#they were dancing around something that could have been really interesting with dying and grief and acceptance

[thevalleyisjolly]

Well, I mean Thor 4 certainly was a movie.  There was humour, and things, I guess.  Not much teeth to any of it, but ok in a generic sort of way.

#the valley is posting #it feels like the director and the actors filmed one movie and then m*rvel edited something completely different #they were dancing around something that could have been really interesting with dying and grief and acceptance #but the plot and character inconsistencies really took away from the teeth of those moments #also; why is everyone talking like a twitter therapist #the dialogue reads like an inexperienced fanfic writer #i know taika's a better writer than that so my money's on some studio exec getting someone to rewrite scenes

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"How Would You Feel If I..." Ghostface X AFAB! GN! Reader. NSFW.

Ayyyy! SO! Guess who saw Scream 5 on Friday and got a big ol heaping helping of Ghostface brainrot! This bitch! So I got the idea for this and meant to get it out sometime yesterday but I ended up spending some time with some friends and relaxing and it was SO needed, between chores and shit I managed to get the rest of this together and I am very excited to see everyone’s thoughts on this. This is for Scream 1996, NO SCREAM 5 SPOILERS I PROMISE! I left rather ambiguous as to whether it is Billy or Stu, I’ll let you decide! Anyway, let's get into it!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.7K. Ghostface X AFAB! GN! Reader. No Pronouns Mentioned. Warnings. DUB CON. (But He’s Into It Trust Me-) Top! Reader. Dark! Reader. Mentions Of Murder, Death And Gore. Chase. Fear. Rough Stuff. Struggle. Knife Play. Threats Of Harm. Face Sitting. Cunnlingus. Dirty Talk. Degradation. Power Struggle.

—

You were fucking tired.

That is the biggest thing, you were so fucking tired. Being so afraid and stressed, constantly looking over your shoulder will do that to a person. You’d lived in Woodsboro all your life and in all your years being here you just never really fully relaxed into life here. You always kinda of expected something fucked up to happen, just a niggling feeling in the back of your brain, as if you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was like there was something wrong just lingering under the surface but you had no idea what it could be.

Until one day it became all too apparent and your fears were confirmed.

You hated how your gut was always right on shit like this.

The news of your classmate dying violently, bloodily and left for her parents to find along with her jock boyfriends made exhale a huge sigh with a muttering of the word, “Goddamnit.”

Not exactly a typical reaction and true while you were upset and shocked and grief stricken and all the rest you were also frustrated by how those concerns and anxiety you always shrugged off as ridiculous with no basis in truth turned out to be right! How were you ever gonna tell yourself to calm down again when your most inane worries turned out to be right, not like how you thought they would be, but right all the same.

Your butchered classmate wasn’t the only one. There were a few others who had died, and it seemed like whoever this was, the name Ghostface was being thrown around due to the mask that the killer was wearing, had taken an interest in not just your friends but you as well.

This had been going on for a solid week and a half.

You woke up every day from fitful sleep, unsure if all your friends and classmates would live to see tomorrow, not sure if you would live to make it through either. Fear permeated your body and mind as if you were just waiting for whomever it was to run down the list and get to your name.

So when your phone rang that night you nearly jumped out of your skin.

You'd heard tell of the whole phone call schtick that the killer had been pulling and while you did hesitate it didn't deter you from answering the phone. If the bastard wanted you then they'd have you, right? Regardless of whether or not you answered the phone, and you had a sneaking suspicion it would just keep ringing till you picked up anyway.

So why wait and dance around the inevitable?

You pick up the cordless phone and press the "TALK" button before bringing it up to your ear and answering, "Hello?"

"Hey! What's up?" Came the enthusiastic voice from the other end of the line, you recognized it immediately as Randy and let out a small sigh of relief. "Oh hey Randy."

"Well someone sounds less than pleased to hear from me." You leaned against the kitchen counter as you replied, “Sorry, I am happy to hear from you, really, I just thought someone else was calling.”

Randy made an excited, “Oooo-” into the phone that almost made you roll your eyes before he asked, “And who’s call were you expecting?”

You scoffed and said, “Ahhh I dunno Randy, there is a psycho killer running around and calling up our friends before skewering them, my apologies, my mind went to that first instead of the local horror fanatic video store jockey giving me a ring.”

He laughed from your tone, you and he luckily had a very jokey relationship and the way he responded was fairly light, “Okay, okay geeze, I get your fucking point. I’m sorry too.”

You hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “But for real, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“Just calling to see if you are still coming over tonight to watch some movies after my shift is over.” Ah shit you forgot, but you totally did still want to, it’d be better than being home alone as you were currently. You played it off as if it hadn’t slipped your mind and told him, “Yeah totally, I’m about to start getting ready, I’ll be over and like an hour? You’ll be done and home then, yeah?”

He confirmed as such and you told him that you were looking forward to it, a quick “Bye.” and hung up the phone. You set it down and started off to go change and get ready when the phone rang again. You stopped before turning on your heel and making your way back to the phone, Randy always did this. You were sure he had some important thing he would insist you bring, you pick up the phone and bring it to your ear and answer, “What did you forget this time, Randy? Need me to bring the popcorn or what?"

“This isn’t Randy.”

You paused. You didn’t recognize that voice at all. You had that same gut feeling, this wasn’t right, something was off and you took a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. You swallowed hard and asked, “So uhm…Who is it?”

“A curious party. Got a little survey you could say. Wanna help me out?”

What choice did you have?

It was less than five minutes later you were running for your life.

You cursed yourself for getting that quote from Sleepaway Camp wrong as you raced trying to get away from your would be attacker.

Ghostface had broken in through the front door and you bolted, got a decent head start, gave them the run around your living room, the dining room and kitchen and soon made your way outside. You were running out the backdoor and then ran around the side of the house to the front, you were gonna run back inside, lock the door behind you and the backdoor too before attempting to contact the proper authorities.

You had those dumbass horror movie rules drilled into your head by Randy dearest and you knew that you should never look over your shoulder, that is how people in these situations trip and fall flat on their face and get caught and you?

You were no idiot.

So when you made it inside, slammed the door and locked it behind you before starting down the hallway. You were barefoot, the dew from the grass outside had made its way onto your feet causing you to slip a little, thankfully you recovered quickly and continued on your way.

You nearly threw yourself through the hall's doorway into the kitchen and stopped when you saw that Ghostface was coming in through the backdoor you were on your way to lock.

Shit. If you looked you would have seen they weren’t still in pursuit and you could have corrected your path.

Nothing to be done about that now, you needed to make a call and make it now.

You thought for only a second before the plan formed, you took action quickly, you turned and turned hard, made a move around the kitchen island and just as you thought they followed. It was almost too easy, you looked over your shoulder and they hit it just right. There was a loose tile that unless you were careful and didn’t step on it would almost up-end with the smallest pressure placed on it, you watched them step on it dead on and lose balance. They were stumbling, arms out and you made your move.

You turned, hand on the counter top you pushed yourself further, using it as leverage and you launched yourself at him, used all of your weight, no holds barred, your arms around the middle you tackled them to the ground. You knocked the wind out of him, a distinct “Oof” sound as they hit the ground.

Knife was dropped and clattered onto the floor nearby, you scrambled to pin their arms down and oh my God, it worked?

You can’t believe that this worked, holy shit you had them pinned under you. You felt them try to move, try to struggle but the position you had them in was too good, couldn’t get leverage and you almost wanted to laugh. You had the big bad killer that had been giving you all so much trouble stuck flat on their back and helpless. You took in the view and felt the warmth under your thighs and shifted your weight as a particular feeling settled low inside of you.

Oh.

You liked that thought more than you should. Them being the helpless one.

This fucker has been ruining lives of your classmates and friends, ruining YOUR life too for Christsake. You should do something about this. Get some kind of payback, do anything to chase this feeling currently inside of you at being so in control at this moment, it felt fucking good and you wanted more.

So another idea forms.

You speak to him for the first time since the phone call ended. “You really can’t get up now can you?”

They try to make a move again and you still have him pinned easily, you allow yourself to laugh this time. “Awe, poor baby.”

That makes him struggle harder and almost get the upper hand, you sway on top of him and move again, hand comes down hard on that mask, heel of your hand meets forehead and you hear the sound of his head cracking on the kitchen tile and the exclamation of pain at that. Head back on the floor, slight stirring and a groan, from being on top and hearing the voice and everything you were pretty sure it was a guy, you wondered who, if you knew him or if he at least knew you.

As you look down on that white mask and the black soulless eyes you think of your friends, think about how they weren’t so lucky, how they struggled, didn’t make it out. How they spent their last moments gripped by terror and the last thing they saw was that fucking mask.

You felt angry at what this sick fuck has taken from you and people you care about.

Just then a supremely fucked up idea hits you.

You adjust. Your knees pin his shoulders down hard, you reach down and fingers slide under the edge of his mask, he tries to buck up and shake you off but you have him now, hand on the cupboard you use it for stability as you press harder. You put more weight on him and he grunts in response, you pull on his mask, exposing the lower half of his face, seeing that pretty mouth of his.

The words leave you before you even have fully formed the thought, “You take and take and take.”

Your hand comes down and you push your shorts and underwear down in one swift move, all your weight on one knee as you pull the other through the leg hole, leaving the garments on one leg only before the second one comes down hard again. “You hurt and abuse and use us. Probably get off on it too. Got us all running scared. But what if-”

Your thumb traces over his bottom lip and you say quietly, staring down at him as you straddle his face, “-someone used you? How would you feel then?”

And then you lower your cunt onto his mouth.

His mouth is so fucking warm.

You moan immediately, especially at feeling him struggle, another attempt to get his hands on you but your hand presses harder against the cabinet, you buck down harder, knees dig into his shoulders more fiercely. You force your slit down onto him more forcefully and he makes something akin to a sound of protest against you and the vibrations of that makes you moan again.

“C’mon, you looove to run that mouth of yours but I think this is a much better use of it.” You grind your lips against his and then taunt him, “Show me what you got.”

Apparently that is all he needed to hear, you feel his mouth start to move and you smile to yourself, “That didn’t take much convincing.”

Wet and messy open mouthed kisses placed over your slit, up and down, and back before his tongue slips out of his mouth and makes that first pass over you that steals your breath just a little. “Mmmf fuck, there you go, that’s the idea.”

You honestly weren’t expecting your night to turn out this way.

The worry that you might not survive that night was permeating your mind less than a half hour ago, sincere dread that you might die and now you had the killer on his back and were taking your pleasure on his face.

You allowed him to feel out what you liked for a moment. His tongue ran up through your folds with a surprising amount of confidence, assuredness, and the pressure was good, consistent. The way he circled your clit before sucking on it gently made you think that damn, this was not the first time he did this. His tongue ran over that most sensitive part of you over and over before, made you squirm your hips, head tipping back with a moan.

He was better at this than you anticipated, seemed actually into it? He wasn’t just going through the motions. You could hear those small sounds of enjoyment spilling from him and more than that, could feel it, the little hums as his lips were locked around your clit, the way his breathing had changed, feeling his hot breath fan against your soaked slit. From the sounds as well as that call earlier, he really had a sexy voice.

If you let him keep it up you were gonna cum way too fast, you wanted to drag this out, enjoy it. So instead of being honest about how much you were enjoying this or how good he was, you figured with the right vocal encouragement you could keep the upper hand and get him to work even harder.

“Shit, are you even trying down there? Don’t tell me this is your first time doing this.” You rocked your hips and shifted your weight, “Really get your fucking tongue in there-” And he grunted in what sounded like almost annoyance before taking heed, you were about to mock him for his slight complaint before his tongue dragged lower and dipped into your wet hole.

You couldn’t hold back the gasp as much as you would have liked to, you clenched around his tongue and bucked down onto him, you could almost swear you felt him smiling against you at the reaction he was about to get from you. His tongue was so fucking long, it was impressive.

His tongue then slipped out, licking from hole to clit and it had you moaning out, “Mmm, to the left just a little, ah! Yessss, like that, just like that-”

You were pretty lost in it after that, moving along with him as his tongue moved in and out and more open messed kisses and passes over your clit making you almost pant from the building pleasure. You also weren’t holding back the litany of dirty talk you were letting out, finding it made it better, the sensations sharper, “God you are fuckin’ so, soooo-ohhh pathetic!” You let out a breathless laugh after you said it.

You feel his tongue flick over your clit and you bit your bottom lip with another indulgent moan before saying, “You came here to kill me, run me through with that big bad knife and now you're eating me out like it’s your last meal-”

You were then about to taunt him further, ask if it was the best thing he’s ever tasted when you heard it. Your eyes flew open and you looked over your shoulder to see him reaching for that knife he dropped and you moved as quickly as you could.

He hadn’t broken stride, was still eating you out beautifully, you were getting closer and closer but his fingers brushed the knife and you heard clink of the blade on the tile. You broke contact and reached back, you snatched up that knife as fast as you could, knowing that he would try to throw you off if you hesitated for even a moment. You immediately sat back down on his face, hard. One hand slamming down on his head, pushing his head down roughly against the tile and grinding against him, your other hand came down, holding the knife to his throat and you gritted out, “I don’t fucking think so asshole.”

He groaned against you and you grinned, holding the knife down harder, “Get back to it, you still have work to do.”

You were reminded of that line you misremembered from Sleepaway Camp on that phonecall and the modified version that entered your head made you laugh. Eat pussy or die Ghostface.

His hands moved, knife pressing to the sensitive skin, biting into the tender flesh and you said, “Woah! What do you think you are doing?!”

He didn’t stop, hands locked on your hips before you could make good on your threat, he used his hands on you to move you, hold you down as close as he could to his face, and ate you out harder. A clearly passionate effort to it, he moaned into it and so did you, back arching as your grip on the knife loosened just a little. “Oh holy shi-”

You could feel it building, you were alight with pleasure, moaning and gasping, rocking against his tongue, “Yes, yes, yesss-”

Thighs tensing, grip on his head hard as you moved, knife still held to his throat, head back and eyes shut tight you told him that you were, “-so fuck-ing close! Don’t stop, don’t you ugh, dare!”

You tapped the knife against his throat and figured that was more than enough to get your point across. He didn’t let up, kept up that consistent pace, didn’t change a single thing and in less than a minute, finally, you cum against his tongue with a cry. Your body trembling as you fought to keep your grip on him and his weapon as well as stay upright.

It felt fucking amazing, best orgasm you’d had in months, made every venture in your bed in the dark or at some little hook-up at a party pale in comparison.

It left you a shaking and panting mess as you moved back a little, you could feel his own breathing significantly more laboured. To be fair your thighs have been squeezing his head pretty hard and you were almost suffocating him with your cunt. You took a few moments to recover before you moved, leg swinging over as you got off of his face, knife still to his throat. “Damn, I have to be honest, that was pretty decent for a first attempt. Maybe you can do it again sometime.”

You were still lying, you had never been eaten out so fantastically in your whole life and you wanted it again and again but you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

You couldn’t see the top half of his face because of the mask still covering it but his mouth was soaked, covered in your wetness and he looked good like this. Your eyes roamed over his body and you noticed the tenting in his costume. He looked so hard, you moved the knife, ran it down his torso and traced up his clothed cock teasingly with the edge of the blade, “Seems you liked it too.” He arched into the light touch and you laughed at that.

“Wow you really are fucked.”

You finally got up on shaky legs, knife still in your hand as you looked him over, “I’m gonna give you less than five to get the fuck out of here.”

You could feel him wanting to question you so you chose to give him an answer, “Cuz I know I can do this now I don’t really feel that afraid of you. Why not keep you around, give you some more pointers and your oral skills might be worth the trouble. Lord knows the way you were squirming around shows me that you fucking loved it.”

You fingered the end of the blade as you added on, “Bet you’d let me do it to you again too.”

He didn’t give any indication that he would or wouldn’t but he was still hard and you had a feeling he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity if presented with it again. You looked at the clock, you needed to change and get out of here in less than twenty to make it Randy’s on time. You glance next to you and get another idea, you snatch up the pack of gum off the counter and throw it down onto him so it landed dead center on his chest, “Here, you need this. Your breath reeks of pussy.”

He huffed amused at what you said and took a piece before sitting up, you had the knife in your hand watching him closely the whole time.

Soon he was up off the floor, mask back down and headed to the door and you asked, “How did it feel? Being used?” You asked with a decent amount of bite to it, “Did you like it?”

He paused at the threshold of the open door as he looked you over and he nodded, you laughed, “I fucking knew it.”

He was out the backdoor, you threw the knife out onto the grass and then locked the door behind him. He turned to see you pulling your shorts back up with a smile and a wave of your other hand. You made a gesture with your hand once your clothes were back in place, that classic move, hand up to your head as you mouthed the words “Call me?”

He gave another nod and you tore yourself away from the glass door, a wide smile on your face as you headed for upstairs to get changed and leave.

As you were stripping off your shirt you had the brief thought that you should probably feel worse about the fact you didn’t call the cops on him and that he very well might kill someone else tonight since you got the better of him, but you were still feeling warm and loose from the hardest orgasm you ever had and just couldn’t bring yourself to give a single fuck.

You make your way downstairs after getting changed wondering when he will pay you another visit as you had the thought that maybe if he did it that well again you might just return the favour.

#BHF writing #AYYY #HERE IT IS #Ghostface X Reader #Billy or Stu?! You decide! #So happy with this #So fun #Need to do more dark reader and top reader

[in-tua-deep]

idk if you still do au ideas but what if delores was a real person in the apocalypse? how it woul dbe done i have no idea but i love all your aus and thought it would be cool

okay okay I don't tend to go for real!Dolores aus admittedly because I find her much more compelling as what she is: a reflection of five himself and a symptom of his crushing loneliness

but i started thinking about it and you know what?? i think five deserves a little socialization, as a treat

so say like, 0.5% of the population is resistant to abilities. Allison would really struggle to rumor them, Five wouldn't be able to jump with them, and, most importantly, whatever the fuck Vanya's ability does has like, reduced damage or something

and the og apocalypse isn't the moon apocalypse, so let's say that it was pure waves of Vanya's powers that fucked over the earth

so 0.5% of the population survives the apocalypse. though, let's be honestly, the real number is a lot smaller than that. People who might have survived Vanya's initial power wave (miraculously) did not survive buildings crushing them or survive the car/plane/bus/train/other transportation crashes or survive being left alone when they are too young to reliably look after themselves, or the variety of other problems that come with 99.5% of the population dying at once

So, Five arrives in the apocalypse and is met with ruin and fire and a whole lot of dead people. He finds his siblings, but it doesn't matter. They're dead. He doesn't even recognize them at first, these strange grown-ups who he identifies not by their faces but by the umbrellas on their wrists that match his own

As he realizes the full impact of his situation, he hears a voice that says, very succinctly, "holy shit!"

It's a girl a few years older than Five himself, maybe 15 or 16, and she is very excited to see another survivor.

And here's where I u-turn this au around bc i'm not all that interested in real!Dolores, but I would be down to talk about Five meeting survivors in the apocalypse, because if Dolores is real I don't buy no one else survived.

So Dolores shows up and see a Literal Child crying over the corpses of his family and assumes that Five is a fellow survivor, and she immediately grabs him up. Five is incoherent with grief at this point anyway, so he doesn't even protest when she basically hauls him away from the bodies. She's babbling at him, but he doesn't really hear anything she's saying

And then she takes him to her dad

(Why not, let's have the 1% potentially be a heritable thing)

and her dad, let's call him just some dad name. like Rick. it has been a fucking WEEK for him, okay. he had his daughter with him, his ex-wife is on the other coast for her work, and by some miracle he survived the apocalypse and so did his child, and he's been wracking his brains trying to figure out what the fuck to do next

and then his daughter shows up with a traumatized thirteen-year-old in tow

now rick is a good dude. he's a dad. they get out of five that his name is five ("what the fuck" dolores mouths to him over five's shoulder and rick can't help but agree) and the bodies he found were his siblings ("Dad and Ben and Vanya weren't there though," this child cries desperately and rick feels his own heart clench in response, "They might still be alive!")

"We can look for them." Rick assures his new adopted child, because he is an adult in a fresh apocalypse and this kid has presumably lost everything he's ever known (more than rick even knows at the time)

and they do. They each get wagons and they go out and find supplies and look for other survivors. Five is... surprisingly helpful and also surprisingly docile as he is able to rely on Someone Else to give orders while he attempts to (dissociate) process what the fuck has happened

and here's the thing: Five prides himself on being independent, sort of. He's independent for a child soldier, but he's used to taking orders from a male authority figure and Rick happens to be just that

The first time that Five does something dangerous and Rick yells is a revelation

(Rick isn't sure if he hopes that Five's dad is alive or not, because if they find that man alive then Rick might just kill the jackass himself. Also like, Five is bizarrely knowledgeable out survival skills, like way too knowledgeable about it, which is helpful for them but also very concerning)

they find a newspaper and Five finds the article that mentions his father's recent death ("Huh. Heart attack." Five says, and there is no emotion in his voice)

(Years later, years later, Five and Rick talk. "I don't think I wanted to find him, either." Five admits, softly because Dolores is asleep, "I think I was more scared of finding him alive than I was of finding his body. He would've been so mad at me, I think.")

this newspaper is how Rick and Dolores find out about Five being Number Five, Umbrella Academy Missing Person

"Dude, what the fuck." Dolores says, wide eyes, "You're like, thirty?"

"I'm thirteen." Five says, and then checks the date on the newspaper again, "Also I think I would technically be 29 if I lived through all of it, 'cause it's April and my birthday is in October."

"You... time travelled?" Rick asks, which is honestly the more relevant question, "Can you go back?"

And Five just,,, crumples on himself. Because he tried, he tried really hard. It didn't work. "I'm gonna figure it out. I'm gonna go back, I'm going to save them."

That, Rick thinks, is a lot of weight to put on one person's shoulders, but especially the shoulders of a child.

"Alright." Rick says, because what else can he say after finding out his new child has superpowers and is from like, 2004? "What do you need?"

("Oh my god I have so many memes to teach you." Dolores says later, reverently. Five blinks in confusion and Rick mentally prepares himself for the recitation of so many vines)

And it's easier, somehow. Five sometimes feels like it's a betrayal, but he settles into apocalypse life with an ease that surprises him.

He lets Rick fuss over him and help tie his scarf securely around his head every morning before he sets off on supply runs with Dolores. And they're kids! Five has never had a friend before, and Dolores is funny and smart and she's struggling just as much as he is.

"I don't know if my mom's alive." She says to him, in solidarity when he checks the face of every corpse to see if they're Vanya.

Five is practical in the way only a child soldier can be. He's economical with the room in their wagons, carefully examining what might and what might not be useful.

Dolores, on the other hand, constantly takes up space with what Five sees as useless shit.

"Excuse you," Dolores says, shoving a game of monopoly, the entire discworld series, and a pack of glitter gel pens into her wagon, "These are absolutely vital apocalypse supplies."

She challenges him, plays with him in a way no one ever has. "I bet you I can find more batteries today than you can," She grins at him, "Winner gets to pick dinner first?"

"You're on." Five says, directly before Dolores pulls two packs of 24 AA batteries from behind her back, like a cheat.

Dolores makes him take a ten minute break when they find a playground that has been mostly not-destroyed. They rummage around kids backpacks and mother's handbags for some good loot, too numb to corpses to even be bothered all that badly about the corpses they belong to.

"I'm getting on the swings." Dolores says when Five starts making noises about moving on, "I haven't been on a swingset in ages."

"What's the point?" Five grumps.

"Don't be sour because you can't swing as high as I can!" Dolores laughs, getting higher and higher as the swings creak ominously.

Five grumpily gets into the other swing and grudgingly kicks himself back and forth until Dolores takes pity on him and teaches him how to properly move his legs and body to get higher and higher.

Dolores jumps from the swing seat and lands with a flourish and smile. Five jumps out of his seat and then jumps, warping right in front of Dolores and making her yell and hit at him in outrage. Five smiles the widest he has all week.

This is how Five grows up in the apocalypse, with Dolores teasing him into taking breaks and leaning over his shoulder to look at his math and scandalizing him by stating that she'd only just started on matrices in her own high school math class.

