glance at Clarke, the two of them having a silent conversation before he answers Russell with anger, “We are not doing this for you, we’re doing it for her.”

The memory ends, and you’re suddenly back in your prison cell on the Ark, looking at Josephine, tears in your eyes. They didn't fight for me. Josephine senses your emotional turmoil and tries to use it to her advantage, “It's time for you to sacrifice for your people. Don't start another war they'll have to fight.”

Your mind runs through all the possibilities, weighing the options on whether you should fight or just give in. If you fight, you get back to Bellamy and Clarke and the rest of your family, but at what cost to them? Because ultimately, you wanting to go back to them is purely for selfish reasons. It’s because you want to see them again. But if you give up now, they get to live. They’ll be safe, have a place of their own. And maybe most importantly, you’ll have peace. You have already sacrificed so much to save your people and the ones you love, which is why ultimately you look up at Josephine and nod, resigned to your fate. “I need for them to be okay.”

“By my word, your people will be safe. Bellamy and Clarke are meeting with my father first thing in the morning to discuss building them a compound. They'll have a new home, a new life. Madi can go to school just like any other kid, your friends can settle down. Everyone can stop fighting, including you.”

You feel tears rise to your eyes as you think of the peace that they’ll finally have, the peace you’ve all been fighting for since you landed on Earth. If making this one sacrifice gives them that, then you’ll do it, because they mean everything to you. You whisper, “Tell Bellamy I love him, Madi and Clarke too. Just...tell all of them.”

She nods, and once you have her confirmation, you cross the room over to her, reaching out for the box. You lift the lock, checking to see what incorrect combination she put in, and you see that the numbers are set to 0100. You shake your head, glancing over at her and muttering, “You forgot Bellamy and Raven.”

You change the last number, switching the numbers to 0102 before you tug down on the lock and unlock it. You step aside, allowing Josephine to remove the lock and open the lid to your darkest memories. She reaches inside, pulling out a tablet that has security footage from the Ark, the cameras aimed at the hallway around the airlock used to float people. The footage is edited together to show you sliding around the corner at the last second, just as your father is seen flying out to space, gone forever. You blink away your tears as she puts the tablet aside, reaching in to pull out Maya’s ipod, reminding you of both Jasper and Maya, and the role you played in their deaths. Next is the Grounder knife, which is stabbed through a picture, and Josephine looks at it in curiosity before pulling the picture off of the knife. It’s a photo of Gina, smiling and happy, wearing the clothes she will later be murdered in. You feel yourself choke up at the sight of it, unable to think of the sacrifice she made for you without getting upset.

Josephine pulls out Shumway’s ID badge, and she tosses it to the side, just as disgusted with the man as you are. She digs around in the ammo box, only two things left inside now. She pushes one to the side, a small angel statue that has been created from twisted metal, in favor of the tiny chip that plagued you and your people once Jaha returned from the City of Light. As soon as Josephine touches it, the memory of Raven’s EMP plays for her, which Josephine seems to find fascinating. She turns to you with a smile, musing, “An EMP. Cool.”

She sees your serious expression, one riddled with hidden emotions, and she drops the smile from her face, growing more somber. “It'll be over soon. I promise.”

And then she rises from the bed and walks away, leaving the room and heading back to her side of your brain. As soon as you're alone, all of the emotions you worked hard to keep hidden begin to bubble to the surface, all of your most painful memories spread out across the bed in your former cell. You collapse onto it, your tears finally falling, allowing yourself to cry for all of the awful things you’ve been through. But beyond that, you have a new memory to add to your locked box: the one you’re sitting in right now. Because this memory of you sitting on the bed, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, symbolizes what will soon be a reality for you: your death. 

Soon, it will truly be over, and you will be nothing but a memory to the people you love, locked up in their own ammo boxes, hidden deep within them and out of reach.

-

You don't know how long you sit in your cell and cry, but eventually you pull yourself up and head back through your mindspace, determined to spend your last few hours of life doing something other than crying or fighting. You walk past the scene of Finn’s death, through Lincoln's cave into Mount Weather, then back into Polis before emerging back inside the Ark. and then you follow the halls, past your shared room with Bellamy and the eerie red door to Josephine’s side, until you emerge back inside the church in Shallow Valley, eyes searching for your father. This time though, the building is empty.

You shrug off the hurt you feel and grab your favorite book from a nearby table, flipping it open to read the note scrawled on the first page. 

My radiant moon,

I’m writing this letter to you to tell you that I love you. 

Right now, you’re asleep beside me, unbothered by the chaos of life that awaits us outside our door. When you sleep, you have a tendency to pull me closer to you, always reaching out for me anytime I shift or leave the bed. I don’t think you even know that you do it, but each time you do, I’m hit with the strength of your love. I’ve never had someone love me like this before.

But, I feel the same for you. Looking down at you now, I want nothing more than to love and protect you for the rest of my life. I promise to always do that. 

I don't know when you’ll find this, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe when we’re old and gray, surrounded by our kids and grandkids, watching our family gather together and spread the love that we share. 

All I know is that you are my love and my heart, and I am a better man because of you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you. I know that I've made mistakes, and that at times I don't deserve the love that you give me, and when I feel that way, I’m going to work to earn it. 

For now, though, I have to go. The love of my life is reaching out for me, trying to pull me closer. I love you more than the stars, my radiant moon. You light up my life in ways I didn't even know were possible.

Forever yours,

Bellamy

 You smile as you finish reading, the words not making you sad like they did after Praimfaya. This time as you read them, all you feel is gratitude. Even though your life will soon be over, you’re grateful that you at least got to meet Bellamy. You got to meet him, then hate him, then fall in love with him. Even better than that, you got to be loved by him. Not many people get to experience the love that the two of you have for each other, but you did. And now, at the end of your life, you’re just so damn happy that you did.

You flip past the note and to the first page of the book, quietly reading to yourself and spending your last few hours at peace. 

You read for a few hours, the sun outside of your window rising slowly, reminding you of the passage of time, and when you’re about halfway through The Iliad you hear a door open, letting you know someone else is here. You close the book and look up with a smile, calling out, “Dad?”

Except your eyes don't land on your dad, they land on Monty. 

He looks the way he did when you all went into cryosleep, before he became an old man, and you jump up from your seat and put your book to the side, running across the room to pull him into your arms. He hugs you back, though not as enthusiastically, and as you start to wonder why, he mutters, “You call this doing better?”

You pull away from him and look at him in confusion as he adds, “Giving up isn't better.”

“That’s not what I’m-” You cut yourself off when you see the look that he gives you, because technically, you are giving up. You just have a reason to, which is what you decide to tell him instead. “I’m doing this to save the others.”

“‘It's all for my people’? Look. I've heard that from Clarke before, and it's just an excuse.” You give him a hurt look, shaking your head, unsure what to say to him. Because maybe it is just an excuse. But maybe you just don't care anymore. Monty must sense that, because he becomes more empathetic. “I get it, it's been endless. But are you really gonna leave them?”

He motions to a picture tacked on the wall, one with Madi, Clarke, and Bellamy locking arms, all smiling. It’s not a memory, it’s just something nice that your brain created, but now Monty is using it against you. You think of Josephine's warning, how you fighting back will be seen as an act of war, and your people will suffer for it. Which is why you counter with, “They’ll be better off without me.”

“I don't think that's true.”

“They have each other. Plus, Bellamy and Clarke already made a deal that keeps them all safe.”

Monty shakes his head, trying to get you to understand. “This is about being the good guys. Yeah, that deal means our side gets to live, but at what cost? You're giving in to people who murder human beings to live forever.”

“You’re right, but it’s too late. I already gave in, and Josephine has the memory. As soon as she wakes up, she'll know how to get me out of my head. It's over.”

“We’ll see about that.” Monty holds his hand out to you, waiting for you to take it, and you know the gesture means more than just trusting each other. If you agree to take Monty’s hand, you are agreeing to go back on your deal with Josephine, and to fight for your life. And the more you think about it, the more you want to fight. Isn't that what you told Josephine, and Russell, and Kane, and countless others? You don't go down without a fight, never have, and you let yourself be manipulated by Josephine, who could easily tell that you were struggling. And maybe it is selfish to do this all because you want to see your family again, but so what? Everyone needs something to fight for, and your family is your reason.

Which is why you take Monty’s hand, and allow him to lead you out of Shallow Valley and back onto the Ark. He leads you down the hall, towards the eerie red door, both of you coming to a stop right outside of it. You look at it with apprehension and mutter, “This is Josephine's mindspace. She controls it.”

Monty jokes, “What’s she gonna do, kill you?”

You both exchange a smile before he nods towards the door, urging you to open it. You grab the knob and twist, pushing the door open, you and Monty temporarily blinded by the light before stepping into what appears to be the world’s largest library. You look at it in shock, staring at the shelves of books that extend further than your eyes can see. “Wow.”

“230 years of memories.” As soon as Monty says the words, you hear a distant explosion, the lights above you rattling. You look around in fear, before turning back to Monty with wide eyes. He surmises, “Good news is, we can affect her body here. Bad news is, Josephine seems to sense it. Come on, let's find something we can use.”

The two of you split apart, taking different aisles so you can cover more ground at the same time. You can see Monty in the space between the shelves, and the two of you exchange a look every few seconds, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books in the room. They’re all in chronological order, numbered and neatly organized, seemingly color coded according to which body the memories occurred in. You have to agree that Josephine’s mindspace is better organized than your own, but the vague appearance of each book means that finding anything useful in here is going to be a pain. Luckily for you, you don't have to worry about that for long, because as you and Monty come to the end of your respective shelves, you find a large door, locked and labeled: Special Collection. Monty calls out, “Look, this must be where she keeps her primal wounds. This is her Skybox.”

You think back to Josephine's earlier words to you, said to you as she sat with you in your own special collection. These memories control us; they’re connected to lower brain function. You look at Monty, suddenly getting an idea. “She said they create a physical response. We could control my body from there.”

He smiles at you, proud of your quick thinking, “On it!”

You wait anxiously at Monty’s side as he hacks into the security system that controls the door to Josephine’s darkest memories, and after a minute or two, the door beeps, and the light outside turns from red to green. Monty smiles, cheering himself on, “Yes!”

He pushes the door open and motions for you to step inside first, both of you temporarily blinded by the light until it begins to clear, revealing a small diner. There are people milling about inside, and lights hung up all over the place. You glance and Monty and mutter, “Earth before the bombs.”

Monty rushes forward to the counter, sliding a stack of newspapers to the side to reveal a magazine, which he holds up to show you. “Check it out.”

On the cover is Diyoza, looking identical to the Diyoza you met over 100 years later, the headline proudly proclaiming that she’s been caught. You shake your head, looking around at the cozy setting, wondering why Josephine gave you so much shit about your dark place not being scary when hers doesn't seem scary at all. “Why would she keep this memory locked away?”

“More importantly, how do we get control from here?”

You look around, trying to figure out the answer to Monty’s question when your eyes land on a blonde girl sitting at a table nearby. It’s Josephine, dressed in a pretty pink outfit, sitting at a table with a friend. You nudge Monty and point at them, whispering, “Come on.”

The two of you slip over to the table behind the pair, watching as they write in notebooks in front of them, textbooks scattered all along the table. They’re quietly discussing their classes, the conversation largely boring until the bell over the door of the diner rings, signaling a new arrival. A young man walks inside, searching the diner until his eyes land on Josephine, and he makes a beeline for her, coming to a stop beside her table awkwardly. “Hey.”

She looks up at him, before her eyes shift to her friend, both of them having a silent conversation. The guy seems oblivious to the fact that neither of them seem to want him there, and he plops down in the empty chair across from Josephine. “I was looking for you at the water rationing protest, thought you posted something about going.” 

“Too many people, you know.”

Her friend adds, “And it's really dusty outside.”

“Yeah, sure.” He seems to take a second to regroup, before settling a smile on his face, directed at Josephine. “Uh, I asked, and there's plenty of room at the comparative linguistics thing if you want to go.”

She twirls some of her hair between her fingers, the motion clearly something she does without really realizing, as you’ve seen her do it a few times before. “I don't know. I'm not really feeling that social lately.”

Josephine looks down, back at whatever she’s working on, and the guy finally seems to catch onto her rejection. “You still think you're too good for me, huh?”

She looks up in alarm, shaking her head, “That's not what I-”

He cuts her off, sounding more pissed off with each passing second. “Don't lie, just admit it. Stop toying with me and just admit what you are.”

Josephine stutters, “I, I don't-”

“I mean, I tried. Calls, texts, you know, being thoughtful. What do I get? Nothing.” He follows his nothing up by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun, plopping it down on the table so Josephine and her friend can see, but the other patrons in the diner do not. You and Monty share a look of alarm, and you're finally starting to understand why she might have hidden this away. Josephine and her friend both look panicked, but Josephine sits silently as her friend shakily asks, “What are you doing?”

“Thinking you should shut the hell up.” The friend snaps her mouth closed, obliging his demand, and he turns his gaze back to Josephine. “Message received, you stuck up bitch. You don't want to see me, but you can see this.”

And before anyone can say anything, he lifts the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger, killing himself and sending blood flying all over both girls. People in the diner cry out at the sound of the gunshot, and they all take off running, but Josephine and her friend stay frozen in place, shocked into stillness. You turn to Monty, your adrenaline pumping a little because of what you just witnessed, and you whisper, “This is the thing she couldn't face.”

“We need to use it to control your body.” You nod in agreement and he looks around the room for a second before he mutters, “I have an idea.”

Before you can ask what it is, the lights in the diner start to flicker as an alarm starts to blare, “Alert. Incoming bombshells. Take cover immediately.”

