#TW: child death mention

[schrijverr]

The Most Important Thing

Oliver returns home with only a chest of stuff, in it is the most important thing he has; Akio’s ashes. He tries to do right by the boy, attempting to give him a good resting place. In doing so, he finds pieces of himself again.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: grief, the mention of a canonical child death and canonical character death

~~~

The chest he brings back from Lian Yu contains what little important stuff he has gathered over the last five years. It might be a pretty long time, five years, but with the way Oliver has lived, he has learned to leave all he has behind whenever he has to flee, so what he has managed to hold onto is important to him.

Of course there’s his bow, the one that once belonged to Yao Fei, then shortly to Shado, a reminder of two of his mentors. The arrows that are with it have been made by him. He can’t ever use those arrows again, knowing they can be tracked down to Lian Yu, thus also to him, however, the thought of throwing them away is too much.

There’s the hozen in there too, the one that Shado gave him. They’ll never reconnect, not until Oliver follows her to the grave, but he cherishes it anyway. The hope of reconnecting that still lingered even in purgatory.

Alongside that there are two bottles in there too, one empty and one full.

The full one is filled with proper Russian Vodka, gifted to him by Anatoli, before leaving him on Lian Yu again. He told Oliver to take it, in case he became homesick, it’s surprising how much Oliver does feel homesick, despite going back to Starling.

The empty bottle, is one he collected from the fuselage, before allowing A.R.G.U.S. to take him back to the main land, so he could go to Russia to fulfill his promise to Taiana. It’s the empty bottle of Australian liquor that he drank with Sara and Slade, before it all went to shit. The last good memory he has of both of them. It’s sentimental, but he can’t help it. It was such an important part of his life and not having anything physical makes him feel like the memories will slip through his fingers until only the bad is left.

He also has some functional stuff in there, like the super herbs Yao Fei had, some stuff to make a fire and other tools. A basic kit to keep himself alive. A comfort to have for the worst case scenario.

If someone were to ever know about the contents of that chest, they’d probably think that the most important thing he has, is the book his father left behind. It has been something he carried on his person for all those years, his driving force before coming home, the promise he made to do better than his father. However, that person would be wrong. The most important thing Oliver has from those five years, is the small urn that holds a third of Akio’s ashes.

Oliver never thought he would have those. Mostly because he never thought that Akio would die, the young boy such a happy kid, so far away from what his parents and Oliver did. Despite being caught up in it, Akio never felt like he would die, but he has.

But even once he had, once Oliver felt that grief so deeply, he didn’t think he’d be worthy of it. He knows that Tatsu hated him for being a part of their lives and that Maseo was more annoyed with him than friendly. It wasn’t until those few days where the three of them went rogue to stop Shrieve that they became close.

Akio’s death hit all of them hard and having the brotherly role he took on for Akio be acknowledged by his parents after his death, pushed him to do what he had done to Shrieve, the anger at it all overtaking him as he let his inner darkness lead.

Back then, he saw how Akio’s death tore Tatsu and Maseo apart, their family breaking down. He would’ve given anything to fix it, to bring Akio back, but there was nothing to do.

A part of him thought of his family then, how his own death has affected them, but he couldn’t go home after that. He isn’t like Akio, young and innocent, he’s a killer.

But now he is here, coming home with his chest full of memories, being reunited with loved ones while Akio never will be.

It’s weird being home.

The house seems to have been stuck in time with only minor changes here and there. Back when he was here with A.R.G.U.S. it felt comforting, but now it’s strange. As if time hasn’t moved on here, while it did for him.

Yet, everything is different too. The people especially. Thea isn’t a child anymore and his mother has a heaviness in her shoulders, not to mention the new presence of Walter, whose stuff is scattered in the house too. It makes it all feel a little unreal, a shade off, a mimic of what he used to know.

He knows he’s different too, just like them, but he’s a new person, while they all seem close enough to who they used to be to give him an uncanny valley feeling.

His room feels the most normal. Like his mother had said, nothing has changed inside, making it feel like a shrine to the boy he used to be, the boy that died on that boat. It feels almost ritualistic to sit inside the corpse of who he used to be and go through that chest of things that he is, tainting the memory of his old self with who he is now.

It’s then that he sees Akio’s ashes again, having tried to forget about them for the past two years as he threw himself in danger to forget about who he had become.

Most of the stuff will go to his base of operation whenever he sets that up, both because of the usefulness of some things as well as to keep it all away from prying eyes. What he has gone through is private and he doesn’t want to share it with the people here, doesn’t want to bring those years home more than he already has.

However, it feels wrong to hide Akio like that. The kid was a bright light, someone good, not someone who lurked in the shadows. He shouldn’t be left in that chest in a warehouse somewhere out of shame. He should have a home.

Oliver takes out the small urn, cradling it in his hands carefully, as if it’s as fragile as a newborn baby.

With as much gentleness as his hands are still capable off, he takes it to his desk and puts it down. It immediately feels wrong, as if it’s some frivolous decoration in his lavish room. The nightstand and few shelves are also wrong.

Frustration wells up in him, as well as a deep heartache. He can’t even memorialize Akio right, what were they thinking entrusting him with such a precious thing?

He puts the urn back in the chest and gets behind his computer, researching Japanese funerary customs. Most things should happen in the first 100 days, which means Oliver has already missed all of them. Akio is also supposed to be in a family grave, but his family doesn’t exist anymore, having been ripped apart and scattered, much like Akio himself.

A thickness gathers in his throat, making it hard to swallow, but he pushes it all down. He can’t afford to break down, he isn’t worthy of grieving Akio, when he hasn’t done anything to honor the boy properly.

According to the article he found, there’s supposed to be a photo of Akio on the altar at home. He wonders if Tatsu or Maseo have one, or if Akio has gotten none of the rites he deserved.

Oliver himself might be able to get his hands on a photo of Akio, but he would have to involve someone and it’ll likely be a still from a security camera. All that, not to mention having the photo somewhere visible, would invite too many questions.

Still, the idea of an altar doesn’t leave him. He has also found some people saying that the Japanese burn incense for the dead, though it also might be more Chinese. Oliver feels so very out of his depth, but he’s trying so hard to do right by Akio. Maybe since the boy lived in China for a while, he would appreciate it?

So, when he is out in the town by himself, having ditched his new bodyguard Diggle, he gets wood as well, before going to the Foundry.

The dank basement feels more like home within seconds of him being there. He fits better in the shady base of operations than in the nice house 20 miles outside the city. If he makes it better, a little nicer, it’ll be a good place to honor Akio. Not what he deserves, but better than Oliver has given him before now.

It takes a few weeks, before he deems it all good enough. The club is still being built upstairs, but the basement is already done. It’s good. Not the warmest place, but functional and safe. Oliver feels safe. He hopes Akio will too.

He takes much care in constructing the altar, having researched it and learned that it’s called a Butsudan. It’s small and simple, Oliver hopes the care he put into it makes up for that.

Along with the altar, he has gotten a few boxes of incense sticks and a holder. He can’t risk the smell too much until the club opens and the smell of alcohol covers it, but he still burns one when he goes out that night, feeling much better than he has in a while. He knows he can never do enough, but he’s doing something.

When Diggle gets brought in, he doesn’t comment on the altar. The urn is small and doesn’t look too much like an urn as they know it here, so maybe he just thinks Oliver became spiritual while on the island. The herbs he has and the mention of Yao Fei doesn’t exactly discourage the notion, so Oliver lets him believe what he wants.

Neither of them speak about it, Diggle letting Oliver burn incense there without a complaint, until they bring in Felicity.

It has become normal for him to light an incense stick, before going out for the night. The space has become infused with the smell, making him faintly nostalgic for his time in Hong Kong, despite how it ended. It’s a comfort.