Every night they huddle around Rick while he picks up whatever book Dolores picked out that day because it is a travesty that Five has never read hunger games or whatever, and then they read together because it would be a genuine blood bath if they all took turns. The first time Five accidentally mentioned a spoiler and Dolores genuinely considered murder was the birthday of this tradition

Some days the air is too smoky or there are dust storms or it's just plain too dangerous to go out, and they all stay in. Dolores regales Five with stories about public school, and Five tells them about his siblings.

Then they all cry

"I shouldn't be crying." Five sobs.

"Shut the fuck up," Dolores sobs back, "You literally watched me lose my shit over remembering my shitty eighth grade dance and listened to me sob-sing toxic for like four hours."

"In fairness I also wished you would shut up then."

"Let me hug you or I will start singing songs that I only remember the chorus for again you absolute fucker."

"I could always sing some -"

"No, Rick/Dad."

And Five grows up. Rick shows him how to shave very carefully in front of cracked mirrors. Dolores teases him every time his voice cracks. Rick tells Five in no uncertain terms that he loves and cares for him, and that Reginald was a little bitch. There are a lot of heartfelt conversations around that, honestly. Rick telling Five that he and the siblings deserved better, that they were children and deserved to have a childhood.

And that he has faith in Five. Rick and Dolores both do, they bring him back paper and pens and pencils and chalk and anything Five can use to write equations. They poke around any libraries for books on theoretical mathematics and quantum physics. Rick and Dolores go out scouting for food while Five stays home and can work longer.

They also make him take breaks, make sure that he's looking after himself.

They're a little better off than OG!Five when it comes to food, because some animals survive. Enough that Rick figures out how to hunt. Five is the first one to each bugs, and even though Dolores makes faces they all start eating bugs as well.

"Pretty sure there's loads of cultures that eat bugs." Rick says grudgingly, wondering if he should try stirfry the cockroaches and if that would improve the taste. "There's even, uh, cricket flour or whatever, right?"

"Plus you eat like, five spiders a year when you're asleep." Dolores says cheerfully, just to watch her dad's face scrunch up in displeasure.

"That doesn't sound true, but I don't know enough about spiders to dispute it." Five mutters, and Dolores gives him such a proud look that it makes him roll his eyes.

They're in their thirties when Rick dies. He's out foraging and hunting, and the rubble he's standing on gives way and he ends up with a gash in his leg. He manages to stop the bleeding, but the world is filthy and they don't have any antibiotics.

He gets an infection.

"It's okay." He tells both of his kids, "It's okay. I'm just so glad that you guys have each other, y'hear? I'm so glad."

"It's not okay." Five says, voice thick and choked, "It's not."

"Yeah, well, you're going to figure out how to go back, right? Go back in time and save everyone. Then I'll have never died, right?" Rick smiles, "And even if you don't, I'll be waiting for you on the other side and we'll see each other again anyway."

"I'm going to fix it."

"I know. I have faith in you, Five." Ricks says honestly, and that's more than Reginald ever said.

They sit quietly together while Dolores is out scavenging. They've been taking turns sitting with Rick.

"I won't remember you, in the past, will I?" Rick says rhetorically, but Five answers anyway.

"I don't think so."

Rick hums, "Well, doesn't matter. If you need help in the past, you come to me, y'hear?"

"You won't remember me."

"Doesn't matter. You come find me, and you tell me your crazy story until I believe you, and then I'll help you." Rick says firmly, "You're family. You're my son. Timelines? Don't matter. If you need help, with anything, even if it's just with - with filling out a bowling team or something -"

"I have never been bowling in my life and you know it." Five interrupts, but it makes him laugh just a little bit which was clearly Rick's intention.

"Well who knows what you'll get up to in the past! You'll be able to go bowling, you know. Get to wear those uncomfortable shoes. Hey, you go far enough back maybe you can go to Dolores's tenth birthday party and put me out of my misery."

"Was she bad at bowling?"

"Oh, she was wiping the floor with me. No contest."

"Honestly, that sounds absolutely accurate."

"Shut up, bowling just wasn't my sport. Regardless, the point was that I'm giving you a free pass to come and get me. Because I know you, I know how you think." Rick brings up his hand to tap his finger against Five's forehead, "You get it into your head that you need to go it alone, take it all on your shoulders. I'm telling you that if you do that I'll somehow manifest my memories and come smack you over the head for being stupid, you hear?"

"I'm not dragging you into anything." Five says firmly, "I'll have my siblings."

"Who were also children." Rick points out. "And dragging? Dragging is such a strong word for a volunteer."

"A volunteer who won't remember volunteering." Five shoots back.

Rick just shrugs, and then winces when the movement jolts his bad leg. "Five, I'm going to be honest with you here. And sappy. Can you handle a bit of sappiness for a minute?"

"No."

"Well too bad. Can't leave a dying man, you'd feel too bad. So you're stuck with me. But you listen good, okay? Because you aren't dragging me into anything. Whatever life you have, I want to have a part of that. Because you're my son. Wherever you are, whatever you do, I want to help because you're family. What you'd be doing by leaving me out of it is depriving me of someone I love, depriving me of knowing one of the best kids I've ever known."

"Shut up." Five says, choked.

"Nope, it's sappy time." Rick states, "Maybe asking you to come find me is selfish, but I don't care. No matter what version of me exists, I want to be in your life."

"My life is a walking joke, why would you want any part of that?"

"It has been my privilege to watch you grow up. To help you. To be here for you. Of course I'd want to be there to watch you grow up the rest of the way."

"But -"

"Shut up, just let me tell you that I am so proud of you. You never give up, and your heart is so big. You love so much and so loudly, and it's been the highest honor of my life to be included in your family."

Five pauses for a moment to collect himself before simply saying - "You're the best dad I've ever had."

Rick snorts, "Considering my competition, I'd sure hope so. That bar was so low old Reggie was practically limbo dancing with the devil. Now get over here and give an old man a hug."

They don't bury Rick, when he dies. They don't have time and the ground is too hard and they don't have the heart to move him. Instead the pack everything up and seal him in the shelter they'd lived in.

Dolores pulls out a bottle of ancient nail polish and painstakingly writes Rick's name on the wall with his birth year and an approximate current year. They aren't 100% sure though, since time blends together out in the apocalypse, but it's something.

They continue by themselves. They get older.

Dolores jokingly calls him her husband because the way his face scrunches up makes her cackle. They see other people very occasionally, usually passing through. Usually groups. Dolores and Five get to flex their hosting skills, though more than one group declines their cockroach stirfry.

("It's a family recipe." Five says with amusement in his eyes that usually manages to drown out old grief.)

"Jeeze, that kid couldn't have been older'n twenty-three." Dolores complains, "Makes me feels positively ancient."

"They wouldn't have known any world 'cept for the apocalypse." Five muses, pouring some boiled water into wine glasses because they might be living in the apocalypse but they can be fancy.

"Do you ever think about that?" Dolores asks, turning to him with no judgement, just curiosity. "When you go back, you'll be like, erasing them from existence."

Five shrugs, "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe this place will just split off into an alternate timeline."

"Maybe none of this is real." Dolores says, amusement coloring her voice. "Maybe you aren't talking to a real person at all. Maybe this is just a symbol of your insanity and cracked mind."

"Dolores, I literally have a scar where you stabbed me. Did I somehow manage to stab myself in the back?"

"Scraped you, I scraped you. By accident."

"So you maintain." Five says haughtily, swirling his water in his wine glass like a pretentious prick.

"I could totally be fake. You don't know my life."

"I know way too much about you, Dolores. Like, way way too much." Five scoffs, because Dolores and him have literally no secrets from one another at this point. Five even knows the truth behind what happened at Janet Scranton's thirteenth birthday party. Like, he said, way too much.

"Maybe you made it up. Maybe that's why you know so much."

"Dolores, I'm going to be honest with you right now." Five presses the tips of his fingers to his chin, "If you were a figment of my imagination, you would be so much better at math."

"Hey!" Dolores squawks indignantly, "I didn't even get to finish high school you pretentious prick!"

"Neither did I!"

"You didn't even go to high school, you brat."

"I'm fifty-two I think I've outgrown 'brat.'"

"Tell that to your attitude." Dolores says haughtily, "You're still younger than me."

"Won't be when I go back in time." Five says cheerfully, completely ignoring Dolores's venomous look.

"That's cheating."

"Sucks to suck." Five says loftily, taking another sip of his water.

Sometimes they talk about The Plan, with capital letters. What Five is going to do when he goes back in time, depending on when he pops out. Is he going to adopt his siblings? What about Reginald?

"You don't think I could kill Reginald?" Five says, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense.

"I think you should let me do it. I'll even give you control of tonight's music if you do."

"What are you doing to do? Bite his ankles? What if you're like, seven or something?"

"All the better to get away with it since I'll be too young to convict or whatever."

"Pretty sure that's not how the law works."

"How would you know? Just for that I'm playing Istanbul on repeat again."

"I don't know why you think that's a threat. That song slaps."

It takes a few more years before Five is close enough that the Commission comes to interfere. Because that's what I think happened - Five was getting too close and they stepped in because they might as well distract the man as much as they can with missions, right?

So the Handler shows up. And she offers Five a job, telling him that they have the ability to travel through time. And Five - hesitates.

"Give me some time?" Five asks, and the Handler graciously gives him 24 hours.

And he and Dolores talk it over, because now that his goal is more in sight than it has ever been and Five is scared.

"What are you waiting for? You have the chance to see your siblings again." Dolores says patiently.

"Yeah," Five says, and what he doesn't say is clear. But I won't see you.

"Five." Dolores says, and she cradles his face between her palms like he is something precious, "I have had so much time with you already. More than I would have ever. We have been so lucky, to have this time. How can I demand more than what we have already been given?"

"When have you ever not demanded the world, Dolores?" Five asks, his own hand coming up to cover Dolores's own.

"We've had decades together, Five. We're getting old. I was always going to lose you, one way or another. Nothing lasts forever."

"I don't want to lose you."

"I know. But if I had to choose a way, if I could decide where our story ends, this would be it. Letting you go, because this way you get to live. You get to see your family again. You get to save the world. I could ask for nothing more than for you to get your happy ending."

Five removes Dolores's hand from his cheek so that he can cradle it between them, "I'm happy here with you. I've never been happier. Isn't that silly? That I was happier in the apocalypse?"

"I bet killing Reggie would make you happy." Dolores laughs rustily.

"One day you're going to see the mysterious disappearance of a famous billionaire in the paper and feel a twinge of satisfaction and now have a clue why." Five laughs as well, shaking his head.

Dolores pats Five's hands, "Five, look at me. We've had our time. And you're going to give me even more of it. More time with my father. More time with my mother. I'll never know it, but you'll have saved me."

"What if this is - what if this is an alternate reality? What if I leave you here alone?"

"Then you'll be saving a 15-year-old girl from the same fate as me. Because as much as I love you, as much as I have loved this time we have had together, this is still an apocalypse. This should never have happened, and if you have a chance to go back and prevent it, then I want you to take that chance with both hands."

"Even if it means leaving you alone?"

Dolores smiles at him, "I'm not going to be alone. Far too many creepy crawlies in the apocalypse for that."

"Shut up, I'm being serious."

"Hmm." Dolores hums consideringly, "Maybe I'll head North, to that new settlement that last group said they'd heard word of. Sure they'd find some use for an old woman who's survived this long in the wilderness."

"You can have my half of the record collection." Five says, pulling her against him into a hug that she easily returns.

"As if I wouldn't have stolen them as soon as you left." She scoffs, but it's a little wet, and Five pretends his own eyes aren't leaking tears.

When The Handler comes back, Dolores gives him another hug. She also slips something into his pocket - some photos. They'd taken it a year into the apocalypse, when Dolores had found an ancient looking polaroid camera and towed it home despite Five's protests about practicality. The photos are worn and faded at the edges, but the smiles on Five's little apocalypse family's faces are undeniable.

"You'll have to see if they magically fade when you change the timeline." Dolores whispers to him with a grin, "Like in the movies."

"Okay." Five whispers back.

"You have the list of movies to watch, right?" Dolores says. Five rolls his eyes and nods because he wrote the list last night into his Vanya-book while Dolores hovered over his shoulder and critiqued his handwriting.

"And you promise to try a proper non-expired twinkie at some point?"

"That I do not promise. I think even looking at one would make me lose my lunch. I have twinkie-trauma."

"Shut up and get going." Dolores says, because the Handler is starting to tap her foot impatiently.

And off Five goes to become an assassin. Though - he's much more gentle this time. He's careful, he doesn't kill children and he usually takes jobs that don't require killing at all. He distracts and manipulates events as much as he can without killing.

He's actually much more well socialized, thanks to Rick and Dolores. Less feral child and more determined man on a mission.

Which is why he's so frustrated when he finally, finally manages to get the equations to work and falls through and falls - directly back into his stupid thirteen-year-old body.

"Shit." Five says, loudly, and revels in the surprised look on his siblings faces.

He strides into the kitchen, and they all follow him like ducklings. They look exactly the way they did when they died.

"Wow this is actually way harder than I thought it would be." Five muses, looking at their dead faces. But as Dolores would say, life is hard but you have to keep on trucking sometimes. "Whatever, what's the date?"

"Five, where have you been?" Diego demands, looking irritated. It makes Five snort in amusement.

"The future. The past. If you want like, an exact list of dates you'll have to hold your horses. I spent like, two weeks in Peru once. No souvenirs though, unfortunately."

They look taken aback, like they didn't expect Five to have quite this much sass. Oops. That is definitely Dolores's influence. Or maybe he was always a little asshole. In fairness, what teenagers aren't tiny assholes? He has an excuse.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Diego's eyebrows are furrowed in anger. It kind of takes Five aback for a second, because he remembers a Diego who stutters when he argued.

"When did you learn the fuck-word?" Five asks, raising an eyebrow before her can help it, "Grace ought to wash your mouth out with soap."

Diego immediately goes red, "Shut up!"

"Wow you're so easy to rile up. Aren't you like, twenty-something? Actually, I could figure out for myself how old you are if you gave me the date."

"I'm twenty-nine." Diego growls, like that was the point.

"Haunting!" Five says cheerfully, because that means there is way less time than he would like, narrowing his time down to a six month window.

It's extremely funny how his cheer makes all of them make faces.

It's Klaus who leans forward, "Why do you need to know?"

Klaus's face is open and curious and - (looks exactly like he did when Five found him all those years ago) - and Five can't help but answer him. "The world end on April 1st, 2019. No it isn't an April Fools joke, yes I have heard that joke like a million different times. I just want to know how close I landed so I can, you know, start working on how to fix that."

"Woah woah woah, roll it back." Allison says, holding a hand up, "What?"

"The apocalypse occurs on April 1st, 2019." Five says, slowly. "I have traveled from afar to prevent this from happening, because like, everyone dies."

"Everyone?" Vanya says weakly from the side.

She's clearly expecting to be ignored, so Five turns his head to address her directly by wiggling his hand back and forth a little. "Sort of. Like, not too many people survive at all. A handful of the human population, you know."

"But you survived?" Diego recovers admirably, if bitingly.

"Well, no." Five says rolling his eyes, "Wouldn't you just know it, Klaus here has managed to figure out a new ability!"

Everyone turns to look at Klaus, who immediately holds up his hands like he's being arrested or something, "I did not!"

"Wonderful! Now that we've established that I'm alive -"

"Why should we trust a word you say?" Luther says for the first time, looking pensive.

Five blinks, genuinely taken aback. "Because... I'm your brother? Because I can clearly and obviously time travel? Like, yeah, it would have been more convenient if I'd arrived in like, my old-body for proof-purposes, but like. I mean. Thirteen is still a pretty convincing age to be to prove time travel considering if I hadn't, I would be like, almost thirty."

"Roll it back again." Allison says firmly, "What do you mean by 'old body'?"

"Great question!" Five says pointing at Allison and smiling. Everyone looks at him weird again, and Five takes a moment to wonder if they've ever experienced positive reinforcement. Knowing Reginald, probably not. "Wait! Is Reggie alive? Wait, no, answer that in a second. Uh. When I time traveled I fucked up my body I guess, I was like, old. White hair and wrinkles-type old from spending decades in the apocalypse. But I fucked up the calculations and got booted back to my thirteen-year-old body, I guess. How, I have no idea."

"What?" Vanya says, still equally weakly.

"You have no idea how fucked up time travel is." Five whispers conspiratorially to Vanya, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "There are so many ways to die. Or permanently tear a hold in space time. But like, with life as we know if ending soon-ish, I figured I couldn't possibly fuck it up worse than it already was, y'know? Speaking of, anyone have the date again?"

"Wait, what was that about dad?" Luther asks, very focused.

"Oh, you still call him dad? Big oof." Five says automatically, because apparently his verbal filter is shot to hell after living with Dolores. It does make Klaus bark out a too-loud laugh.

"What does that mean?" Luther asks aggressively.

"It means Reginald sucks and doesn't deserve the title of 'dad,' what did you think I meant?" Five asks, and now both Diego and Vanya and both cracking smiles, though Vanya is covering hers with a hand.

"Have some respect for the dead." Luther growls, standing up and looking very large and threatening.

Five sways back, craning his head up, "Woah there big buy, sit down before I injure my poor growing spine looking up at you. Jeeze, did Reggie force feed you steroids or something? I wouldn't put it past him but like, I just want to know he at least went over the side effects of the drug with you. Also like, thanks for narrowing it down. Also terrifying! Seriously though, exact date please because if I have less than 24 hours I am going to break down crying and that is a threat."

"I love this Five." Klaus says reverently.

"March 21st." Vanya offers, finally.

"Wow! Terrifying!" Five says, clapping his hands together, "Hate that. Ten days, huh? Well, who wants to get on board the save-the-world express?"

Klaus immediately flings his hand in the air, Five points at his brother appreciatively. "Yes, excellent! I'll take the volunteer in the lovely skirt as my first team member. Any other volunteers?"

"Danke!" Klaus simpers, grinning widely like this is the vest entertainment he's had in weeks.

"I'm not just going to stand here and listen to you badmouth dad and boss us around." Luther slams his hands on the table.

"Well not with that attitude." Five snarks.

Diego raises his hand, "I would like to join team fuck dad as well."

"We can certainly debate team names later." Five says, nodding wisely as Luther gives some sort of scandalized gasp.

"Honestly, I just want to see where this is going." Klaus confesses.

Five shrugs, because he doesn't really care about the reason. "Don't you want to prove me wrong them? Prove what a well-adjusted young man Reginald Hargreeves raised?"

"Shut up." Luther grinds out, looking a moment away from throwing a punch.

"If this is all true, I have to get home." Allison cuts in, looking concerned, "I have - I have a daughter."

"I mean, if you want to give Claire a world to live in then I'd stick around, but that's just me." Five shrugs.

"You know her name?" Allison asks, obviously taken aback.

Five is almost offended, "Uh, yeah. I have her photo as well. Y'all get on like, a bizarre number of gossip magazine covers did you know that?"

Allison manages to outdo herself in terms of being taken aback once more.

There's a beat of silence, and then Five turns, "Vanya? You in?"

"Me?" Vanya blinks, looking shocked. "What can I do?"

"Yeah, what can she do?" Diego asks, crossing his arms and suddenly looking grumpy.

It baffles Five, who scrunches his nose, "Uh, like, a lot? I assume? I mean. I'm going to be honest here, just looking at y'all right now is a lot. In more ways than one! Hashtag trauma and all that, but like, name a single one of you that wouldn't be the most obvious person in the room as soon as you walked into it. Except Vanya, who somehow manages to look like a well adjusted adult, by some miracle."

"Did you just verbally say the word hashtag?" Allison asks, looking so deeply confused.

"More concerned about the trauma he tacked onto there, but y'know, to each their own." Klaus immediately cuts in.

"You think I'm well-adjusted?" Vanya asks, looking oddly touched.

"I would like to direct your attention to Diego's leather pants-scowl combo and Luther's general aura of daddy-issues." Five says pointedly, "I can practically smell the tragic comic book backstory in this room. If I'd jumped back a decade earlier this would have been Batman's wet dream of orphan selection."

"Alright! Game plan!" Five says, waving Diego's knife in his hand.

Diego's hands immediately go to his weird harness looking thing, "Hey!"

"Give me just one moment to get the tracker out." Five rolls his eyes, "Then I'll give it back, I promise. Also if someone could ask Grace for like, some antibiotics that would be good."

"What?" Allison asks, directly before Five stabs himself and there is suddenly panic at the table.

"Relax!" Five says, allowing Diego to remove the knife from his hands. He doesn't need it anyway and his hand immediately drops down to root in the wound.

"Five what the fuck!" Diego yells, but Five just pulls up bloody fingers and waves the tracker into Diego's stupefied face.

"What the fuck is that, Five?" Allison demands, looking very shaken.

"I literally just said it was a tracker." Five points out, "Now, I think our first team activity should be voting on whether we destroy it or take it out to bumfuck nowhere and ditch it to confuse the Commission."

"What the fuck is the Commission?" Diego barks.

"Man. Maybe I should just hit up Rick." Five muses, "This is going to take so much explaining."

"Who is Rick."

"So much explaining."

#survivors au #well adjusted five au #five actually has some social skills! #and an idea of what an actual parent looks like as well #klaus absolutely adores this version of five #who quotes vines and uses gen z slang with the best of them #five has been reliably informed that public education is worse than the apocalypse #but he's also pretty sure working with his family is worse as well #five: i have so much trauma lol #klaus: oh big same #vanya: mood #five is somehow the most well adjusted hargreeves #and the most responsible #he doesn't legally exist and he doesn't pay taxes but somehow he has his shit together #five showing up at rick's house: you don't know me but i know you in the future #rick: what the fuck #five: don't make me bring up bethany midler from highschool because you gave me so many embarrassing stories to convince yourself with #rick: okay okay i believe you and you are??? #five: your son from the future lol what's up dad want to help save the world #five arriving back at the manor like: WHAT'S UP LOSERS RICK IS NOW YOUR DAD TOO BC GOD KNOWS Y'ALL NEED AN ACTUAL FATHER FIGURE #klaus calls rick a dilf and five kidney punches him hard enough that klaus can't even properly introduce himself #it's better for everyone that way #delores: 15 and ready to fuck someone up #delores: i'm not staying with this weirdo (diego) while you go off with my dad #five threateningly: don't make me bring up what really happened to dad's good suit in 2012 #delores: i will stay right here #rick: wait WHAT happened to my good suit #five: unimportant don't you want to save the world #long post #far tua long

[coeurdastronaute]

Nerd 15

Previously on Nerd

It hadn’t been a particularly good sleep. Lexa felt like she woke up every hour or so, each time checking to make sure the softly snoring girl beside her was still there, still asleep. Despite her own tossing and turning, Clarke didn’t seem to move much, just curled up tightly into herself, against Lexa’s side. Lexa kind of liked the feeling of the other body in her bed. She kind of liked that she was the person Clarke wanted. 

Sometime after the tenth to twelfth time she woke up, Lexa realized the sun was up, and she couldn’t fight with her body waking any longer. Clarke didn’t move, and the night weighed on her girlfriend. 

With a certain effort, Lexa decided to extract herself from the bed, even though Clarke didn’t seem to notice. It actually appeared as if Clarke was a very sound sleeper, as Lexa moved around the room and bumped the edge of her elbow on her desk and hissed at the contact. But as she stood still, she realized Clarke didn’t budge a bit. 

Lexa scrolled through her phone as she tugged on some fresh clothes, checking over her shoulder quickly to make sure Clarke wasn’t peaking for some weird reason. She didn’t want Clarke to know how curious she was about the party before she arrived, but a part of her was incredibly interested in what might have panned out. 

Like a thief, Lexa tugged on socks and buttoned her pants as she danced through the door in her attempt to remain as quiet as humanly possible. It took her a minute to close to door, watching it slowly inch toward the clasp, and finally it clicked nearly silent. She pushed her hair out of her face and slid into the bathroom, shoving a toothbrush into her mouth as she leaned against the counter and scrolled through the feed of Bellamy Blake’s infamous party. 