You look at Monty in fear and whisper, “Quick, hide.”

He does as you say, quickly jumping up and running towards the bar, ducking behind it as you stand from your chair. The door to the diner swings open, and Josephine comes stalking in, dressed the same as the version of her that’s sitting in a chair behind you, covered in blood. This Josephine, however, is clean, but she is pissed. She takes one look at you and screams, “You never should have come here! Get out!”

Her words echo in your ears, the force of them sending you back to your side of the divide. As you look at the red door in shock, it suddenly flies open and Josephine dives out, knocking you both to the ground before she moves to straddle you, her hands flying to your neck. She squeezes hard, spots already dancing along the edges of your vision as she grunts, “I gave you the chance to go quietly. I said I'd help your people. Deal's off!”

And just when you think it's the end for you, she’s gone, her body disappearing off of you in the blink of an eye. You roll over and cough, struggling to take in the air she nearly stole from you, and as soon as you catch your breath, you stare at the red door, now closed. You’re hit with a realization as you try to comprehend her speedy exit, one that can be the only answer as to why she wouldn't finish the job. “She's awake.”

You stand staring at the door for a long minute, trying to figure out what to do. Now that Josephine knows you’re fighting back, you have to keep going and you have to win. Otherwise she’ll kill everyone that you love just because she can, and those she doesn't kill she’ll cast out, leaving them to struggle to survive on this complicated ass moon. 

Monty’s last words to you before Josephine’s arrival were that he had a plan. And considering the fact that he’s still in her darkest memory, that means that you are still inside her darkest memory, since he is a subconscious projection of you. That’s why you reach out for the doorknob again and push your way inside, arriving inside of Josephine’s neatly organized library. You run past the shelves and head to the door, worried when you see that the light on the door is red again, and you have no idea on how you can hack it like Monty did. You decide to take a risk and knock on the door, whispering, “Monty, are you there? It’s me.”

The door pulls open and a hand grabs you and tugs you inside. You start to worry that it’s Josephine, fully prepared to send you back to your side again, but you’re relieved to see that it’s actually Monty, standing in front of you and holding up a pen and small paper pad. “Morse Code.”

“What?”

“We’ll use the lights to send a message with Morse Code.”

You shake your head, growing panicked again. “I don't know Morse Code.”

“Yes you do, you learned it when Clarke did. The memory’s boxed up, shoved to the side in favor of more useful skills, but since we’re inside of your memory, it’s much easier to find the box. In fact,” he uncaps the pen and writes quickly for a second before passing the notepad to you. “I already did.”

The notepad has a message, one word, simple, formed with dots and dashes. The message, scribbled on a waitress’s notepad in a memory that does not belong to you, gives you more hope than any other message has ever given you before. You rush over to one of the abandoned tables in the diner, tugging down one of the strands of lights so that you can easily reach it. And then you plop down into the chair across from Monty, twisting the light to turn it on and off, signaling out the code that Monty wrote out for you. 

●— A

●—●● L

●● I

●●●— V

● E

 -

Clarke freezes as the door to the palace opens and her twin walks in. Except, it’s not her twin. 

It’s your body, but you are no longer inside. 

She knows she should be listening to whatever the hell Russell is saying, but she can't bring herself to focus, her eyes still locked on you. Josephine doesn’t seem to notice though, she just stands near the back of the room, waiting patiently to talk to her dad. Though, maybe it’s more like waiting impatiently, because she’s tapping her arm while she waits. At first, Clarke doesn’t find anything odd about that, until her eyes notice that the tapping is occurring in a pattern, and the pattern is repeating in a loop. 

Josephine clears her throat, asking for the attention of the others in the room, and Clarke uses the temporary distraction to nudge Bellamy. He looks over at her in confusion, and she nods her head to Josephine, silently communicating what she’s seeing. Bellamy follows her gaze over to the former body of his fiance, catching onto the same strange pattern being tapped out. But Bellamy recognizes it for what it is first, and he flips a page in his notebook before he begins to write quickly, marking out the dots and dashes in the order they appear in.

Russell demands his attention again, and Bellamy manages to keep it together just long enough to end the meeting and get Clarke and Miller outside. He already knows what the symbols mean, easily able to translate the code in his head, and he’s practically bouncing with excitement. Clarke nearly breaks his hand when they get outside of the room, when she grabs it tight so she can drag him away into a private corner. “What does it say?”

Bellamy writes the letters next to their corresponding symbols, translating the message out for the remaining Griffin twin. He turns the notepad around so she can read it, the word leaving her mouth in a breathy whisper. “Alive.”

She looks up at Bellamy in disbelief. “She’s alive?”

“Looks like it.” Both of their faces split into wide grins, this information the happiest news they’ve ever heard. Miller is still struggling to understand, his gaze flitting between the pair in confusion. “What does it mean?”

Clarke turns to him, her expression getting serious as she realizes what they have to do now. “It means my la lune is alive, and we’re gonna get her back.”

-

[vannahfanfics]

Request: GrayLu; "Life in Every Breath" from Lucy's POV

Hey, Anon, thank you for waiting patiently! Here it is!

Beat of Life

Alternatum to Heartbeat and Life in Every Breath

Lucy swallowed thickly as she stared down at the heavy leather-bound tome in her lap— the Book of E.N.D. Natsu’s life was tied to this strange book, she considered as she brushed her hand over its uneven, rune-carved surface. Her hand was just as marred, littered with scrapes and bruises accumulated through the conflict with Zeref and his armor. Second by second, they were inching closer to the climax, and Lucy could not let it end with Natsu’s death. 

Gray’s breath puffed in her as he leaned over her shoulder, drinking in the book with just as much apprehension and awe. He’d calmed down after his attempt to destroy the book, thankfully, but the fact that they’d come so close to just snuffing out Natsu’s existence made anxiety churn in her belly. Or maybe it was the fact that Gray was so close, his cheek brushing against hers as he leaned in to get a closer look. She couldn’t think about that now; she had to focus. 

“I’m going to open it now,” she murmured, but her fingers trembled along the hardcover of the book. She had to in order to save Natsu’s life, but she had no idea what was ahead. However, she set her expression into a determined frown; she couldn’t be scared! Her best friend’s life was on the line! Whatever would come, Gray was right there to support her, and he iterated that by gently bumping his chest with her back and whispering, “You got this, Lucy. Let’s save Natsu.” 

Before she could change her mind, she flipped the book open. For the briefest of seconds, it seemed like the world took a deep breath in anticipation. The wind died, the discarded leaves finding respite on the cracked cobblestone; even the clouds seemed to freeze, ceasing their endless drift across the heavens. The world and everything in it was in limbo. And then, that breath was released. 

Light exploded from the book with a shrieking roar, along with a great buffeting gale that had Lucy’s golden hair flapping around her face. One of her pigtails whipped back to smack Gray across the cheek, based on his pained grunt. Then, to her amazement, the characters inked upon the age pages began to move. As if carried by the gales springing from within, they danced into the open air, swirling upwards to form great, circling, interlocked chains of words. 

“What are they?” Gray whispered in her ear. Lucy’s mouth hung open as she gazed at them, struggled to make sense of the moving and shifting characters. Gradually, the text came into focus— the Book of E.N.D., of course!

“They’re all about Natsu,” she whispered, squinting as she studied the words more deeply. Surely, these strange sentences contained a hint on how to save him! She leaned forward in her concentration, scanning and scanning and scanning, until— 

She screamed as the world heaved underneath them. The book snapped shut as it was flung from Lucy’s lap, causing the words to dissolve into the dust clouds now filling the air. As she tumbled into the air too, she reached for it, desperate not to lose the one lifeline she had to Natsu’s life. She gasped when she felt Gray’s arms wind around her waist, and then his broad, muscled chest was pressed against hers. She didn’t even have time to be embarrassed about it before they crashed back to earth. Gray groaned as his bare skin met the rough cobblestone of the street, but he had spared Lucy such an unforgiving landing; embraced by him, she just flopped into his body, and stayed there until the world finally stopped rumbling and shuddering. 

“What was that?” complained Happy, who was rubbing his head while he lay sprawled out on his belly next to them. Gray was leaning his head back, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed in the direction of the guild. 

“I’m assuming it’s Natsu, since it’s coming from where he’s fighting Zeref,” he predicted. Once the aftershocks had faded, he loosened his grip on her. Despite his help, a dull ache pounded in her head from being jostled about, so she pressed her palm to the side of her head with a small groan. When she finally regained her wits, she gasped in alarm— had she really seen something that terrible in the text? Gray yelped when she kneed him in the stomach in her attempt to crawl off of him, shambling on her hands and knees back to the book. 

Once more, she flipped it open. The words spilled out into the open air— and her worst fears were confirmed. One by one, characters were popping out of existence. 

“Lucy, what’s happening?” Gray demanded, crawling up behind her. Lucy watched with wide, tearful eyes as more characters disappeared. No! This couldn’t happen! It couldn’t end like this!

“Natsu’s hurt really bad!” she cried, and she heard Gray suck in a breath. She had to do something, anything! Just as Gray sat behind her again, she fished her magic pen out of her pocket and sucked in a breath. She didn’t know if this would work, but she had to try. Their friend’s life was at stake! She held up the pen, like a director poised to conduct a symphony— the symphony of Natsu’s entire existence. “If I rewrite the missing characters, I should be able to save him,” she asserted. Even from that mere glimpse, she thought she knew what was missing— so, one by one, she began to scrawl them in the air. 

She could feel Gray tense behind her, and she glanced down to see his fists balled up by his sides. He could only watch as his friend’s life ebbed away, and she battled to save it. It must be maddening, she thought. She wished she could comfort him somehow, and so she tried to reach out to brush his leg, just to show that she knew his pain— 

Suddenly, it felt like fire surged through her veins. It tore an anguished scream from her throat, arching her back and freezing her in the middle of writing. She’d never felt such pain; it felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out. Her teary eyes drifted to her hand, where she was alarmed to find tendrils of dark red-orange magic dying her skin and slowly snaking up her arm. 

“Lucy!” Gray exclaimed, and she could only respond with an agonized groan. Oh, it hurt, it hurt. Her body trembled violently, rattling her teeth in her skull like she was freezing, but in reality she was burning, she was on fire. Gray put a hand on the small of her back to steady her quaking body, but it sent more flares of pain through her sensitized nerves, causing her to his. 

“M-my body,” she whimpered. “It’s so hot, I’m burning!” With another painful spike of pain she collapsed, curling on her side into Gray. It hurt to touch him, to feel the sweat smearing between her flushed skin and his own, but she also felt comforted by his presence. Moaning, she pressed against him, trying to leech as much of that comfort as she could to chase the godawful torment away. 

“It must be a rebound!” she heard Happy cry. “Natsu’s magic is overtaking her body!” Gray’s hands fluttered over her skin, afraid to touch her because she whined each time the pads of his fingers hit her searing skin. She still crooned and looked up at him with weary eyes as he brushed a few sweat-slicked strands of blonde hair from her face. 

“It’s okay, Lucy, you’ve done enough,” he said and reached for the magic pen, which she still clutched in her hand. She clenched her teeth tightly; she couldn’t give up just because of a little pain! She forced herself to grab onto Gray’s shoulder and hoist herself up, though it felt like all the muscle fibers in her body ripped in doing so. “Hey! Don’t overexert yourself!” Gray ordered, but she just lifted the pen again with a few heavy pants.

“I can do this!” she said, mostly to convince herself. “If I just finish re-writing this section, then I can change Natsu’s fate.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself through the almost insurmountable task of twirling the pen through the air again, scrawling out the characters that would save Natsu from certain death. 

She gasped when a sudden coolness spread over her body, and she looked back to see Gray generated a swirling, icy wind behind her. He gave her a reassuring smile and said, “Got it. Let’s save our idiot, Lucy.” 

As the chill spread through her system and kept the fiery poison at bay, Lucy felt herself relaxing, melting back against him a bit; however, with every minute that passed, the strange black magic tendrils crawled further and further up her body. She sucked in a breath when she felt it spreading across her chest, the spines invading her nerves to feel like it was wrapping around her heart and squeezing tight. She fought through the pain, one eye screwed shut and her teeth clenched. Just a little more…!

Just as her vision began to swim before her eyes, she wrote in the last character. She slumped forward with a wheeze, her arms falling limp; her hand didn’t even have the strength to hold the pen anymore, so it rolled across the cobblestone before settling next to Happy’s paws. 

“I did it… It’s done…” she wheezed between ragged breaths. The text spiraled back down into the pages, settling within the ink, before the book flipped shut. As she pawed at her heart, digging her fingers into her skin to try and pry out the magic instinctively, she looked up to see the book fading away. Tears bloomed in Lucy’s eyes. Did it work? Or was she too late?

“Lucy?” Gray asked, and she turned her face into his chest to avoid the question. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted weakly. “I did everything I could…” Still, it felt like even that had not been enough, and she whimpered as she pressed into Gray for comfort. She needed him now, more than she’d ever needed anything before, it felt like. Tutting soothingly, Gray gently guided her so her back was resting against his chest and her head was tilted back over his shoulder, her crimped and sweaty strands of blonde hair falling over her face. 

“You did great,” he assured her in a soft whisper and brushed her hair away with tender touches. She managed a tired, serene smile just as the book faded into nothingness. Her eyes fluttered as she stared up at the blue, blue sky and the clouds drifting within. Gradually, he graze was drawn to Gray, to the chiseled line of his jaw and his messy blue-black hair and his glinting ice-chip eyes. As the sun streamed down and fell into his hair like strings of ice water, she marveled at how handsome he was, how handsome he’d always been to her. 