He doesn’t think much about doing it, the ordeal having become a ritual as much as suiting up and counting his arrows is. Until Felicity pipes up: “Is that a good luck thing or something? That wasn’t a judgment, by the way. Everyone has their superstitions, I mean, when I went to MIT I used to wear my good luck earrings to every exam. It just surprised me, since you’re, you know, always grumpy and practical. Not that there’s something wrong with that, you just don’t seem the type.”

Oliver lets her finish her babble, having clammed up when she mentioned it. Thinking about Akio still isn’t very easy for him, talking about him is even more difficult.

He doesn’t feel like explaining, doesn’t feel like opening that wound again and inviting all the questions about what he was doing in Hong Kong. Diggle might know that he wasn’t always on Lian Yu, but the can of worms shaped like Amanda Waller is one he’d like to keep closed.

However, he also thinks of what he’s read, the reasons he had for not having a picture of Akio. Now it seems Felicity might be his answer.

So, he answers: “It’s a Butsudan. It’s a Japanese Buddhist altar. They use it to pay respect to Buddha and family members that have died. The burning incense thing is more Chinese, to please the passed spirit.”

“I didn’t know you’re a Buddhist,” Felicity comments.

“I’m not.”

“Oh…”

It’s quiet for a second, none of the people there knowing how to continue. Felicity is too new and doesn’t know if she can push, while Oliver is awkward about communication in general, so it’s Diggle, who puts them all out of their misery. “So why the altar?”

“For Akio,” Oliver says, having to push himself to get the name over lips. “His family was Japanese, but they lived in Hong Kong.”

“Is this the you not always being on that island?” Diggle asks. “When you found your father’s message about his list.”

“It’s related,” Oliver doesn’t give much away.

“Wait, you weren’t always on the island?” Felicity interrupts, not having heard that before. “Did you start out in Asia? But then how would you get there? And why? Like-”

“Long story,” Oliver cuts her off, before she can gain steam. Before she can reply, he adds: “That I won’t tell.”

“Why not?” Felicity questions, always so ready to stand up to him when she doesn’t agree with him, despite her caution surrounding some topics.

“It’s classified.”

“Classified?” Diggle repeats, brow raised.

“Yes,” Oliver grits out, not liking the inquisition this has turned into. So he gives Akio one more glance, then pulls the hood up, allowing the monster to take over as he leaves the Foundry to put the fear of god and a few arrows in some rich socialite.

After that, he doesn’t feel like bringing it up. Those five years were his purgatory, the place between who he was and who he is. A liminal thing that is best not spoken off. The things he went through shaped him, but they aren’t things he wants to discuss.

It’s not until Vertigo comes back again and he is falling out with Tommy even more that the topic comes up again.

Lance has been furthering his hate campaign against both Oliver and Tommy, coming back with a warrant that forces Oliver to open up the door to the basement. A fear grips his heart, knowing what they will find down there, though he doesn’t show it.

It’s ridiculous to think, but Oliver hopes he’ll be able to claim that he didn’t know. Otherwise, he’ll just have to break out of prison, he’s used to life as a fugitive anyway.

His biggest fear is about everything of sentimental value he has down there. All the things that mean so much to him that will be taken to evidence lock up. God, what about Akio?

With a feet like cement, he follows Lance and Tommy down the stairs, Laurel and more boys in blue behind them. Tommy flicks on the power, saying something about how the place is a mess, but Oliver doesn’t hear a thing, too taken aback by the state of the basement.

Everything’s gone.

Tommy covered for him.

He’s been pissed at Oliver ever since he found out and it hasn’t been helped by the past day, but still he covered for him. It reminds him of when they were kids and a warmth spreads in his chest. Affection, a novelty still to feel that. To feel any positive feelings really.

“So if you don’t have anything to hide, why didn’t you want the inspector down here?” Lance asks, not ready to let it go.

Oliver is letting Tommy take the wheel completely here, the other has always been better at bullshitting and lying than he is. Indeed, Tommy has an answer ready: “Well, the ventilation system hasn’t been updated since the 60s. We really shouldn’t even be open.”

It’s clear Lance doesn’t like the fact that Tommy has an answer ready as much as Oliver does, so he jabs at something else. “So why does it smell like a temple in here? Are you trying to cover something?”

Again, Oliver is silent, but now for a very different reason. He’d been so glad that he wasn’t going to prison for the rest of his life, that he hadn’t thought about what Tommy might have done with his stuff. He removed everything, including Akio. Who knows where the urn might be now? Breathing is suddenly a little more difficult.

“We burned incense all around the property,” Tommy says. “The whole place smelled like old steel and pipes that had been leaking. Upstairs it all wafted away and got replaced by spilled beers, but down here? Like I said, the ventilation system is shit.”

It’s a good story, great even. Lance has nothing to say and leaves, obviously displeased as he goes up the stairs, men in tow.

Tommy and Laurel follow, the couple wanting to talk about what just happened. Normally, he would feel a stab at it. Though he’s fine with them dating, it takes time to get used to it. However, he’s too distracted now, staying downstairs to look for his stuff, desperately hoping to find Akio somewhere.

A few moments later, Tommy is back on the stairs, eyes following Oliver coldly and his arms crossed. After a beat, he asks: “Is there something you want to say to me?”

“Thank you,” Oliver throws back absentmindedly, still searching between the boxes as he starts to suspect his stuff has been taken off the property, hoping he’s wrong. He needs to see Akio, safe and okay. As soon as possible.

“No, I meant what you were thinking when Lance accused me of dealing drugs out of the club,” Tommy tells him, stalking over to him.

It’s not a conversation Oliver feels capable of having right now. The only stuff he still has an attachment to is gone, the things that make him feel safe, make him feel like himself, are gone. Akio is not there, the one important thing he has been able to do for the boy he failed, has disappeared, and he’s panicking.

“Where is my stuff?” he asks, not at all replying to what Tommy has just said.

“Really?” Tommy scoffs. “You’re not even going to admit to it?”

“Where’s my stuff, Tommy?” Oliver repeats, knowing he sounds a little desperate.

“I’m not telling you anything, until you have this conversation with me. How could you think that little of me? What have I done in the past six months since you’ve been home that made you think I could do such a thing?”

“You don’t understand, I need to know where it is,” Oliver says, gripping Tommy’s shoulders to look at him. “Please, just tell me. I just need to know about the wooden shrine, with the doors and the incense holder. There is this- it looks like a tin, or- or a can. Did you see it? Do you know where it is? I just need to know if it’s safe.”

Tommy is looking at him strangely, which Oliver can’t blame him for. Usually he hides his panic behind a mask of stoicism, but right now he’s incapable of that. He must look a little frazzled, maybe even visibly scared. Or crazed to go with Tommy’s other opinions of him.

“It’s with the other stuff all the way in the back in a box on the bottom,” Tommy answers still frowning. “And I was careful with all of it, I don’t know what kind of dangerous shit you have with all you do. I didn’t want to die while covering your ass.”

Oliver doesn’t even register how pointed the comment is, already having let go and halfway across the room.

It doesn’t take much effort to lift the top box off, so he can open the one underneath. The chest with all he holds dear is in it, with next to it the Butsudan with its doors closed, yet upright.

Carefully, he lifts it out of the box and puts it on the ground, before opening it up to check the inside. The urn is still upright and the lid still on it, nothing has been spilled. Akio is safe. Finally he can let out a relieved breath.

Needing to assure himself further, he takes the urn, hugging it to his chest as he closes his eyes briefly and bows his head. He doesn’t pray, god has long since abandoned him, but he does send a wish to Akio, the wish that he’s okay, wherever he might be.