As she scrubbed she watched the night happen in glimpses. She watched her girlfriend taking shots. She watched her girlfriend in that bikini. She watched her girlfriend look like she was desperately chasing an escape and numbness and it made Lexa mad for her. Lexa spit and rinsed and brushed and decided it was a good idea to scroll through Bellamy’s posts and she couldn’t understand how Clarke could like such different people. Bellamy Blake held week long parties and won state championships and got scouted. Lexa made movies and played board games and couldn’t figure out how to take a bra off. 

With a final rinse she called her sister, hoping the time difference would mean she was awake, but as she bounded down the steps, she was met with a voicemail and furrowed. She needed research and information. Anya knew about all of this. 

“You’re up early for someone having a sleepover with their girlfriend,” her mother greeted her as she looked up from the newspaper spread out across the kitchen island. Her father looked up over the edge of the sports section before looking back down. 

“I told you we didn’t have to worry,” he muttered, flapping the paper out. Lexa rolled her eyes and took a seat. 

“It wasn’t a sleepover.” 

“Your girlfriend spent the night in your bed. I’d call it a sleepover, and I’d say we’re pretty cold parents for allowing it.” 

“I appreciate it, but nothing was going to happen.” 

“Good, because we discussed how alcohol can alter perception and consent--”

“Yes, yes,” Lexa sighed and reached for an apple as her father droned on yet again, hoping to avoid another sex talk. “I know, Dad.” 

They all remained in a respective silence while working past the moment. It was weird, to want to talk to someone, let alone to have anything to talk about, but Lexa felt this need to figure something out, though she wasn’t sure what it would be. She wished her sister had just picked up the phone. 

“So is Clarke…”

“Still asleep.” 

“Did you have fun at the party?” 

“I wasn’t there long,” Lexa shrugged. “I was at Luna’s working on our submission until late. Gus was there, so I knew people.”

She didn’t mention Michelle from math and her bikini. That felt inappropriate. 

“How’s Clarke doing?” her mother pressed, sipping from her coffee again, warily watching her daughter. 

“She’s… I don’t know. Sad. Mad. Stuck. Overwhelmed.” 

“It was nice that you went to get her. I appreciate you telling us what’s going on instead of trying to sneak around. Anya did that. I can’t tell you how many times I had to pretend not to notice boys sneaking around the yard.” 

“Really?” 

“We trust you both,” her father explained. “We just appreciate you doing making us have to stretch it so far.” 

“And we like Clarke, so we’re happy to help.” 

“I don’t really know what else to do, you know?” she muttered, wiping her mouth and leaning against the counter, her knee coming up on the stool. “I think I’d be a little upset too if I were in her shoes, so I would want to probably do a bunch of stuff, but also I don’t want her to be upset.” 

Lexa’s father looked at her and then to his wife. She cocked her head and gave him a look, to which he returned a shrug and ushered her to do something. They were stuck as well because no parenting book prepared them for teenagers. And Anya was very different. 

“You can’t do anything,” he finally offered. 

“Tim!” his wife warned. 

“It’s true. You can’t make this better. It’s between Clarke and her mother and her father. But you can be there for her, and try to encourage her to be healthy about grief and pain. You have some experience, I’d say.” 

Lexa looked back at him and clenched her lips, worrying the bottom one as she mulled over his words. 

“And as much as we love what you want to do and be for Clarke, please don’t forget who you are in all of this. You have needs nad you have goals. Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.” 

“I know.” 

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.” 

“Your father’s right though,” her mother continued. “You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.” 

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?” 

“Jesus, Lexa.” 

“What?” 

“I’d haunt you,” Tim decided before turning back to his paper. “I’d haunt you really hard.”

“I’m done with both of you today,” she decided, tossing her part of the paper in his lap as she walked through the living room. “It’s not even eight and I’m retreating to my office. I hope you’re both proud.” 

The pair shared a smile and shrugged as she disappeared down the hall. 

“You know, just because we gave you one sleepover, I hope you don’t get too comfortable asking. This was an emergency. It’s always okay in an emergency, and you know the difference.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“I have golf in a bit, but this afternoon we could do some driving practice if you wanted?” 

“Sounds good,” Lexa smiled. 

For no reason at all, except maybe utter relief that she didn’t have to deal with the same problems Clarke did, she hugged her dad’s neck lazily over the back of the couch before making her way back upstairs. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The vague memories of the night lingered like the stale taste of terrible vodka and beer, and Clarke smacked her lips, hoping to find any kind of liquid to get rid of the dry mouth. But her eyes felt heavy and glued shut, and her stomach felt like it was currently on the spin cycle, so moving wasn’t entirely feasible. 

It had been dumb. It’d been stupid, even. Possibly as far as moronic, to go to Bellamy’s party, but it was the best alternative and boy did it feel nice to escape. Even the current state she found herself in was a welcomed punishment from feeling fine and being unable to exist in the world. Her current physical ailments felt like finally, the universe was manifesting itself, and she could fix the swirling stomach and cottonmouth. She could fix the spinning and soreness and bruises from God-knew what happened last night. 

There wasn’t much else to be done, she suspected. Fix this moment, this hour, this day, and hope to survive to another one. It all had to end at some point. 

Clarke finally managed to open her eyes, a feat she was certain no other human could have accomplished. She looked around Lexa’s room and gratefully accepted the water bottle and aspirin waiting beside the bed. 

It took until halfway chugged, that she realized she was empty and the room was quiet. So she took a breath and held her stomach, certain she could hold it down. Carefully, she dressed, stealing Lexa’s old track sweats and an older soccer shirt, before making her way down the hall in search of something to fill her stomach. 

“Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.” 

“I know.” 

Clarke paused at the top of the stairs when she heard the family talking. It felt like it was about her. She knew it had to be. It made her want to vomit. 

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.” 

“Your father’s right though. You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.” 

It was hard to be the subject of needing things. Clarke wasn’t someone who needed anyone. She wasn’t someone who wanted or needed to depend on anyone, and yet there was a girl, a girl who was too afraid to make a move, who imagined the world in terms of movie scenes and interpreted her own existence in the great world as a cosmic joke, always waiting for the punchline-- and this girl wanted to fix things. 

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?” 

“Jesus, Lexa.” 

“What?” 

It hadn’t been a joke, but it made Clarke smile. No one expected that Lexa was serious, and she wanted to know the answer. There was shuffling and moving, and Clarke crept her way back to Lexa’s room. 

She felt even dumber than she thought possible for going to see Bellamy. She wouldn’t do it again. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. The words echoed in her head. She meant it, she was certain. She wouldn’t. 

“You’re awake,” Lexa grinned as she quietly closed the door behind her only to find her girlfriend sitting in her bed. 

“I’m never drinking again.” 

“Mhm, we’ll see.” 

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m sick.” 

“You’re hungover.” 

“You don’t know what it feels like, do you?” Clarke accused, accepting the orange and another bottle of water that was handed to her as her girlfriend joined her in bed. 

“Don’t see much appeal.”

“It always seems like a good idea at the time…” 

Lexa just shrugged and crossed her legs. She ran her thumb along the faded script on the side of Clarke’s knee. 

“I should head home,” she decided softly. “Sleep this off and such.” 

“You could sleep here. I’m just going to work on the car a bit. Maybe go for a run. I have homework to finish.” 

“I have to go home at some point.”

“Maybe.” 

“It was very sweet of you to come get me.” 

“I’m just glad you texted.” 

“I’m not going to be like this, you know?” 

“You can be however you want.” 

It was a sweet sentiment that Clarke didn’t have the mental capacity to sit with, she decided, because she wasn’t ready to decide to be anything. But tomorrow, maybe, she’d think about it. She knew what she didn’t want to be, and that seemed like something, at least. 

“I texted Raven to come get me.”

“If you’re sure.” 

“I needed last night to cleanse myself, I think. I need today to regroup.” 

“You have a very weird process,” Lexa decided. 

Clarke just chuckled and leaned forward, burying her face in Lexa’s thigh and sighing. 

XXXXXXXXXX

For the moment, the very tiny, very quick moment, everything felt like it was caught up, and Lexa allowed herself a few moments of quiet in the garage, because come hell or high water, she was going to finish the car by the last day of school. SATs were done, finally, and something that didn’t need to be explicitly worried about until scores were released in a few weeks. Her prom outfit was already purchased and prepared. Homework and studying were done. Sports were over for the season and conditioning wasn’t set to start for another two months, though she’d start her own soon enough. Her girlfriend was at work and then going off to a cheer competition for the weekend. Luna was putting the finishing touches on their film school application project. And anyone else that might ask Lexa to do anything was promptly ignored.

Two weeks before spring break, and Lexa was feeling high on her on efficiency.  

All in all, Lexa decided that she had at least three days to power through as much as she could with her dad in a final push before sending it off to the paint appointment. 

She hadn’t counted on her sister though, and as her phone blared, interrupting the music playing over the speakers, she smacked her head on the body of the car and slid herself from under it, grumbling the entire time. 

“Don’t you have fancy plans. It’s a Friday night,” she chided the eldest. 

“I’m getting ready, I was just thinking about you.” 

“Gross.”

“Because I ran into a girl that asked about you and I had no idea you had a friend at CMU, let alone a drop dead gorgeous film student.” 

Lexa furrowed and twirled her wrench around before trying to dive back in under the seat and finish installing the seatbelts in the back. It dawned on her then and she snorted. 

“That’s just Costia.” 

“Ohhh, just Costia-- who the fuck is Costia?” 

“I met her when I came to visit last fall remember? You were the one telling me to make a move but I was very drunk, something you did to me as well?” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

“At the party. I posted a picture…” she grunted and twisted. “She found me on Instagram. We talk about movies and I’ve shown her some of my stuff and junk.”

“Interesting.” 

“Why?” 

“Just not many freshman looking to hang out with high school juniors.” 

“I’m clearly advanced.” 

“Clearly,” Anya rolled her eyes over the phone. 

“I’ve been talking to her about film programs and applying--”

“Here? You’re thinking about coming here?” 

“Fuck!” she hissed and sat up, doing her best to suck on the cut that came to her thumb from her maneuvering. “I don’t know.” 

It wasn’t a serious inquiry, Lexa thought to herself. She was set. She had a plan with Luna. They’d had it since they were ten, and there was really on reason to deviate from it. But then a stranger liked her stuff, and this stranger made stuff Lexa liked. And the stranger became a friend who gave her some screenwriting tips and pushed her to get better at it. And the stranger told her the east coast was just as important to film. 

But it didn’t matter. 

There was a plan. 

“You should seriously consider it. It’s a great program I hear. Come out for spring break!” 

“I should stay here.” 

“And do what? Work on that car? Dad already told me he’s sending it out for interior and paint. You’re pretty much done anyway.” 

“Mom and Dad have conferences that week. I was going to watch movies all week with Clarke.”

“Bring her too. Sounds like she needs an escape.” Anya was getting excited, and Lexa was tugged along for the ride. “You can crash in my dorm. Even just for a few days, not the whole week.”

“Mom won’t like me missing so much time to study.” 

“Call it a college visit for a potential school.”

“Luna will lose her mind,” Lexa shook her head and pinched her thumb to try to stop it without a bandaid. 

“Fuck Luna. I’m going to ask Mom if she’d rather you were here, supervised by me, or home alone for a whole week.” 

From the change in volume, Lexa knew she was texting immediately. She sighed. It would be fun to see the school as a potential option. It might even be nice to catch up with Costia. It would even be better to see her sister, who just at the moment, she realized she’d missed since her last visit. 

“Should I ask Clarke if she wants to go?” Lexa finally ventured, returning to her work. 

“Definitely.” 

“Should I really consider your school as an option?” 

“You should.”

She had a plan, Lexa remembered, and there was no point deviating, but she did want to see her sister.

“If they say it’s okay.”

NEXT

[nancywheelxr]

i'm not sure if you prefer more specific prompts but if you have any interest, something canon-era (compliant or divergence) in the realm of "ye baiyi & every- or anyone"? whichever characters you wanna include; a moment or moments where he feels like maybe there is a little more to the rest of his life than duty and death. it's not only warm food he's been starved of for decades. your writing is great, i hope you're having a good day!

hi! thank you sm! i love getting prompts regardless, honestly, the only difference is that more specific ones tend to get done faster if only bc I already have a loose idea where to go with it! anyway, this somehow turned into a fix-it. that being said, I hope you’re having a lovely day too!

*

i.

They’re so painfully young.

A bird chirps in a tree somewhere nearby and around the fire, Qin Huaizhang’s disciple throws the blanket on the Wen brat’s face. What set off his sensibilities this time, Ye Baiyi doesn’t know, it might have been the perceived coddling, it might have simply been the fussing– either way, it’s pointless. Does he not know the brat will simply wait until he’s asleep to cover him? Does he not know their ridiculous dance around each other is nothing but time wasted?

How do the young ever get anything done?

Foolish. Have they ever been that foolish? Changqing, he knows, was a most ridiculous man with even more ridiculous ideas– who’s the bigger idiot, then, the fool or the one who loves him? 

“Ye-qianbei,” the boy appears at his side, wide-eyed like a newborn deer and with legs as shaky as one too, “if you’re cold, we have more blankets.”

The absurdity of the situation– to ask Ye Baiyi if he’s cold! What’s the night chill compared to the snowy grounds of his mountain? To him, is this not warm weather? “Little fool,” he says, shaking his head even as he laughs, “you’d do better worrying about your idiot master and his idiot friend.”

The kid looks across the fire, grimaces. “I don’t dare, I don’t dare! My brothers used to tell me not to get in the way when my parents were arguing!”

What a ridiculous child. Ye Baiyi laughs again. “They’re not arguing, they’re being dumb. Watch this,” he flicks a little rock at them, hitting Qin Huaizhang’s disciple in the forehead and earning an outraged glare from the Wen brat. “Qing Huaizhang’s disciple, your disciple is freezing off while you’re fooling around. Is this how you the two of you are going to raise your child?”

Beside him, the kid makes a startled little noise like a scared little rabbit before launching into a stuttering denial, but it’s too late, Qin Huaizhang’s disciple has already turned to focus on him as if smelling blood. “Chengling, are you cold? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Ah, no, no, I’m really not,” he tries, but he is, he wouldn’t have known to worry about others if he hadn’t been feeling the chill himself. “Ye-qianbei! Ye-qianbei–”

“Ah, ah!” Wen Kexing interrupts, shaking a finger in his direction, “why are you calling him? Come here, have this blanket since your Shifu is being stubborn.”

The boy goes obediently, shuffling around and nearly tripping on the log, and allows the Wen brat to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. Predictably, once he’s tucked in, the kid beams, pulling it tightly around himself. 

“Chengling, if you’re cold, you have to tell us,” says Qin Huaizhang’s disciple as if that’s a scolding, as if he’s not fussing over the child himself, stoking the fire and throwing in more kindling. 

A silly child with even sillier parents. Ye Baiyi snorts, shaking his head, and for a fleeting moment, he imagines walking this path alone– searching for the truth on his own, a silent forest stretching all the way to Longyuan Cabinet, only his footsteps left behind to prove he was even there at all– whatever. Picking up Qin Huaizhang’s dumb disciple and his dumb companions might not have been his worst decision so far. 

Maybe he could have found the place already if he were on his own, but at the very least they’re entertaining. Ridiculous, he thinks fondly, shaking his head at the blanket the kid has left folded at his feet.

*

ii.

What a mess.

Rong Xuan, you little brat, he thinks. How long has it been since the boy had first toddled up to him, little hands grabbing fistfuls of his robes? Too many, an eternity, and now nearly all of the boy’s friends are dead, all but one, and Ye Baiyi has to pay his respects to this freshly dug grave in his place. 

What a mess.

If you were in trouble, why didn’t you come back? Questions, questions, it’s too easy to ask them now. Why didn’t you ask for help? Why didn’t you send for us? Why did you think it would accomplish, running away? Stupid child, did you think we would turn you away? 

No, there’s no use asking them now, no point in dwelling in the past. What is there to change, after it already happened? Life is a very long road and the past is a land too distant to travel back to; Ye Baiyi would rather focus on the now.

Avenging their child had not been part of the promise he made to Changqing, but Ye Baiyi found the truth of this matter as he told him he would and the truth of it is that someone poisoned his disciple, his child. This cannot go unpunished, so for a while longer, he’ll live.

Further still, a little ways down, is Wen Kexing, whose parents died for Rong Xuan’s mistakes. A child growing up in a harsh world on his own. This debt, he’ll repay too.

For all that he gives his promises away like currency, Ye Baiyi is not sure how he feels about the piling of them– they stretch his finally numbered days, always pushing the deadline further. After the Heroes Conference, he’ll be done with the Ghost Valley. After he finds Rong Xuan’s murderer, he’ll be done with this mess. After he repays Wen Kexing, he will be at peace. 

And then–

Well. And then wine. Warm food. That was the plan, was it not? Heavens, he’s beginning to sound like Qin Huaizhang’s silly disciple, isn’t he? This won’t do. Changqing, even you would laugh at them. Tell me, then, if you were here, what would you do? Ah, something nonsensical, most likely, like go watch the plum trees bloom.

Ye Baiyi shakes his head, laughs. Changqing ah, won’t you tell me what to do? Maybe this time I’ll listen to you.

*

iii.

What kind of nonsense is this?

In all fairness, as much as his opinion of Wen Kexing has been as changing as the seasons, his uncanny ability to be an annoying nuisance has never flickered. He was annoying when he was staring down Ye Baiyi’s sword and he was annoying when he kneeled on the forest bed in apology and plea. 

Surely, it’s no surprise that he is annoying now, allegedly dead.

And yet, Ye Baiyi had not anticipated this level of stupidity from him: the brat did not tell Qin Huaizhang’s disciple of his plan.

Children, honestly. 

Now, the hem of his robes is wet and a few feet away, Qin Huaizhang’s disciple is wasting perfectly good wine in an unnecessarily dramatic manner. “Whatever stupid thing you’re planning,” Ye Baiyi says, eyeing the broken jar by the rocks, the dullness around the brat, “don’t.”

Zhou Zishu whirls on him with all the grace of a dying wet cat as if he’s in any condition to be fighting anyone, as if his hands weren’t shaking and his steps didn’t falter. The sword, once elegant and proud, wavers. Stupid boy. “Ye Baiyi, you–”

“Have you lost your manners down that jar? Or just your common sense? Put that away before I knock it off your hand myself,” he sighs, shaking his head. He should have stayed in his rooms, like planned, until the Heroes Conference; none of this has anything to do with him, his role in this play is mostly over, he just has to wait it out the intermission. And yet. “What kind of nonsense were you thinking? That fool, Wen Kexing, ran around for days like a headless chicken trying to save you and for what? You to throw it away?”

“What’s the point?” Qin Huaizhang’s disciple laughs, cold as the mountains, “what’s the point if he’s not here? Tell me, qianbei, why should I care to live if my soulmate is gone?”

His sword is dragging up the mud and Ye Baiyi wants to call him disrespectful for it, but the sight of it alone dredges up a well of grief that drowns the words in his throat. Why, indeed. This terrible emptiness, Ye Baiyi knows well– the hollow silence that comes where once a familiar voice called your name, the cold where once there was warmth, a hand never reaching back. Snow, all through summer and spring.

“Because that dumb disciple of yours will not last a day on his own,” he tells him, watching the water run towards the cliff’s edge, “because Qin Huaizhang has only you to pass on his legacy. Because that ridiculous hairpin on your head.”

“That’s not fair,” Qin Huaizhang’s disciple says, sounding exactly like he had been about to do something incredibly stupid earlier that would render this entire charade pointless from the start.

Truth be told, few things are, least of all, fate. Ah, but Ye Baiyi had unchanging decades to come to terms with that, perhaps he should spare the boy the heartache, unfounded as it is. “It’s not, but enough is enough. What are you crying for? Did you think it’s that easy to get rid of that pest? He should be ashamed if a little tumble is all it took.”

“Qianbei… you mean?”

Ye Baiyi heaves a pointedly tired sigh. “Yes, yes, the brat is alive. Probably holed up somewhere in that blasted valley of his.”

Qin Huaizhang’s disciple is as wide-eyed as his baby-deer disciple and if he actually starts crying, Ye Baiyi will drag Wen Kexing out of hiding kicking and screaming just to push him down the cliff again for making him witness this. He’s too old, he has little patience for the dramatics of the young, and he’s supposed to be drinking the best wine from the Yueyang area. 

So before he’s pulled even further into their nonsense, Ye Baiyi turns away, back to town and his quarters where he can drink and meditate in peace and really, Qin-xiaozi, your disciple is even sillier than you. 

At his back, he hears Zhou Zishu call, but his voice is lost to the waterfalls and Ye Baiyi makes no real effort to catch the words. What’s there to say? Pah, he’s already done more than his share on this, at no point did he promise to intervene on their pointless little dance. Once this is all over, that brat has better pay for all the wine in the land. And make those dumplings, too, for good measure.

*

iv.

Nobody told him whose wedding this is.

Considering they are in this thrice-damned place, he’s assuming it’s one of the ghosts, but Ye Baiyi figures the brat would be more annoying if it was his and Qin Huaizhang’s disciple’s. Then again, his own presence here is unfathomable, as is the insistence with which the little idiot had asked him to come. What on earth has Qin Huaizhang’s disciple told that child? Give someone an inch and they’ll take a mile, truly– now that boy is running around thinking Ye Baiyi cares about these lunatics.

“Who let him in!” Wen Kexing is screeching from somewhere, and Ye Baiyi mourns his peace as the brat approaches with his purple shadow trailing after. Had she been there this entire time? He squints. No, he would have noticed it, she’s very loud. “Old toad monster! Why are you still here? Who allowed you past the gates?”

“Who are you to tell me where to go?” He scoffs, flicking his sleeves as he crosses his arms. Nearby, a ghost hastily scurries away. “And it was your dumb disciple who begged me to be here. For what? Will there even be a banquet? And you call that decorations? That lantern is so crooked, it’s offensive!”

The purple child bristles. “Ah! And who does that silly boy think he is, inviting people to my wedding! Old man, you! Of course there’s gonna be food! Master and Luo-yi have been–”

“A-Xiang!” The brat cuts her off, closed fan tapping her forehead, as if everyone and their grandmothers don’t already know he’s been running around making preparations. What face is there to save, shameless as he is? If Ye Baiyi was a lesser man, he might have rolled his eyes. “Stop running your mouth, what is your husband going to say? And you! What crooked lantern? You’re going blind in your age!”

Still, even as he speaks, a pointed glare sends the ghosts scattering like mice, rushing to check on the decorations. Ridiculous. “No wonder the girl has no manners. What, you only know how to be polite when asking for something?”

Wen Kexing grumbles. “This one apologizes, qianbei.”

Well, that’s certainly worse. Unsettling. If even Wen Kexing starts being deferential, then what has the world come to? No, Ye Baiyi finds he’d prefer the brashness. Stupid child, what’s the point in changing his tune now? Pah. “Girl,” he says to that purple wisp of a thing, “your master is a pest. Where’s the wine?”

Baffling enough, the girl laughs, tugging at her master’s sleeves. “Master, master, Zishu-ge was right! You did make a friend!”

“What nonsense is this! Don’t you know when A-Xu is teasing? Friends! As if–”

“What rubbish have you been filling these children’s heads with?” He shakes a threatening finger in their direction. Not that it matters, considering the girl has already stepped back, giggling as she sidesteps Wen Kexing’s fan. 

Leaving them to their childishness, Ye Baiyi slips out of the crowd, picking a jar of wine as he goes. The alcohol is good, burning down his throat, and he hadn’t thought he’d step foot in the Ghost Valley, not like this. Something in him will always recoil at this place, always lay the blame at the valley’s mouth, a yawning jaw that’s swallowed whole the people most precious to him with no mercy. 