She thought then of all they’d been through together, and how he was here with her now, holding her so close with his hand digging into her hip like he never wanted to let her go, and she realized it. 

She wanted to tell him, but all that came out was a strained gurgling noise— that’s because her heart had suddenly convulsed in her chest, driving all the air from her body. Her hands snapped to her sternum, pushing down like she could force her heart to start beating again, but her consciousness was already slipping. No, she thought weakly as the darkness encroached upon the edges of her vision. She could dimly hear Gray calling her name, or maybe she was imagining it? She wasn’t sure. 

No, she thought again as she slipped into the blackness. I wanted to tell him that I…

Emptiness. A void. Where was she going? Where had she been? She looked around with a lidded gaze into the nothingness, and had the strangest sensation of being called home. Was that her mother’s voice? Her father’s, too? Were they together, and had they resolved their differences? She longed to go toward them, she realized as she stretched out her hand toward the gleaming light taking shape before her. And yet… And yet… Something held her back. 

“Come on!”

Whose voice was that?

“Come on!”

It sounded familiar. 

“Come on!”

Gray? That was his name. She felt a warm, bubbly feeling rise up within her as the image of a handsome dark-haired man took shape in her mind. Gray… She loved him, yes, she did. She couldn’t go yet, even though she longed to look upon her mother’s face. She still had so much yet to do, so much yet to say… to him. 

“Come on, Lucy! Don’t die!”

“I’m coming,” she tried to say, but there was no sound in this endless void. So, she turned away from the light and started running, starting searching for him in the dark. His voice echoed all around her, but yet she had the feeling of getting closer, closer, closer…

“I love you, Lucy! Please don’t leave me!”

Light exploded all around her, and then she was on her back, heaving for breath while the azure sky blazed above her. And then Gray was there, hauling her up, whispering her name as he hugged her tight enough to crush her heart all over again. Her sternum burned from where he’d been frantically compressing it, but she was alive. She was alive. He was sobbing into her golden hair, and she managed enough strength to shakily tug at the black tufts at the base of his neck. 

“Gray,” she managed hoarsely. “Gray, I’m okay… I’m okay…” His trembling hand came to her neck to feel the blood pulsing through her carotid, and she felt him melt against her. She felt tears flood her eyes at the desperate gesture, and they carved through the layer of dirt and sweat on her cheeks. He pulled back to look at her with broken eyes and an equally broken laugh, then started touching her face like he wanted to commit it to memory. 

He swept a fingertip down her cheek, over her jawline, and then swiped a thumb gently over her lip. Lucy parted her mouth ever-so-slightly, the softness of her lips embracing the pad of his finger, and blinked expectantly. 

He jerked her forward to kiss her passionately, hungrily, desperately. She fell against him as what little breath she had recovered was stolen away, and every time she fought for a gasp of air, her chest brushed over his. She tangled her fingers into the messy strands of his hair while his snuck to her waist, fixing her place while he pushed the kiss impossibly deeper. Lucy felt like he was drinking her up, savoring everything she was to make himself whole, and she would let him because she was doing just the same. When they finally broke apart they both sucked in deep breaths, then stared into one another’s eyes like they were meeting for the first time. 

“I love you, Lucy,” he murmured with another caress of her face, and despite everything, she blushed. 

“I love you too, Gray.” 

He pulled her into another hug, and they both buried their faces into each other’s necks. As she pressed the tip of her nose against his jugular, she could feel the pulse beneath. Bump-bump-bump-bump: the beat of life, of love, of passion. It was such a beautiful sound, she considered for the first time. And she wanted to hear it every day forever. 

And as Gray whispered once again that he loved her while pressing sweet kisses into her skin, she had no doubt that she would.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Amajiki Tamaki x Reader

@insightfultaco, this one is for you!

Amajiki Tamaki/Suneater

The rug is soft under your knees. Tamaki’s knees are split apart by your upper body, your forearms braced on his firm thighs. His lips are already kiss-swollen, his hair dishevelled, his shirt unbuttoned and left hanging open. A trail of lovebites marks your path down his pale, lean-muscled torso to the open vee of his fly.

You’ve already spent a good ten minutes mauling the poor guy, and his “suffering” isn’t set to end any time soon. A strangled noise leaves his throat when you finally pull his erection free.

You feel strangely powerful with him in your hand like this. It helps that every tiny shift of your fingers sends a shudder through the boy. You stroke him, your grip still loose. He grits his teeth like he’s in pain, head digging back into the couch, soft dark spikes of hair splayed.

‘Tamaki,’ you say, half-teasing. ‘Aren’t you enjoying this?’

Just to be cruel, you lighten your touch even further, fingertips barely grazing up and down his shaft. His hips thrust up of their own volition, a strangled whimper sounding in the back of his throat. You slide your hand down to the base, grasping him comfortably.

His stomach quivers, and a tremor runs in the thick band of muscle along the underside of his shaft. You smirk at the sight of a bead of precum gathering at his slit. Even if he’s flustered beyond all comprehension, his body is less shy about showing its approval.

Leaning forward, you brush your lips across the crown of his dick. Tamaki watches you, scarlet and mesmerised, as you slowly sink the head of his cock into the warm, wet pressure of your mouth. His hand hovers as if he’s going to forestall you, then balls into a fist and lands on his thigh as you swipe your tongue over him.

You pull free of him with a soft pop, leaving him glistening. There's a light, salty taste on your tongue. It's unusual, but not unpleasant. Tamaki tries to balance out what he has to eat for his Quirk. Tamaki can’t help the quaver of disappointment that slips out. It was so intense but it felt so good. You give him a heated look, stroking him slowly.

‘You’re…’ Tamaki sucks in a breath. ‘You’re teasing me…’

‘Yep,’ you agree, leaning down to delicately lick the side of his shaft. ‘Just relax, Tama.’

Relax? How is he supposed to relax when your soft hand is wrapped around him like that? He can’t tear his gaze away from your mouth and the knowledge that at any moment-

‘Hnn!’

He squirms in his seat as you take him back between your lips, sucking softly and pumping your hand along the rest of his length. His heels grind into the rug, fronds of dark hair sticking to his damp forehead. He didn’t even realise he was sweating or that your touch was making him so feverish. His teeth sink into his bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the whimpers rising up in his throat. He can’t help that he’s so sensitive, and you seem to know his every weak spot.

Tamaki only needs a light touch. You prefer to coax reactions out of him, because the last thing you want is to overwhelm him or drive him into an anxiety spiral. It gives you untold satisfaction to hum softly around the sensitive flesh in your mouth and watch Tamaki’s hazy indigo eyes flutter shut in a shudder of pleasure.

His hand lifts again. He wants to touch you, but he doesn’t know where to, or if he should. You solve the problem for him, taking hold of his wrist and settling his hand on your head. He lets out a sigh of relief and winds his fingers lightly into your hair. He’s not in control, but it gives him a sense of it nonetheless.

That salty flavour is stronger. He’s not going to last long after everything you’ve put him through. In response, you slow right down, pulling away until only your tongue remains on him. Tamaki whines in protest, too wrapped up in what you’re doing to him to be embarrassed by the noise.

‘Please…’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘Ah!’

He twitches as you blow cool air against him. You wrap your lips back around the crown, pressing the tip of your tongue into the slit. Tamaki grunts, his hand tightening in your hair. Perhaps you should be merciful. You slide him deeper into your mouth, deeper than any time before. Tucking your thumb into your fist and squeezing, you find it suppresses your gag reflex, just enough to take him deeper, though not all the way.

‘I...fuck, I…’

Hearing Tamaki spit out a curse is all the encouragement you need to bob your head in earnest, sucking on him like a treat. You find a rhythm with your breathing. Tamaki’s thighs tremble underneath you. This is the home-stretch, and the breathless moans filling the living room tell you that he’s feeling too good to worry about his inhibitions. Good.

You glance up from under your lashes and feel a hard pulse of lust even though nobody is touching you. Tamaki’s flushed, his expression pinched taut with pleasure, mouth fallen open, bangs askew. He pants for breath, stomach fluttering. God, the sight of him like that is going to be burned into your brain.

Even as you watch him, his nose wrinkles. Fuck, he’s so cute. He reaches up and clutches the back of the couch, tendons bunching in his forearm. Tamaki can’t take this. His toes are curling, his body tightening as it prepares itself.

‘I can’t-’ His words stumble over each other. ‘Please, I’m gonna-’

He’s trying to warn you, but he can’t help it if you decide not to heed him. You sink him back into your throat, humming around him as he comes with a choked cry. Tamaki gasps when he realises what you’ve done - he expected you to let him come on his stomach or even stop just before, but, but…

You slide slowly out of your mouth until only the tip remains, still twitching with his climax. Your tongue swirls around him, cheeks hollowing as you suck the last few drops from his skin. Tamaki’s eyes are wide.

‘You...you didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t…’

You release him at last, licking your lips. When you speak, your voice is a little husky. ‘I wanted to. Did you enjoy it?’

Tamaki nods, ears burning. Belatedly, he releases your hair, stroking it back from your face. His hand is shaking.

‘Oh, can I get...Do you want a drink? It must… The, uh…’

He’s not usually so bad at speaking, but his mind is still scrambled. You nod to give his anxiety some relief, and he sheepishly hikes his pants up. It’s only when he stumbles out of the room, knocking into the doorframe on his way out, that he realises trying to walk so soon after getting the life sucked out of him probably isn’t the best idea.

He bumbles back in with two drinks. You drink, though the taste of him wasn’t that bad at all. He can’t seem to look at you, burying his face in his glass.

‘You know,’ you say conversationally, ‘I thought that tip about my gag reflex would make it easier to go down all the way. But, I guess I just need to practice.’

‘Pra...practice?’

Tamaki gulps. He has a good feeling that you won’t be practicing on bananas or any other kind of produce.

Knowing you, he’ll be your test-dummy.

[funeralhomewifi]

First Kiss(es) - MC x Diavolo

Summary: Verona (my mc) kisses Diavolo. She leaves out of embarrassment, but Diavolo ensures her that he’s more than okay with trying again to get it right.

Word Count: 2,186

The first time Verona kisses Diavolo, she doesn’t process it fully at first. Only the panic at first, because she just kissed the Prince of Devildom.

Her body just moved on its own. Lucifer stepped out for a moment and she leaned in to show Diavolo something cute from the human realm. And she peers over and sees that his attention is very much on her and not the phone where a bird is chirping the Star Wars theme.

What shocks her than her own boldness… Diavolo kisses her back. More gently than any human has before and she so just wants to fall into his touch and savor the moment.

But embarrassment kicks in. Because what is she doing? Because Lucifer is still in the general vicinity and Verona would be launched into week long cooking duty on top of the punishment from her and Mammon’s concert escapades the week before. And surely Barbatos would not hesitate to enchant her shoes if she proved to be a distraction.

Verona pulls away quickly, heart in her throat, mind racing because: What the Hell have I just done. Softly she murmurs, “Sorry, I’ll leave.”

But the Prince simply smiles up to her, temptation glistening in his golden eyes as she leaves so quick that Verona doesn’t even catch his response.

Verona doesn’t even realize that she had left her DDD behind until Lucifer returns it that night with a simple warning: Be more careful. Leaving her to wonder if Diavolo told him or if he simply doesn’t want to have to replace another phone.

But later that evening, her DDD vibrates with a single emoji from Diavolo and her cheeks heat up as she simply sends one back.

Moments pass and somehow the conversation evolves. He already knows the bare minimum about Verona and her life (whatever Barbatos had looked into prior to her invitation to the Devildom) and she knows the bare minimum of his and what she’d been allowed to know.

He asks about her tattoos and piercings, curious about the length of time she had to sit for, how long it took Verona to heal since demons tend to heal quicker and there are more painless applications of tattoos and body modifications in the Devildom. Diavolo also asks about what Verona did in the human realm (a barista), if she liked it (not really, but it paid rent and some bills), and what she wants to do once the year is over (she doesn’t have the drive to tell him that she’d rather stay in the Devildom if she could just retrieve her pets. She tells him she’d nap, cuddle with her cat, and return to work).

Diavolo finally inquires about Verona’s family and finally she pauses. Because she hadn’t spoken to her family in years. Not willingly, at least.

The phone buzzes again, leaving Verona that she had left Diavolo hanging.

[??? Sticker]

Verona hesitates. Then sends: Sorry, I’m sleepy. (a lie) We don’t speak much.

His response comes swiftly: I apologize, Verona. Then immediately after: It is late, so I’ll let you get some sleep.

Verona glances at the alarm clock, the numbers blinking 11:01 PM, nowhere near her self-imposed bedtime of at least 3AM, and she wonders what he’s still doing awake although the answer is probably the same as Lucifer’s.

But she inquiries anyway: Are you in bed too? Which immediately after sending it she realizes holy shit, that’s a bit intrusive despite the curiosity spiking anyway. But he responds with a laughing demon emoji then promptly: Not yet. I’m still wrapping up paperwork before I can wind down. And again: But Verona!

Verona waited for the next round of messages, checking her connection until LORD DIAVOLO flashed across the screen as her phone vibrated. Panic clenched her stomach and she nearly tossed the phone.

He knows you’re available, dumbass, Verona chastised, her hatred of speaking on the phone and nervousness over Diavolo calling at all spiraled together. Quickly, she stood on the bed as there was a knock at her bedroom door, ignoring it she pressed the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Verona!” Diavolo’s voice boomed from the other line.

The door opened and Asmo entered, thankfully noticing her state before announcing himself. His eyebrows rose, he held up a bag with the label of an expensive skincare line, Verona waved her free hand.

“Verona?” Diavolo tried again, “Are you there? I have a proposal.”