Behind him, Tommy radiates confusion and maybe a little judgment. When Oliver doesn’t move, he snipes: “So, is finding that really more important than having a conversation about this? Is it a magic altar or something? Did you find the mystical arts alongside shooting people with a bow classes while you were away, is that it?”

Oliver decides that it’ll be better not to inform Tommy of the magic he indeed encountered while away. It probably won’t go over well to tell him one of the tattoos he has is magical. However, the comment still hurts a bit too and his brain is too overloaded to come up with anything other than: “It is… It’s Akio.”

“Akio? What’s that?” And it’s so weird to hear the name be said by anyone else. By Tommy. It doesn’t fit in his mouth, doesn’t fit in this city.

“He- uhm,” Oliver clears his throat. “I met him-” Fuck, he can’t tell Tommy this, he can’t tell him he was in Hong Kong, not when Tommy was there too, not when he’s mad and might tell everyone about it. On top of that, tears start to burn in his eyes.

Concerned and a little shrill, Tommy asks: “Akio was a person?”

Wordlessly Oliver nods, because he’s already said too much, but he also knows that whatever he says, it will never be enough.

“What the hell, man. I thought you were alone on that island.”

It’s a lot. It’s too much. The memories wash over him again and Tommy’s voice feels like an interrogation, as if he’s back in Hong Kong again. Back with Waller and A.R.G.U.S..

After some struggle, Oliver manages to choke out: “Was alone most of the time. He died.” The lie mixed with the bitter truth tastes foul in his mouth. How can he just erase Tatsu and Maseo from the story of their boy?

“And you just took his ashes with you and built a shrine?” Tommy asks, sounding as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, as if Oliver is a stranger to him.

“He’s Japanese, I wanted to give him a proper rest,” Oliver says.

“What happened to you out there?” Tommy asks, much like he had done during his welcome home bash. Tommy must realize that, because he adds: “And don’t feed me some bullshit line about just being happy to be alive.”

“Well you should be,” Oliver snaps, all his usual emotional defenses down until only anger remains in their place. He glares at Tommy, hackles raised. “Being alive is more of a privilege than you can ever imagine.”

As he talks he gets up from his knees, urn still cradled to his chest, but getting into Tommy’s face as he spits: “I don’t owe you jack shit about what happened to me. What I’ve seen out there, is nothing like you can imagine. It changes you in ways life here doesn’t.”

Tommy was stepping back, but now he gets right back in Oliver’s face, anger overtaking him as well. “So that’s it? You think I haven’t changed?”

“Before I left, you played hard. You played with bad people, who were into bad stuff.”

“So did you, Oliver. So, did you. And just because I haven’t gone through whatever you did, doesn’t make it that I can’t change. And just because you did, doesn’t mean you’re better than me,” Tommy yells.

Oliver just looks at him, flabbergasted. He is the worst. In what world does Tommy live in that he genuinely thinks that Oliver thinks he’s better than him?

When Tommy continues, his voice is low with an odd edge to it. “I have no idea what you’re capable off, if I’m going to be next on your list. You are a complete mystery to me. I have no idea how you find it so easy to kill people. So yeah, you don’t owe me jack shit about what happened to you, but next time you decide to think the worst of me, imagine what I now think of you.”

And with that, Tommy turns and walks away. As he walks, Oliver spots shaking hands that Tommy balls into fists, making him realize that the edge in Tommy’s voice was fear. Tommy is scared of him.

His fingers tighten involuntarily, reminding him of the urn he’s still holding. Back in Hong Kong he was arguably worse than he is now, but Akio never saw him like that. Akio was never scared of him, always trusted him and wanted to play with him. He misses that now, misses someone who was aware that he was doing some violent stuff with bad men, but who still liked him and trusted him to keep them safe.

The closest thing to Akio he has now is Felicity and even that isn’t the same, because she has been vocally against his violence on a few occasions.

Still, he doesn’t deserve her, much like he hadn’t deserved Akio. He’ll probably lead her right to her death, much like he does with everyone he comes in contact with. Tommy is smart to stay away, to be scared. He should be. They all should be.

He puts the Butsudan back where it always is, before leaving the basement behind him. He needs a drink or something.

Oliver is barely at the bar and pouring himself a drink when Diggle comes in, saying he saw an angry Tommy in the parking lot and wondering what his problem is. With the mindset Oliver’s in, it’s easiest to push everyone away and he does so to Diggle quite spectacularly.

The moment Diggle is gone, he hates himself again. These people put up with who he has become, who he is. Diggle most of all. And he gets it. Just like Oliver gets him. Gets not being able to move on until you’ve hurt someone as badly as you’ve been hurt, in a way it’s what this whole crusade is about. Not to mention what he did to Shrieve in Akio’s name.

However, he doesn’t know how to deal with any of that, beyond working and ignoring it. So he sets to work rebuilding the base into the safe zone it has always been, trying to stabilize himself once more by creating that comfort he associates with the space. And when Felicity arrives, he deflects about Diggle and goes on as usual, continuing the mission.

He’s beyond glad when Diggle still shows up to get his ass out of trouble when it proves to be more than he could handle. Though guilt tears him apart too. How is it that good people keep coming back for him? What has he done to deserve that?

He wants to do better, wants to be better. It doesn’t work with Tommy, but he’ll try again with Diggle. Because Diggle is a good person, who has done so much for him, and Diggle is a solider, who is capable of his own violence and understands why Oliver has to be violent sometimes too. He is the man who has his back and Oliver owes it to him to return that favor.

When Diggle easily puts sand over what passed between them, he is beyond grateful to him. Oliver isn’t sure where he’d be without Diggle in his corner.

The two have just made up when Felicity comes back down, saying: “Oh thank G-d. I was so worried about you fighting. I am horrible when people fight. Not to make it about me. Just happy you guys are friends again.”

Oliver smiles automatically, her babbles soothing to him in a way he can’t describe. Sincerely, he says: “Thank you, Felicity. For pointing Diggle my way.”

“Of course,” she smiles back at him, plopping down at the desk. She cracks her neck and stretches, before groaning: “Ugh, it’s going to be a long night, putting my whole set up back together.”

It’s not too late, the club hasn’t even opened fully yet and the fight had happened early. If it weren’t such an emotional night, he would have been suited up again to go out on a patrol. However, redoing the base will take them quite a bit and it won’t be the first late night Felicity has had since joining up. Guilt floods his chest.

“You can go home and we’ll set up,” Oliver offers. She has already done so much for him, he should easy her burdens where he can.

“Nuh-uh,” Felicity shakes her head vigorously. “Do you have any idea how much work I put into this set up? You’re good at your punchy-punch, but this requires delicacy and accuracy. You go use your sculpted muscles – very nice muscles – which are useful, useful is important here, shutting up about that now... Just use the- uhm, the muscles to reset the rest of the base.”

She’s slightly flushed at the end of it and Oliver can’t help but chuckle. His guilt is alleviated and he feels lighter than he has in a while, she always has that effect on him. The cloud shaped like Tommy still hangs over him, but he has hope now that it might turn out better later, after he’s given the other some air.

Diggle and Oliver carry around all the supplies Tommy had brought down there, while Felicity fiddles with her computers. The silence is companionable and they all enjoy it.

Felicity is done before them with the physical aspect, but is still setting up digitally when Oliver and Diggle wrap up their part. By unspoken agreement, the two settle in to wait until she’s done too, the three of them together remaking the base into a home.

Oliver gazes at the altar for Akio absentmindedly, letting the smell of incense invade his nostrils.

Telling Tommy about Akio today, though little and riddled with lies as it was, felt strange. Tommy obviously thinks he’s crazy for having shrine to a random person and it makes him wonder what his two partners must think. They have a little more information than Tommy, but not much more.