And yet, Changqing ah, you bastard, look at it. They’re holding a damned wedding, and here Ye Baiyi is, drinking their wine. Are you happy now? Did you become a bodhisattva yet? Fate makes fools of them all, there’s no way around it. He pours the wine over the rocks, lets it spill and run like blood. Xuan’er, did I not tell you not to climb so high? That shifu wouldn’t always be there to catch you if you slip on the ice? Ye Baiyi laughs at the memory– always clear in his mind, suspended in time, unfading, even if his sight blurs with tears– that boy, always scaring them half to death, climbing up the frozen mountainside as a child, then crying in fright once he looked down. 

“Look at the mess you’ve both left me,” he says out loud, downing the rest of the wine, and the silence is never quite as loud as in the hollow space where another would speak. For so long, Ye Baiyi knew to leave room for Changqing’s teasing, for their child’s incessant questions, even Rong-furen’s tired voice. Then, nothing. “What do you have to say for yourself, hm? Typical. I’ll drink for all of us this time, then, how about it? Changqing, I’m keeping my promises, so you’d better keep yours or I’ll–” 

The jar breaks where it falls from his fingers and he shakes his head as if dispelling the murky thoughts from his head. Perhaps, coming here was a mistake. The ashes have already been sent back to Changming, so what business does he have in this place? To see it closed with his own eyes? Besides, a wedding or two, a handful of people, are not worth the bloodshed creating the valley has brought, no matter what Changqing might say. 

Is this a comforting story to be told later, if– by the bridge, in case– 

His thoughts grind to a halt, veering off suddenly into attention to his surroundings. Someone is coming. Indeed, from his place near the entrance, Ye Baiyi can see in the distance a mob climbing up the path, silent as thieves in the night, with only a blue streak of disciples in plain sight at the front.

So much for avoiding bloodshed. Did they even wait for the dust to settle after the monks left town? And what kind of harebrained scheme is this? Has this generation been born with no brains? Such a reckless, petty move! No honor, agreeing to something and then plunging the knife behind their backs. 

There is little time to curse their dishonesty, though, with their numbers fast approaching, so Ye Baiyi swipes a last look at the desolate landscape and slips back inside to sound the alarms. After all, heaven knows that little purple girl will be terribly loud if she doesn’t get her wedding, and Ye Baiyi is not looking forward to remembering what headaches feel like. Honestly, if these people would stop nearly dying for five fucking minutes–

*

v.

Today, the mirror showed a new patch of white hair, faint lines at the corner of his eyes. 

Time, it seems, is catching up to him.

It’s exhilarating.

The plum trees have already lost their blossoms, winter gone as swiftly as it came, the cold melting to the lingering warmth of spring. Today, he walks past blooming azaleas, purple and red radiant against the blue backdrop of the sky.

It brings him to little Qin Huaizhang standing beside Rong Xuan, trying so very hard to impress his friend’s seniors with all the desperation of youth. The poetry he had waxed about his sect’s gardens– Four Seasons Manor, blooming all year round! Ye Baiyi had found him so silly, blabbering while Rong Xuan beamed, so quick to pick the fights Rong Xuan dropped. 

At the time, had he not thought history was repeating itself, if kinder? The Baiyi sword, gifted with the promise to keep his dumb disciple out of trouble? He still remembers Changqing’s face, the hypocrite. So exchanging swords for cursed books is fine, but anything else and you draw the line? At least promises were as reliable as the person making them. 

Now, he has to admit, the silly boy had not been wrong– Four Seasons Manor stands in more color than Ye Baiyi had thought possible. If he’ll have time to witness all its blooms, he doesn’t know, but this spring, he’s here, and isn’t that enough?

At the gates, the young disciple lets him in without a word, bowing respectfully like his seniors have never done. Good. At the very least, those two good-for-nothing brats had the decency to forewarn their juniors of his arrival. How long has it been since Qin Huaizhang’s disciple woke up from the procedure? Aiyah, Ye Baiyi can’t remember, he had been traveling south at the time. 

Well, it’s long enough to be past the need for coddling, that’s for sure. “Qin Huaizhang’s disciple, what kind of Sect Leader are you that you won’t come greet your esteemed guest?”

“Not really a Sect Leader,” comes the voice from his left as Zhou Zishu rounds into view, his silly disciple trailing faithfully after him. He looks better now, death no longer draped over his shoulders like a shroud, smiling like he found peace somewhere in the months since that disastrous wedding. “Qianbei, this one is honored to welcome you to our house. You’ve come at a good time, A-Xiang is visiting with her husband too.”

“Who’s an esteemed guest here? All I’m hearing is a bunch of freeloaders!” says Wen Kexing from somewhere inside the building, just as loud and brash as always, and following his words, the thundering footsteps of children. 

Ye Baiyi snorts, shakes his head. Changqing ah, wait a little while longer, will you? I’m on my way, but I have some places to visit first. Meet me by the bridge, I’ll tell you all about it in a bit.

#woh #word of honor #yby #ye baiyi #fix it fic #shl #wen kexing #zhou zishu #gu xiang #wenzhou #ye baiyi/rong changqing #woh fanfic #woh tag #yby tag

[blossom-hwa]

Light the Pyres |Burn| - SUNGYOON

This chapter hurt so much I'm really sorry

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 7.9k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Rise >> Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

If times were normal, three weeks stuck in the same space with anyone but Daeyeol or your mother would probably drive you insane. Only seeing one other person’s face for days after days on end? You’d almost rather be alone.

But whether it be because you have shared memories and common grief or simply because you’re compatible human beings, Sungyoon isn’t difficult to live with, not in the slightest. You don’t fight over food or water or living in the same space. His voice doesn’t grate on your nerves, even after a week of him being the only person you can talk to. He isn’t almost pleasant company anymore – he’s just pleasant.

Maybe even a little more than that.

Over one, two, then three weeks, you come apart to each other, exposing small bits of yourselves from beneath threads frayed by the apocalypse. Sungyoon craves coffee more than anything in the world. He used to be the fastest runner on his high school track team. He tells you his favorite color is black, and just to keep the conversation going you decide that black isn’t a real color since it’s technically the absence of all color, which sparks a debate that maybe grows a little too loud every once in a while but by the end, you’re laughing at Sungyoon’s indignant expression that slowly cracks into a smile.

Laughing. Not smirking. At something not morbid or deadly.

It feels almost surreal, being able to smile at a topic so inane.

“What’s your credibility, huh?” Sungyoon asks when you’ve stopped laughing, having given into a grudging smile himself. It makes his face look sweeter, gentler. “What makes you an expert on colors or the absence of them?”

“I did mechanical engineering in university,” you say, leaning back against the wall. Memories threaten to flood your mind but you keep them at bay, closing your eyes against the onslaught. “Took a few chemistry classes as a requirement. We learned about colors at some point.” You open your eyes and shrug. “It was kind of interesting, but not enough for me to change my major.”

“Mechanical engineering,” Sungyoon echoes, staring up at the ceiling. You kind of have to give it to him – you might be bored sitting around in this empty house sometimes, but he’s confined to the bed if he isn’t using the bathroom and he hasn’t complained yet. “That’s cool. Is that how you got that car to work before?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, a slightly bitter taste in your mouth at the memories of your almost finished second degree. “Mom was a mechanic. I grew up around cars and machines. I was almost done with my master’s when…”

When the apocalypse began and I started out across the country to find my mom.

From Sungyoon’s silence, you gather that he understands what you haven’t said. He also seems to understand you don’t want to talk about it and thankfully changes the topic. “I did sports medicine,” he says. “And I minored in music.”

You sit up. “Music? What did you play?”

“I can play a little piano, but I mostly sing – sang,” he corrects himself, a faraway look coming into his eyes.

You don’t miss the switch from present to past tense. Mood dampened, you both sit in silence for a moment, mourning the loss of your lives before they’d barely begun.

“I used to play piano,” you finally say, trying to salvage the conversation. “I wonder if it’s still at home,” you mumble, more to yourself than anybody.

“If it’s any consolation, people aren’t really looking for valuables at a time like this.” Sungyoon gives you a lopsided smile. “Assuming… well, even if people have broken in, I don’t think the piano would be the first thing they were looking for.”

You know Sungyoon means to comfort you, but the implication that anything happened to your house, to your home makes your heart stutter. It’s not a strange thing, people breaking into houses. Oftentimes they’re already open, the occupants either dead or fled. 

But it’s your house, your home, and the thought that anything might’ve happened to it with your mom there flips your stomach.

Hypocrite. You’re sitting in one of those stolen homes right now, but you have a problem with people sitting in yours.

“Y/N?”

You look over to see Sungyoon staring back, concern in his expression. Swallowing, you try to smile. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You just went quiet for a bit.” He raises an eyebrow. “Thoughts?”

What do you say? Do you tell Sungyoon what you’re really thinking? Do you tell him you’re terrified of coming home to a house that’s been ransacked and laid bare? Do you tell him you’re scared of finding your mom in an empty home with nothing around her left, that you’re even more scared of finding an empty home with no mother inside?

You curve your lips, trusting Sungyoon won’t ask even if he sees that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “No,” you lie. “It’s nothing. So.” You look at him, your smile turning a little more genuine. “You sing?”

. . . . .

He does. He sings.

Beautifully.

His voice breaks sometimes, of course. Weeks of forced silence have taken tolls on both of your throats, and even speaking hurts if you talk too long. But the longer he sings, the longer his song fills your ears, the stronger his voice grows, rich and powerful even in his hushed melodies. It wraps around you like a blanket or a shawl, warming your skin in a way even the sun can’t.

When he first spoke to you so many weeks ago, told you not to hurt yourself by kicking the car down that one horrible day, you thought he could be a singer, thought that his voice was smooth, clear. Like Daeyeol’s. You hated it then, when it only reminded you of your best friend and what he was no longer around to do, what you had lost trying to save this boy with a nice voice who didn’t deserve it.

You still hear hints of Daeyeol’s clarity in Sungyoon’s quiet song. Even more obvious is the love of music in Sungyoon’s eyes that perfectly matches that of your dead friend. The few times Daeyeol hummed old songs to get you to sleep when the sun was still up, he always wore that look in his eyes. It fit him like a second skin, that soft love for music dancing in his expression, and you would try to keep that look in mind as he soothed you into sleep. It brought you both back to better times, when death didn’t lurk around every corner.

It hurts a little to see this look in Sungyoon’s face, for sure, but it also soothes another pain, the pain of knowing that you’ll never see Daeyeol ever again until it’s your turn to go. Because even though you’ll never gaze on his face again during your time on this earth, you’ll still see bits of him, hear parts of him in Sungyoon’s eyes and voice. Where that reminder might’ve felt like a stab in the chest before, it now smooths a blanket over your body, wrapping you in the knowledge that Daeyeol will always live with you, in your memories and in Sungyoon’s voice.

Sungyoon doesn’t ask why you’re crying when he finishes his song, even though he can definitely see you wiping away tears from your perch at the foot of his bed. You don’t make an effort to hide it, really – you’ve done worse things in front of him than cry, and besides, he looks a little teary himself. For a moment, you only sit in your respective positions, trying to rein in your tears until he breaks the silence again.

“That was my sister’s favorite song,” he whispers. “She played it so much that Bomin once threatened to delete it off of her playlist.”

You swallow at the mention of his sister and her boyfriend, guilt snaking its way up your chest. It’s a little easier to ignore right now, though, especially when you realize that this is the first time Sungyoon’s put a name to either of the two people you shot. “Bomin was her boyfriend?” you ask.

He nods. “I never said?”

As you shake your head, it only just occurs to you how little you know of Sungyoon’s family. You haven’t said that much – he knows about your mom and Daeyeol, but little of anyone else – but even that seems like a lot compared to what little he has (more like hasn’t) said about his family. You don’t even know his sister’s name.

You’re not even sure you want to. Putting a name to dead faces, faces that you shot bullets through…

Swallowing, you shake your head again, this time more trying to clear your head than say no. “No, you never mentioned it.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Bomin was Sumin’s boyfriend. Sumin was my sister.”

Bomin. Sumin. The addition of two names to your repertoire (and the past tense for Bomin) nearly makes your head spin. Bomin with dyed, pale hair, Sumin with dark. Bomin with chiseled, handsome features marred by white skin and dark veins. Sumin with a round, soft face and eyes that probably would’ve looked lovely with a smile had they not been shrunken with disease.

You didn’t know either of them at all, which just makes the fact that you put a bullet through each of their heads even worse.

In fact, you pressured Sungyoon into letting you do it.

Both of you agreed not to apologize anymore. But the only words hanging on the tip of your tongue consist of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sungyoon, I’m sorry –

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You blink. “What?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sungyoon’s eyes bore into yours softly, understanding and reproachful all at once. “That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? Bomin and Sumin.”

Despite everything, a wry little smile curls the corner of your mouth. “Was it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who saw what happened.” Sungyoon shifts on the bed, sitting up against the wall. “You didn’t kill them, Y/N. The zombies did.”

“See, I know that.” You stare at your hands, the smile wiped from your lips. “Logically. But –”

“Your brain won’t let you,” Sungyoon finishes. “Yeah, I know. It’s the same with me and… you know.” He leans forward, fixing your gaze with his. “So I’ll keep saying it until your brain finally figures it out. Okay?”

The tears try to come again, but this time, you hold them back. “Same for you,” you manage, hoping the wobble in your voice isn’t as prominent as it feels to you. “It wasn’t your fault. It never was. And I’ll keep saying that until you know it too.”

Sungyoon turns away. You don’t try to follow his gaze, to probe at his expression. You don’t need to.

It’s enough, this understanding that hangs quiet in the air.

. . . . .

On week three, when Sungyoon’s finally started to limp around the house, Lady Luck puts you in her good graces and you find a source of transportation far better than your legs. You don’t thank her too much, though, since you literally found the two bikes after being chased twice around the same building by a small, though vicious group of zombies.

Even then, a little bit of excitement sparks in your still-racing heart when you pedal up to the front of the house and dump the first bike indoors. Sungyoon pokes his head out through the bedroom at your call.

You grin. “Remember how to ride a bike?”

It takes a second dangerous trip to bring the other one back but you manage, since Sungyoon is still slow on his feet. When Sungyoon feels ready to try it out, you watch closely as he slings himself onto the cracked seat, ready to catch him if he falls.

He does, twice. But the third time, he actually starts wobbling up and down the front of the house, pedaling slowly but steadily.

A cry almost escapes your throat when he turns around on the street, pedaling back with sparkling eyes and lips curving in a rare smile of success. But though you stifle the sound, you can’t help but run up and hug him when he dismounts, one hand holding the bike steady as you wrap the other around his chest.

Sungyoon’s breath catches. The little gasp in his throat reminds you of what you’re doing, that he might be uncomfortable, and you go to apologize and pull away, insides curdling with embarrassment.

But then he wraps both of his arms around you, bringing you in closer with a gentle, uncertain grip, hands locked loosely at your waist. And it’s your turn to catch your breath at the subtle warmth of Sungyoon’s thin body, a warmth more comforting than even the rays of afternoon sun beginning to set in the sky.

Human touch. Human comfort. Human warmth. You bury yourself in Sungyoon and he buries himself in you, earlier excitement forgotten in favor of the comforting warmth of the other’s touch.

You don’t say anything about it, even after you let go. You only part naturally, smiling at each other as your arms fall to your sides before finally reentering the house. Sungyoon goes back to lying on the little couch, resting his leg, while you carefully stand the bike by the door and go to find something to eat. Conversation is quiet. Not awkward, not stilted, just quiet. You still don’t mention the hug.

But later that night, after you’ve barricaded the door and freshened up as best you can, Sungyoon is still sitting up in the bedroom. You pause in the doorway. “Sungyoon?”

“It isn’t comfortable on the floor, is it?” he asks, voice strangely stilted. He doesn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Come up here. It’ll be easier on your back.”

It takes several moments to process his words before you start protesting, saying the floor isn’t that bad and that you read something about how sleeping on hard surfaces is actually better for your back, but your voice dies away when Sungyoon holds out his arms in the dark, shifting to make room for you on the threadbare mattress.

Something about this feels like it should be wrong. Taking comfort in someone who isn’t Daeyeol or your mom or even one of the friends you left behind, probably never to see any of them ever again. You’ve only known Sungyoon for a matter of weeks. Daeyeol you knew for over twenty years. Your mom, even longer.

And now you’re taking comfort in someone when none of them are around to experience it themselves. Guilt simmers in your chest.

But walking into Sungyoon’s arms sweeps it away.

His touch is just as soft and unsure as it was earlier under the afternoon sun, but if anything, it feels warmer in the dark. And as you gain a little courage, letting him curl closer into you as your breaths begin to even from exhaustion, the touch becomes a little more certain, a little firmer and stronger as he loosens against your body.

One brave hand reaches up, tangles briefly through Sungyoon’s hair. “Goodnight,” you whisper.

He squeezes you once, gently. “Goodnight.”

. . . . .

The fourth week has passed by the time Sungyoon walks without a limp. You really would have wanted to go the first day he could put weight on his leg, but if you had, you wouldn’t have found the bikes. And considering the fact that you only have two bullets left, you’re thankful for a method of quick escape.

“We need to get out of the city,” you say, swinging one leg over your bike. “There are too many zombies here. Just follow me, I think I’ve mapped out how to get to the highway. It’ll probably be smoother from there.”

Sungyoon nods. “Let’s go, then.”

Your heart pounds as you pedal down the streets, quickly, quietly. The rusty bikes creak a little under your weight and with every weird noise you tense, pedaling faster, but street after street, you and Sungyoon ride without too much trouble.

Until you turn a corner and the faint sound of dead groans echoes from farther down the street.

Both of you stop. Sungyoon looks over. “Is there another way?”

“I mean, probably.” You swallow. “But they’re in the direction of the highway and regardless, we’ll have to go past. I don’t… I’m not sure…”

The groans grow louder.

“Let’s see if we can loop around,” you decide, trying to picture the general layout of buildings. “Just… be ready to ride fast.”

Sungyoon almost smirks. “That wasn’t a given?”

You hit him, even as you stifle a smile. But that smile disappears quickly as you ride closer and closer to the sounds of groans.

The first zombie lurches out from behind a collapsed home. It stumbles over the sidewalk, clawing forward, but you and Sungyoon move too fast and leave it quickly behind.

But then a second pops out in the distance. And a third.

Behind you, Sungyoon mutters a curse. You don’t blame him. Much worse words are running through your mind. “Through the cars,” you hiss, weaving between several vehicles stranded on the road. “Harder for them to get us.”

The sound of limbs slapping against metal and glass makes you want to hurl. Groans and shrieks echo off the sides of the cars, overpowering the creaking of your bike and filling your ears with their sickening sound. You pedal fast, fast, faster, swerving between a last car into open road –

Sungyoon races past, surpassing you as a zombie just misses grabbing the wheel of his bike. You pedal harder to catch up, staring straight ahead towards the entrance of the highway that’s finally in sight.

Something brushes your arm. You shriek, almost tipping off balance as dead white fingers flash in your peripherals, but a backwards glance from Sungyoon forces you to stay upright and you pedal forward with a last rush of speed, rolling onto a smooth, zombie-free road.

You ride for what feels like hours until you have to call it quits. Stumbling behind an abandoned truck, you collapse in the shade, legs shaking with exertion and adrenaline. Sungyoon follows quickly, dropping his bike onto the asphalt to sit next to you.

For a moment, you only sit in silence, panting under the hot sun.

Then you heave a shaky breath and start to laugh.

It starts out as a gasp, really. That first breath doesn’t fully go out the way you want it to and you wheeze a gasp, then another, and another and another until your wheezes turn into breathless laughter that treads the line of hysteria but then Sungyoon is starting to laugh too and all you can do is revel in the fact that you can laugh, snort, giggle because you’re alive. You made it out of that infested city alive, alive despite that horde at the end, and God, now you’re trembling because even though you’ve had close encounters with the undead before, you can still feel cold, peeling skin just dragging against your shirt –

You start crying.

Adrenaline seeps out of your body like blood from a wound. Your stomach hurts from laughing. Your eyes ache with tears. You keep feeling that feather light, deathly cold touch brushing your arm, almost like a wisp of wind curling against your skin but so much colder, like ice freezing your veins even under the burning sun.

Cold. Cold. Cold. And no one, not Daeyeol, not your mother, no one to help you out of this icy sun –

Sungyoon’s shaking arms wrap around you, and you remember what it feels like to be warm again.

You grip him tight, tight, tighter, holding onto this last piece of human life. Everyone else you know is dead or probably dead and only Sungyoon is a constant, still here and alive despite the fact that you could’ve split up all those weeks ago.

Until the day you die, you’ll be grateful you chose not to.

He holds you and you hold him until both of you finally stop trembling in the hot shade of the truck, but even then, you latch on just a little bit longer, memorizing the weight of his thin body pressed against yours. Hunger has hollowed his skin and yours, eaten away the muscle that used to cushion your bones, but Sungyoon’s arms still hold a fragile strength that slowly bleeds into you, giving you the courage to wipe away the tears.

That night, after hours of riding on quiet roads, no silent, tentative question hangs in the air like it always has when Sungyoon slumps against your sitting figure, head falling into your lap as you fight to keep your eyes open for first watch. Without hesitation, you tangle your fingers through his curly hair, soothing him into sleep.

Sungyoon is your warmth, just as you are his. Reminders to each other that even in this blackened world of death and ashes, both of you are still alive.

. . . . .

The closer you get to home, the harder sleep comes. You don’t know why. It should be the opposite, right? You’re closer to your goal. Closer to your mom.

But that also means you’re closer to uncertainty. Closer to the Schrodinger’s cat-type limbo where you don’t know whether or not your mom is still alive. Only with Schrodinger’s cat, there’s an exactly fifty percent chance that the animal is dead. Or so you think. It’s been some time since you had time to think about quantum mechanics.

Doesn’t matter. Odds are now, the scale’s been tipped a little further in that direction. 

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s dead.

Scratch that. You kind of know what you’ll do. Scream. Cry, probably. Either that or just go silent.

You don’t know what you’ll do if she’s just disappeared.

Because then there’s Schrodinger’s cat again, constantly hovering between life and death. Knowing at least gives you facts – you’ll be certain as to whether she’s dead or alive.

Not knowing will rip you apart.

Sungyoon decides it’s enough when you wake up the third time during his second watch, chest heaving from nightmares where you return home alone and there’s no one. Not him, not your mom, not even a single zombie. There’s no blood on the floor or anything to indicate struggle. The house is perfect, just as you left it when you went back to university the last time.

But it’s empty. Cold.

And only silence answers your calls.

“Okay, that’s it.” Sungyoon’s tone is softer than his sharp words. He gently grips your shoulders, pulling you up in the darkness. “What’s wrong? What are you dreaming of?”

You shiver even in his hold, remembering the chill of the empty house, the choking silence that greeted your calls. How do you begin to describe that, the fear of not knowing whether or not your mother is alive?

Then it hits you.

Sungyoon will understand. He has to. He walked back to a zombie infested city on an injured leg to find his sister and her boyfriend, Sumin and Bomin, all the while not knowing if they were alive or dead.

“What if she’s not there?”

His grip slackens. “What?”

You swallow. “What if my mom isn’t there?”

For a long moment, both of you stay silent. In the dark, you can’t even make out the expression on Sungyoon’s face.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “What will you do?”

Fear ices your throat. You can’t speak. What will you do? If it turns out you came all this way, across an entire country, for nothing?

“What did you do?” you manage once it feels like your vocal cords have thawed. “When you went back and…?” A wince of guilt and shame keeps you from saying more.

Sungyoon falls quiet. You recognize this silence not as brooding, not as angry, but thinking. Contemplative. It eases the tightness in your chest.

“It felt like everything was lost to me,” he finally says. “They were all I had left. When it finally hit me that they were gone…” He shakes his head. “But that’s not what you meant, right? You’re asking about before. When I didn’t know.”

You nod, curling closer into him. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” Sungyoon says. “Honestly, I don’t know how I dealt with it. All I know is that it was eating at me so much that I had to go back and find out myself. So I was an idiot.”

There’s a little smile in his voice, a twitch of the lips that you can hear in his last few words. Your mouth almost curves, too. “But what if we go back and I still don’t know?” you ask. “What if she’s just… gone?”