“Yes, my lord,” Verona practically kicked Asmodeus as an excited expression formed on his face. Asmo jumped on the bed and pressed himself near the phone despite Verona’s valiant attempt to cover his lips, “I’m still here.”

“Wonderful!” Diavolo continued, clearly not clued into the desperate swatting away of Asmo on Verona’s end. “I have some down time tomorrow evening. Would you like to join me for tea? We can discuss what happened earlier.”

Asmo broke away, quickly mouthing, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure, my lord.” Verona answered quickly, the words souring, “It was out of—”

“Oh!” Diavolo cut her off, “I’m not angry, it was quite nice. Refreshing, even, Verona. We can do it properly even.”

Verona reached up and attempted to cover Asmo’s lips, her own cheeks burning, “That… That sounds nice.”

“Perfect, I’ll send Barbatos for you after class,” Diavolo murmurs, voice like honey in her ear. “Goodnight, Verona.”

“Goodnight, Diavolo.” Verona quickly hung up.

Asmo grinned and swiped the phone, dragging her back to the bed, “What did you do, V? That Diavolo wants to do again?”

“Nothing!”

“Liar.”

Verona stared and flopped back with a frown, “I kissed Diavolo.”

“Naughty Verona!” Asmodeus gushed, “Does Lucifer know? Well I suppose not since you’re not searching for cobwebs to clean. But what are you going to wear? Do you need lingerie? Also, don’t frown, love, it causes wrinkles.”

Verona rolled over and huffed into her pillow, “It’s tea, not… not… fuck.”

“It could be, V,” The Avatar of Lust tried unhelpfully. “At least wear something cute under your uniform. It’ll make you feel good.”

“I’m not wearing something cute, Asmo.”

XXX

Verona wore something cute under her uniform. It hadn’t helped with her anxiousness throughout her classes, but it did make her feel less bad over Asmodeus spoiling her with cute items considering she never really got the chance to wear them.

After her last class, Barbatos met her at the end of the hall and she quietly followed him through the winding building until they came to a portal.

“Are we not going to Lord Diavolo’s office?” Verona asked cautiously.

“He requested that you meet him in the palace gardens for tea,” Barbatos offered his arm. “Ready?”

With a nod, Verona wrapped a hand around his forearm and nearly toppled over at the sudden change of setting. The dark, candlelit halls of RAD instantly replaced with lush gardens filled with flowers and plants native to Devildom that Verona hadn’t seen in her months as an exchange student.

Barbatos steadied her then allowed her to look around, Verona cautiously followed a dark bricked path, sure that many of the unknown plants could probably eat her if she so much as nudged them.

“These are relatively safe plants,” Diavolo’s gentle voice noted as Verona came to a better lit area with blackened floating lanterns. “Barbatos keeps anything remotely dangerous in his personal garden.”

“Relatively, though?” Verona paused to blink up at the lanterns, eyes adjusting a realizing that they weren’t lanterns at all. They were lightning bugs, probably the size of her fist, hovering around and resting on pale flowers.

“I suppose I wouldn’t try to eat them,” Diavolo muses, then motions to the seat across from the oversized garden table. “Have a seat, Verona.”

Verona sits and focuses on the sandwiches, the tea, the fine china. Everything except Diavolo seated across from her simply watching as Barbatos pours a blue-ish tinged tea then takes his leave. Verona quietly takes a sip, noting the bitterness before dropping a single sugar cube in. She finally breaks the silence, “How was your day? Or is it technically still going?”

“It seems to be picking up,” Diavolo offers. “How was yours? You had an exam in History of Devildom today, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Verona exhales, cheeks heating up, “But I didn’t do as well as I hoped. My mind was… elsewhere, I guess.”

“I suppose I should’ve accounted for that. We could’ve met earlier this morning, but I believe I start my day a bit earlier that it would inconvenience you.” Diavolo hums, “I could request that you be allowed to retake it.”

“Oh, no!” Verona rubs her cheeks to calm herself, “I keep my grade high enough that it should be fine.” Then adds, “Thank you though.”

They fall back into heavy silence. Verona picks at a sandwich before sighing and shooing away the anxiety, “I’m sorry for yesterday. It just… I don’t know… You were close and…” I think you’re lowkey gorgeous, Verona nearly admits.

“You’re a very anxious little human, Verona. But only with me.” A gentle smile pulls at the Prince of Devildom’s lips, “Why is that? You’re perfectly chaotic with Lucifer and the other brothers. The angels, even.”

“I…” A lump twisted at her throat as she racked her brain for a coherent answer, “I think it might be an, I don’t know, authority issue. You’re very much attractive… but very much above me. It makes me nervous. I don’t like to put myself in situations that might not go right for me.”

“But you did yesterday?” Diavolo tries, eyes ghosting over her.

“I guess I did,” Verona stares down at her tea.

“What would remedy this situation, Verona?” Diavolo asks quietly, “What would make you feel better?”

Verona wanted to sink into the garden and melt into the other levels of the Devildom. She sighs and focuses on one of the lightning bugs at the edge of the table, “I don’t know,”

“Would you like to hold one?” Diavolo asks softly, cutting through her thoughts, “They aren’t dangerous to humans.”

Verona only nods and Diavolo rises to offer his hand. She takes it and he leads her to the center of the lush garden. He stands behind her and Verona is hyperaware that he towers over her barely five foot nothing form and even more aware that his cologne makes her head spin in the best way.

Diavolo raises his hand with a bit of sandwich in the center. It takes a moment but one of the creatures flits around before settling on his hand and poking at the bread and gently flapping its lit up wings.

“Put your hand near mine.”

And Verona does. The creature buzzes but transfers hands as it finishes the spec of sandwich.

“You’re very lovely, Verona,” Diavolo places his hand under hers. “Maybe the loveliest thing I’ve seen in centuries. The most interesting creature by far that has landed in my sight.”

The bug flits away, but Verona doesn’t move, “Maybe?”

“Definitely,” Diavolo amends, . “You’re nervous around me, yet you don’t hesitate to message me to take breaks and send me animal videos. Even offer to bring me, even Barbatos, trinkets when you ask permission to go to the human realm. Not many people do that, Verona.”

“I know you like cute things, you’ve expressed interest in human trinkets and Barbatos likes to use certain brands of foods for meals.” Verona unconsciously tilts her head against his chest.

“Yes,” Diavolo pauses. “But you don’t hesitate to treat me like an equal, Verona. Not like a royal that you bend backwards for, like someone, Verona. It’s refreshing. It’s different. Something no one has attempted to try in thousands and thousands of years.”

Verona is quiet, stomach twisting, “That’s unfortunate, Diavolo.”

“I suppose,” Diavolo hums, gently hovering over bright tattoos along her arm. “Can I touch you, Verona?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. But Verona’s breath hitches, “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to, Verona?” Diavolo counters softly.

“Then… Yes,” Verona exhales. “Yes, you can touch me.”

His fingers trace over her tattoos, up her shoulder, to her neck and she nudges against his hand. A mix of ticklish and leftover feelings from Belphie’s mishap. Diavolo quietly apologizes, then combs his fingers through her thick hair. From behind he thumbs her lips and she leans into his touch.

“Turn to face me, Verona?” And she does, Diavolo gently tilts her chin up, taking her in, “Would you like to try again?”

Verona lets out a shaky breath and nods, she knots her fingers against his coat to bring him closer. She’s on her toes and he meets her halfway, the kiss soft and dissolves into something sweeter and desperate.  But Verona blushes and pulls away, peering around the garden.

Diavolo watches nothing but her lips, “Are you concerned about Barbatos?”

Verona blushes, but smiles as Diavolo’s hands go to her waist, “He might enchant my shoes to walk me into a different timeline.”

“Only if you want him to, Verona.”

“No,” Verona seeks out another sweet kiss. “I like it here.”

[goblinmanifesto]

Ive already accidentally deleted this once so fucking kill me (I forgot to save it).

⚠️TW FOR ANXIETY, TOURETTES, SLIGHT SELF HARM⚠️

But this is my post for @doinmybesthere Mental Health Awareness May collab! I will be doing Bokuto Koutarou. To explain a bit, to cope with bullshit that is life, I accidentally made myself a coping mechanism that I loving refer to as the ‘Klaus Hargreeves‘ (if you know anything about that character, you already know where my mental state is) because I can’t remember what my therapist said the actual name for it was. To put it simply, it’s like overactive day dreaming. I act out and create scenarios in my head to comfort myself, most of the time using characters or real people as an enabler for the comfort I wish to gain. Side effects being; if caught, considered crazy, sometimes don’t realize I’m doing it which can lead to awkward situations, sometimes I fuck up what’s real and what’s not. So, in these little stories, I will be retelling scenarios I have created through this coping mechanism that relate to both Bokuto and my mental problems! Each will be labeled with what they deal with so you can skip the one that might trigger you. Enjoy and happy reading! (I WILL ALSO BE MENTIONING AND USING STIMMING) ((I will probably use this to make other fics like this in the future mentioning my other ~stuff~ but in the meantime this is all I want to do so enjoy!))

⚠️LAST TW⚠️

1. ~Anxiety, Self harm, Mentions of Stimming~ He should’ve been home an hour ago! I was pacing in the living room, shaking hands holding my phone. It was 7:13 and Koutarou was supposed to be home at 6:00. I was spiraling and I could feel it, but I didn't know what to do about it. Id sent him text after text, but he was yet to respond. I glanced at my cell, only stopping my frantic shuffling to focus my attention on reading the screen;

Hey, is practice running late? [6:11] When do you think you’ll be home? [6:15] Are you there? [6:19] Koutarou??????? [6:23] Kou pick up your damn phone! [6:27] Did something happen???!! [6:34] Is everything okay?! [6:39] Are you mad or something??? [6:47] Bokuto Koutarou I’m dead serious where are you?!?!?! [6:53] Bo-ku-to!!!! [6:59] Koutarou it’s been hour please text me [7:07] Koutarou!!! [7:12] -Unread-

My eyes scanned the messages again, not leaving the blue screen until until my shin collided with the side of the coffee table. I hadn’t even realized I had started pacing again. I checked the texts I had sent to Akaashi as well, since I knew he was at that practice too, but I hadn’t gotten any responses from him either. Slipping my phone screen up onto the table I continued my pacing, not even processing when my finger nails found their way under my teeth, and how when they left my mouth to scratch at my neck or claw at my shirt, my teeth resorted to gnawing at my lip instead, tearing up the thin skin. All habits I was trying to kill but didn’t have enough brain power to focus on not doing them. My eyes constantly searched the driveway for the headlights of any car, any car at all, but they always came up with nothing. It was 7:24 when my phone struck with the sound of text, the bing of anticipation sent me diving for, and consequently almost dropping, my phone in an attempt to find out if it was Koutarou. It was!

Hey, is practice running late? [6:11] When do you think you’ll be home? [6:15] Are you there? [6:19] Koutarou??????? [6:23] Kou pick up your damn phone! [6:27] Did something happen???!! [6:34] Is everything okay?! [6:39] Are you mad or something??? [6:47] Bokuto Koutarou I’m dead serious where are you?!?!?! [6:53] Bo-ku-to!!!! [6:59] Koutarou it’s been hour please text me [7:07] Koutarou!!! [7:12]

-Read-

Im so sorry!! Yes practice did end up running late! But something else happened and I

wasn’t able to text you! I’m not mad about

anything I promise!! What happened is also

minor and nothing to worry about and I’ll explain when I get home in about ten

[7:21] minutes!! I’m so sorry!! -Read-

I sighed, relieved, the weight on my chest and in my head dissolved and I felt like I could finally breathe again. Though, as I came down from my anxiety rush, I became aware of a lot of things all at once. The first was a good deal of pain. From knocking my leg into a table and pacing for over an hour, to bitten lips and nails, and my scraped neck. I groaned, I need to get a better handle on this.

But that wasnt important. Koutarou was okay and on his way home! I waited at the window, feeling a bit like a dog waiting on its owner (that was a kink joke yes), and leaped to the front door when I saw his car in the driveway. Throwing open the door, I pulled him inside the second I could get my hands on him and pulled him through the doorway. The moment he was inside, I shoved myself into his arms in a tight hug, so glad he was okay. He returned the hug and held me tightly, I let out a shuddering breathe and he let out comforting sounds I sometimes use to stim. “Hey, hey, hey, I’m so sorry to have you worry, it was about Akaashi! We were running extra practice with a handful of the other guys and I literally had half a text to you written out when he a spike to the face! I was the only one left with a car so I drove him to hospital! I’m so sorry you are so worried you sent like 15 texts! I’m so-“ I cut him short with a hand over his mouth since that was one of the only ways to get him to stop talking. “Kou, it’s okay, I understand, it just really scared me ‘is all-“ he pried my hand off his face but held it in his own.

”I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize for it, whether I was in complete control of the situation or not! Which I was not, by the way, no control what-so-fucking-ever, I had four other guys in the car and one of them was bleeding and concussed, it was chaos!!” His eyes were wide and he went off on the stress of the situation and, for a moment, I forgot that it was 7:26 at night on a Thursday and I had a biology test in the morning, and that Koutarou just got home and I hadn’t even eaten yet and all the other things that werent right in the world. Everything was fine in that moment. But that ended when Koutarou took a good hard look at me. The redness and scratch marks on my neck, the bitten to bleeding finger nails, the small bruise forming on my shin, my blotchy face and my probably-way-too-red lips. He stopped dead in his words and I felt my eyebrows scrunch up.