Today has shown him that trusting in his friends, opening up about himself, might be smart if he wants to avoid another fight like he had with Tommy.

Besides, he wants to do right by Akio, give him the proper rituals he would have had were he home in Japan. Felicity can get him a photo without it giving everything away. Not talking about Akio for his own comfort is selfish.

With a blink he refocuses his eyes, turning his gaze on Felicity. He speaks up: “Felicity?”

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “What can I do you for? Not- not do you, but like what can I do for you. That wasn’t a pass.”

Her usual awkwardness soothes Oliver’s nerves a little. “I know,” he says with a small smile. “I was wondering if you could get me a photo of someone.”

“Sure, if they’ve ever been near a camera, I can do that. Whose photo do you need?”

Oliver takes a deep breath, then takes the plunge. “Akio Yamashiro. He lived in Hong Kong in 2010, but born in Japan. You won’t find records of him after that. I want one for the Butsudan.”

Felicity’s eyes grow wide at his request and he sees Diggle shift in his periphery. He knows they’ve been curious about him not always being on the island ever since he first mentioned it, so he steels himself for the questions.

They don’t come.

Instead, Felicity just nods and smiles: “Of course, Oliver,” as she starts to type, leaving Oliver confused as he stares at her.

His focus snaps to Diggle when the man snorts. After making a soft confused noise, Diggle explains: “You have a puppy like confused face, man. It’s kind of funny. We’re not gonna ask after classified things, I get it.”

“And I get not pushing sensitive emotional things with you, Mr. Grumpy,” Felicity adds. “You’ll tell us when you’re ready.”

A wave of affection crashes over him at that. These two people do so much for him, from the big things to the small things. They don’t expect him to be someone he’s not, they never knew him before and are patient in getting to know him now. Oliver doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to convey how much that means to him. With a tight voice he tries anyway. “Thank you.”

Diggle and Felicity both give him smiles, before they go back to their tasks; Felicity to her computers, while Diggle cleans his gun. Oliver could be sharpening arrows, but he enjoys the moment of peace too much.

The peace is broken a few minutes later by a gasp from Felicity that she quickly tries to muffle. She clears her throat, but keeps looking at the screen as she says: “I found some photos. Uhm, from- from his school, but also from security cams in Hong Kong, if you want to pick one.”

Oliver is out of his seat immediately, but approaches the desk cautiously. He hasn’t seen Akio’s face in years.

On the screen, Akio stares back at him, the image punching the air out of his lungs. He looks exactly like Oliver remembers, happy and a little mischievous, even in the school picture from 2008. It’s from Japan, before the Yamashiro family was relocated to Hong Kong.

However, what catches his eye the most are the security camera stills. The ones are likely from A.R.G.U.S. or Shrieve’s operation, on the record only because they’d been used as blackmail or to track them all. Whatever the case may be, his eyes can’t help but be glued to them.

Diggle appears behind him, taking in a sharp breath as he sees the photos the other two are looking at.

There’s one of Maseo hoisting Akio in the air, a happy smile on his face, while in the background Tatsu watches them fondly from her seat on a bench. Another one is of Akio at an intersection, holding one of Tatsu’s hands while she carries a bag of groceries in the other. The one that catches his eye the most though, is of Akio in the botanical garden of Hong Kong, happily talking about seeing his parents soon.

Oliver knows, he remembers that moment, he himself is in the background of that still. It must have been from seconds before they spotted the bad men, as Akio called them, when they were forced to flee again. One of the last days Akio was alive.

It hits him all over again that Akio is dead. That he’s never coming back. That Oliver was too late to stop that outbreak and now he’ll never go to the botanical garden with his parents again.

Without his permission, a tear slides down his face. He has never allowed himself to cry for Akio, never allowed himself to grieve properly, too much blame on his shoulders. He still carries that blame now, but the emotions overwhelm him at seeing Akio once more and he can’t stop them.

He doesn’t sob, doesn’t even cry properly – at this point, he doesn’t know if he can still cry properly at all – just stares as tears leak down his face, as if his eyes are faulty faucets.

It takes him a while, before he gathers himself enough to say: “I- I’d like to have the school picture and the one in the bo-” a shuddering breath “-botanical garden.”

Wordlessly Felicity sends them to the printer, a hush hanging over the room. Softly and gently, Felicity breaks it, saying nothing more than: “He was nine.”

She sounds shocked and horrified, and Oliver realizes that neither of them knew who Akio was, that they probably assumed he was an adult like Oliver, that they worked together or something and that he died on a mission. Not this. Not the horrid truth that a child had been caught in the cross hairs of Oliver’s world and died as a result.

“I worked with his father,” Oliver replies, feeling the need to explain. “He and his wife housed me while I was there. I was Akio’s- I was… I was his big brother.”

“Says he died as a result that chemical accident, you were there for that?” Felicity asks, not to pry, but to understand, to give him room to process it verbally should he want to. Oliver can tell she doesn’t expect a reaction.

“Not an accident,” he grits out, all the anger at Shrieve and Waller rising back up inside of him as he hears the cover up.

“That the classified thing you can’t talk about?” Diggle comments, immediately picking up on the implication.

Oliver nods curtly.

His throat is now completely closed up and he knows he can’t say another word, even if he wanted to. Akio’s death was a result of a mission he couldn’t complete, a mission he failed. He came back to Starling with another mission. He can’t fail it. He can’t fail it like he did this one. No innocents will get hurt because of him ever again.

Tommy might not know who he is anymore, might think he’s a monster that kills so easily, and while it is true that death comes swiftly in his hands, Oliver knows that Tommy never has to fear him. He’d never hurt someone defenseless, much like he couldn’t kill the Count today. He wasn’t enough to protect Akio, but he will be enough for everyone else.

With that, he turns away from the screens. He will be enough for everyone, but it won’t change what happened to Akio. The failure weighs heavily on him and he needs a moment to process and reset.

Oliver leaves the Foundry without another word, driving himself home and crawling under his covers. Tonight the Hood doesn’t grace the city with his presence, tonight Oliver finally lets himself grieve.

The next day, he comes back to their base, unsure of how the others will act. Diggle keeps up his professionalism when they’re out and about, but in here he becomes his friend instead of bodyguard and that changes things.

But neither of them say anything. It seems they meant it when they told him they won’t ask him about it. It’s weirdly comforting to be allowed to go at his own pace.

Though it appears that not asking about it, doesn’t mean not acting. The pictures he chose yesterday are on the shrine, both of them framed in beautiful, fitting frames. It looks like a proper memorial, like the resting place Akio deserves. He nearly chokes up again at the sight.

He doesn’t thank them for it, but he’s sure it shows on his face with the way they smile kindly at him.

After that everything unravels quickly. The conspiracy behind his father’s book becomes clearer and clearer, until it is a race against the clock to save the city.

Watching part of the Glades go down from a rooftop and then finding Tommy in the rubble, slowly bleeding out, makes him flash back to Hong Kong. How the three of them worked so hard to stop it, failing and walking through the aftermath, but thinking their loved ones were safe, only to return and find that to be false.

Oliver sits next to Tommy and weeps, weeps until he has to flee, even doing that clumsily, because he can’t look past his tears. Tommy is gone. His best friend is gone. How can he live in a world without Tommy in it? How did Tommy do it when he went missing? How could he bear it?

On autopilot he goes back to the base, praying to find it semi in tact. If he comes home to find Felicity buried, he isn’t sure what he’ll do.

The structure is thankfully still standing and he stumbles inside and down the stairs, needing to see her right now.

He finds her, still sitting under her desk, likely hiding under something heavy just in case the whole thing came down.