“It’ll be your choice whether or not you want to leave it at that or keep looking,” Sungyoon answers after a pause. “I can’t make the decision for you. But…”

You look up. “But?”

“You know what kept me going after all of that?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “The fact that you offered to let me come with you, despite what had happened. It was the fact that someone, more or less a stranger, gave me a place with them.”

“Really? I honestly thought you were going to laugh in my face as soon as I said it,” you admit. “I’d just… done that, and a few hours later, I was asking you to walk across an entire country with me.” You wince. “Not exactly bonding material.”

“I won’t lie, I kind of considered it.” Sungyoon seems to shrug in the darkness. “But even then, I knew you weren’t evil, regardless of what happened. You still lost a friend. You were still trying to stay alive. And when you talked about your mom…” He sighs. “What I’m saying is you were there for me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens softly. “And whatever happens when we get to your home, I’ll still be there for you.”

The lump in your throat refuses to let you speak, so you only sink further into Sungyoon’s body, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape your eyes. He seems to understand. His fingers rise and card through your hair, stroking smooth against your scalp.

If this is how Daeyeol felt every time you did this when he was sick, you now understand why he asked for head pats whenever he wasn’t doing well. It soothes you, even if one or two tears do make their way down your face at the thought of your best friend.

Fuck. You close your eyes. Daeyeol would have found a good friend in Sungyoon, you’re sure. Your mom would probably love him too. More than anything, you wish they were here.

But you still have someone. You have Sungyoon. You have someone you trust, someone you rely on, someone you can hold close at times like this when you start to spiral and can’t force yourself out of your mind.

You’d like to say that Sungyoon feels the same.

“Is that okay?” Sungyoon asks softly, breaking into your thoughts. His fingers keep stroking your hair gently, softly.

Your eyes are starting to close again, weighed down by sleep. Nightmares might be waiting, but Sungyoon’s words and warmth make you think they might stay at bay. You nod against his chest. “Yes,” you murmur. “More than okay.”

“Good.” His hands don’t stop. “Now sleep. There are only a few hours before dawn.”

You don’t need to be told twice, only curl further into him and shut your eyes. As sleep finally begins to roll over you in waves, you sigh. “Thank you,” you whisper.

His breath stirs your hair. “For what?”

A small smile curves your lips.

“For being here.”

. . . . .

The buildings start looking familiar two weeks and five zombie attacks later. There are more undead here, probably because you’re closer to the site of the explosion. Even though you’re still several states away, the virus spread more quickly here than on the other side of the country.

At some point after the third attack, you try to apologize while patching up several scrapes on Sungyoon’s arms. There isn’t even time to stay – you need to keep riding, find a place to take shelter for the night before zombies find you. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You don’t either,” he points out. “Neither of us ever deserved this.”

“But I have to deal with it to get home. You don’t.”

“And I signed up for the ride.” Sungyoon pats a bandage more firmly in place before taking your outstretched hand and standing up. He squeezes your fingers. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Your heart pounds painfully as you ride down the last stretch of highway, faded signs bearing the name of your hometown. Everything almost looks the same, if you ignore the dried blood spattered along the sidewalks and panes of shattered glass on the streets.

And the zombies milling about at the base of the exit.

Sungyoon stops when you do, frowning when he sees the faint outlines of white skin and blackened veins. “Great.”

You snort, hysteria building in your throat. “Great” is the perfect way to put it. So close, yet so far – separated from your home by a throng of the undead.

There are only a few right now. From here, up on the highway, you can only count four or five. Zombies don’t move fast and if it’s just those few, you could probably outstrip them.

But they’re definitely not the only ones. And you have no way of knowing just how many are left in the city.

Think, think, think! You hit your head lightly. You grew up here, explored the entire city, walked all the roads by the time you went off to college the first time. Even though things have probably changed, they can’t be too drastically different. Any small nooks, any back roads or alleys you can find where zombies aren’t likely to be…

“What do you think will be more zombie infested?” you ask. “Residential roads or the actual city?”

“… City,” Sungyoon says. “More densely packed people, right?”

You bite your lip. He’s right. The highway leads to a road that cuts straight through the middle of the city and it would probably be faster to follow it straight down and just make a few appropriate turns before reaching your home, but it’ll probably be safer to take the longer local path.

Local it is. God, you hope your sense of direction is as good as it used to be.

“We’re going straight down now before more zombies come,” you say, swinging a leg over your bike. “As fast as you can. We turn left at that first traffic light and then be ready to follow me.”

The downward slope of the highway gives you a burst of speed you dearly need once you reach the road. You speed past abandoned cars and several milling zombies that turn to give chase, but you and Sungyoon are already turning left, racing down a street of empty shops and cafes. You used to hang out there with Daeyeol and a few of your friends before –

Not the time. You pedal faster. The groans of chasing zombies has grown fainter, which is good, but there are definitely more.

As if on cue, several sets of gangly, white limbs pop out from behind a building, lurching towards Sungyoon’s bike. He swerves around a car and you grit your teeth to avoid crying out. “Keep going!” you shout, pedaling faster. Faster.

Street signs whiz past. You almost miss the first turn, jerking sharply to the right at the last minute. Sungyoon curses and you look back but he’s following, still following, weaving around zombies and cars as he keeps racing forward.

Right. Left. Straight. Left. More zombies join the chase, relentless even as you and Sungyoon leave them behind, legs straining to keep the speed. 

Left, left, straight. Pedaling uphill is a pain. Your thighs burn and your chest aches but then you’re rolling downhill and you catch your breath before straining once more.

Straight. Right. Right. Left. You pass by your old high school, grass trampled and overgrown in the front.

Left, right. You race down a street lined with houses you used to envy – if you lived closer to school, you wouldn’t have had to get up early for the bus every morning.

Straight. You pedal past a small plaza. Clubs used to congregate in the restaurants for end of year celebrations. It’s where you went with your friends on the last day of high school and where you had dinner with your mom the next day after graduation.

Mom. Mom. You go right, then left, racing past aching memories, all the while conscious of zombies groaning in the background and Sungyoon panting by your side. Mom, I’m almost there. Almost home.

Please be there.

The last street comes into sight. You swing around a last building and a last car, finding yourself on a familiar street that you haven’t seen in years. You pedal slower, slower, until you stop in front of your house.

Memories almost paralyze you. This was where you met Daeyeol when he first moved in. This was where you almost got hit by a speeding car when you were out playing as a child. This was where you walked from every day to the bus stop for over five years to get to school –

Sungyoon grabs your wrist, glancing behind. Already, the sound of groans is growing louder. “Is this it?” he asks, nodding at the front door.

“Yeah,” you breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake yourself out of your daze. “Yeah. Come on.”

With each step forward, you feel like you’re walking back in time. You grow younger and younger, smaller and smaller, until you’re finally pulling out the house key you’ve kept in your bag for so long, waiting for this moment –

You stop, key held uselessly between your fingers as you take in the scuff marks around the doorknob and the lock.

The door has already been forced open at least once.

Sungyoon notices the marks, notices your silence. He pulls open the door anyway and shoves you inside, slamming it shut behind you.

He plucks the key from your hand. Locks the door with a faint, familiar click. 

You look around in a daze, taking in overturned furniture, books and magazines strewn over the floor, cabinets left open from what you can see in the kitchen. Clouds of dust spring up where you step.

You sneeze. The sound brings you back to the present.

Your home has been ransacked. Someone broke in and took what they thought was worth taking, leaving behind furniture and books and the piano standing against the wall. Someone broke in and either spared your mother or killed her –

Or she wasn’t there in the first place.

You can feel Sungyoon’s eyes following your movements as you step forward, slow and cautious. Dust itches your throat and burns your eyes but you keep moving, surveying the damage. “Mom?”

There’s no sign of human life. Not a footprint in the dust, not a handprint on the wall. But there’s also no blood. No sign of struggle.

So where is she?

“Mom?”

Panic seizes your chest and you walk forward faster, looking into the kitchen as if she’ll be hiding somewhere there. When she doesn’t appear, you turn into the bathroom, the bedrooms, but only a mess of dust and objects meets your eyes. “Mom?”

No one replies.

She’s not here.

You try to reason it away. Maybe she’s out looking for food. Maybe she’s hiding. But you don’t have a basement or second floor so there’s nowhere she could be, and why would she be hiding, anyway? As for food…

Dust comes away on your fingertips as you drag them along the floor. Somewhere along the way, you sank down against the wall, alone in the hallway. Bits of dust rise with every breath you take.

If she was just looking for food, the house would still appear lived in. There wouldn’t be so much dust and dirt everywhere.

But she might have had to leave when people broke into the house. Right?

Or not. You swallow, tears starting to flow down your face. There was no sign of struggle, no blood or cracks in the wall. Just overturned furniture, probably from someone’s careless movements while looking for necessities.

Which means she isn’t here.

Not here. Not here. Not here not here not here not here – you came all this way and survived so many attacks and even lost Daeyeol and she’s not here –

And –

Daeyeol –

A cracked, broken sound emerges from your throat and your pounding head falls into your hands. You came this whole way and watched Daeyeol shoot himself just to find the dusty, empty house from your nightmares –

“Y/N.”

You turn your head to see Sungyoon in the hallway, holding a piece of paper in one hand. His face is pale.

He holds out the paper before you can work through the lump in your throat to ask what’s wrong. “I think you should read this.”

. . . . .

It’s long past dark and you still can’t sleep. Sungyoon drifted off about an hour ago, but even though you lie under the same sheet next to him on the floor, not even his warmth can lull you into dreamland this time.

Well. Probably more like nightmare land. The piece of paper crinkles in your hand, as if to remind you of what you’ve lost.

You try to close your eyes against the words that seem to flash in your vision. No use. They’ve tattooed themselves to the backs of your eyelids, trembling letters written in your mother’s familiar scrawl…

Y/N, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m most likely dead.

Why did she feel the need to apologize for being dead? If anything, it’s your fault for not getting here fast enough.

Of course, there is the chance that I’m just out looking for food and will come back soon, but if I’m not home by night, it isn’t likely.

Night has gone and passed. It’s probably closer to morning.

Every time I leave the house, I put out this note. That way, in case you manage to find your way back, you’ll have this much left from me.

Tears start to build up again behind your still puffy eyes.

I heard you on that phone call. I knew you would come back or at least die trying. Because that’s who you are, Y/N, my strong, darling child. Brave to the last.

Brave. Ha. If only she knew how much you relied on others to keep you sane. First Daeyeol, then Sungyoon…

I miss you. Every day I miss you. But I have hope that you will come home one day, return to this house, even if I’m not there to welcome you.

She wasn’t.

If you are reading this note and I am not there, don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. Nothing is certain, especially not our lives, not mine, not yours. If it was my time, then it was my time. Don’t hurt yourself, thinking you should have gotten here before.

But you could have. Maybe you should have. Sungyoon certainly thought so, judging from his silence as you read the note. He read it too, before you, and you know he was thinking you should have left him and his fractured leg back at that house in the city infested with zombies, left him and come back four weeks earlier to hopefully find your mother, alive and whole –

You don’t think you could’ve chosen differently, though. Sungyoon was there, right in front of you, injured and broken and you couldn’t just leave him behind. Even if your mother had still been here then (which you don’t think she was – the thick layer of dust all over the house speaks of over a month of disuse), would you even have made it back? Or, alone, would you have fallen to the trap of your own mind?

And even if you had returned in time, how would she have thought of you, knowing you left an injured person behind? You wouldn’t have been able to keep it from her. It would’ve spilled out, sometime.

Your heart clenches. Even though there logically wasn’t much you could do, it still hurts to think that you might’ve had a last chance to see her before she went.

Always remember that I love you, Y/N. You have always been the pride of my life. You are strong and brave, and if anyone is to survive this disaster, I pray it is you, both as my child and as a ray of hope for the future. We know something like this can’t happen again. I know you. I know you will help prevent it.

The tears start to spill. Again.

I love you. I miss you. I hope I will see you soon, but not before it is truly your time.

- Your loving mother

Tears fall harder, faster. You turn, pulling yourself out of the blanket so you won’t wake Sungyoon, and sit there, shaking with silent sobs.

I love you too. And I miss you even more.

You have little left of your mother but this note. All her clothes were taken from her room, the sheets of her bed pulled away, even her toolbox laid empty. Trinkets from shelves and tables lay smashed on the floor, fallen from careless searching. A few framed pictures survived. Little more. You don’t even have her body – you can’t even bury her, your mom, your hero, you can’t even give her the same respects you paid Daeyeol –

Your watery eyes light on the shadow of the piano, hidden in the darkness. The lid covering the keys is still closed, protecting them from dust, just the way you left it when you went back to university.

As if in a trance, you stand, walking towards the piano and settling on the dusty bench. You haven’t grown in the years since you’ve been at school and it’s still pulled the same distance back, leaving just enough space for you to stretch your hands out on the keys once you’ve lifted the lid. Dust billows and you cough, batting it away, but you put your hands back on the keyboard.

And begin to play.

It’s your mother’s favorite piece, a sonata’s slow second movement that she said never failed to calm her after a long day. But you don’t play it well – your fingers slip. You don’t remember all the notes. Rhythms are wrong, the melodies stilted, and you stop playing, resting your elbows on the edge of the instrument as you grind the heels of your palms into your eyes, tears beginning to pound once more. You couldn’t bury her so you thought you could give her a little music, but holy fuck, you can’t even properly give this tribute because you can’t play the fucking piece –

Sungyoon sits on the edge of the bench. You jump – you never realized he was awake, and you open your mouth to apologize for waking him up – but he just looks at you with a softness you can feel even in the dark. “Keep playing.”

Fingers trembling, you put them back on the keyboard. It doesn’t get better – missed notes and wrong rhythms still plague the piece – but Sungyoon nudges you every time you falter, pushing you to finish. And when you do, tears falling to the dust onto your lap, he pulls you over and wraps an arm around you, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you cry.

He holds you until the sun rises and you finally fall asleep.

. . . . .

As much as you want to leave as soon as you wake, you stay at home another day. Both of you need a break before you keep going west, now that there’s no time crunch, and there don’t seem to be many zombies walking up and down the street. As long as you and Sungyoon keep the window blinds shut, you consider yourself about as safe as you can get.

The security helps a little. Takes away a bit of anxiety. But wherever you go, no matter how messy the rooms are, you always know that you’re in the same house you grew up in. Just with the most important people of your childhood missing.

But Sungyoon is important, and Sungyoon is here. It helps, a little. Though when you find him staring at the few family photos left on a table, photos with you and your mother and one even with Daeyeol’s family, you have to leave the room because it just reminds you that Sungyoon lost everyone and has little beyond his sister’s earrings, as far as you know, to remember them by. And he had to take them from her body, when in any other “normal” situation of death he would’ve left them in for her burial…

Sungyoon cried over the earrings several weeks ago. Just looking at the pictures, comparing the memories they hold to two little gold hoops that can’t even fit around Sungyoon’s fifth finger, almost makes you want to smash the frames to the ground.

You almost don’t take them with you. It’s only when Sungyoon holds out the thin frames that you remember them, two-dimensional faces of people you lost, smiling with a joy that you don’t think you’ll feel ever again.

“You’ll want them,” Sungyoon says quietly. “It hurts now, but you will. Trust me.”

The weight behind his words convinces you.

In the end, you put them in your bag, stuffing your mother’s note into one of the frames. Sungyoon helps you cushion them with your spare clothes. When you’ve finally packed them away, you walk with him to the front of the house before hesitating in the doorway.

Sungyoon glances at you. “Ready?”

You don’t turn around, but you let your eyes wander over what of the living room you can see from here. You’ve left this house many times, both times when you went to university and every time you left after a break, but you always came back. Even when everything happened, you came back. You still came back.

This time, you don’t think you’ll ever return.

“Y/N?”

You hear Sungyoon, but you still say nothing, riveting your gaze to the door. Once you leave this house, you won’t come back. You can’t even hope for it.

But you think it’ll be okay, because home isn’t just a place. It’s with people, too. And though you will never forget your original home with your mom and Daeyeol, you think you’ve found the beginnings of another home with Sungyoon.

You take Sungyoon’s hand, tangle your fingers through his. He looks at you with some concern but you don’t look back, just blink your eyes and take a breath.

You’re leaving your original home for a less certain one, a home bound solely in human attachment without the solid root of a house. It’s a little tenuous, a little shaky, but with your hands joined like this, you think there’s a possibility things might be okay.

It’s a chance you’re willing to take.

“Yeah.” You finally look up, squeezing his fingers once. You twist the doorknob. “Let’s go.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain two characters to stay alive)

#kpopscape #golden child #golcha #gncd #sungyoon #choi sungyoon #golden child y #golden child sungyoon #golcha sungyoon #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #golden child oneshots #golcha scenarios #golden child sungyoon scenarios #golden child y scenarios #golden child x reader #golcha x reader #choi sungyoon x reader #golcha sungyoon x reader #golden child sungyoon x reader #angst #fluff #apocalypse!au #tw cursing #tw death #tw blood #tw suicide #light the pyres #light the pyres |burn| #scriptura-delirus

[honestgrins]

I have a prompt for you if you can. Not sure if you watch Legacies, there’s an episode where Lizzie makes a wish to a Jinn that Hope is never born. In this alternate universe, Lizzie won the Merge, Klaus flipped his switch 2 years ago in grief and started a war with the humans leading to Triad publicly hunting all supernaturals. Enemy #1 is Klaus and his vampire wife Caroline Mikaelson. I’d like to see a Klaroline fic of this AU please.

Prompt part 2. I have some personal thoughts on this alternative universe but itS totally up to you if you go with them or if you come up with your own. No Hope means no Hayley, means no Elijah dying. So why was Klaus grieving? No Hope means back in TVD S4 the witches had no way of luring him to NO so he stayed in MF eventually wearing Caroline down into a relationship. Josie and Lizzie were like his daughters and when they merged he and Caroline both flipped the switch in grief of Josie.

 Tears Will Never Dry (angsty)

“I failed them.” Her voice was so small and defeated. Curled up as she was in the armchair, Caroline looked blankly out the window. Though she had a perfect view of Bonnie talking through some witchy herbs with a despondent Lizzie out in the courtyard, her eyes didn’t seem to register. It was like she wasn’t even there.

Klaus, who once proudly professed he had no heart, felt something break inside him for he knew nothing could truly comfort her. He had failed her. So he offered what little he could, what he held onto when she was so far away. “You love them so completely, you could never fail them,” he vowed, and he’d never meant something so much. It took all his strength not to pull her into his arms, to close the distance she wrapped around herself so tightly. “You will help Lizzie through this, and—” The lump in his throat made it hard to speak, not that he could bring himself to say the name she cried in her sleep. “—you loved her to the end.”

Tears trickled down her crumpled face. “It’s not supposed to happen that way,” she croaked. “Mom and Dad loved me to the end, too. Their ends. Now, I have to live with her being gone. Forever.”

It used to be a promise between them, sweet and tempting; on her tongue, the word sounded sour. Helpless and desperate, Klaus kneeled  at her feet. He pressed his mouth to her knee, hands wrapped around her legs like a lifeline. “Tell me what I can do. Please, sweetheart. Let me help.”

Blinking down at him, she let her fingers card through his hair. Her smile was sad, apologetic. “It just hurts so much.”

And he knew it was too late.

The club was a dangerous idea. They were meant to be in hiding, and it defied sense to flaunt their return to New Orleans in a favorite haunt. But the girls were having fun, and Klaus was loathe to break up the party with sense.

He was tucked into the quietest corner of the VIP lounge, high above the din. Lizzie and Caroline, meanwhile, danced in the crush of the crowd, the pounding beat far too much for even a vampire’s ears. They laughed as they bumped into each other, and a smile curled his lips. It was good to be home.

Their little family was still grieving Josie’s loss after two years, each in their own way. Caroline preferred enjoying the lighter side of life, aided by a lack of human sensibilities. Lizzie alternated between reveling in her magic and loathing it for the too dear cost, just as she hated her mother for flipping the switch and loved having her as more of a friend. Klaus...

Klaus was just trying to keep the game interesting.

“Careful, friend,” Marcel warned, offering him a fresh drink as he dropped into the next chair. “Your humanity is showing.”

“She’s not paying me any mind, we can speak freely.” He turned to his old friend, a son that was lost and found, then lost and found again. How he wished he could grant such a miracle to Caroline. “Tell me about Triad.”

Clenching his glass, Marcel looked grim. “My nightwalkers keep disappearing, and even the ones with the GIft,” he murmured with laden meaning, since vampires had learned to hoard the secret of lapis lazuli and the safety it provided, “have mentioned being followed. Davina hasn’t risen far in the ranks of the organization yet, but she thinks a big move is in the works.”

He grit his teeth. “And?”

“The ‘vampire wife’ is whispered around the place. Often.”

It was a fight to loosen the tension in his body, but a necessary one. He raised a toast to Caroline, who tried to coax him out to the dance floor. He shook his head, charming enough so as not to rouse her suspicion. “I assume a kidnapping then.”

“At the least,” Marcel agreed. “Whether they want information from her or to use her against you, torture is to be expected. The switch might be a benefit to her if it comes to that—”

"It won't." His tone was final, even as he held his smirk. The ladies were too busy laughing off those bold men trying to dance with them to read him from afar. "She's been through enough."

Noticeably quiet, Marcel just sipped his drink.

“What, Marcellus?” Klaus bit out.

With a measured glance toward him, he shrugged. “The switch... She’s not really going through anything, and she hasn’t for years now. And thinking you’ve flipped yours, too? You’ve created a comfortable little world for her to avoid the pain, maintaining it to keep her safe without her knowing. What happens when the illusion shatters?”

He gave a careless flip of his hand. “She can’t turn it off twice.”

“If you say so.”

It wasn’t a new argument to Klaus, not when Stefan, Bonnie, Elijah — even Rebekah — had implored him to rethink his grand strategy for Caroline to party away the worst of her pain. At the very least, he could be honest about his own, relatively intact humanity. Instead, he let her enjoy the lighter side of life without tempting a worse outcome should she feel the need to punish him for trying to fix her. After all, she’d done much the same when her mother died.

The subterfuge was messy but necessary, especially with credible threats against her in this war the humans insist upon waging. His ear was attuned to the array of heartbeats throughout the club, the loud music not enough to dull his hybrid senses. Vampires had a slow, dull throb when compared to the hearty pound of a werewolf, not that they’d find themselves in the Abattoir without some pressing business that was sure to involve him. Same with the witches, and only Lizzie’s let out the fast-paced thrum of both full blood and magic.

Humans, though, they seemed to be threading in from the edges of the crowd — and aiming for the blondes at the center. Feeling the world slow around him, Klaus launched himself down from the balcony, mindless to the vampires hurrying to get everyone out of his way. None of them caught the true danger, however, until the strobe light caught on the wooden stakes being pulled from jackets.

Klaus managed to snap three necks before they got close, but Caroline was too busy blocking access to Lizzie to notice the woman stretching a strong arm toward her. Feeling like he was underwater, he watched as Lizzie’s fear overwhelmed her, and the hand grasped around her mother’s wrist glowed red. Pain seemed to lance through Caroline, and she lost her focus to fend off the attack she still hadn’t seen coming.

The familiar scent of her blood filled the air, and all Klaus could see was red.

Later, he would confirm that the scratch down Caroline’s back healed perfectly, that she’d survived the bold offensive he hadn’t stopped. Even later than that, he would acknowledge his plan had been far from perfect, without even the veneer of success to defend it when her humanity was eventually restored.

But in the moment, the thought of losing her to his own carelessness was too much. Clearly, holding onto his humanity wasn’t working the way he’d envisioned; in fact, his rage at the sight of a stake piercing her skin felt like a liability. He processed this in the span of a second, and by the time the human’s bloody head hit the dance floor, his decision had been made.

The world already saw him as a ruthless monster. He might as well give it to them, and he’d make them bleed for daring to harm her. He didn’t need his humanity for that.

With his fangs bared and blood dripping from his hand, he certainly looked the part. When Caroline met his eyes, however, something must have alerted her to the change. Having torn the stake from her back and moved Lizzie to the safe space between them, her head tilted to the side as she appraised him with a new appreciation. She gave a sharp grin of joy and arousal, her tongue slipping from beneath her fangs to wet the corner of her lips. “It’s about time.”