“Whats wrong?-“

“You did the things again didn’t you?!” He sounded distressed and his broad shoulders sunk. Koutarous hands rubbed my shoulders as he stared into my eyes with the most concerned look I’d ever seen. He pulled me back to his chest again and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

7:46, Koutarou insisted on taking care of my ‘injuries’ since he was who I was having anxiety over anyway. I protested a little, but gave up when he gave me the baby-owl eyes.

First, he had wrapped bandaids on my fingers. Thankfully, they were black, and I made a comment on it was like a 2-second manicure just to hear him chuckle.

Then, Kou applied a moisturizer to my neck. “Kou, I can do this myself-“

”Nope! I insist!”

”I’m not a child-“

”Don’t care, I’m doing it so just shush up and let me do what I need to do!”

Next, he made me apply ice to my bruise even though it was tiny and caused by a damn two-foot-tall coffee table.

Lastly, he gave me chapstick. Again, wouldn’t let me do it myself, so I made several sarcastic remarks to make him blush, all working quite well. Koutarou had to tell me to stop giggling multiple times so I could stay still.

”Alright, are you done playing nurse?”

”Forgive me for wanting to take care of you!!” He stuck his tongue out at me with an audible “bleh!” and I cackled.

”You are forgiven, Nurse Bokuto.”

2. ~Tourette’s, Stimming~ My neck painfully popped when it jerked to the left, my tics had been bad all day and I no clue why. Could be exams, or the fucking toaster for all I knew. I hissed, rubbing at my neck and adjusting the water can I almost dropped, trying to continue about my Saturday.

It was obnoxious, really, having to me-proof everything around in case I end up kicking it, dropping it, or hitting it. My joints constantly cracking and snapping and jolting in the strangest ways at any given moment. Sometimes repeating what people say back at them in perfect mirror-like fashion. Though that last one can be kind of funny.

Clicking my toungue to make nice noises to try and stim the tic away, I returned back to my plants. I could feel them chuckling at me and, in that moment, I understood everything about Crowley from ‘Good Omens’.

I heard the door unlock in the other room and I put my can down as a precaution and peeked out of the doorway.

A moment later, Koutarou popped through the door after his morning jog. He called out; “Hey, hey, hey!” as a greeting.

I felt my hands go up behind my head and I thought Oh gods dammit, and then my jaw jutted forward in a very unattractive way and I repeated his phrase in the same manner as him, then immediately dropped, as my body decreed.

I groaned, looking up at him, who looked slightly bewildered at my little madness ritual. His hair laid flat on his head, he had chosen not to mess with it this morning, much to my delight, his amber eyes a little wide and his eyebrows raised. He was barely even in the house yet.

We just kind of stared at each other for a hot second before I awkwardly waved ‘hello’ and cracked a weird grin. He grinned back, his more pleasant than mine. Walking over, he opened his arms for a hug, and I accepted, since he wasn’t all that sweaty this time around, and it was the least I could do since he had to witness that.

Koutarou planted a kiss on the top of my head, cheering “Good morning!”

I muttered a response into his shirt.

“One of those days, huh?” I nodded.

“Coffee? I think we have muffins in the cabinet?” I nodded again and he lead me into the kitchen to set up some breakfast. It was 9:00 am on a Saturday after all. A weird Saturday, but watching Koutarou finagle through the cabinets, it couldn’t be that bad.

That is all for now! Have a wonderful day and I am going to sleep for three years see y’all (edited: June 18 2021, because I can’t spell)

[jinxfirebolt18902]

Ohana Part 1 - (Ben Hardy!Warren Worthington III Serie)

Words: 1.682

Summary: Warren accidentally made a family of his own and he’s determined to do anything in his will to protect them, but maybe that won’t be enough and a little help may be needed.

Part 2

Warren’s strong arms sneaked around her small waist, his nose lightly burying itself on her neck, her delicious scent invading his senses. A warm feeling run all over his body, fuelling him with peace and happiness and, well... love. If someone had told him 6 years ago that in a few years he’d be standing in a cottage backyard surrounded by a forest in a mountain somewhere in England, holding the love of his life in his arms while watching the result of their love laughing innocently as he bounced in a single swing, he probably would have laughed really hard and turned around to dismiss the matter. His last years had passed quite quickly when he took a moment to look back, from the cage fighting where he’d met her, to them escaping and fooling around, hiding from the evil that chased after them and their mutations, kissing and dancing and laughing like teenagers, till the unexpected offspring growing in her. His eyelids opened interrupting the memories when he felt her head rest against him. The green eyes moving quickly from her face to his son’s.

He re-positioned himself standing straighter but before pulling his face from her neck he stopped by her ear to whisper a sweet emotional “I love you with all my heart”. A wide smile reaching her lips. She turned subtly, to look up and connect their gazes. He was smiling as well. A sudden yelp made their faces instinctively spin towards the now empty swing, their bodies parted in less than a second. An uniformed young man had the four-years-old’s wrist in a strong grip,the latter desperately trying to run towards his parents’ safety. Three pairs of manly hands attacking her grey wings and her arms in order to immobilize her, meanwhile five men did the same to him, tackling him to the ground and stepping on his white feathers to pin him down. Screams, swearings and cryings filled the cold air, the already clouded sky getting darker due not only to the storm clouds forming but for the day reaching its end as well. Just like that, in a matter of seconds the small family’s life torn apart. Warren’s madness against the scene developing before his eyes, his family being captured, a stranger’s filthy hands restraining his helpless child, a group of men hurting his girlfriend, his everything, provoked the adrenaline pump through his every vein and his mutation power up to no use, being outnumbered and electrocuted.

—Get your fucking hands off them right now! You twats!

—Shut your mouth bird boy. —a familiar face adorned with a black moustache knelt in front of him, Warren still forced to lay flat on the wet grass. —How we missed you back there in the cage champ... —the most disgusting laugh Warren’d ever heard left the man’s chest. The mutant could only follow him with his eyes. Edgar, as Warren recalled, strolled across the few feets distancing him from her and stopped to give her struggling body an analytic look, a sound of approval  reaching Warren’s ears. From there, the man known to be in charge shifted to the crying infant as he arched an eyebrow in a thoughtful expression. After a few seconds he went back to Warren’s level. —Well I see you haven’t lost any time... We’ll see what can we do with your little family play back in Berlin, aight?

Warren’s eyes and body contorted with anger, his blood boiling making his veins stand out. His cheeks were pink and his nostrils wide open with his rapid breaths. He couldn’t let this happen. He had promised her that he would protect them, that he’d never let anything happen to them hence why they lived there, hidden, heads low and quiet. They’d been moving quite a lot too, never staying for too long in the same place, never surrounded by neighbours, trying not to be seen either by humans nor mutants. They’d practically disappeared. But their luck had run out. His past was once again taking his efforts and high spirits away from him, ripping his heart and soul open. When he felt he was being pulled up, covered in countless ropes, his gaze flew to her. They were doing the same with her, the picture almost unbearable for him. He’d promised her they’d never touch her again, she’d never have to fight again.

Inside her mind the petrifying memories run wild. The crowds shouting in excitement, the perspiration smell hanging in the heavy air, the bright light blinding her eyes... Her eyelids closed forcefully at the excruciating pain in her wings when they burned them with high voltage, and the sore of her throat after her screams whenever she was hurt. She could feel the anxiety eating her alive, the fear of living that hell once again, anew; after 6 years of peace and healing, after being given birth... her baby. Oh God what were they going to do with her baby boy. SHe wasn’t as strong as before, she was done fighting. Her muscles weren’t the same anymore, She was thin and standard, no training left on her physical appearance... The amount of ropes was extremely unnecessary, she couldn’t have escaped their hold. Her baby boy. She started shouting piercing screams hurting the men’s hearing, few of them even letting go of their strings to cover their ears. Tears constantly run down her cheeks.

—For fuck’s sake! What is it woman?! —Edgar’s scowl faced her closely.

—My child! Give me my boy! Please! Let him come with me please... —choked sobs cutting her pleas. —Give my child! —through her crying her demanding tone could be heard in her voice.

With a roll of his eyes the commandant signaled to one of the cages and they quickly put her in, then thoughtlessly waved his hand to the young uniformed man holding the infant to let him go. The little boy clumsily running to his mom’s arms which immediately embraced the upset toddler. Her head jerked in Warren’s direction when she heard him grunting and still giving battle, refusing to let his and his family’s freedom be taken away.

The place looked the same, dark, wet and creepy. Definitely not a place for children. They'd set them apart. Warren's cage was kept in a room with the best male fighters while hers was placed with the oldest women mutants. As they put her cage in place all eyes big in amazement were on her. She just stared everywhere with fear, covering her body and his son's with her big grey feathery wings. The toddler was buried in her chest with wet red cheeks and dropped eyelids, heavy with tiredness. It had been an exhausting day plus they’d been awake over 32 hours. She heard a few murmurs between the women as they looked at them. "It's her isn't it?", "She's back", "Oh my god has she got a child there?!", "I can't believe it", "Have they captured him as well?". Her eyes kept jumping from face to face, the expression of terror never leaving her features.

—Sweetie... Are you okay? Is there any way I can help you?

Her eyes flew towards the owner of the voice, a red-headed curvy lady probably in her seventies. Her body just tensed up and held her baby tighter. Exhaustion took over forcing her to fall asleep in a second, with her back resting against the cold impenetrable barriers, her wings covering her.

It was a massive migraine what woke her up, stirring from her unconscious state she had to take a few seconds to remember everything that happened and take in her new awful reality. Her gaze looked down at the sleeping body in her arms. Charlie’s face was dirty with dust and dry tears, which only hurt her heart and soul even more, an overwhelming desire to cry filling her. She wanted Warren. She wanted to be in his arms and be told everything would be okay. She needed him. The fact that he was somewhere else only added to her worry and discomfort. She felt weak and dizzy. Helping herself grabbing one of the cage bars to keep her balance she got to a sitting position without waking Charlie. Again pairs of eyes set on her, whispering her name. 

—Mockingbird…

A new thump sound resonated within the dark red room. Warren’s left shoulder was already completely bruised and sore, but he kept using it in failed attempts to break the cage’s lock.

—LET ME OUUUT! —his cry hurting his throat as tears filled his eyes.

The other mutants couldn’t fully understand why he was reacting so crazy about his capture knowing it wasn’t his first time, at all. Warren’s body collapsed to the ground as silent sobs escaped him. His mind couldn’t stop spiraling around her and their son. What they were doing to them, where they were, how they were… Both his mind and his body hurt, like they ever had before.

A green-skinned mutant with scales and spiked head knelt facing Warren and tried to check him up. Clearly he hadn’t known… or better said, fought him inside the cage as most of the others in the room. Warren used to be one of the best, one of the champs (hence why they always were after him whenever he escaped). He could kill, easily. But to that new reptilian mutant, Warren just seemed a broken little boy, at the edge of the hill.

—Are you ok?

—Anole. —called him out one of the others. —Don’t.

A few days later, Warren had almost lose it completely. His brain had gotten him into some kind of a trance to stop the pain. He was like a reverse ghost, his body was present but his soul was nowhere to be seen. If it weren’t for his will to eat and for his blinks, one could think he was dead. Hours never seemed to end, the difference between day and night had been long forgotten. It was always dark. And misery was all he could feel.

[miss-tc-nova]

A SOLDIER’s Memories - Cloud Strife x Fem!Reader Pt 10

This chapter exists because the last one was getting waaaaay too long, but I’m actually quite proud of this one. 

Part 10: Ruined

               Getting to the North Crater alone has become a task on its own but this trail of men in cloaks is a little odd. They haven’t tried to attack me yet though I still opt to carry my khopesh in hand. An anxious feeling works into my chest and I’m sure that I’ll find the man behind the madness here. Part of my brain wishes I’d retreated, gone back to Cloud and the others and I start to realize that I’m scared. I have yet to win a single clash with my old mentor and deep down I know that I haven’t improved enough to challenge him. I’m a fool for coming here alone.

               Stopping in a wide area with crystal walls, I look around the dead end. There’s nowhere else to go and this is the greatest source of that anxiety. A flash of green flickers in the wall and I ready my weapons, until I realize what’s watching me is a massive eye. There’s a very large monster encased in the crystal wall.

               “Interesting, aren’t they?” Whirling around, I hold up my swords. The very man I’ve come for casually strolls along the wall, looking up at the beast. “They were created by the planet to protect it. I’m sure they’ll be released once I set everything in motion.”

               “You’ve got to know that I’m here to prevent that,” I say calmly.

               “I knew you’d try, but I thought you were smarter than to come alone,” he replies. “Though I suppose you always were eager to prove yourself to me.” I glower at the remark. He draws his sword. “Shall we get started?”

               We clash. It’s hard to believe, but I start to think that I might actually be gaining some ground on the former hero. We actually seem to be on relatively even ground for once and that little bit of hope spurs me on.

               I throw my khopesh back, preparing to launch it at him. A nauseous buzzing creeps over my brain. That short moment of confusion causes my own weapon to slice across my arm.

               “Oh that’s right,” he hums. “Normal SOLDIERs don’t have the same amount of Jenova cells.”

               I reset my stance. “What are you talking about?”

               He raises a hand and that sickness comes back, but I shake it off. “If I’d done that to Cloud, he’d be on his knees.”

               It clicks. “You control Jenova cells.” I have to focus to keep the fear from spiking. “So what? The more Jenova cells you have, the easier you are to control? Why does Cloud have more than I do?”

               “You’d have to ask Hojo about Cloud. I didn’t choose him, but he has become rather useful.” The smirk creeping over his lips sends a chill down my spine and alarms in my head. “Now if it had been you, all my plans would be complete by now. Guess I’ll just have to remedy that.”