His eyes zero in on her arms, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking him when he sees that she’s cradling Akio’s ashes and the pictures of him, making sure they were safe and wouldn’t fall from their shrine during the quake.

Felicity kept Akio safe when he couldn’t. He wasn’t there for Akio when he needed him. Again. Just like he wasn’t there for Tommy. Like he wasn’t there for all those people buried in the rubble out there, dead because he was too late to stop it all.

He came back to Starling to complete his mission, to save the city, to do right by everyone like couldn’t for Akio. But he hasn’t done anything right. Hundreds are dead because of him. Tommy is dead because of him. He has failed. Again. He can’t save anyone and he doesn’t know why he ever thought he could. He’s a monster, made to destroy. Not some hero.

His eyes meet Felcity’s, she starts to say something, but before she can, he turns around and leaves, not sparing her another glance.

Oliver doesn’t stop moving. He keeps running, running away from the memories of Akio, from the city filled with tragedy, from the fact that there will be a funeral held for Tommy. He barely stops for long enough to make sure his mom and sister are safe, before he runs the final stretch, right back to hell, to Lian Yu; the punishment he deserves.

It takes him months and a lot of convincing to leave the island behind him again. Lian Yu has become his home and his prison. If he were to leave, it is with the knowledge that he will never try his hand at being a hero again. It was on Lian Yu that he was first shaped into what he is now, into a monster. Being back here served as a reminder that he can’t change that about himself and he shouldn’t try.

Heroes tragically sacrifice themselves for others, they don’t make it home. Survivors make it home and they do so, because they’ve become killers. Oliver should keep reminding himself that he is a survivor, not a hero.

However, the city has not gotten better in his absence. In fact, people have taken his failed attempt at trying to better it, to make it worse. It’s oddly poetic, in a way.

At first, Oliver wants nothing to do with it. He keeps reminding himself of the lesson his self enforced exile was supposed to teach him. But these Hoods make it very hard. They’re his creation, he should do something about them.

The moment he gives in, Felicity is grinning, pulling him down the stairs to show him her remodeling.

The renovations take his breath away. Instead of a dark basement that could be the hide out of any common criminal with sense, it’s a sleek base of operations… a home. It feels right, if he wants to do things differently this time.

As he inspects everything, his eyes fall on the spot where the Butsudan was. It’s still there, though replaced by a nicer and slightly bigger altar. On it are the pictures of Akio and his ashes, however, they’re now joined by a photo of Tommy as well.

Felicity notices him watching and hugs his arm as she says: “We kept the incense burning while you were away.”

A lump forms in Oliver’s throat at the news. He had always thought he would have to do it alone, that no one would get it and join his mission, that the only time he would have allies was during those five years, when he was a monster working with other monsters, while the few good people that were there died.

However, Dig and Felicity prove him wrong. They have made themselves at home next to him, continuing in his absence. It’s almost effortless how they’ve fit themselves amongst the important stuff he has gathered over the years. How they expanded what he held dear until it can’t fit inside a chest anymore.

Oliver is forever grateful to them. Especially for keeping Akio’s memorial going. He hopes the boy is proud of what he is doing there, that he’s happy Oliver is still making sure the bad men won’t get anyone.

~~

A/N:

I don’t think I’m ever going to be normal about the fact that Oliver has a part of Akio’s ashes, that those were given to him. Like can you imagine? The fact that they never mention that again is wild to me. He has hIS ASHES!

Also, disclaimer: I am not Asian, so while I did try and research Japanese (and a little Chinese) funerary rites, I claim no expertise, so all of the info is what I found online, if someone knows more and wants to share, I’d love to learn more :D

#rr writing #arrow #green arrow #cw arrow #arrow cw #arrow 2012 #arrowverse #arrowverse fanfiction #arrow fanfic #oliver queen #akio yamashiro #oliver & akio #john diggle #felicity smoak #tommy merlyn #tw: child death mention #tw: death #tw: grief #dc #dc comics #detective comics

[pupstim]

Ngl guys im really worried that Leo might die. Leo still needs a checkmark for this week but theres been mistake and it showed leo with three but now shows them with 2. Does anyone on the qsmp know Leo needs a checkmark? Will Bad be able to come and help?? If hes stuck in his own lore???

Okay wait actually that would be so fucking funny if Bad breaks out of where ever hes being held (if he really is kidnapped) running to help Leo do quests and then just... going back to his little holding cell acting as if he hadn't been gallivanting around the server with an egg.

#qsmp #wait im awful i forgot a tag #tw: child death mention

[mellanmir]

dancing to the melodies of dreams

Story idea: Altair/Desmond, au: soulmates (where you get a mark and visit your soulmate in your dreams like a ghost, but they can't see you) and add a pinch of isu bullshit and you get a very confused and worried Umar and an Altaïr who really doesn't see what the problem is. It is not an imaginary friend.

Snippet (unbetaed):

Umar Ibn-La'Ahad is a working assassin — a good one at that, if he is allowed to say so — and is not unfamiliar with dangerous situations. Yet, never has he felt fear so strong it seems to squeeze all life out of him. He had his fair share of escaping dangerous situations, where his discovery would mean certain death, when you become hyperaware of the blood pumping in your veins and the air rushing into your lungs and the world just becomes a just a bit sharper, when your senses expand beyond their normal limits, and you just know where your target is. But that is a familiar state of being, a well-worn fear, known nearly as well as an old friend. In comparison, there is nothing more nerve-wracking than having to sit beside Maud and watching her laboring hard to give birth to their child. Helpless for this is a fight he can not bear in her stead. Not that he would ever tell her that. She would just laugh at him and tease him for weeks, reminding him of all the times she had bested him in a fight. But he can see the worry slowly etching itself between the wrinkles of the midwives, the nervous glances the assistants throw at each other. It has been many hours, yet there doesn’t seem much progress. He is not sure if Maud has picked up on it yet. He hopes not because this is just additional stress she surely doesn’t need at the moment.

More hours go by, and the winter rain beats merciless against the roof and walls, now no longer drowned out by Maud’s cries of pain and he never hated the silence more. He is holding her up now. She is too weak to even sit on her own, resting most of her weight on him. Compared to him, his wife, with her paler skin — a remnant of her grandparents’ legacy — looks even more white in contrast to his own. It feels clammy and cold and Maud’s body looses more strength with each hour passing, but her will only growths. Her eyes are sharp and alert and in the light of the candles, they glow like the golden pommel of her sword.

The winter storm is dying down outside and Umar can feel the end coming. Maud is screaming, using the last of her strength for bearing down and pushing, trusting in Umar to hold her up and the midwife to catch the baby.

Her scream tapers off and then her head lolls to the side and she becomes eerily still against him and for a heart stopping moment, Umar fears she became literally dead weight in his arm. Then he catches the faintest in- and exhale and the barely there beat of her heart and he wants to say a prayer in gratitude. It dies on his tongue and nearly chokes him when he notices it’s too quiet in the room — aren’t babies supposed to scream? — and sees the oldest midwife carefully disentangle the umbilical cord from his child’s neck. He strangled more than one person in his life; he knows what it means.

He wants to scream and cry, rage against the unfairness of it all. Instead, he carefully rises and carries Maud to the bed, so the assistants can clean her up. Now he says a quick prayer, eternally grateful that she isn’t awake. He feels hollow, like every good feeling and all his happiness has been washed away.

He doesn’t even remember crossing the room. One moment he was beside his dying wife, the next he stands next to his dead child, the midwifes carefully cleaning him of blood and other fluids.

He has a dead son.

Then suddenly one of the midwife starts a prayer of praising Allah and the other bundles his child in swathes of warm fabric in a hurry.

Maud gave birth to a healthy, wailing and very displeased son.