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #fic: tears will never dry #angsty #to rely on the kindness of strangers #lorelaipeyton

[jazy3]

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X8

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I freakin’ loved this episode! It was so so good! Which surprised me considering what they focused on. Based on the promo I knew that this would be DeLuca’s goodbye episode and so I expected to like the other parts of the episode we were shown in the promo such as Hayes talking to Meredith at her bedside, Richard’s storyline, and Derek’s return. However, I was not expecting to enjoy any part of DeLuca’s farewell storyline and I was pleasantly surprised. I think that’s because they focused on the effects of grief and guilt and how everyone processes those emotions differently.

It was a really interesting character study on how each person feels a loss in their own way. Despite not liking the character I actually found DeLuca’s memorial service quite moving. I think it was because they found a creative way to do it and because funerals in the real world like we normally do aren't possible right now. My grandfather died last summer and while he didn’t want a funeral my family and I weren’t able to get together to mourn his loss as we usually would and that’s been hard.

I wasn’t particularly close with my grandfather, but the loss of traditional grieving rituals in this time of COVID-19 has been frustrating. I liked that they found a creative way to have the characters mourn the loss of a fellow staff member. I expected to see Carina more, but as I understand it her storyline played out more on Station 19 which makes sense. I felt like they did a good job of showing the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) and how everyone experiences them differently.

Teddy and Owen displayed survivors' guilt and frustration that they did everything right and he still died. At the end we see Teddy in a catatonic state and it made me think that she might be sick with COVID herself or that there was something else wrong. While I've never been a Teddy and Owen shipper I did like the moment at the end where Owen noticed something was wrong and came over to her and told her that he would take her home and when she didn't respond he picked her up and carried her.

It reminded me of the Season 2 episode where Denny dies and Izzie refuses to leave his side so Alex picks her up and carries her over to a chair in her prom dress. Very different relationships, but a nice parallel in my opinion. This episode had a lot of those. Teddy seeing DeLuca in other people’s faces was freaky! I have to say that guy is way more interesting as a ghost then he ever was alive.  

I totally got Helm's reaction. I understand why she said and thought those horrible things about DeLuca. He was an ass for a really long time. I probably would have done the same thing myself, but that doesn't mean she wanted him dead. I thought what Maggie did for her was wonderful. My heart broke for Schmitt when he described his emotions. Richard was angry and Bailey went overboard trying to figure out what happened. Everyone's experience of a loss is different and I like that they showed that.

I’m glad that Richard told Bailey what she needed to hear. It was painful, but in trying to find an answer or a reason for what happened she was unintentionally hurting the people around her who were suffering too. The strength of Richard and Bailey's relationship is that they can tell each other the truth when no one else can or will. I loved his monologue to Catherine about trying to find a meaning in the puzzle of life and questioning his faith which is such a big part of his sobriety. James Pickens Jr. did a beautiful job in that scene.

Say what you want about Catherine, but I loved her response. Richard was trying to find meaning in the meaningless and in response she shared with him that her latest scans showed that the cancer hadn’t grown. Logically it should have, but it didn’t. Sometimes there are miracles and sometimes there are senseless deaths. Life is a puzzle. We don’t always understand it. That was exactly what Richard needed to hear in that moment.

On a more upbeat note, I loved the beach scenes this week! They were perfect! They were everything I dreamed of for my favourite characters and more! We got to see Derek and Meredith get closer and talk about the kids. When Meredith is heartbroken that Derek never got to meet Ellis or to know her he tells her all of these wonderful things about her. How she’s just like Meredith and makes it clear that he’s watching over them always.

He talks about Zola and how she writes to him in her journal and how Meredith taught her to ride a bike. I teared up! I've been waiting for them to discuss the kids and here it is! Hearing Derek talk about Ellis and knowing that he watches over Meredith and the kids was so emotional for me. I loved hearing him describe who she is and getting to learn more about her. I'm glad he encouraged her to go back. As much as Derek and Meredith miss each other she's needed back in the land of the living.

Her kids need her and so does everyone else. I loved Derek's gentle teasing. His facial expressions. And then there are her scenes with Hayes! God they were perfect! I've been waiting for this! I loved how Meredith kept joyfully asking him what he did to make Ellis smile so wide and laugh so loudly. She knows he can't hear her yet there she is dying to know what he said or did. The sound of her voice when she said that was everything for me. They already feel like a couple. So much in sync.

I love that Derek, who was shown to be extremely jealous in life, encouraged her to hear Hayes out. I really felt like he was giving her his blessing and the fact that they established that Hayes has met the kids virtually and they know who he is sealed the deal for me. Hayes has now received Cristina’s approval, Derek’s blessing, and is shown to have positive relationships with Meredith’s friends and family in Seattle. I loved that Hayes told Meredith to fight and talked about how her kids were doing and how everyone needs her.

I loved that he came and sat at her bedside and begged her to fight and not give up and that he talked to her even though he wasn’t sure if she could hear him. I love that he sat with her through the virtual memorial even though he wasn’t close to DeLuca and didn’t like him. The cheerful greeting and familiarity with which he greets Amelia and Zola and the stories he tells Meredith indicates that he’s been having regular video chats with Amelia, Maggie, Link, and the kids and that he’s chosen to stay by Meredith’s side when he just as easily could have left while she was on a call with her kids.  

It will also make the transition easier when do start dating because the kids will already know him. The music in this episode was really beautiful. Especially the songs that played during the beach scenes. I really enjoyed the drunken Link, Jo, and Jackson scene. I felt it brought much needed levity and humour to the episode the same way the beer scene with Jackson, Link, and Winston did in the previous episode. Their scenes were funny and raw and provided a good balance for the episode.

I also loved seeing more of Jo and Jackson's friends with benefits relationship and more of Jo and Link and Jackson and Link's friendship. I'd actually forgotten that Jackson and Link were friends so it was cool to see that dynamic again and that Link is supportive of their situation. The drinking game to me felt like a throwback to the Season 2 episode where Meredith and Cristina are at Joe’s Bar playing a game of whose life sucks the most and she tells them that Derek is married and Cristina tells her she’s pregnant. These revelations eventual lead to Cristina scheduling an abortion and declaring Meredith her person.

It was cool to see Maggie and Winston working together at Grey Sloan Memorial. Winston living in Boston was only going to go on for so long because as we've all found out this past year there's only so much you can do virtually. I knew he'd be moving to Seattle at some point and I'm glad to see him working at the hospital and hanging with Maggie's family. The scene where he danced it out with the kids was too cute! I'll be interested to see more of their dynamic moving forward as Maggie used to be his teacher and is now his boss. I'm also glad that both Winston and Hayes are finally getting the proper screen time they deserve.

Their storyline with the naked guy cracked me up! My two favourite lines of the episode were when the guy freaked out because he realized he wasn’t wearing his mask and Maggie said, “You’re not wearing much of anything.” And when Maggie and Winston went looking for him and Zander Perez, the resident from Pac North, told them, “If you’re looking for a naked guy he went that way.” I laughed so hard!

The scenes with Zola got me. She is a real trouper. She definitely is Meredith Grey's daughter through and through. I'm a big believer in found family and one of the things Grey's does really is show that there are many different ways to be a family and that family is what you make of it. True family is made up of the people who love and support you unconditionally not genetics. I really love that they've shown the strength of that bond between Zola and her family.

My favourite hidden moment of the episode was Tom! He appears in the background at DeLuca's memorial which means he's getting better. If he's well enough to be outside at the memorial then his condition has greatly improved since last we saw and that's great! Tom's a wonderfully complex character and I'm glad he's doing better. He appears in a bunch of deleted scenes that were released through the Grey’s Anatomy Twitter account which I highly recommend. The writing in this episode was excellent!

This episode was written by Adrian Wenner whose previous credits include the Season 16 episode ‘A Hard Pill to Swallow’ in which Meredith and Hayes work that vaping case together and get to know each for the first time. Honestly, my only complaint about this episode is that I wish they’d done it sooner! I wish they had bumped this and the previous episode up. The Mid-Season Finale felt very anti-climatic to me and was poorly received by a lot of fans. I wish they had just scrapped that episode or combined it with what we saw in the Mid-Season Premiere and then jumped into this episode after the break. But we’re here now and that’s the important thing.

Onto next week’s promo. Damn does it look interesting! We see that Owen has brought Teddy home and she’s not eating or speaking and he’s worried if her condition does not improve he’ll have to admit her. I’m sure he’s having flashbacks to when Cristina did the same thing after the plane crash. She appears to be experiencing some kind of nightmare sequence where she sees DeLuca as a ghost and Meredith speaks to her. Looks intense!

Until next time!

#grey's anatomy #meredith grey #cormac hayes #cormac x meredith #meredith x cormac #MerHayes #MerWidow #teddy altman #17x08 #it's all too much #owen hunt #cristina yang #tom koracick #zola grey shepherd #ellis shepherd #derek shepherd #amelia shepherd #maggie pierce #winston ndugu #richard webber #miranda bailey #taryn helm #izzie stevens #alex karev #zander perez #jo wilson #jackson avery #atticus lincoln #catherine fox #grief

[zukos-scribe]

Grief

Peter Parker x Reader

Ok this is another one of my fics from my old blog that I edited heavily and am reposting on here. So if you've seen this before don't worry.

Major trigger warning for dying/death/torture/etc.

You were breathing hard, sweat pouring down your face as you tried to gain your bearings. It was hot and dark, only one rickety old lamp hanging high from the ceiling.

It illuminated your face along with the other person sitting in the room with you, Peter.

Peter Parker.

He's your best friend, you were the only person in school that he trusted with his spiderman secret from the very beginning. And he's the guy that you had been crushing on for the past three years.

But alas, he was currently crushing on a really popular senior girl named Liz. You had to admit, she was beautiful. A lot more than yourself. Every time she talked to you or Peter, your insecurities grew.

You considered yourself more of the background friend. Someone that was there to lean on if needed, that friend that would have to step behind the others when walking down the sidewalks.

However, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a good friend. He was a great friend. He was there when you needed him, listened to you geek out about your interests, made sure to include you in conversations with others.

He was your best friend.

Even though you wanted him to be more.

But it had been harder since he had become spiderman. He was rushing around, he didn’t have as much time for you anymore. Study dates and friend time had become near impossible. Weekend tech and gaming events had disappeared.

It was the night of the homecoming dance, and he had rushed out of the school looking desperate and scared, even ditching Liz after bringing her as his date.

You didn’t know what was happening so you chased after him.

“Peter!” you called as you ran after him.

“Go back! Y/N! Don’t follow me!” he yelled, changing into his spiderman suit. You continued to run after him anyway. But he was too fast for you now.

“Peter!” you screamed as he took off.

You stood there outside of the school watching as your best friend and the boy that you loved swung off into the night.

“Well, how sweet it is that I found spiderman’s little…. Whatever you are,” a threatening voice suddenly said from behind you.

You spun around to see whoever it was, but a pair of hands reached out to grab you before you could see their face.

Then, blackness. ~~~~ When you woke you were in that darkened room, only the one rusty light on the ceiling. It didn’t shed light on anything other than Peter’s face and an IV going into your arm. Your wrists were gently tied to the arms of your chair with pieces of cloth. The two of you were seated at a table across from each other, with another chair on your right side. Obviously, someone was going to be joining you.

You looked at Peter in fear.

“What’s going on?” you croaked.

“I don’t know.”

You stared at him until a loud mental bang rang throughout the room.

A pair of hands appeared by Peter’s head, wrapping a dirty piece of cloth around his mouth. Peter’s eyes widened in fear and he tried to fight off the man.

“Now, Peter if you want to me to take off that gag you need to listen first of all. Although I think by the end of this you won’t be able to care anymore. I aim to destroy you.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked as he sat down in the chair next to you.

“Well darling, I think that our precious spiderman here is about to lose his best friend forever. That IV in your arm is slowly killing you. But, if you can talk fast enough, you might be able to save yourself. But I don’t know, you’ve never said anything like this to him before.”

“Tell him what?” you asked confused.

“All of those deep dark feelings that you’ve hidden away in the back of your heart and brain. The ones that only come out when it’s late at night and you’re done with the world. The ones that began to appear after Spiderboy here came into the picture So go ahead, get talking. I’ll be one room over.”

The man got up and removed your constraints before leaving the room.

Peter looked at you with worry and confusion in his eyes. He tried to say something against the gag, but nothing coherent came out.

“I’m sorry Peter, I’m so sorry,” you cried, letting your head droop. “I didn’t want you to ever find out about any of this.”

He started to struggle in his chair, trying to loosen his bonds. You reached over to carefully slip the gag off of his mouth. You wanted to help him get free, but he was cuffed to the chair with mental.

“Y/N, what is he talking about? Are you okay? What’s going on? What feelings are you keeping from me?”

“Peter-”

“Please Y/N, just be honest with me.”

You looked at him with the saddest expression that he’s ever seen in his life. Your cheeks seemed hollow, your eyes were empty and sad. You weren’t yourself. How long had you been feeling this way?

“Ever since you became spiderman, it’s been so hard. I constantly feel left behind, you don’t have as much time to spend with me. I just sit in my room now watching the news, hoping that you’re still safe and alive. Then I see you in school the next day and you seem fine, but you don’t tell me anything. Then you go off and-” you paused, a coughing fit coming over you.

“And what?”

“You go and get distracted by Liz. You’re so infatuated with her, you don’t see that I’m standing right beside you, just like I’ve always been. I love you Peter. More than a friend, but you don’t see it.”

Peter stared at you horrified, guilt was creeping into his eyes.

“Y/N I-”

“It’s okay,” you coughed out. “You don’t have to love me. I've already accepted the fact that you never would. I just miss my best friend. We used to tell each other everything. But you've been keeping so much to yourself that I felt so helpless. What if something happened to you and I couldn't do anything about it. Or I never found out and one day you just disappeared."

He started to try and say something but you were hit with more coughs, each one worse than the last one. Blood appeared on your hand. You were dying. You didn't think that it would be so quick.

“Y/n, hang on. I’ll get us out of here,” Peter cried, trying to break free again. He was becoming frantic.

You slumped in your chair. You felt cold, your eyes were drooping, your head was fuzzy. You couldn’t think straight anymore. You looked tiredly at Peter who was trying to free his hands.

“I don’t want to die in here,” you whispered.

Peter froze, his eyes full of panic.

“No. I won’t let you die. You’re going to be fine, we’ll get out of here. I’m going to get you help.”

He managed to break the restraints on one of his hands before beginning on the other hand.

“Just stay awake for me please.”

You shook your head slightly.

“I can’t.”

He managed to get his other hand free and ran over to you.

“Alright, we’re going to get out of here.” He tried to help you up but you fell to the floor. He gathered you in his arms and tried to figure out a way out of the room.

“I love you Peter. I’m sorry.”

“No!” he screamed. “Y/N! Wake up! Please! Wake up, please wake up!” He buried his face into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(does any of this make sense? idk anymore)

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #tw: injury #tw: death

[eldritchw1tch]

i don’t want you like a best friend: a tswift-pimms playlist

i don’t want you like a best friend: a tswift-pimms playlist 

link

this is the pimms playlist i spent more than a year working on from like, 2018 to the end of 2019! as such, it only contains music up through lover, not anything from folklore or evermore. @permets-2​ finally poked me into posting the liner notes, which I gave up on because tumblr formatting was fighting me, so please know i haven’t actually looked at them since 2019 and there might still be missing things? idk.

this playlist is absolutely dedicated to my beloved @faiasakura​, who did her own version of an all-tswift pimms playlist completely independently (we actively avoided comparing notes, lol), which can be found here!

i don’t really go here lately but i hope this is of interest to someone!

Prologue

1. Don’t Blame Me (reputation)

for you, I would fall from grace

Just to touch your face

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

…

Lord save me, my drug is my baby

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Act 1: The Q

2. Gorgeous (reputation)

a crush

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

…

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face

'Cause look at your face

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

But what can I say?

You're gorgeous

3. Treacherous (Red)

something magnetic, pulling them both in

And I'll do anything you say

If you say it with your hands

And I'd be smart to walk away

But you're quicksand

…

Your name has echoed through my mind

And I just think you should, think you should know

That nothing safe is worth the drive

And I will follow you, follow you home

4. Dress (reputation)

a shared and precious secret: love, desperate and messy and everything. But also: the scrutiny, the frenetic anxiety, the fear.

I’m spilling wine in the bathtub

You kiss my face and we're both drunk

Everyone thinks that they know us

But they know nothing about—

All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

5. Tied Together With a Smile (Taylor Swift)

the pressure builds; jack’s anxiety gets worse

Hold on, baby you're losing it

The water's high, you're jumping into it

And letting go, and no one knows

That you cry, but you don't tell anyone

That you might not be the golden one

And you're tied together with a smile

But you're coming undone

6. Long Live (Speak Now)

the glory, the playoffs, the memorial cup: the golden boys of hockey, on top of the world

Long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, long live all the magic we made

And bring on all the pretenders

One day, we will be remembered

…

Hold on, to spinning around

Confetti falls to the ground

May these memories break our fall

7. State of Grace (Red)

the 34 days, inside kent’s euphoria

This is a state of grace

This is the worthwhile fight

Love is a ruthless game

Unless you play it good and right

These are the hands of fate

You’re my Achilles heel

this is the golden age of something good and right and real

8. Cruel Summer (Lover)

(that golden season and its dark underbelly)

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

-

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

9. Haunted (Speak Now)

the overdose: kent finds jack on the bathroom floor

Whoa, holding my breath

Won't lose you again

Something's made your eyes go cold

-

Come on, come on, don't leave me like this

I thought I had you figured out

Something's gone terribly wrong

You're all I wanted

10. I Know Places (1989)

kent in the waiting room, holding on hope

Something happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

…

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

Act 2: The Fallout

11. The Story of Us (Speak Now)

kent goes to the draft; jack won’t answer his calls

Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room

And we're not speaking

And I'm dying to know

Is it killing you like it's killing me?

Yeah, and I don't know what to say

Since the twist of fate, when it all broke down

And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

…

The battle's in your hands now

But I would lay my armor down

If you say you'd rather love than fight

12. Last Kiss (Speak Now)

jack and kent, the same realization from opposite sides

So I'll go sit on the floor

Wearing your clothes

All that I know is

I don't know how to be something you miss

I never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

13. Death By A Thousand Cuts (Lover)

Starting to live with the devastation and the broken heart

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

Flashbacks waking me up

I get drunk, but it's not enough

’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby

I look through the windows of this love

Even though we boarded them up

Chandelier's still flickering here

’Cause I can't pretend it's okay when it's not

It's death by a thousand cuts

14. If This Was A Movie (Speak Now)

regrets and memories

Last night, I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinkin' 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

15. Cold as You (Taylor Swift)

the grief and pain become anger and bitterness

And when you take, you take the very best of me

So I start a fight cause I need to feel something

And you do what you want cause I'm not what you wanted

…

You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray

And I stood there loving you and wished them all away

And you come away with a great little story

Of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

Interlude 1: Jack

16. I Almost Do (Red)

kent doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does (but jack doesn’t either)

I bet you think I either moved on or hate you

‘Cause each time you reach out, there’s no reply

I bet it never, ever occurred to you

That I can’t say hello to you

And risk another goodbye

…

Oh, we made quite a mess, babe

It’s probably better off this way

And I confess, babe

In my dreams, you’re touching my face

And asking me if I want to try again with you

And I almost do

Act 3: Coming of Age in Vegas

17. New Romantics (1989)

vegas; teammates; living in the moment; drinking, dancing, and self-destructing

We're all here, the lights and boys are blinding

We hang back, it's all in the timing

It's poker

He can't see it in my face

But I'm about to play my Ace (ahh)

We need love, but all we want is danger

We team up, then switch sides like a record changer

The rumors are terrible and cruel

But honey, most of them are true

…

Heartbreak is the national anthem

We sing it proudly

We’re too busy dancing (yeah) to get knocked off our feet

Baby, we're the new romantics

The best people in life are free

18. Begin Again (Red)

kent starts to move on

And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid

I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did

I've been spending the last eight months

Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end

But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again

19. The Way I Loved You (Fearless)

all the drinking and dancing and dating still feel empty and hollow; he just wants to feel again; he just wants that love back

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

It's 2 AM and I'm cursing your name

I'm so in love that I acted insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breaking down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kind of rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

…

He can't see the smile I'm faking

And my heart's not breaking

'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all

And you were wild and crazy

Just so frustrating

Intoxicating, complicated

20. The Lucky One (Red)

kent parson: the loneliest boy, so alone at the top of the world

You had it figured out since you were in school

Everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool

So overnight, you look like a sixties queen

…

And they tell you that you’re lucky, but you’re so confused

'Cause you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used

And all the young things line up to take your place

—

Another name goes up in lights

You wonder if you’ll make it out alive

21. Come In With The Rain (Fearless)

(starting to move on is not the same as letting go)

I’ve watched you so long, screamed your name

I don’t know what else I can say

…

But I’ll leave my window open

'Cause I’m too tired at night to call your name

Just know I’m right here hoping

That you’ll come in with the rain

Act 4: Implosion

22. Out of the Woods (1989)

memories he can’t escape of a love like a car crash

The night we couldn't quite forget

When we decided, we decided

To move the furniture so we could dance

Baby, like we stood a chance

Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying

And I remember thinking

-

Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet?

…

You took a Polaroid of us

Then discovered (then discovered)

The rest of the world was black and white

But we were in screaming color

23. Red (Red)

Kent decides to go to epikegster

Loving him is like driving a new Maserati

Down a dead-end street

Faster than the wind, passionate as sin

Ending so suddenly

…

Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go

But moving on from him is impossible

When I still see it all in my head

In burning red

Loving him was red

24. The Last Time (Red)

didja miss me? (something tentative; something a little bit hopeful on both sides)

Find myself at your door

Just like all those times before

I’m not sure how I got there

All roads they lead me here

I imagine you are home

In your room, all alone

And you open your eyes into mine

And everything feels better

25. The Archer (Lover)

kent tries to extend an olive branch but it’s still covered in thorns

Combat, I'm ready for combat

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

…

I've been the archer, I've been the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling

But who could stay?

…

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face

Then I hate my reflection for years and years

26. Bad Blood (1989)

jack’s answer to kent’s wounded lashing out

Oh, it's so sad to

Think about the good times

You and I

…

’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood

You know it used to be mad love

So take a look what you've done

’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

27. Breathe (Fearless)

kent, driving away from epikegster

I see your face in my mind as I drive away

'Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way

People are people and sometimes we change our minds

But it's killing me to see you go after all this time

…

And we know it's never simple, never easy

Never a clean break, no one here to save me

You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand

…

And I can't breathe without you, but I have to

Breathe without you but I have to

28. All Too Well (Red)

despite all the pain, there’s an irresistible nostalgia for what they had all those years ago—for when things were so much simpler

Maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

'Til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

'Cause I remember it all, all, all

Too well

…

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it

I'd like to be my old self again

But I'm still trying to find it

Interlude 2: Kent

29. Fifteen (Fearless)

a memory, a reflection

'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you

You're gonna believe them

And when you're fifteen and your first kiss

Makes your head spin 'round

But in your life you'll do things greater than

Dating the boy on the football team

But I didn't know it at fifteen

…

When all you wanted was to be wanted

Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now

Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday

But I realized some bigger dreams of mine

Act 5: Moving On, Growing Up

30. Clean (1989)

finally learning to be his own person, separate from that shared past

There was nothing left to do (Oh-oh, oh-oh)

When the butterflies turned to

Dust that covered my whole room

So I punched a hole in the roof (Oh-oh, oh-oh)

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

…

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud

But no one heard a thing

…

Rain came pouring down

When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

And by morning

Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean

31. 22 (Red)

friends and freedom, and real joy in that this time around

It feels like a perfect night

To dress up like hipsters

And make fun of our exes, uh-uh, uh-uh

It feels like a perfect night

For breakfast at midnight

To fall in love with strangers, uh-uh, uh-uh

…

Yeah

We're happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time

It's miserable and magical, oh, yeah

Tonight's the night when we forget about the deadlines

It's time, oh-oh

32. So It Goes… (reputation)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

'Cause we break down a little

But when you get me alone, it's so simple

'Cause baby, I know what you know

We can feel it

…

And all the pieces fall right into place

Getting caught up in a moment

Lipstick on your face

So it goes…

…

I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl, but I

Do bad things with you

So it goes…

33. Dancing With Our Hands Tied (reputation)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

I, I loved you in secret

First sight, yeah, we love without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know?