               There’s no time to demand an answer when he comes at me again. I deflect his sword and strike back. Something doesn’t seem right. He’s far too calm for this fight to be this even.

               “Not bad,” he says calmly, swatting away my attack. “In a few years, you could a real hero, just like I was.” I snarl at him. “I’m proud.”

               “Shut it!” I’ve got to stop listening to his distractions.

               “I remember when they assigned you to me.” The look of pride on his face at his first apprentice strikes my heart. “You were so excited.”

               “That was before you became a traitor!” My retaliation fails so I leap in to strike, sparks of clashing metal spraying over us.

               My second sword swings overhead, looping the chain around Sephiroth and I jump back. I can hardly believe that I succeeded in tying him up, but then I see the unbothered smile.

               “You always wanted to be just like me.”

               I tighten the chains. “And you ruined that! You abandoned me and took away everything I cared about! Cloud! Zack! You! You were the first person to take a second look at me and tell me that I could make a difference! That I didn’t have to let my shitty childhood in the slums become my future! And then you destroyed EVERYTHING THAT MATTERED TO ME!” The amused expression he wears infuriates me more and I despise myself for the angry tears. “I tell myself that I’m nothing like you! That I will never be like the person I used to idolize! But you’re proof that SOLDIERs are monsters in sheep’s clothing! I’ll never be able to trust myself because of you! You ruined everything I cared about AND THEN YOU RUINED ME!”

               “If it makes you feel any better.” By the way he speaks, he’s not done and my body tenses. “No matter how hard you worked, how hard you wished for it, you were never going to come close to being like me. But I’ll offer my dear apprentice some help. Now’s your chance to get just a little closer.”

               The next thing I know the man barrels into me. When my back slams into a wall, I lose my grip on my swords and instead grasp at the hand pinning me.

               Hand to my throat, squeezing, Sephiroth leans closer. “Do you remember what happened to the body in Hojo’s research lab? Jenova’s body?” My arms shake, trying to pull him off me but he doesn’t budge. “This isn’t my real body but it’s had its uses. And now it’s your turn.”

               A thick, inky liquid seeps from his lips, dripping onto my skin. In full-blown panic, I struggle as violently as I can but even against a fake Sephiroth I prove useless. The secretion stings in my eyes and smells putrid, but that’s nothing compared to how sickeningly vile it tastes. The more I choke on, the greater that buzzing grows, turning from white noise to needles in my brain. I’m spiraling in terror, unable to fight back even when he releases me.

               “I think this will serve as a nice little surprise for your precious Cloud.”

               No! Against my control, my body is writhing on the floor.

               “I hope he’s gotten stronger since I last saw him; otherwise you’ll have no trouble cutting him down for me.” His eerie green eyes practically glow with malice. “I’m going to enjoy watching you destroy the person you cherish most.”

               I’d cut open my own heart if I could, but whatever he’s done, it fully takes over. As everything begins to go dark, I recognize a shape cocooned in the crystal of the ceiling. I found the real Sephiroth far too late.

[stillness-in-green]

The Way You Survive Is...  (3/4)

Young minds learn what they're shown.

The Claustro's ready for a test-drive, and for better or for worse, Rikiya isn't alone.

Chapter Warnings: Self-triggering, PTSD flashbacks, heavy dissociation, vomiting, and Rikiya just generally being an unhealthy role-model for people who look up to him.  The Claustro is a high-tech iron maiden and that's just canon, folks.

———      ———      ———      ———

Chapter Three: Perfection, Not Progression

Unlike many modern lifestyle designers, Detnerat’s production facilities were in-house, the better to holistically design products tailored to each individual customer’s needs.  Those producing the goods were not just undertrained employees in workshops recreating en masse a single talented someone’s design, no.  Templates were made to be broken; that was the Detnerat way!

It was, of course, also the case that Detnerat created enough other, below-the-table goods that it was far more secure to keep production in-house.  Which was why, when one swiped their employee badge and held down the elevator button to the sub-basement for twenty full seconds, it would take one to the sub-sub-basement, which had been carefully removed from the official blueprints after the completion of the building.

The main thing that had been going on in the underground production facility for the past year was Rikiya’s personal project. The Claustro, well over three meters of hulking black steel, stood slumped under its own weight on a workstation platform at the center of the proving grounds area.  Metal pegs which could be mistaken, from the outside, for the back ends of pistons protruded from its back and its shoulders, four each bolted through the gauntlets covering its massive wrists.  Another pair jutted out from the chest, lined up directly over the place where, in due course, Rikiya’s sternum would lie beneath that enormous breastplate.

Just looking at the thing set his skin tingling, a flutter of anxiety in his stomach.  It’s all right, he told himself.  It will give us better results.

The Claustro’s chest cavity gaped wide, visible from the top via an enormous hole, the diameter of which had Rikiya bringing one hand to his neck with a vague sense of self-consciousness.  He was bigger in his liberated form, but that big?

“No, your people didn’t forget about the helmet,” Skeptic said beside him, skimming over a tablet.  “But we’re not testing the HUD today; we’re making sure this thing can stand up to your new grip strength.”

“I appreciate the solidarity, then, Skeptic,” Rikiya managed, because if his newest advisor wasn’t here about the electronic guidance protocols, then he did not have a reason to be here that didn’t amount to a personal interest.

The young man—Chikazoku Tomoyasu, graduated from a major tech university in only two years and, three years after that, already a third of the way up the chain of command at Feel Good Inc.—sniffed dismissively.  “Someone here needs to be able to figure out the AED on the fly.”

Rikiya didn’t fight the smile that curled over his face in response.  Whether it was habit or Skeptic’s bracing sarcasm, he couldn’t say, not with a countdown to the Claustro’s first full-body test run ticking down in his mind, but it was a brief respite he was willing to take.

“One of your many talents?”

“Yes, reading instructions written to be simple enough for middle schoolers is well within my capacity,” Skeptic snorted.  He looked across the proving ground floor at Detnerat’s head engineer.  “Got everything set?”

“We do,” the man—Kanazoku Mihatsu, code name Ardent, who’d been one of Rikiya’s first hires to help manage production when Rikiya was occupied with the business of, well, running a business—answered.  “We’ve calibrated the dynamometers based on your previous numbers, sir.  Today’s about seeing how much farther the Claustro’s pushing your limits.”

“Then I suppose I’ll get us started,” Rikiya replied, and shrugged off his jacket.  Skeptic looked less than impressed with his attempts at exuberance, though, and Ardent only nodded solemnly, notes of worry still clear through a gaze full of reverence, so Rikiya said nothing further, only draped his jacket over Ardent’s offered arm and stepped up to the platform as the other two men retreated behind the safety of the observation wall.

With a sudden thrum from its servo motors, the Claustro folded open, sheets of metal sliding back into casing chambers or rotating into open positions.  It looked, Rikiya thought vaguely, trying not to let his gaze linger on the spikes of metal jutting out of the machine’s inner back, something like a chrysanthemum with the heart removed, all thin petals of steel nestled around an empty central cavity.  Though, with the way it would soon be closing back up, perhaps a Venus flytrap would be more accurate.

Breathe, he told himself.  It’s a test run in lab conditions.  It’s perfectly safe.  They even left the helmet off.

It was a small kindness, and (seeing as it was also a massive workplace safety violation enabled only by Rikiya’s resilience in his transformed state) a mark of faith.  He held that thought and fixed a smile on his face before he turned back toward Skeptic and Ardent and took a last step back into the waiting machine, letting his body swell up to fit.

The ribboning metal wrapped around him instantly; equally instant came the jump-start slam of his heartbeat as the walls closed in.  Cold swept over his face, the ink wash stain of Stress taking hold, the flux in temperature so sharp it left the room wheeling with vertigo.  His throat went tight as a pulled seam.

His hands and arms enlarged, fitting themselves into the Claustro’s gauntlets as naturally as gloves; his shoulders broadened, taking the suit’s weight like a yoke bar as he straightened, still growing to match the exoskeleton’s space even as he registered the way it began to press back against him.  Hydraulic plates constricted around his chest and arms, lighting up his nerves with old terror.

Movement from the interior shafts.  He knew what was coming, and still he couldn’t stop the way his breath seized when they pressed into his skin, sharp-tipped and inexorable.  His peripheral vision flickered darkly, a black-to-blue strobe, and Quarter’s voice, unforgotten in twenty years and still laced with venom, stirred the air at his temple.

“It would shame Destro to see you this way.” The man’s eyes were there—bottomless, pitiless—when Rikiya looked up across the gym.  “Turn that fear of yours to the good of the cause.  Stand up.”

Yes.  Rikiya’s lips framed the word as he blinked, unable to differentiate the prickling pain of his spiraling panic attack from the very real workings of the Claustro.  The vibrato of the servos drowned out the sound of his breathing.  Each thin whine of the machine’s motors accompanied another compression of the internal plates and spikes; each in turn drew out another spasm of stress, reinforcing his skin to stone-like hardness.

Stone cracks cartoonishly easily under pressure. You must be much stronger than that.

“Re-Destro, sir; does everything feel—like it should?”  Ardent’s voice crackled over the intercom, faint through the tapestry of throbbing sound in Rikiya’s ears.  He felt himself nod.  It does.  Excellent work.  Now, how are we testing the grip strength?  Please tell me quickly, so I can get out of this goddamned deathtrap.

He shaped the words to teeth and tongue, leaving out the unnecessary commentary, and tried to focus back in on his engineer. The man and Skeptic—wonderfully reliable Skeptic, who would definitely not let this thing kill him, and who was so confident in his ability to use an automated external defibrillator on the off-chance that Rikiya actually did have a heart attack here, though an electric shock probably wouldn’t help with an aneurysm, if that was the particular medical crisis that struck instead, just like his dear departed grandfather, Destro’s son, who escaped all this the only way their line could—no—the man and Skeptic—

“Focus on the target,” Quarter’s memory admonished him, and Skeptic interrupted with, “Can you walk around?”

Rikiya focused on Skeptic’s face, the sharp black line of his bangs, and nodded.  I can’t feel my face.  I wonder if I’m still smiling?  I hope not; it would probably look ghastly.  He walked towards the testing apparatus—well, his body did.  He felt very little in control of it right at that moment.

The dynamometers were simple enough things, not so different from the normal medical version for people in physical therapy. The main difference was that they were some three times the normal size, as well as being wall-mounted, such that all Rikiya had to do was walk up, wrap a careful grip around the handles, and squeeze.

The world was rapidly going foggy and white-rimmed. A bad sign.  I want this to be over.

There was an electric pop Rikiya registered only when it was followed by a loud crack and a subsequent hissing of pressurized air.  Releasing his hold on the dynamometers, he took a step back and tried to focus on them. He had—broken them, it seemed, the metal rods burst through the backs of their casings, discolored with grease.

And then Ardent and Skeptic were at his side again, Ardent flashing Rikiya an awed glance even as he bent closer to examine the damaged equipment.  Skeptic looked at his tablet, looked at the dynamometers, and shook his head.  His hand flicked twice across the screen, two sharp gestures; Rikiya tried to swallow back envy at how quick and clean the movements were, but it seemed his body was still not taking orders from him.

The Claustro folded open and Rikiya stepped-slash-fell out.  An unfamiliar body caught him and he hazily looked down into vacant black eyes.  Oh, yes, that was Skeptic’s preferred puppet design, wasn’t it?

So wonderfully reliable.  I should send Chitose a gift basket for recommending him.

“That’s got us enough to work with tonight,” Skeptic said with total confidence.  “You should go home.  I’ve already got a cab waiting.”

“The results—” Re-Destro heard himself say.

“Inconclusive, but since you broke the testing device, there’s no point in you hanging around just to babysit the number-crunching.”

“But the results,” he tried again, and Skeptic sighed in exasperation.

“The dynamometers could take up to a twenty-five percent increase on your previous output,” he said, voice brisk, refreshingly brusque despite the difference in their age and rank.  “You squeezed them so hard you pushed the rods out the back ends. Congratulations, you cost your production department a few hundred thousand yen, but also, congratulations, that’s probably a forty percent increase on your last record.  You definitely won the sports festival.  Now go home.  I’ll e-mail you the rest.”

Rikiya—did not remember the next few minutes.  He found himself in the back of a car, running his fingers over the suit jacket folded over his arm and feeling vaguely distressed that he couldn’t feel the exceptionally fine weave of the cloth.  And after his tailor had worked so hard to incorporate the prolongate tech into the wool, too.  The lights of the city at night played across the backs of his hands in bands of darkness and neon color as the driver’s radio played a sweet, smooth song at the edges of his hearing.  It wasn’t unbeautiful.

He disembarked at his high-rise, rode the elevator up to his suite, and keyed in his door code all without his mind reengaging for a moment.  It only finally nudged him, in the darkness of the entryway, to point out that his mouth had watered, he had swallowed the saliva down, and now his mouth was full of fluid again, and that sequence of events only ever meant one thing.

He made it to the bathroom right on time, though if throwing up everything he’d eaten today was what he was returning to his body for, it would have nice of his brain to hold off a bit longer.

Look on the bright side, he told himself through the heaving misery, the Claustro is even more effective than you’d hoped.  Thinking about it drove his gorge up again—ah, that would be the norimaki from lunch—and he curled tighter over the toilet bowl, shivering with exertion.

“Re-Destro?”

He jerked at the address, banging his elbow against the porcelain, and raised his head to see the boy standing at the door to the bathroom, his glowing eyes round and distraught.

“Geten?” he managed, and the reflexive attempt to swallow down acid brought it back up again.  By the time he was through the next round of gut-clenching retching, Geten was at his shoulder.  Cold hands pressed fitfully across his back, then rose to comb through his hair, peeling it away from his face.  It hadn’t really been in the line of fire—Rikiya wore it too short for that—but Rikiya had once held Geten’s hair back the same way, so he was doubtless trying to return the gesture.