#assassins creed #assassin’s creed #umar ibn la'ahad #altair ibn la'ahad #maud #fanfiction #fanfiction snippet #umar pov #tw: child birth #tw: child death mention #dancing to the melodies of dreams

[yumejoshi1]

ngl watching Quackity's stream, nothing makes me sadder than Tilin's grave condition, it's been broken a shitton of times

#qsmp #qsmp liveblog #qsmp tilin #tw: child death mention #(just in case)

[funbonded]

Brows contort on their rods . Reassurance isn't his strong suit . Though there is also a bitterness to this ; 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 . 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 , 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 @muutos ' 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 .

❝ Because there's no point in should've , could've or would've . The little brat KNEW not to get close . ❞

The way he speaks , static flaring in his speaker . ❝ Baby was the one who extirpated the wrong kid . The only one we were told not to - ❞ Funfred knows his words are hypocritical he would have killed her too , recklessly , carelessly , thankfully there were other names to point at for their short-lived fame . None of which were Foxy .

❝ Maybe one of us could've done something but we didn't because OUR CREATOR wanted us to collect some souls and we did exactly that and he locked us away for it . HE should've watched the little --- crumpet (!) if he cared so much for her , why should we take the fall for that ?! ❞ He's heated , loud and agitated by it all . A contrast to his formerly loyal gathering for their maker , he's become bitter by the rejection and feeling of betrayal . / ⋆

#[ ⋆ ] 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 / 𝐢𝐜 . #⋆ 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 / 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐯. #muutos; funtime foxy #tw: child death mention

[entitytcken-a]

@chaosmultiverse || cont. from here

🎀Charlie shuddered, everything was getting so dark... and she felt so cold... Although the rain was probably was apart of that if she was honest. For a moment, she swore she heard Evan’s voice... which would have been impossible... After all... He... He died- A weak gargle of a whimper escaped her as she curled in on herself, not noticing the robotic form of the other until they saw the flicker of the glowing eyes.

“...But... I’m... I’m... not... ti...red...”

She managed to get out before her body finally succumbed to the wound, her body breathing its last breath as she finally went still; a hand laying over one of the security puppet’s. Her eyes becoming dull as the life was snuffed out... for now. 

#☓ Into the Fog {IC} #🎀Feeling like I've lost something... {Charlotte} #☓ Puppets on Strings {Threads} #tw: child death #tw; child death #tw; child death mention #tw: child death mention

[tranquil-turbulence]

SS Month ‘23 - Day 2

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3

Prompt: Warring States Era AU

Warnings: Trauma, mentions of violence, child soldiers, child death, and war

From the age of four, hardly a day went by without a shuriken in her hands.

In such a turbulent time, any and all help was needed in the eternal power struggle between the Senju and Uchiha - and she was no different; the frail daughter of a Senju woman and a peasant from Water country, her father had immigrated to Fire country in search of a better life and had landed in the middle of a bloody standoff between the two clans.

Her father had been hesitant for their only daughter to become a kunoichi, but her mother had grown up the daughter of a ruthless shinobi and a skilled kunoichi and was determined for her to learn the skills necessary to survive in such a ruthless world.

On the evening of her fifth birthday, she found that she could manipulate plantlife with her hands. Her mother was thrilled. She had said something about studying under the famed Senju Hashirama, but little Sakura hadn’t been listening - she was too busy admiring the gladiolus under her fingertips.

It was on her sixth birthday when she truly understood the gravity of the war - her cousin was slain by an Uchiha, and her mother wept bitter tears for her aunt. Sakura had been too numb to truly process the death for a few days - and when she finally recognized that her cousin was dead, she screamed herself hoarse while her father attempted to hold her back from running out the front door.

That innocent six-year-old had grown into a cold, calculating sixteen-year-old woman under the tutelage of not Hashirama, but his brother Tobirama - the man had seen the potential in her mind and was determined to expand it. Not that the man minded; she hated fighting and preferred to spend hours reading texts from beginning to end, absorbing their words. She had a certain expertise in genjutsu, and was content to let her teacher practice on her.

Everything changed when she met fifteen, soon to be sixteen-year-old Uchiha Sasuke.

The son of a high-ranking Uchiha, he was every bit as battle-hardened and ruthless as his kin; his was a name that was whispered more in fear than reverence, and her teacher found every excuse to keep her away from battle whenever word got out that he and his brother Itachi would be fighting. It was clear he didn’t want them to meet, and she never questioned him.

But today, of all days, she found herself alone by the riverbed, getting water for her ill father. It was a beautiful morning, and she hummed a tune while she filled a bucket.

Suddenly she paused, sensing a presence for a split-second behind her.

Turning her head, she nearly dropped the bucket in surprise when another person emerged from the treeline, long dark hair draped over his shoulder. Deep worry lines creased his face, and despite his youth there was something remarkably aged about him.

She knew him immediately.

Freshly twenty-one-year-old Uchiha Itachi, son of the man they called Kyougan Fugaku, was calm and collected as he nonchalantly strolled up to the river, a cloth in hand.

“Good morning, kunoichi,” he greeted politely, seemingly ignoring the emblem sewn into the sleeve of her kimono top as he knelt on the rocks.

Sakura stared incredulously at the man for several hesitant seconds. Why wasn’t he attacking? She had heard of his tendency for small mercies - on the battlefield he was like a machine rather than a man, cutting down Senju no more coldly than he ate or drank, but supposedly there were rumors afloat that he wished for peace more than war.

Truthfully, there was a certain softness to the way he carried himself. Minutely, she relaxed her rigid stance, seeing no sharpness in his shoulders nor steel in his gaze.

“You’re an Uchiha,” she finally spoke up, almost accusingly.

He paused in cupping his hands around the water. “I am.”

“Why aren’t you attacking me?”

That finally got him to look up, and for a moment she felt a guilty chord for the way he gazed at her with mild surprise.

“Why should I attack? You’ve no weapon and at the moment neither have I,” he pointed out, and she sheepishly looked away, feeling quite chastised. “I am merely here to wash my face, and no more.”

“Forgive me, I meant no offense.” She shook her head and went back to her bucket. “I’m not used to sitting near one of your kin without a sword in my hand.”

Itachi was quiet for several long moments, staring at the cool water. Then, he replied, “It would be a grave offense to my honor as a man if I deigned to strike you unprovoked. You’re no harm to me, and so I am not to you.”

Though his words were meant in good faith, his casual admission bristled her, and she barely held back from shooting him a glare as he dipped his head near the water’s surface, splashing his face.

The silence between them was awkward, and as she went to get to her feet, a sword to the side of her neck immediately raised her hackles, and she belatedly reached for her pouch.

There came a sigh, and Itachi looked up with a disapproving, “Sasuke.”

“Brother,” the younger Uchiha tersely greeted. “What are you doing with a Senju?”

“She was here first, and neither decided it was prudent to begin a quarrel where there is none.”

“Have you forgotten how many of our number hers have callously murdered?” He demanded. “Have you forgotten how they desired to strike down Cousin?”

“You’ve killed just as many, if not more,” she spat with a nasty glare over her shoulder. “My own cousin was murdered in cold blood by one of your kin. I was six; she was eight.”

“Please.” Itachi raised his hand, rising from his knees in one smooth motion. “Sasuke, sheath your sword. Do not shame our father in this manner.”

For a couple of seconds, the young man looked like he would argue, but one sharp look from his brother made him reluctantly pull back, and the katana glided back into its sheath.

Itachi sent the girl an almost apologetic glance as he extended a hand. “Forgive my foolish brother - though our father has raised us with peace in mind, I fear old habits die harder than they must.”

She stared at his hand before her eyes traveled up to his face. She searched it for a long moment before she sighed through her nose and accepted it, allowing his sure grip to guide her to her feet.