…

Could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets

Picture of your face in an invisible locket

You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

I had a bad feeling

…

I'd kiss you as the lights went out

Swaying as the room burned down

I'd hold you as the water rushes in

If I could dance with you again

34. Wildest Dreams (1989)

[a doomed love can still be a good one]

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

…

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your

Wildest dreams, ah-aah, haa

34. Shake It Off (1989)

At the top of his game, at the top of his sport, and actually happy at long last

I never miss a beat

I'm lightning on my feet

And that's what they don’t see, mm, mm

…

But I keep cruisin'

Can't stop, won't stop groovin'

It's like I got this music in my mind

Saying it's gonna be alright

…

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

I shake it off, I shake it off

Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break

And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

I shake it off, I shake it off

35. Holy Ground (Red)

Remembering with enough distance and experience to appreciate what was, not ache from it

Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress

We had this big wide city all to ourselves

We blocked the noise with the sound of, "I need you"

And for the first time, I had something to lose

And I guess we fell apart in the usual way

And the story's got dust on every page

But sometimes, I wonder how you think about it now

And I see your face in every crowd

…

'Cause darling, it was good

Never looking down

And right there where we stood

Was holy ground

Act 6: Reunion

36. ME! (Lover)

reconnection, reconciliation, re-appreciation

I know I tend to make it about me

I know you never get just what you see

But I will never bore you, baby

(And there's a lot of lame guys out there)

…

'Cause one of these things is not like the others

Livin' in winter, I am your summer

Baby doll, when it comes to a lover

I promise that you'll never find another like me-e-e

37. This Love (1989)

an unexpected reawakening

Tossing, turning

Struggled through the night with someone new

And I could go on and on, on and on

Lantern, burning

Flickered in my mind, only you

But you were still gone, gone, gone

…

Been losing grip, on sinking ships

You showed up just in time

…

This love is good, this love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead, oh-oh, oh

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me, oh-oh, oh

38. End Game (reputation) (ft. ed sheeran as jack)

After all this time, there are things they aren’t ever going to let go of again, no matter the trouble they bring

I got a bad boy persona, that's what they like (what they like)

You love it, I love it too 'cause you my type (You my type)

You hold me down, and I protect you with my life

…

I don't wanna touch you, I don't wanna be

Just another ex-love you don’t wanna see

I don’t wanna miss you (I don't wanna miss you)

Like the other girls do

I don’t wanna hurt you, I just wanna be

Drinking on a beach with you all over me

I know what they all say (I know what they all say)

But I ain't tryna play

…

I wanna be your end game (End game)

I wanna be your first string (First string)

I wanna be your A-Team (A-Team)

I wanna be your end game, end game

39. You Are In Love (1989)

something real; something sacred; something to build a life on

You can hear it in the silence (silence), silence (silence), you

You can feel it on the way home (way home), way home (way home), you

You can see it with the lights out (lights out), lights out (lights out)

You are in love, true love

You are in love

…

You kiss on sidewalks

You fight and you talk

One night, he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says "You're my best friend"

And you knew what it was, he is in love

40. Change (Fearless)

when the two biggest hockey players of their generation come out of the closet—together—are in love with each other—it changes more lives than just theirs

So we've been outnumbered, raided, and now cornered

It's hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

We're getting stronger now, finding things they never found

They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared

You can walk away, say we don't need this

But there's something in your eyes says we can beat this

…

'Cause these things will change

Can you feel it now?

These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down

This revolution, the time will come

For us to finally win

And we'll sing hallelujah, we'll sing hallelujah

Oh, oh

41. Call It What You Want (reputation)

When it stops mattering what anyone else thinks

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressing up as kings

They fade to nothing when I look at him

And I know I make the same mistakes every time

Bridges burn, I never learn

At least I did one thing right

I did one thing right

I'm laughing with my lover, makin' forts under covers

Trust him like a brother

Yeah, you know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night

…

My baby's fit like a daydream

Walking with his head down

I'm the one he's walking to

So call it what you want, yeah

Call it what you want to

42. Lover (Lover)

love

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

And this is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

…

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close?

Forever and ever, ah

Take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

43. New Year’s Day (reputation)

love

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

I can tell that it's gonna be a long road

I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe

Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

…

Don't read the last page

But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we're making mistakes

I want your midnights

But I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

44. Daylight (Lover)

Building a new life in the daylight

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in

Everyone looked worse in the light

There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven

I'll tell you truth, but never goodbye

…

I once believed love would be (burning red)

But it's golden

Like daylight, like daylight

Like daylight, daylight

…

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night

And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

#check please #pimms #fanmix #taylor swift #jackparse #mine #rare playlists #omgcp #hockey gays #jack zimmermann #kent parson #kent #parse #parse posi #posse pals #sol #permets-2 #faia #faiasakura #the tswift playlist #liner notes #i don't want you like a best friend

[darkestdawnhq]

FABIAN PREWETT is a 25 year old PUREBLOOD, a former GRYFFINDOR, and an UNEMPLOYED who is an ORDER MEMBER and uses HE/HIM pronouns. They are categorized as CODE FIVE. They are currently CLOSED.

Firewhiskey around the fire and forcing yourself to keep laughing | Half of your entire soul and self is gone with him | Leather boots caked with mud | Your whole world is gone so having nothing to left to lose | The smell of oranges and cinnamon | Your words sound quieter without your echo

HISTORY.

Fabian came into the world the same way he intended to leave it: with a bang. Poor Carl and Margaret Prewett were unprepared for their new twin boys in more ways than one. From the start, Fabian was curious and adventurous with the constant glint of mischief in his eye. Where Gideon went, Fabian would follow, and likewise. Never saw one without the other, and if you did, it was time to start worrying because it meant something was surely afoot.

If things ever got too quiet, the boys had likely attached themselves to their older sister, Molly. His earliest memories of his sister was her teaching them some silly dance she had made to go along with one of their father’s records. Of course, there was always the times when Fabian and Gideon were making their sister mad with taunts and jokes and a prank gone too far.

Even at Hogwarts, the twins were together. Two Gryffindors. The professors had been expecting sweet, quiet little boys, because surely anyone raised in the same household as Molly would turn out as well. What they got instead was a seven year long migraine, if not from the actual antics but from the Howlers echoing in the Great Hall. Fabian thrived in both the social and educational environment, putting his interests in the study of magical creatures - especially dragons. His plans would change over time, however, as the war loomed closer and he put his cards with the Order alongside his brother.

Fabian would almost say he had been good at the war. He was quick on his feet, impulsive but not reckless, and took many of the younger members under his wing, always there to offer a comforting word or a cheeky comment when they needed it. Because if Fabian was still smiling, things couldn’t be that bad, right?

That was, until he’d lost Gideon. The night is both a blur and incredibly lucid in his mind. Smoke and shadows and spells cast every which way, his brother shoving him to one side almost laughing at his carelessness and then the laugh fell short and Fabian felt the heavy weight of his brother careening into him. He’d been dead before Fabian had even managed to lower him to the ground, clutching his hand. He didn’t know when he’d started screaming but once he’d began he didn’t know how to stop. Even now it feels like that scream is still going inside his head.

Now with the war over, Fabian was even more alone. All that really mattered now was keeping Molly, Arthur, and the children safe. If that meant he couldn’t see them, maybe it was better. He wasn’t sure he could keep looking Molly in the eye after he had failed so miserably at keeping Gideon out of harm’s way. He knew the one thing he could do for his sister was to keep fighting until she and her children would be safe in this world. All he could do now was begin to regather his strength.

CONNECTIONS.

MOLLY WEASLEY: Sister. Though Gideon was the other half of his everything, both brothers still loved and defended their sister fiercely. They both understood when she and Arthur started to pull away from being involved in the Order to keep their growing family safe. He was the one who encouraged Molly to do so. And now after the death of Gideon, Fabian stands by this decision more than ever. She has to be safe, her family has to be safe. He’s already half dead, there’s no hope for him and he doesn’t care that he’s a wanted criminal now. He’ll go down fighting and he’ll make sure Molly  is safe.

MARCUS MCKINNON: Friend. Their friendship bloomed during the early years of the war though it seems so very long ago. Marcus was a good man and a good wizard, Fabian had been glad to have him by their side on the missions and against the Death Eaters. But loss has touched both of them now, he lost his sister and Fabian lost his twin. When everything fell apart, Fabian took to running when they were made. He barely saw Marcus but knows he’s trying to survive under the radar and keep the fight going. If they can keep good people still willing to fight out in the field without being made, Fabian will do whatever is necessary to keep the attention away from them and on himself as an easy target. Whatever is needed to keep the fight going.

CORBAN YAXLEY: Enemy. The battle was messy and grief has clouded those moments before he held his brother’s dying body, but Fabian thinks that Corban was the one who fired the spell that killed Gideon. Others aren’t sure when asked, they don’t remember in the heat of the battle, but Fabian is certain it’s him. He has a burning hatred of the wizard, one that consumes him every waking moment of his life. If he were ever to come face to face with the Death Eater, he’d make sure he would pay for what he did. Truth be told, even if it wasn’t Corban, Fabian just wants a single person to blame. Someone he could get his revenge on. 

MARY MACDONALD: Friend. He thinks he sees her now more than he did when they fought a war together. She’s stubborn, fiery, and hopeful, all the things he feels he isn’t at the moment. He’s not sure why she insists on visiting, force feeding him, trying to make him smile when all he wants is to lay in bed until the noises stop. He doesn’t kick her out, though, and some part of him is worried that even she may give up on him in the end.

Currently portrayed by GEORGE MACKAY

#Fabian Prewett #George MacKay fc #hp rp #literate rp #new rp #George Mackay #male #pureblood #gryffindor #order of the phoenix #code five #closed

[inheritorofmemories-archive]

This is my gift for @lilolilyr for the Andromaquynh Secret Santa. You asked for a hurt/comfort fic, and I delivered. Hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays! Ich hoffe, dieses Geschenk findet dich gesund und glücklich <3

I’m putting it under a cut for length purpose and here is the link to the fic on AO3.

~

Lost and found again out there among the paths

The stars are bright, cold and unreachable, hung high in the firmament.

They haven’t changed in all of her centuries gone. The names are different but the same figures look down on her, the gaze of the Ursa and the Swan’s tail, the Crane hidden under the horizon in these parts of the world.

She isn’t ready to see her homelands yet, but this is enough. This is good. The Steppe hasn’t changed either, the same grass covering the earth everywhere she looks, the sun burning her skin as the winds surround her. It all feels so familiar, the sights, the animals, the long days of travel. Andromache, sitting by her side, walking by her side, sleeping by her side. Andromache, Andy, Andreas, Hadriana, Anath and so many other names forgotten by time. And still, she’s here, with her.

They are not riding horses but it doesn’t matter, Quỳnh would crawl to the end of the world with Andromache. They left their jeep three days ago at the entrance of those lands and they’ve been traveling by feet since then. The pace is slow but that’s what they both need. Peace, to be able to feel the grain of time slip through their fingers, not lost in the confusion of the modern world and its obsession with going so fast nothing matters anymore.

They talk as they walk, share memories and new stories, but mostly they walk, side by side, hand brushing and glances shared in the intimacy of the wide and open Steppe. Even the wind taste familiar in these moments. Quỳnh watches a lot, at night when the sun has gone down, she watches Andromache’s profile lightened only by the fire in front of her. Shadows dances in her temples and cheekbones and her pale eyes are drawn to the flames, mirrors bright with life. Quỳnh wishes she could bridge the distance between them as easily as they used to.

~

When the salt finally ate through her bound of iron, when the ocean took mercy on her, when Quỳnh broke out of her prison the first thing she felt after the burn of air in her lungs was an indescribable fury. A mad feeling seething in her heart that she mistook as anger, resentment. But it wasn’t that at all, she now recognizes it. She felt shame, because she knew then, crawling on the rocky beach away from the cold ocean that it happened. She had been broken, after millenniums of riding the world without a care, a handful of lunatics had done it.

She feared she had become nothing but a shell of the woman she was once. An’ always said she was like a sword, sharp edges and unforgiving. She used to joke that no one but her love’s skilled hands could handle her, that it was meant to be the two of them. It felt good, to know she would always have a resting place with Andromache.

She feared she lost herself in the ocean, that despite how hard she kept her faith in Andromache, how hard she clung to life, suffering over and over through the pain of drowning, of burning water suffocating her lungs, she feared she lost it all. That Andromache wouldn’t have that sacred place for her anymore, that she had become monstrous at the eternity spend in a cage.  That despite how bright of a beacon it has been, her love somehow couldn’t be enough to save her. That their love wasn’t enough.

She was mad, furious at what happened to her, but more than anything she was scared. Scared of this new world, of what it had become and what she missed. Scared that she’d never find her family, that she would never have a home with them again.

And now, in a twisted play from fate, she is scared of losing Andromache.

She is so scared, like she has never been. Before seeing that damned iron coffin, nothing frightened her, for she had Andromache. Even the coffin didn’t fill her with as much dread as the sight of those bruises on Andromache’s cheek did when she finally found her again with the spy’s contacts the drunkard gave her. She wondered, has she lost her? Has she lost part of her soul? Did she cause this cruel fate?

~

They left the family a week ago. They needed time alone they said as they were packing their bags. Quỳnh needs time alone with Andromache, to be only with her, like they had been for so long before meeting Yusuf and Nicolò. She missed them, but looking at them doesn’t hurt like it does when she watches Andromache’s face. Andy said she had to leave, to be alone for a while, away from it all. It warmed Quỳnh’s cold chest that she was included in her idea of alone, that alone without Quỳnh means not whole, not complete, lacking.

They took a plane and flew all the way to the Great Steppe. At least it hasn't changed since she was gone, unlike her homelands. There’s still a bitter taste when she sees what happened to her mountains and her coastlines. Andromache says it gets easier after a few years, but she’s not sure she wants this to be more bearable, to get used to it.

They’ve been playing a game lately, “what hasn’t changed” she calls it. It started a few months ago when she finally grew tired of being reminded of everything new she missed the creation of. She looked at Yusuf who had been explaining to her some new gadget she had no interest in learning about that night and challenged him to find five things in the room that she knew of. It’s been easier talking with him since then, almost like before. The rules are simple, list everything that stayed the same through the centuries she wasn’t there for. Nicolò’s uncanny words, Yusuf’s bright eyes. The stars. An’s sweet tooth. The way Quỳnh still wields blades with the same grace; she can still spar with Yusuf in their shared Viet, Greek and Persian tongues.

Her love’s face hasn’t changed yet, despite her new mortality. She still has the same piercing eyes that look like home, that calls for her to come back home, please come back to me she heard Andromache cry out in her sleep.

She hides, hides it well in the day, in front of Yusuf and Nicolò and Nile. She smiles and laughs and moves the same. It’s only when they’re alone that she allows the walls to break down and for Quỳnh to see what’s going on in her head. The guilt in her eyes every time she looks at her, the way she touches her like she’s fragile, like she’s mist that would dissipate with the smallest gust of wind. She was so ready for Quỳnh to hate her when they found each other again, she doesn’t think Andromache’s really let go of this idea, that she doesn’t deserve Quỳnh, that she somehow failed by not letting her life rot by looking after an impossible task.

Quỳnh only needed one look at her pendant around Andromache’s neck, the pain etched in her eyes, the desperation in her voice for all doubt that she had been forgotten to leave her mind. The anger, the bitterness was still there, but how could she ever loathe Andromache, the other half of her soul, the one so unjustly ripped away from her?

At night, that’s when Andy confesses her fears. How scared she is too, of dying, of being gone after so long, of being without her family, without Quỳnh. Of losing that constant in her life, that she knew she would be there to see it happen, whatever was bound to happen.

She tells Quỳnh about her fear of aging, of her hands shaking, her hairs falling grey, her vision turning blurry, her feet uneasy and her mind crazy. Her fear of leaving them behind, the fear of the unknown. After all those years, the unanswered question still bears heavily on her. She wished she had answers like Nicolò and Yusuf do, like Nile does. That assurance that there’s something after for her.

She has nightmares too. When it’s not Quỳnh waking up cold and her chest squeezed by terror, it’s Andy who sweats through the sheet and mumbles names over and over. She dreams about Lykon, the hot blood on her hands. Quỳnh holds her through the night and they cry together, still bearing the grief for their lost brother. They share the burden, and that is all Quỳnh can ask for, wish for.

They share a lot of tears for the years lost to men’s madness, the one they won’t have, their mistakes and misdeeds. They share laughs too, when it’s late and the night is dark and the house quiet. Those real shards of joy that sounds like a thousand carillon, the sweet, soft laughter that heals and mends. They are rare, so, so precious. They talk about their first years together, learning to speak the same tongue, to move as one. They hold each other, close and dearly, with the desperation of a drowning man because Quỳnh refuses to let her go and Andy can’t seem to stop reaching out either, always seeking a touch.

It helps, feeling her hands in hers, her lips against hers, their body pressed together under the covers and standing hips to hips in the house, never apart, always locking eyes and sharing smiles.

~

They’ve set their camp in a nook of rocks just as the sun approached the horizon, near a small freshwater current and protected from the winds. They gathered wood together and Andromache used her metal lighter to start the fire. They unrolled their bedrolls and the thick plastic tarp and they filled their bottle with cool water, washed their hands in the stream like they so often did in time pasts.

They’re preparing their meal, Quỳnh’s cutting the few roots they have and boiling the barley and Andromache is gutting the two rabbits she killed earlier with her bow, her own labrys laid between them as the knives work. She’s wearing jeans and a woolen sweater and yet it still feels familiar, the sound of the blades and the crackling of the fire, the smell of wood and iron pot, the sight of the clear night sky, no clouds to cross the picture.

They chat idly in their own tongue as they work, no English, modern or what Quỳnh remembers, not even the so recent Italian language or the Sabir Yusuf spoke with them at first. No, it’s old, old enough that it’s forgotten by everyone, everything, papers and stones except for two being on this earth. They throw in the occasional olden Greek and Latin when they are in need of too new of a concept but it soothes Quỳnh’s heart to speak what she first learned, to build it again with Andromaque, keep its memory alive. It feels like saving a part of herself.

The comfortable silence is broken by a sudden shout from Andromache followed by a string of cuss and a number of blasphemies to at least three different cultures. Quỳnh turns her head in time to see her throw the half-skinned rabbit and the knife on the ground and clutch her hand to her chest. Her grip on her knife lessen and she wills her worries to quiet down.

“Fucking shit,” Andromache mutters under her breath and Quỳnh can see the blood flowing from the wound she inflicted on herself. She’s pressing on it but it doesn’t stop the blood from dripping down to her wrist. “Cut my hand.”   She says and turns to shrug at Quỳnh, feigning carelessness. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“You really should let me handle the knives, my love,” Quỳnh says as she sets her own knife down. Andromache has been hurt enough for her to know how to react in situations like this one, the sense of dread has quietened since the first wound she saw on her love’s body. “I would appreciate it if you could bring all your fingers to our couch tonight.” She tries to laugh; Andromache tries to smile. It still hurts too much but she knows it would somehow feel worse to not at least pretend that everything is okay. As wrong as it sounds, that hollow laugh of hers and the tight smile stretched over Andromache’s face feels like a breath of fresh air in the depth of their heavy hearts.

“We talked about this,” Andromache mutters. “I don’t want this to change anything.” This. This. This feels so unjust. How could the world punish them like that, taunt Andromache with eternity and take it all away just as Quỳnh finds her way back to her.

“Letting me use the knife won’t take away your skills my love. Or your honor.” She’s tiring of Andromache’s misplaced guilt, of her own heart betraying her and making her doubt. They have too few years to taint them with such futile thoughts and feelings. It’s at this instant, Andromache still holding on her hand and Quỳnh watching her hair falling in front of her eyes that she decides to push past what is outside of her control and move forward. She’ll keep the pain in her heart but she won’t let it define her, nor will she let Andromache be defined by it.

“Come,” She says and extends her arm toward her. “Give me your hand. Nile showed me how to care for wounds.” They’ll move on, gods help her they will find their path again, she swears it. Andromache holds her gaze for a moment, tilt her head, and it’s the first time since they reunited that Quỳnh gets that feeling. The one deep down that she knows, that they both know, that they are one. That they don’t need words, only a look, a touch to get it, to understand the other. Her throat lumps with relief as Andromache gives her her hand to hold. She’s holding her gaze with a peace she hadn’t see in so long, warm and confident despite the chaos surrounding them. Things will get better her guts murmur, and she believes it.

“It was time you pick up on this century’s medicine my heart, the way things are going I’ll have more scars than a crocodile has teeth before I get my first grey hair.” And this time the joke feels right. It feels like home, like the teasing and ribbing they shared so many times before a battle, on their couch, at a meal, in the busy streets, vast deserts and quiet forests. Quỳnh grins as she takes the small first aid kit in their bag and opens it in front of her, still holding Andromache’s wrist between her fingers.

“I might as well do it, seeing how determined you are at testing Nile’s and Nicolò’s knowledge of medicine. They need someone who isn’t afraid of telling you off before you run faster than modern science can follow.”

“It’s the hair,” Andromache says as if she hadn’t been intimidating kings and emperors with hair as long as a horse’s mane before Quỳnh even met her. Quỳnh smiles, the pain wavering in her heart as the warmth of feeling whole again gains her. Finally, she looks down at Andromache’s hand to judge the extent of the damage on the palm, only to have to double-take what she sees.

The blood isn’t flowing anymore and she knows that knife was sharp enough to dig deep in the flesh. The left hand, the one holding the meaty rabbit and the one victim to the blade’s enthusiasm, the one bearing the wound, doesn’t have any cut to show. Quỳnh’s breath locks as she stares at the hand, now cradled between her own.

“My love.” She says, and when she wipes the blood with her thumb, the skin appears undamaged, no cut, no scars, nothing but the smooth extend of her palm. She does it again, and a third time just to be sure. The flesh and muscles, tendons and bones underneath are unscathed, whole and perfect.

“What?” Andromache asks but keeps her eyes fixed on Quỳnh’s, a frown painting her face with worry. “Is it bad?”

“Your hand.” Quỳnh whispers. “Look at it.” There’s a moment of silence, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, Quỳnh herself isn’t sure. She just knows that she’s filling with euphoria and that Andromache’s right hand is touching the healed skin, slow strokes of wonder.

“It’s gone.” Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. She touches the skin, press on it, rub away the blood. It’s her hand that makes Quỳnh look up, and her eyes are filling with misty tears. “It’s gone. Quỳnh, I’ve healed.”

“Your immortality Andromache.” And the same shadow crosses Andromache’s eyes and her own mind.

“Wait.” Quỳnh lets go of her hand as she takes the knife again. They both watch as she brings the blade to the back of her forearm and slowly slices the skin, a hand long wound. It feels like one of those miracles Nicolò always talks about, the way the skin stitches itself close on its own, how the blood stop and the edges meet and the scar fades in a minute.

“It’s back, I’ve got it again.” The words are barely out of her mouth that Quỳnh wraps her arms around her neck and bring her close into an embrace, Andromache’s arms warm and heavy on her back. They’re shaking, laughing, whispering sweet nonsense into their shoulders, and Quỳnh knows tears are flowing from their eyes, she welcomes the liquid joy.

“Our love was enough then.” She can’t help but voice it out loud, needs to hear it to really understand the reality of what’s happening.

“Quỳnh?” Andromache pulls back, plunge her gaze into hers, it feels almost too much, too big.

“Our love was enough.” She feels herself laughing, nervous and bursting with relief, uncontrollable. “It is enough.” ‘I am enough’ she can’t help but think.