“Tell me what to do,” the boy said, a frightened underscore to the words, and guilt pricked at Rikiya’s chest, still sore from the press of those twin metal shafts.  You can’t let him see you like this.

It was a stabilizing thought, at least, one that had a near-nostalgic sense of normalcy.  He spat into the bowl and took a shaky breath.

“A glass of water,” he said, and waved vaguely up at the sink.  As Geten moved to obey, Rikiya wrinkled his nose at the rank stew in the bowl and patted at the side of the toilet until he found the manual flush button.  The last thing he needed was to get sprayed in the face by the bidet.

He spat into the bowl again as the water whirled away, then sighed, resting his forehead against the back of his hand, elbow on the seat.  What a mess. He took the glass from Geten, murmuring thanks despite the foul taste in his mouth, and sipped at it gingerly. Rinse and repeat, until finally he had a meager mouthful he didn’t mind swallowing.  Geten stayed crouched next to him the entire time, petting at his hair.

“You,” Rikiya said at last, “were not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I got permission to come early,” Geten answered with not a whisper of guilt.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  Rikiya sat back enough to roll the stiffness out of his neck and looked up into Geten’s unconvinced expression.  “Really. Get me a refill?”

Rikiya forced himself to his feet and flushed the toilet once more as Geten took the glass without complaint.  His usual winter coat was missing, leaving him in his day clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and heavy pants, both plainly wrinkled in the clean white light of the bathroom.  He had, at some point during however long he’d been waiting, remembered to take his boots off, definitely not always a given, but a promising sign for the state of Rikiya’s upholstery.

“Were you training too hard?” the boy asked him, expression solemn as he handed back the glass.

“It’s only ‘too hard’ if it incapacitates you, so no. I was just working on something new.” Rikiya ushered them both out and towards the guestroom where, sure enough, Geten’s things were strewn across the furniture, his boots tossed in a corner and his coat wadded up amidst a nest of bedding pulled onto the floor.  His little suitcase, purchased back when he’d first made one of these weekend visits and somewhat battered from a child’s casual treatment in the years since, lay tipped over just inside the door.  One of Rikiya’s dinner plates sat on the floor; in it, a small but carefully sculpted ice dragon was gradually transmogrifying into a puddle.

“A new technique?”  Geten perked up and sat down on the bed, looking up at Rikiya in rapt interest as he moved the plate up to the bedside table.

Rikiya smiled, taking another sip of water, and shook his head.  “A new piece of equipment.”

“What is it?  Did you bring it home?”

“No, it’s back at work.  It’s not finished yet.”  Rikiya gathered up the sheet and blanket and dropped them, still balled up, onto the bed.  He then sat down next to the boy and did not relax his weight against the headboard, tempting as it was.  “It’s a powered exoskeleton—like a robot suit,” he amended when Geten only stared at him blankly at the first description.

Geten tilted his head, brow furrowing.  “How does that support your meta-ability?”

“You don’t think it would?” Rikiya asked, nursing the water.  Geten had long proven completely impossible at school, refusing any but the most basic of tutoring, so it never hurt to encourage his critical thinking skills when the opportunity presented itself.

“Robot suits are for people who need armor.  Or who want to be able to punch harder than they can on their own.”  The boy paused, thinking, then added, “And for people who stay one size.  But your power armors you, and it makes you stronger, and it makes you bigger.  So what do you need a robot suit for?”

“That’s very well thought-out.”  Geten grinned at the compliment and Rikiya resisted the urge to ruffle his pale hair; he was getting old enough to protest such gestures.  “The size isn’t a problem.  The Claustro’s designed for me at near my maximum size anyway, and it can accommodate a bit bigger or smaller.  And it will make me stronger, not by augmenting my physical strength, but by augmenting my stress.”  The words came easily; he’d explained to enough others by this point—his inner circle, his engineers, and a few key financiers at that.

“It—stresses you?  And you turn stress into power, so…”  Geten nodded understanding.  “But how does it stress you?”

“Mostly internal pressure plates,” Rikiya answered dryly, and threw back the last of the water lest bile start to creep up his throat again.  In the face of Geten’s wide-eyed expression, he soothed, “Destro’s cause demands much of all of us.  It’s nothing I can’t handle, Geten.  It’s an honor to carry such burdens for the sake of Liberation.”

Geten nodded slowly, his features settling into understanding and a familiar look of resolve.  “I want to fight you in it one day,” he declared, “when I’m strong enough.”

For a moment, Rikiya was lost for a response. The Claustro was most certainly not meant for sparring, and it would—hopefully, presumably—be well out of the testing phases by the time Geten was anywhere near that level, if he ever was.  There was only ever so much ice in a given range, after all.  Still, the thought of thick layers of ice freezing over the already constricting layers of the Claustro unit, sealing him in beneath the surface, unable to even move…

That was the winning secret to Stress, of course. In a combat scenario, there was no practical ceiling.  Just thinking about it made his stress marks throb, but this was not really the time or place for such rhetorical exercises, especially when he had no lunch left to lose.

He forced a smile.  “We’ll see.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Solar Flare

A test fic based on a post i made last night, just slightly altered now that I have seen the third season! If people enjoy this I may write a full multi-chap 👀

also i didn’t beta read this at all so there’s probably some typos in there somewhere lol

———————

The ancient demoness was not about to be defeated by hair. As the blinding glow blooming from her wrists grew brighter and stronger, she knew she only had a few moments to make her decision, so she wheeled around on her unsteady tendrils and aimed her gaze at the shuddering form of the ex-bearer of the Moonstone.

Nobody could see what she was doing- it was much too bright to know her movements weren’t one of a struggle. Because she was struggling, yes, struggling with the unrelenting energy surging before her talons and struggling with the knowledge of nearing obliteration, but she wasn’t struggling with this.

Curses were never a difficult thing for Zhan Tiri.

And, after all, the Moonstone did rightfully belong to the girl.

—

When the burning white light whipping throughout the courtyard ruins faded, Rapunzel set her gaze upon the beautiful gold and blue gem hovering before her. Pascal cooed in awe on her shoulder and she broke out in a huge grin.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” She murmured, hearing whispers all below her of shock and amazement. Her smile only grew bigger. “Cass, we did it!”

She spun around to see her best friend’s reaction, and instead just saw a circular nest of black rocks shielding the area where Cassandra had once been.

In an instant, Rapunzel’s smile is gone, quickly replaced with a horrified frown. She wanted to run to the rocks and tear them all down with her bear hands, but she couldn’t move. She could only stare as dread spilled through her gut like a thick, dark oil spill.

“What’s going on?”

Eugene’s voice sounded from her left- he and the others are making their way up what’s left of the stairs to formerly see the jewel up close, but, instead, were now getting the terrible sight of the lingering stones.

“Why—” Eugene swung his head from side to side. “I’m not the only one who sees no other spikes, right?”

“No, there’s none left.” Lance assured him, along with a few other scattered agreements.

“Then...why are these...?” Rapunzel murmured.

Slowly, she took a step towards the stones- nothing happens, so she takes another, and another, and another, until she’s right in front off an obsidian black point.

“Cass?” She called out.

No answer.

“Cass!”

Nothing. No grunt or groan or sarcastic-Cassandra-remark; just...nothing.

Rapunzel’s heart began to beat painfully fast inside of her chest. The thought of Cassandra turning on her again and leaving these horrible earthly daggers as a warning was terrible enough, but the sword hanging over her head was the fear of Cassandra perishing in the blast. The poor girl had already been wrung dry, her hand probably still wasn’t in the best shape, and she even had a gaping, charred, black hole in her chest! How had Rapunzel been so blind? She should have made Cassandra hide somewhere, but it’s too late because—

“Mmm...!”

Right before tears could start to fall, a noise- a whimper sliced through Rapunzel’s clouded breakdown like a silver sword. She looked up sharply and tried to peer into the nest, but there were way too many rocks to see inside. Her heart rate stutters for just a moment, then continues beating wildly once again.

“Cass?” Rapunzel called out desperately. She didn’t want to touch the rocks, she didn’t want to start everything all over again, she didn’t even want her hair back (it’s been giving her quite the neck pain for awhile), but she didn’t want to go on without Cassandra even more.

“Did you guys hear that?” She asked for confirmation first, looking around at her impromptu army.

“Was that...?” Eugene tilted his head.

“Cassandra?” Varian finished for him.

Rapunzel couldn’t take it anymore- she needed her best friend in her arms now.

She held out her hand, closed her eyes, and—

Crack-crack-crack

That was the sound of blue spiderwebs spreading rapidly through the black rocks when Rapunzel’s hand was mere inches away from its surface. She stepped back in surprise and Pascal chitters anxiously on her shoulder as the stones around the front break and crumple away into tiny ebony shards, letting sunlight leak down onto the girl inside.

“Cass-!!”

Rapunzel’s cry died quickly on her lips. She halted her forward stride to her best friend and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. The girl inside the nest of rocks was much too small to be Cassandra...

“Cass...?”

Eugene stepped beside his girlfriend and peered inside, followed by Varian and Lance, and they all had the same expression as the princess- absolute confusion and bewilderment.

“Was Cassandra always that short?” Eugene asked in a shoddy attempt to lighten the tense mood.

“Dear?” The Queen called out in concern. “What’s wrong?”

A few of others, like the brotherhood and two girls, were starting to inch their way to check out the view, while others didn’t dare get near the things that destroyed their home and sent them into this disaster.

“Something’s wrong with...”

The girl inside the rocks stirred, and the first thing Rapunzel notices is the glistening black rock shards stretching out from her arms before they jolt back into her body, leaving thin trails of blood trickling down before the skin rapidly mends itself. Then, she notices her hair.

The girl’s hair is the same raven black color as Cassandra’s, and even had the same length and tangles and bedhead style, but electric blue was creeping out from the roots and spilling through several gnarled locks.

The hair was just a kickstart, however.

This girl was just a child, only looking to be around nine, maybe ten. She was so pale her skin was almost translucent, too, and she was awfully skinny and small. As she awoke, she gripped the cracked ground with tiny little hands, one of which was charred black. The other bore nails the color of bruises, and perhaps they were just bruises, but they could also very well be the rocks that seem to course through her body, just lurking in her hands for their command to be released.

Everyone was still as the child sat up weakly, her thin arms shaking from that exertion alone. She collapsed during her first attempt, landing hard with a pitiful cry. The rocks around her shudder and retreat into the ground, and gasps sound all around from the people who hadn’t been able to see in.

A second attempt is made and, this time, the little girl is able to get up to her knees, although she’s still swaying. She has her back to Rapunzel and the others, and it appears she didn’t seem to notice anyone. But then she turns around very slowly and lays one Storm grey eye and one electric blue eye on the people around her.

Scream.

The child is screaming. It’s a terrible, heartbreaking sound, and watching her scamper into a pile of rubble and huddle against in it fear makes it even worse. But when she begins to cry out for her mother is the icing on the cake.

Rapunzel is the one who began to approach Cassandra- and now she knew for sure it was Cassandra. Everyone else, aside from her mother, Eugene, Lance, and Varian, all looked like they wanted to put the girl’s head on a spike and feed her remaining body parts to pigs. Still, even Rapunzel’s warm, friendly aura couldn’t calm down the child, who was starting to spiral into a full blown anxiety attack.

“Hey, hey,” Rapunzel murmured, kneeling down just two feet away from Cassandra. “Cass, it’s me. It’s Rapunzel.”

Cassandra cowered beneath her fearfully. It was hard for Rapunzel to look into that blue eye.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cass. You know that.” Rapunzel tried again.

“I-I don’t know who you are!” Cass cried. Tears etched rivulets of anguish down her pale cheeks. “Where am I? Where’s my mama? I want my mama!”

Rapunzel was stricken. She extended her hands to hug Cass and the girl shrieks. She throws herself to the ground, shielding her head with her arms, and begged Rapunzel not to hurt her, exclaiming that she was sorry.

“Hey, Cassandra.” Eugene has went to his girlfriend’s aid, kneeling beside her. “Nobody is going to hurt you...” He glanced around them- several people were hefting their weapons in their hands as if they were asking the crying girl for a reason to harm her. “You’re safe here.” He dared to add.

“No, no, no, no—” Cassandra babbled in terror. Her discolored fingers curl into her hair and pull as she shakes her head against the ground.

“...She was de-aged somehow.” Rapunzel whispered to Eugene. “Kinda like when we were in The House of Yesterday’s Tomorrow.”

“...But worse.” Eugene whispered back grimly. He looked down at Cass’ trembling form worriedly. “What happened?”

“...I don’t know! I thought everything was okay after we-...” Rapunzel’s words died off as Cassandra suddenly flung herself to her feet and began to run. “Cass!!”

The child didn’t get very far- several people jumped in her path with their weapons ready, clearly not caring if she was just a little girl. They only wanted to spill her blood in return for the destruction of their home and the murder of some of their people in that occurrence.

“Stop! Stop!” Rapunzel cried.

Cassandra looked around wildly and then made a beeline for Arianna. She clings to the woman’s dress, apparently finding the adult woman’s presence nurturing and safe. However, she didn’t think the same for her husband, which she met rather quickly when he protectively drove his boot into her stomach.

“Dad!” Rapunzel yelled.

“Frederic!” Arianna scolded.

Rapunzel propped Cassandra up in her arms as the girl gasped and wheezed from being kicked in the stomach. Her little body spasmed and shuddered in obvious pain, and it was only then that Rapunzel really noticed the burnt, black hole in her chest.