“All grudges forgiven, Uchiha,” she answered, letting go and stooping to retrieve her full bucket. “For your sake, I do hope this feud ends soon. I too grow weary of the fight.”

Itachi nodded simply, bowing at the waist before turning. “Come, Sasuke. Mother is expecting us.”

Sasuke stared at her, gaze sure and dubious. He was handsome, despite his blood - a slender nose, high cheekbones, regal brow, soft dark hair - had she not been a Senju, and he not an Uchiha, she might have fancied him.

He nodded dismissively and turned, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Good day, Senju. Be cautious when you make your way back.”

“And to you… Uchiha.” She managed to answer, clutching her bucket to her chest.

#sasusaku month 2023 #first meeting #warring states era #canon divergent #pre relationship #tw: child soldiers #tw: war #tw: mentions of violence #tw: child death mention #mokuton user sakura #not quite meet-cute

[ninjasmudge]

I know you've said before that if Rumble and Savage did show up in BK au it's very likely Macaque would have committed a terrible act to save them, but hear me out -

What if they didn't show up until after BK was split? For lack of a better way to explain or compare, some pregnancies go longer than usual if there's health issues with the carrier, or because the carrier would not allow themselves to go into labor out of fear for the baby's safety. I'm assuming it's something similar with the magic that created the twins so they wouldn't have emerged until it was safe for them to emerge.

That being said, toootally understand why you want our precious kiddos anywhere that au lol. Don't wanna make things too shippy and hey, wouldn't ya know, having kids with someone sounds real shippy haha

[TW: MENTION OF DEATH]

mm to first two of these, fair question ig and thank you for putting some thought into it, but if maq had enough extra magic to create magic clone kids then bk would have taken it while they were around. and after that it would still be a case of sandy looks after maqs kids because he cant/wont. id really prefer not to mix aus like that anyway

to the third one i dont know what you want from me man. you want me to explain how some kids die?? bruh??? no.

#mk #bone king au #man like. im sorry but im just. not putting them in. multiple people keep sending these to me and like. every time i gently say no #so. no #to the first wo i can see where youre coming from but its too close to working through your trauma by raising kids and you cant do that to #-to them #and i dont want to mix aus #tw: death mention #tw: child death mention

[spymeister]

He's arrived.

The channels around him are familiar, for all of their destruction. He knows each curve of the upwards wall of the tunnel, the way it connects to the antechamber ceiling's dome with buttresses on the other side. He knows each and every single chamber that branches off, can hear the ghostly voices of long-gone creche members.

He can hear Rhapsody, Melody, and Harmony singing together- living up to their designations as they work at cleaning whatever they've found in the streets to sell at the next orn's market. He can hear Darkstreak, his sire, chasing after the youngest of his siblings- Sonata, as the squeaker got into trouble.

The familiar rumble of his carrier's deep voice as they welcomed him in.

He hears all of these things in the silence, swallowing faintly as he allows his senses to extend outwards. Here and there, he can recognize the charred remains of what might have been a frame- the smaller ones curled underneath larger frames.

A last ditch effort at protecting the most vulnerable members from something not even the adults could prevent.

His optics close, and he inhales slowly- exhaling in a long careful breath. The depth of his steps in the detritus shows that no one has been here since the tunnels were attached. Since the Senatorial committee charged with "cleaning up Polyhex's crime issues" had started with "cleaning" the tunnels of it's denizens. It's also, because of it's history- the last place anyone would expect to look for him.

He shakes himself slightly, pushing away the cloying grief with a formidable effort.

He has things to do, and the clock is ticking.

#tw:death mention #tw:murder #tw:prejudice #if you want a visual- think of the bodies in Herculenuem and Pompeii #after the Eruption in 79AD #That's what hte tunnels look like #tw: child death mention #child death mention #adult death mention

[feather-story]

Prologue

Peacefully, St Peter stood at his podium before the Pearly Gates, reading Life Tomes and sending each mortal soul to their earned afterlives. He was just about to pass judgment over a particularly kind, generous, and humble soul when chaos erupted. St Peter and every soul in line before him felt the beaten air of many, white-feathered wings. Every guardian angel awaiting new souls to guard had descended on heaven, bypassing the gold-and-pearl gate.

As the angels congregated at the Guardian Hall, they surrounded a lone figure while giving off an air of unease. In the bullseye of the heavenly chorus stood Angela, a Dominion that stood heads above any of the angels she commanded. She held a winged mirror, the contents of which had caused the angels to stir. The mirror didn’t reflect any of the angels looking into it, but, rather, a tiny infant who was very obviously in pain. “How tragic. She has not much longer,” Angela lamented. 

As she and the guardian angels brooded, an angel at the outskirts of the Hall called out, “Lady Marguerite has arrived!” Angela and every guardian in the hall turned toward the Hall entrance, where a Power strode in, intent on her purpose. 

Marguerite walked up to Angela and looked into the mirror. Her expression, at first focused, changed to one of sorrow. “My girl. What can I do for You?” she pleaded. Focused as she was on the little form in the mirror, a raucous chorus behind her tore that attention away.

A commotion pressed its way into the Hall, and in the center of it was a man. If one did not know any better, one would think he was just a human man with peculiarly pointed ears and long, dark plum hair, but the angels sneering at him, and especially Marguerite, knew better. She watched him stride forward and beheld him, her beloved demon, Totus. She ran to him, taking his face in her hands, and kissed him deeply. She felt him melt into it.

The guardian angels around them went dead quiet, certainly jeering at the display. She didn’t care. They would not say anything, as she outranked them all. As did Angela, who was her confidant and dearest friend. 

Totus pulled away first. “What’s going on? Hell is celebrating,” he asked. “Is this about the Heavenly Saint?”

Marguerite’s heart panged with grief. She looked back to the winged mirror in Angela’s hands, prompting Totus to do the same. “My Dearest One will be born with an imperfect heart. It cannot sustain Her, and Man has not the means to cure it,” she explained. The heart, the Almighty’s temporary device to keep Man on Earth, was oh so weak. Too weak. The Heavenly Saint could not possibly survive long enough with such a feeble mechanism. 

But an angel’s heart pumped strongly, eternally. If only the Heavenly Saint had been born with such a strong heart. 

If only.

“I must give Her mine,” she decided. Totus, bewildered, attempted to stop this train of thought, but she pressed on. “She is far too important. She is my Dearest One for a reason. Her life and purpose far outweigh my own.” She took the mirror from Angela and hugged it to her chest.

Totus wanted to hold her close, but with the mirror in her grasp, he only dared to caress her arms. “But I love you. Please don’t do this,” he begged.

She smiled sadly at him, tears in her eyes. “I love you, too. But I love Her, as well.” She let go of the mirror, allowing it to float in place. Then, she brought her hands to her chest. A warm, glowing light gleamed, and from her chest emerged two folded, snowy white wings. The wings unfurled to reveal a bright red heart. It would sustain her life as long as she held contact.

 She held the angelic organ up in one hand and gestured to the baby in the mirror with the other. “Totus, please guard Her for me. Mentor Her and love Her as I wish I could,” she beseeched. 

Totus couldn't look her in the eye. “I will,” he lied. 

Marguerite felt for him. Her own broke as she witnessed his do the same. “Thank you, beloved,” she replied. She leaned down to kiss him one last time, hoping and praying he would never forget the feeling. As she did so, she placed her heart in his hand.

And then she vanished, feathers dispersing like dust motes.

Totus held the warm, beating remnant of his beloved for a brief moment. Then, he shoved it gingerly at Angela. “Take this,” he commanded. Angela said nothing, gave him no response except for tears in her own eyes and empathy in her chest. Totus continued, “I want nothing to do with it.” He walked away, tears giving away his feeling, though he tried to sound stoic.