“Shh, shh,” Rapunzel held the child close to her protectively. “It’s okay. You’re okay...”

“I want my mama,” Cassandra wept. The tips of the Black Rocks are retracting in and out of her skin, and it makes Rapunzel’s stomach churn when she watches the skin split, mend, and then split again until it stops mending entirely and just leaves open scans along her arms.

“Sweetie,” Rapunzel cups one of Cassandra’s tear stained cheeks and makes her look at her. “Your mother isn’t...here right now, but I promise that you’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Cassandra is frozen for just a moment before she’s nuzzling into Rapunzel’s hand, which makes the princess momentarily wonder if this is actually her Cassandra. But then the girl opens her eyes and Rapunzel knows, even if there’s only one storm grey iris she’s grown to seeing left.

“Y-you will?” Cassandra squeaked. She sets her tiny, blackened hand on top of Rapunzel and clung to one of her fingers- the burnt skin is scratchy and rough against the princess’, almost like scales.

“I will.” Rapunzel said.

Such a thing would never be enough to assure adult (or past) Cassandra, but it seems to be enough for her younger self, because, all of a sudden, Rapunzel’s arms are occupied by the child trying to nuzzle her way into her lap and loving embrace.

“I’ve got you,” Rapunzel murmured as she carefully stood up. She felt Cassandra’s arms go around her neck, and a few impromptu soldiers flinch, ready to attack if any form of asphyxiation was attempted. She glowered at them.

“Is she okay?” Eugene asked, hurrying over. Cassandra buried her face against Rapunzel’s neck and whimpered at his presence, which he may have found funny and a victory for their ongoing feud against each other if it weren’t for the current circumstance—and that the feud didn’t seem to be happening again any time soon.

“She’s pretty shell shocked,” Rapunzel said. She shifts Cassandra in her arms and set one hand on her back of her head tenderly. “Can you hold her for a moment? I kinda have to, you know,” She nodded for the stone still hovering and glowing in the air.

“Right! Yeah, of course,” Eugene said and so quickly handed Cassandra, who only squeaks softly in a form of resistance. She stares of up at him with her big, teary, multicolored eyes. “Hey there.”

Cassandra just blinks. And then she sneezes and Black Rocks uproot themselves just behind Eugene. He leapt forward with a grimace and glared at the people who once again raised their weapons to hurt Cassandra.

“That’s, uhh, new.” He said. “And so are these roots! Now THAT is a fashion statement.”

His attempt at humor works in his favor when Cassandra giggled softly. That, however, is cut off by a frightened squeal when crackles burst from where Rapunzel is standing. She burrowed her face against Eugene’s chest and Eugene set one hand over her hand protectively. A moment later, the magical surge dies down and Rapunzel steps back with the stone held securely in her fist. She’s quick to take Cassandra back into her arms.

“Princess,” Someone spoke up- Monty. His soft, friendly features were replaced with hatred and anger. “What are you doing with that filth?”

“I’m taking her inside,” Rapunzel replied fiercely.

“Even after what she’s done to your home?” Adira joined in with a wide gesture to all the damage around them. Cassandra blinked at her with wide eyes and Adira can’t even look at the discoloration in her irises. It sickens the warrior.

“I will decide her fate tomorrow.” Rapunzel announced. “Come to the courtyard at dawn. You will hear the news then.” She said this with the firmest voice she could muster, hoping to convince the people of her giving Cassandra a demise in the torture dungeon to make them lay off for the moment, and it seemed to work. “We will also discuss the affairs and repairs of our home. But for now, rest. You all were very brave today.”

With that, Rapunzel turned and strode inside, Eugene following after her quickly. In her arms, she feels Cassandra tense up and whimper, but she just assumed it was out of fear and gently rubbed her back to soothe her. Perhaps she would have known what was really causing Cassandra distress or, rather, pain if her unruly hair wasn’t covering up the small, ram-like horn buds slowly inching their way out of her skull.

[sunritual]

Let’s try this again

They should make a law where if the police don’t read you your Miranda rights you get out of jail free, like if you don’t get your receipt at fast food restaurants you get a mail free

The shaggy law - There should be a law that if you continuously and shamelessly deny doing something, no matter how indisputably obvious it is that you did it, you should get off free for pure savegery.

Confederates as “rebels for tradition” is laughable

Ram rainbow spiral horns profile.

People think grammar rules are etched into the universe — they’re not. When people say AAve is incorrect and ignorant, they say that their conception of how one should speak is inherently correct despite no evidence/truth. Grammar is agreed upon not mandated

Hippie sauce infusion pizza joint

Plain nude balconette with little purple and pink flowers at wiring

How could anyone predict anything happening but how could any be surpised either

Hierarchies - nahhhh

Humans aren’t inherently higher than any other creature or thing, but as humans i don’t think it’s wrong to prioritize other humans. There no better or worse but there is optimal for certain environments and lifestyles.

What differentiates a piece of art from a slightly different replica - when is it an entirely different piece altogether? Moving a figure slightly? Adding a splash of paint ? Changing a color to the point where no one could tell? Is the persons perception the deciding factor or what’s actually on the canvas. If abstract art is about the perception, and the waning behind it - does it change with these things?

An exhibit where people are invited to paint over and destroy or change the art

The differences between us and other. Are feeble - not illusory but

Periwinkle sky blue black and white each of a half circle . Faded out

Uni should be about exploring ideas — new and old famillar and foreign - honeing writing reading reasoning debating listening etc skills.

Umm, Karen were your parents married when you were born?

Ummmm no, umm i mean , uh ,yes —what??

Then why are you policing what other people do?

Dark blue light blue orange lemon circles layer on top of each other, several difffent sizes

Job apps tip!! For every job you apply to , Change your last name on your resume to the last name of the hiring manager and they will think you are related to them and hire you with nepotism. ( then, or coarse, legally when you get the job)

Unpopular opinion: i don’t really mind diarrhea

I for one think it’s incredibly brave of the brats girls to reclaim such a derogatory term

Starting every Describtion of every British show with “its kind of like skins but..”

Beanie baskin took that treat she snatched it - she ain’t even askin

The squad bod - a group of ghost friends share one body in which they have to live their lives -

My playlists are a matter of fact, not opinion. They reveal truths about the human experience

A cats gorilla imeritive of aesthetics.

I don’t chose them, they are not for joy but for truth. They are not intelligible but feel able

📝 narrative - longing

👼 chaotic

🌾 childlike wonder

Things that seem homo and phobic ATST

- Woodstock

- Brown eyed girl

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on ya when you think everything BG a gone wrong and everything bows up in your face

If women can’t do drag because they have an advantage then what is drag? Is it having good looking tits and a waist ? Looking like woman? or is it about having charisma uniqueness nerve and talent?

Examining Tik toks through different philosophical lenses

What makes it so they put parenthesis around lyrics in a song? What intonations and such make it parenthesis worthy

What’s an article of clothing from your childhood that you viscerally remember for seemingly no reason

I feel like the problem with the property brothers is they had too good of a childhood

Do you ever wonder if personality traits would be diffferntnin different cultures? Would a quiet person be even quieter if they were brought up in North Korea? Or the same amount of talkativity? Do we have the traits no matter what, or are we inclined to be more of one way than the others around us. Are personality traits created by comparison to those around?

Maybe the anxiety comes from knowing your not “supposed” to be as quiet as you are. You don’t really want to talk, that’s okay , but it’s expected that you do. So you are anxiety that your not living up

I find happiness every single day

This feeling has made me so appreciative of my mental state usually. How many people feel like this on the regular? How many people have this as their default? I am so lucky. My default is happy. I have my issues, but i need to appreciate the gift i was given. I was given elation. Childlike wonder. Curiosity. Adventurousness. Self completion and fullness. The rest will come.

If you see a celebrity you want to talk to in public but don’t want to bother them, make sure they don’t see that you saw them and start a fake conversation telling a friend that they should buy a product they are a sponsor for, and that they should use their coupon code. When they approach you to thank you for being such a loyal fan, obviously pretend to be shocked that they just so happened to be there

Christianity excuses selfish politics and beliefs

Things i never would’ve noticed if they weren’t pointed out to me:

-Left and right handed ness

Rating sports teams by uniform colors

Balloon animals but make it clothing!

Logics doesn’t care about your feelings, but it certainly cares about your biasees.

He who findeth keepith, whilst he who loosith weepith.

Religious thought often starts at the conclusion they want and attempts to make arguments justifying it.

Jewish debate starts with an agreement that we are going to follow the book, but argues about what the book truly says. Not good enough when you are still just following the book

Why did Jesus need to die for our sins

Dream - swimming in a lake and bump into something you think is a human tying to save to but is it! Oct 29 9:03

Candle company logo etc

I’m sorry for your loss

It’s not oka

If people can accept that stupid bad jokes can be

Is there a reason for each thing existing? Sufficient reason

Understanding if an area is a matter of perspective or fact? Is it Emperical ?

If you assume you have free will you limit your critical thinking ability and therefor stour actual free will - you need to navigate technology such as algorithms that show you why at you want to see or you completely loose free will - you cannot chose when you don’t even know a choice. there is Somthing controlling you

Revelation is within it doesn’t involve others - can happen in a moment

Revolution- requires work and years and years of convincing others m

What counts as a second chance? What counts as a first chance? What does giving someone the benefit of the doubt entail ? Letting them out of jail , or letting them have a 2nd term as president.

**Picture of coke or Pepsi book**

Trump supporters be like: THIS is the BALLOt sleepy crooked joe SEND to MY neighbor. So much FOR democracy

One flew over the coup coups nest

Ashge-nazi = Jewish trump supporter

The heathers of the USA are Cali, New York and Texas. Florida, too

Shape shifting would solve all of this. I could go to Washington DC, pretend to be trump, concede then leave. It would be hilarious, however if me and trump looked identical and had to so the most idiotic crazy shit to prove to America that we indeed are the true DJ.

Coup busting outfit - light cute short sleeve camo shirts , army green super utalitarian cargo pants , double sash belts in leather with grommets studs or spikes (to be decided by team (with democracy) or left up to the individual) leather (vegan available) lace up knee high boots (maybe with spikes if not too 2012) and the pies de resistance two army green denim shoulder high gloves that fold down as far as needed for the comfort of the fighter. Will be adorned with patches decided by the wearer. Edges will be frayed to honor to the coup busting aesthetic and spirit of the endeavor. We can decide on a signature lip color, but spf is required for all fighters. Of coarse we will have those football stripes below the eyes, don’t be stupid.

How far away can something be from a face and still have humans think it’s a face

Senator Portman - i hope you are well, and want to thank you for the hard work you have put in to this election. However, it has become abundantly clear that joe Biden and Kamala Harris have secured more than enough electoral and popular votes to warrant recognition as president and vice elect. Upon reading the transcripts of he hopeless court cases, there is absolutely no evidence of vote measurable fraud. is time you stand up for democracy and face reality by congratulating he pair on their success. Americans and scared and they need a powerful republican voice to demounce the unsubstantiated conspircy theories that attempt to thwart democracy in this beautiful county. Please do the right thing , and stand with sanity, freedom and democracy. History books and citizens will thank you. May god bless you, your staff and loved ones

Could mermaids exist through evolution in the future

Me learning about real us history - all the nations destroyed by the USA—- I’m the baaad Guy

The rest of the world - duh dodododosodo

Print that looks like a page of writing that has been sourced in water so it’s bleeding and darker in speckles

Zamps= examples

Clothes with green screen cut outs

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

An app that familiarizes people with science - through experimental learning ― hands on experiences that make it seem less top down and authoritarian , and more like a set of steps that we take, things that anyone can do to get closer with nature and the world

A social media philosophy app - teaches what others said and gives people a chance to express their views , postulate, argue, etc gadfly? How would be avoid a shit show, how can we make social media more humanitarian. how can we care about people while also expressing deeply held ideas , how can we encourage users to examine their deeply held ideas without alienating them. How can we discourage hatred and abuse and groupthink with design? How do we slow people down and encourage them to recognize the human behind the screen. Street epistemology? Socratic dialogue?

Socrates - asking questions. Breaking it down to bits. Deeply understanding their argument. Asking about different possibilities and circumstances. Take vast assumptions and show scenarios that make go against them.

Build fact checking into apps

Narrative self vs experiential

Walks you through steps of the sciefitifc method and encourages you to explain how you feel each step actually helped you- then walks you through a scientist doing the same for their reasarch

Republicans only want to be free in the specific ways that benefit corporations

Are Christians more willing to support the death pen early because they already believe in the cruel and overstepping punishment of hell?

Where did the idea come from that you need to remain impartial when trying to persuade

The idea that there is someone in a similar but different dwelling, hearing similar but different sounds and feeling similar but different feelings is wild

We synthesize sets of traits, and particular actions in a super biased culturally constructed way

With the way we see things as humans- we categorize things into groups that aren’t really reaaal ― paratheletic groups

I just want the people and jobs that benefit society

Connection to nietzsches Dionysian art and eckheart tolle/Taoism

No matter your personality, there is probably a part of the world that you would fit in with naturally.

An ordinary girl is selected as one of the representatives of earth in the first meeting of various alien species after one advanced planet discovered and United 10. Confused as to why she was chosen, she goes on her journey meeting

Wha ba Bada da da da da dada he’s a wha ba ba dadada as a matter of fact it’s not my fault if you came up here thinking that you would win

Wanting to break boundaries and rules for the sake those who are hurt by the rules

You are imagining the best case scenario of the life you want to have and experience Ming the reality of the life you so have.

Yes her drips cosmetics line to students i. Class

Chez it people can goldfish people

Your personality flows where a system needs it to go to maintain balance