He left Guardian Hall, and the angels in his wake were left to debate on how to move forward.

#novella #chapter #prologue #critique encouraged #tw: self sacrifice #tw: death #tw: child endangerment #tw: child death mention

[intersectionalpraxis]

Source: [@/ Kandakat_alhaqq on X.] You can follow them here for more updates.

Free Sudan!

#keep eyes on sudan #liberate sudan #eyes on darfur #free sudan #sudan crisis #eyes on sudan #sudan #sudan genocide #darfur #current events #sudan war #tw child death #tw sa mention #gender violence #violence against women #human rights violations #crimes against humanity #human rights #feminist #feminism

[nicksancheez]

name: nicholas sanchez 

 age: forty-eight 

 gender: cis male 

 pronouns: he & him 

 sexuality: heterosexual 

 neighborhood: bighorn hills 

 occupation: sargent for providence peak police department, the homicide unit 

 tw: addiction mention. tw: alcohol addiction mention. tw: drug addiction mention. tw: infertility mention. tw: iv journey mention. tw: cancer mention. tw: leukemia mention. tw: child death mention. tw: violence mention. 

Nicholas Antonio Sanchez was born on July 31st back in 1974, to two parents who probably shouldnt of been. Peter and Gina Sanchez had met and fallen in love during their freshman year of high school. However, they had fallen within the wrong crowd and became addicted to both drugs and alcohol. During their Junior year of high school, both at their lowest point, Gina had surprised Peter by telling him she was pregnant with their first.

It was Gina’s choice to go along with the pregnancy, she didn’t want to become a mother but the young woman decided that maybe it was time to get a fresh start. In the beginning of her pregnancy, Gina and Peter were doing really well. The two stopped hanging out with the wrong people, and started to get their lives together. Being only eighteen, it was tough to change but they were doing it. Peter found a job as a mechanic, working on cars while getting his grades back up and staying sober, while Gina was also in the process of becoming sober, she found a job as a waitress at their local diner within town.

The two had been doing really good, they were getting their life back on track to provide a happy, healthy and loving home for their first child. Sure Gina and Peter were terrified to become parents, but they were doing it, they were going to pull through. On July 31st back in 1974, the two had welcomed their first and only child. Together Peter and Gina had welcomed Nicholas Antonio Sanchez. He was their perfect little thing, and the moment Nicholas was placed in Gina’s arms, that was her snap back into reality. That was the moment Peter and Gina realized that loving alcohol and drugs wasn’t worth it. So they both gave it up for good.

It was for the best that Peter and Gina gave up their old ways, in all honesty it had helped Nicholas in the long run. He ended up having a good childhood, they worked hard and cherished him. They took care of him and provided him a happy and loving home. Growing up, Nicholas got good grades in school and from an early age he knew what he wanted to do in life. He enjoyed sports, and was on the basketball and baseball team.  Nicholas was an active student and was always on honor roll. He enjoyed being on the Yearbook Committee during his freshman year of high school, and even ran for class president. To say he was pretty much the golden boy of his grade was an understatment. Sure popularity was nice but it didn’t mean anything to him, his grades did however so he worked hard. He worked hard and had gotten accepted into Columbia University in New York City during his junior year. Senior year is where he had excelled the most. After graduating, it was that summer where he moved into his own apartment in New York to study at Columbia that changed his life for the better.

It was at Columbia University where his life began. At least, that’s what he thought. His life didn’t really begin however, until he had met Gabriela Ricci. He fell in love with her the moment he met her. The two dated for a few years, and at thirty-three they got married. It was late in the game but they didn’t care. At thirty-four, they started trying for a baby, but the two were having trouble. Finally after a couple of failed attempts at IVF, they welcomed their miracle baby at thirty-six and had decided to name her Violet Grace Sanchez.

Things were perfect for them. Gabriela, Nicholas and Violet were perfect, happy and healthy. That was until at nine months that things took a turn. It was at nine months old, that was when Violet was diagnosed with Leukemia and the doctors had told Nicholas and Gabriela that she only had a little bit left to live. It had devastated & destroyed them. It was rare for infants to be diagnosed this young, and unfortunately Violet was one of the rare ones.

The news about Violet, their miracle baby had devastated Nicholas and Gabriela and the two were on thin ice with one another. They fought about it constantly. As time went on when Violet got sick, she just got worse and worse. The doctors tried everything, but unfortunately just right after her first birthday, Violet had sadly passed away. It destroyed Nicholas and Gabriela. More so Nicholas. He had changed. He wasn’t the man that Gabriela had fallen in love with. Nicholas had become angry and bitter and cruel and mean and violet. The loss of their baby girl had destroyed everything within their relationship, it had destroyed everything within him. They separated. It was time that the two needed. Time apart to figure things out. They were both lost without their daughter. Their beautiful baby girl. Gabriela stayed in New York while Nicholas had moved to Providence Peak, Colorado. A job offer, running his own unit while being the Police Sargent sounded just about right. The man has been here ever since, living in Bighorn Hills. 

#&*nicholas sanchez/ turn the pain into power; intro. #providence.intro #updated intro. #tw alcoholism mention #tw drug addiction mention #tw infertility mention #tw ivf journey mention #tw cancer mention #tw: child death mention #tw leukemia mention #tw violence mention

[yumejoshi1]

Cannot wait for the fanarts of Pepito reuniting in egg heaven with Bobby and Jaiden

#qsmp #tw: child death mention #it will be so angsty #I love it

[funbonded]

[ ⋆ ]  He really has no desire to harm anyone who isn't human . There was no fun in that . Humans were just so vulnerable , easy to threaten , easy to frighten . Yet they were complicated enough to fear certain deaths and prefer another . They were all terrible and yet so enjoyable .

A fellow @crvptd , however , was welcome company , opposed to welcome prey .

He's been out alone far too long . That foolish old man had repaired him in his workshop . Unbeknownst to how such repairs would attribute to the untimely death of his Granddaughter . Now ' 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ' was free to roam and claim more victims .

Hand grazes the bark of a tree , not that he could feel it as he makes himself known to the strange creature .

❝ Haha ! Well , .... 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗢 over there I didn't expect to see such a twisted creature this close to the darkness that already roams , splayed across this state from pizzeria to pizzeria ! ❞ Of course he was talking about the current chain of news spreading like wildfire across America . Animatronic dogs killing children , a girl turning into a pile of trash , stocked mini-tronics with teeth of that which resembles a human being . And now added to the collection ; a goth girl gone missing on Christmas night . Funfred's chest cavity is crusted with brown remnants of blood . / ⋆

#[ ⋆ ] 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 / 𝐢𝐜 #⋆ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 / 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐯 . #crvpd #tw: child death mention #tw: blood #tw: gore

[entitytcken-a]

@chaosmultiverse​ asked:👥 Charlie and Evan

headcanons for both || ACCEPTING

🎀Charlie is rather protective of Evan, after all, he reminds her of her younger twin Sammy. She definitely butts heads with Michael if he happens to be picking on Evan when she’s around. When Evan dies... Charlie certainly doesn’t talk to Michael for awhile, because... because that was too far.

#☓ Out of the Fog {OOC} #☓ The Fog Answers {Answered} #{Headcanons} #🎀Feeling like I've lost something... {Charlotte} #chaosmultiverse #chaosmultiverse: Evan Afton #tw: child death mention #tw; child death mention #chaosmultiverse: Michael Afton #🎟️Half of feeling whole... {Sammy}

[sayruq]

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #palestine news #war on gaza #tw lynching #lynching mention #hate crime #child death tw #torture #settler colonialism #fascism #edited #west bank #free west bank