“What are you talking about Quỳnh? Of course it is. Always has been enough, more than enough. It has always been everything to me.” Both of her hands come to rest on the side of her face, cradling it with great gentleness.

“I was afraid my faith in you, in us had been wavering in my prison.” She confesses, lets herself feel it, feels the depth of the hurt now that she was proven wrong, that she knows it is untrue. “That you lost this gift of immortality because of me, because of my unreliable heart.”

“Oh Quỳnh.” Her voice breaks then, as does her face. “Have you been thinking this all this time?”

“Do you think me mad? To think that you losing your immortality coinciding with me finding you again broken, mad with fury, was nothing meaningless?” Quỳnh shakes her head then, covers Andromache’s hands with hers.

“Quỳnh, what are you talking about? I never doubted you.” Pain lines Andromache’s voice, desperation. “If you see yourself broken, then what am I? We are not as we were, will never be again. But that had nothing to do with you my heart.” She kisses her with urgency as if she couldn’t use her words to express everything in her heart. Quỳnh closes her eyes and feels the wind dry lips move against her, slides her hands behind her neck and bring her even closer. They part with a pant and Andromache smiles, a genuine, guilt-free smile, small but the seed of something bigger. “Our love was never tainted, in all of our millenniums together, it survived every hardship, every terror, every obstacle. We will survive this too.”

“I knew this, somehow, but you understand better than anyone how the mind is. It’s so easy to be tricked by sorrow when you’re grieving and hurting.”

“I’ll spend this eternity given to me reminding you Quỳnh. We never understood this gift, there’s no point reading meaning where there’s none. The only thing I am sure of is the love that courses through this world, through us.” Andromache fixes her gaze on her, strong, unwavering, and oh how Quỳnh missed seeing it. “I love you like the earth loves the sun, undeterred, constant, in the depth of my being because without I am not alive.”

“Can you believe that I do not hate you then?” Quỳnh prompts and she closes her mouth into a tight line. “That what happened was never your fault? That you couldn’t find me any more than you could save Lykon? My anger is not directed at you, never was, never will be.”

“I hate that I couldn’t save you,” Andromache says with shame in her voice. “I should have been there for you. You lost so much because of me.” This isn’t a new conversation, but it’s only today that Quỳnh realizes what she needs to hear, not a logical argument nor a dismissal of her feelings.

“I forgive you,” She says, and this time it’s Andromache who let go of a tight laugh, wet with tears. “I forgive you, Andromache, of any fault you gave yourself, I absolve any wrong you think you’ve done. You’ve saved me once in that desert where our path crossed for the first time, you saved me again in this century. I do not accuse you of anything, and neither will you. You are free of this burden.”

“Thank you.” Andromache whisper, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my love.” Healing won’t be easy, but this is a start. They can forgive each other, forgive themselves, move on from there with a clear slate and shoulders relieved from their heavy loads of sorrow. They can do anything; they are not strained by time or Death anymore.

“We have time.” Quỳnh realizes, just as Andromache swipes her thumb along her jaw. “You will live, and we have time.” She pushes back Andromache’s hair, and she allows herself to feel the relief too. “You will live Andromache, spend time with the family, with Nile, Yusuf and Nicolò. You will see Sébastien again.”

“I don’t have to go yet.” She says, and the smile that carves itself on her face is radiant, shining with newfound light. “I don’t have to go.” Her hand slide at the back of her neck and slowly she kisses her, once, light and barely there, she rests her nose on her cheek “I am only grateful to have the gift back, to have the opportunity to spend it for as long as I’ll have it with you, together.”

“Just the two of us,” Quỳnh says through another laugh, press her forehead against Andromache’s, feel the warm skin and her hands over her shoulders. Let herself feels it all.

“Until the end.”

Quỳnh breathes the same air as Andromache, in, out, feel the same pulse as hers under her fingers, beating as one, like it always had. Like it was always meant to be.

~

The stars are bright, old and eternal, hung high in the firmament.

The fire is slowly dying, the last flames licking the wood and giving their valiant effort to burn for a bit longer. The moon lights their step, pale blue and cold on their warm skin. They are dancing together, waltzing under the milky way, hand pressed against hand, feet mirroring feet, circling each other as they did for the very first time ages ago, when the stars had different faces, when Andromache was still called a goddess’s name and Quỳnh’s was a whisper amongst her people’s legend.

Their gaze locked, lost in each other’s eyes, their nose touching and sharing the same breath, it feels like a dream.

“Do you remember my love,” Quỳnh pants as she shifts on her feet and pushes her hand against An’s, raising it high in the sky. “That night in Bābilim?” She grins and twists her hips just so as to press Andromache closer to her chest. She wishes she could crawl into her ribcage, be as close as possible, seize her heart from the inside and never let go again. She settles on sliding a leg between hers and let herself get lost in her scent, drunk from it like a young boy is from his first sip of ale.

“If I remember,” Andromache whispers in her ear. “You looked like wildfire. The most beautiful creature I had ever seen.” There had been music Quỳnh remembers, and wine flowing like rivers from the amphoras. She danced through the night, and Andromache’s gaze upon her was heavy and burning, she felt stripped from everything, baring her soul for the first time in her life. That’s the night their love became more than allyship, more than friend and necessity. That’s when it shifted to become more, to become everything.

“Do you remember what I said?” Andromache asks her, lays her left hand to her chest and she does the same, feel her heartbeat strong under her palm despite their clothing.

“More please!” Quỳnh moans like An’s does and pushes away with her hand only to crash together with the next steps. Andromache grins and indulges her change of rhythm. They had a room that night, a soft bed of feathers and fine silks like they had seldom seen with their own eyes.

“After that. On the balcony.” And Quỳnh remembers fondly that moment. Andromache had draped herself over her back, holding onto each other and murmuring in the quiet night. The moon had been full then too, albeit the desert looked warmer than the Steppe they are dancing in today. They circle each other again, Quỳnh savors the moment with her entire being.

“You will be my deathbed.” She meant it as a joke after the night filled with passion, but they both knew the deeper meaning. It hanged unsaid in the air between them. “Remember what I said?”

“And you mine.” Andromache presses her nose close to her cheek, her breath warm on her skin. They are silent after that, don’t need words anymore, not when they have each other.

They finish their dance when the last of the fire blow away in the night. They press their foreheads together and stand in the middle of the Steppe, alone, together. Whole and one. For the first time in over a year, in over five centuries, her heart finally feels at peace. She’s home, in the embrace of Andromache’s arms, of Andy’s, in the certainty that they won against fate, that they are truly immortal. That they’ll live together again.

The stars are bright and Andromache’s eyes are even brighter, Quỳnh is sure of that.

#andromaquynhsecretsanta #andromaquynh #andy x quynh #andromache the scythian #quynh #tog fanfic #tog #em writes

[mistakenvilliany]

Episode Two!

This one is still a lot of setup, but really interesting things crop up. Coming back to this, I feel like it shows the truth of the upcoming events more than I gave it credit for the first time. Anyway, onto my long and rambling thoughts. I did say that I was going to make this your problem. You were warned.

• Wei Wuxian: "I have noting but this donkey (which i stole), now this donkey is running my life." A complaint?

• Since another of Wei Wuxian's inventions is shown (the compass), obviously the cultivation world can accept the value of WWX's work, but I find it interesting that there are now people alive that idolize him, (and even more interesting is his reaction to that). Seriously though, how old was this guy 16 yrs ago? Does he actually get away with idolizing WWX?

• I love that Yan's dance is beautiful, but so haunting.

• Damn that fiance cuts really precise firewood

• Cultivators are trapped in nets and we meet my favorite brat! Such a teenager, wasting the Jin family money, I certainly don't think that JC would have spent that much on the kid

• Soul eaters must be fairly easy to deal with, and yet rare? It seems like everyone is heading to this mountain, but the larger sects are treating it as a kid training exercise.

• Jin Ling immediately recognized Mo Xuanyu

• Ah, WWX baby, lay off the insults when pretending to be someone else, you're just going to get in trouble

• Okay, so ouch time - Jiang Cheng's first comment to a resurrected Wei Wuxian is "any last words?" WWX's actual last words were JC's name

• So the paperman is demonic cultivation now?

• God Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji HATE each other, and JC does some first-class projection asking LWJ if he's looking for someone. Like you stopped honey? You can't even make yourself believe that he died for real!

• LWJ is wearing blue!! 😍 I kinda wonder how hope like this didn't kill him

• That is probably the most petulant bow I have ever seen, my favorite brat!

• Wei Wuxian now has time for reflection next to the lovely stream, and don't forget guilt! WWX knew he died, but I do wonder where he is in relation to the events right before dying? How raw is his grief for Jiang Yanli?

• Why exactly is WWX investigating the soul eater anyway? Is he just fallowing Jin Ling around or can he just not resist knowing the answer to a question?

• That wish you made little brat? 'Bout to bite you in the ass, do as your uncle says and run dammit!

• My little Lans are unprepared and under educated!! How could you! I also love this lunch that Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji are having. LWJ glaring death at JC and JC pretending that LWJ doesn't exist. I wonder who figured out that the kids were in trouble first? Did they hear something? Did LWJ just get up from his table and JC follow?

• We know why Wei Wuxian was resurrected, why did someone decide to release Wen Ning close enough to respond to wwx's summons? We know that the statue was ultimately an illusion of the real one, so this was planned. Planned by which side?

• YOU FOUND HIM BABY! 😍😍

• I wonder about Jiang Cheng here, so quick to strike with Zidian (just like his mom) but his motivation? Like I said earlier, he's been looking for WWX too, is he trying to make sure that his brother isn't a vengeful spirit possessing people's bodies? And he can't even think to keep the pain off his face when he's reminded that in the eyes of the world he's the one that killed Wei Wuxian.

• Wei Wuxian - not going to answer that question, better just pass out.

• Now we're officially in the flashback

• I think it's a bit of foreshadowing that JC stops to issue his orders to the others and both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli him behind

• And we're off to the Cloud Recesses!

#the untamed #the untamed rewatch 2k21 #the untamed is inevitable #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin ling #my favorite brat! #lan juniors #lan shizui #lan jingyi #Cultivators gonna cultivate

[the-darklings]

—𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔;

pairing: quentin beck x reader

word count: 1.9k+

summary: “They say the Devil’s in the details.” 

notes: I’m Boo Boo the Fool and it is known. Beware some spoilers for far from home. Enjoy!

‘unravelling’ miniseries: | 01 | 02 | . . | 04

gif credit (x)

Life can be over in a moment. 

For you, it was over in a blink. It hadn’t felt like dying—not really. It had felt like...weightlessness. Freedom. As twisted as it sounded. For you it was a breath, for the world it was five years. 

When you came back the world had moved on; a cold, foreign place that made you constantly feel out of step. And then the news about your dad…

Biting back a sigh, you approached the familiar figure with no small amount of wariness. 

“You okay, kiddo? I know this all seems sudden.”

Peter’s wide-eyed stare greeted you and he stuttered, his expression faltering upon seeing you. “(Name)? Oh. Y-You’re here too? I mean—yeah, it makes sense. I just haven’t seen you since…”

Since the funeral. 

The memory was still bitter and far too fresh in your mind, but you knew it was even worse for Peter. Tony, for all his faults and virtues, was like a father figure to Peter. His death had affected the boy on a level you suspected it affected very few. You knew how much it stung to lose a parent, and had protested loudly when Fury insisted on bringing Peter in for the Elementals situation. The kid deserved some time away from all this—from the chaos and death, especially since his grief was still so fresh. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered apologetically, meaning every word. “Everything has been crazy since the battle, and I know that’s no excuse, but there never seems to be enough time to check in.”

Peter’s face was like an open book, and you almost winced at the flicker of hurt you saw in his doe-like eyes. “No, no—it’s okay. I completely understand. You have all this to deal with,” he finished off awkwardly, gesturing his hand vaguely towards the temporary base you had set up. “Though—I was wondering if m-maybe…”

“Out with it, Peter,” you said with a wry twist of your mouth and held back a smile at the embarrassed shuffle he did. “What do you need?” 

“I was just wondering if you could please talk with Mr Fury and explain to him that—that, I just want to enjoy my trip,” he rushed out, an almost desperate edge to his words. “And I appreciate him needing my help—really, I do, it’s a real honour—but I just need...time.”

Your face creased with worry and you place your hand on Peter’s shoulder, stepping closer. You expected him to push your hand away the same way most flustered teenage boys would, but he only leaned into your touch and your heart clenched at the sheen of raw pain suddenly reflecting in Peter’s eyes. Sometimes—too often—this boy was so amazing, it was hard to remember that he was still just a boy. Still growing, still developing. That just because he could fight toe-to-toe with some of the strongest and best out there, his heart was still young, still barren of scars and heartache. 

Though, you suspected that had changed now. 

He was no longer that same wide-eyed, awestruck kid Tony had introduced you to with a snarky grin and a pointed look in your direction. 

Peter was a good kid though, and it twisted your stomach just thinking how isolated he must be feeling. How torn apart. 

“Peter,” you addressed him, the syllables of his name full of worry, “Do you want to talk? It’s normal to not feel okay, kiddo. Talk with someone. Even if it’s not me, then your friends or aunt.” 

He looked up at you, eyes shining, and shook his head weakly, “No, they won’t—they won’t understand. Would it...would it be okay...if you? Would you mind? I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never bothering me, Peter.”

“But the Elementals—”

“Have people far more capable and powerful than me dealing with it,” you cut him off, giving his shoulder a squeeze and a small, warm smile. “If you want to talk right now—”

“Mr Parker, there you are,” a familiar voice interrupted loudly from behind you, and you turned sharply towards it. “It’s good to see that you haven’t left yet.”

Fury stood in the archway to the base, his arms folded behind his back and face stern. Quentin stood beside him, his eyes focused solely on your hand on Peter’s shoulder and a slight tilt of his head. You caught his gaze, blinking at the way his expression softened upon seeing you, a slight smile curling his mouth.

“I need to talk with you, Mr Parker,” Fury instructed easily, turning away without waiting for a reply. “Right now.”

“Actually Peter and I were just—”

Fury halted, his eye focusing on you, and surprise marrying his features, “Chit chat can wait for later, I think. I don’t know if any of you noticed, but we have a big problem to deal with, and not a lot of time or manpower to do so. So Mr Parker, if I may?” 

Peter stuttered weakly, eyes shifting from you to Fury in a slight panic. Giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, you offered him a brief smile, “We’ll speak later, kiddo.” 

Peter nodded, his relief palpable, and moved after inpatient Fury who was already turning to walk away. 

Chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip, you watched them walk away silently. You were so focused on their retreating backs, you almost missed Quentin coming to a stop before you, his blue eyes thoughtful. 

“Didn’t realize Fury was back yet,” you spoke, confusion apparent in your voice when you looked up at the man in front of you. “I thought he was going to be out for another few hours?”

“He must have come back early,” Quentin replied easily, almost eerily calm, but there was something strained about the smile he was giving you. “He strikes me as an elusive man.”

You hummed in agreement, absentmindedly wondering why Fury was so insistent on Peter regardless of his wellbeing. The thought made your stomach twist into knots. 

Just because someone can fight, doesn’t mean they should. 

“You care for him.”

Your eyes swung from the archway towards Quentin who was peering at you intently, and you felt something in your stomach do a little flip at the burning intensity in his gaze. 

He didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about. You already knew. 

“He’s a good kid,” you finally found your voice, words hushed, a touch bitter, “A really good kid. And everyone expects so much of him. Too much. They place all this responsibility on him and expect there to be no side effects. He’s a hero—he was born to be one, there is no arguing that. But he should be allowed to be himself too.” 

The bubble of irritation that had kept smouldering inside your chest all day seemed to have finally boiled over. By the time you finished your little rant, you needed a steadying breath, your heart beating just a few beats too fast. 

“Sorry.”

“Never apologize for caring about people and their feelings,” he told you seriously, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something being unsaid. “Not enough people do.”    

“That’s deep, Quentin,” you joked with a tired smile, “I wish I could change things but...well...”

You shrugged helplessly, feeling angry on Peter’s behalf and your own too. That no matter what you did or achieved, your voice still mattered little in the grand scheme of things. 

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t feel Quentin take a step closer. Not until his warm fingers brushed against your face, the pad of his thumb skimming under your eye delicately. 

He observed you shrewdly, his eyebrows heavily furrowed, “You look tired, honey.”

A pleasant shiver raced down your spine at his nearness, at his touch, and the low baritone of his voice as his eyes slowly traced over your features. 

He pulled back swiftly upon noticing your startled expression and cleared his throat, looking away from you, “Sorry, habit.”

Habit?

“Sorry I—I should probably go and find Peter and—yeah.”

Casting your eyes down, you moved to walk past him but his warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you and making your eyes fly up to meet his. 

“Come away with me.”

With the shadows of the underground tunnel dancing across his features, Quentin looked equal parts mesmerizing and unsettling as he leaned closer. His voice and face were compelling enough already, and the look in his eyes wasn’t helping either. Heavy and focused entirely on you. 

“To the city,” he added softly, thumb scraping lightly against your inner wrist. “You haven’t healed properly yet and you’re overworking yourself constantly. And I—I admit that I need to clear my head as well. Everything seems to be happening all at once and I—”

His voice cracked and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh, “It’s been very difficult. And—and you’re the closest thing I have to a friend in this world.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to force casualness into your tone, “In that getup? We’re bound to grab the attention of the circus.” 

His laugh was a rich sound of pure mirth and the sharpness of his grin made him look positively devilish.

“I can change clothes easily enough, I think.”

Sighing, you nodded your head in agreement, loosening your shoulders, “You’ve been working harder than any of us to protect this world, Quentin. You deserve a break. The least I can do is accompany you.” 

He lifted your wrist then—fingers still comfortably warm around it—before taking your hand in his, and laying a lingering kiss against the back of it. The exact mirror image of your first meeting. 

You tried not to focus on the heat of his lips, or the scratch of his beard when it brushed against your skin. And especially not at the way he glanced up at you, his eyes burning with triumph and a thousand nameless things. 

“I’ll see you soon, honey.”

(You failed.) 

. . .

The kid. 

Peter, Peter, Peter.

Quentin liked him enough. He was smart, at least. That was admirable in and on itself. An awkward mess but most kids were. He sure was. 

Admittedly, under different circumstances, it might have been fun to mentor a smart one like Peter. At least he would make the conversation interesting, unlike most people. 

And he was long since aware you knew the kid as well. Your face was a frequent one at the Stark Industries. Though he had never seen you himself—what a pity—being usually stuck inside one of the labs, wasting his days away, he still knew. 

But he had underestimated just how much you cared, and how much Peter acted like an imprinted puppy when you were concerned.

You began as a complication that turned into a work in progress to—hopefully—a masterpiece when it was all said and done.

He couldn’t afford...complications. 

No, no. He had been denied too much—all his life, over and over again. He deserved this. He deserved something gentle and good for once. 

And he would take it because you weren’t denying him—were not pushing him away.

They say the Devil’s in the details. 

Now, Quentin only needed for everyone to play their roles to perfection.

He needed for your delightful, fascinating self to lose that remaining shred of wariness you still clung to. 

“Patience,” he murmured under his breath, remembering your circus comment with a sharp, delighted smirk. “We’re just getting started after all.”

 . . .

an: someone please protect my son Peter. I want to wrap a blanket around his shoulders and tell him it will all be okay. Also yay, for Quentin being Peak Bastard™. And in case anyone is wondering, yes, that wasn’t actually Fury. Thank you for all the love and the support so far, we’re here right now because of it. You’re all amazing. <33

tagging: @val-kay-rie @t-swizzle-owns-me @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @songofcosplay @rooftopexy @leilei-draws @go-commander-kim @kusooi (thank you, everyone! hope you enjoyed it!)

#quentin beck #quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #quentin beck imagine #marvel fic #spider man #spider man far from home #mysterio #ffh spoilers #spffh spoilers #*SIGHS FOR TEN YEARS* #when will i change? #fic: unravelling series

[nellie-elizabeth]

Supernatural: Inherit the Earth (15x19)

That was somehow simultaneously a crowded mess, and a complete anticlimax. I'm literally just like... super confused and afraid about what the finale is going to be now.

Cons:

Sam's the dog person. That's part of canon. I liked the moment when Dean found the dog, or whatever, but I wish Sam had gotten a moment with the puppy too, before Chuck took it away. A small thing, but one of those typical wrong details in Buckleming episodes, where it just honestly doesn't seem like they know the characters very well.

Lucifer and Michael have a fight in the Bunker and Michael takes Lucifer out really, really easily. So like. Remember when the first five seasons of the show were the buildup to the Apocalypse, and Sam sacrificed himself for an eternity in Lucifer's Cage to stop it from happening? Apparently a fight between the two archangels is just a bit of fisticuffs, nothing to get worked up about. That annoyed me. But I guess consistency has never been something this show has cared much about...

Also just... Lucifer in general, coming back for like five minutes so he can mug at the camera and then be unceremoniously killed? Here's the thing: we had Billie as Death, and she hated them but maybe it would have been interesting to see her and the boys team up to figure out Chuck's ending... but instead, she's gone, Lucifer gets a pointless return, provides us with another Death, who is there for two seconds, says a couple of vaguely funny lines, and then dies... and we still never find out what's in the book.

The fight with Chuck was so badly edited! It was so weird to see him just wail on Sam and Dean, and repeated shots of him hitting them, and them getting up, while he kept saying "okay fellas, enough, please stay down" over and over again. Given that the whole "erasing the people from the world" thing was so much like Infinity War, I kept comparing this fight with God to the climax of Endgame. In that instance, you have a small group of intrepid fighters going up against a big bad evil, and then just at the moment when they're run down and helpless, the whole crowd of friends returns and joins in the fight. Instead of that, it's just Jack showing up and absorbing God's powers, and then they leave him begging on the beach. Not a bad ending for Chuck, which I'll get to in a moment, but the epic-ness was seriously missing from this final showdown.

So, when Jack returned the world to its normal state, did he bring back all of their friends, too? I want to believe this was something that Covid took away from them, where instead of seeing shots of Charlie and her girlfriend, of Donna, Jody, the girls, Bobby, Eileen, they were forced to use stock footage of just random people around the world returning. Would have been cooler to see the epic return... and also super weird that Sam and Dean sit quietly in the bunker talking about free will, and we don't see Sam pull out his phone and call his girlfriend, like... I get not wanting to muddy the ending of the episode with a lot of fallout stuff, and I'm sure we'll get that next week? Like, I hope, anyway? But as it stood for this hour of television, it was super weird to me that the boys didn't immediately want to check on all of their friends to make sure everyone had returned from the dead.

Jack becoming the new God is actually a totally appropriate ending, people were speculating that he'd be the new God or Death or Empty, or some cosmic entity, anyway... and this honestly felt very fitting... BUT, I will say that there are two really, really stupid things about it. One, his "I'm everything and everywhere now" speech was super cheesy... "I'm in the air and the rocks and every drop of rain" or whatever. Such a cliche, I was almost painfully embarrassed listening to him. I honestly would have preferred less is more, here. Like, what if he'd said the stuff about how humans can be their best when they need to be, that was a good line... and then Sam says "what if we want to see you? Grab a beer?" And Jack just says "I'm around" and then vanishes, leaving it vague? I think the idea of a hands-off deity is perfect, of course... makes sense for the "free will wins the day" ending we've got going here, but I didn't think stating it outright was the best move.

The second reason Jack becoming God was rendered kind of comedically awful in the way it happened is... well, elephant in the room, let's talk about how Cas was handled in this episode.

Here's a quote from last week's review:

"I'm worried that Cas dying is gonna get swallowed up with everyone dying and not get its due, thus making the confession completely isolated. Like, here you go, gays, have this one scene, which, in isolation is quite heartfelt from Cas' perspective, but can be carefully boxed up and not touched for the last two hours of the show. If they don't want to touch on how this would affect Dean specifically, they don't have to. He can be generally angsty and sad about Cas, but they could get away with never bringing it up again, and that is some grade-A level bullshit right there, my friends."

And... yeah. Look, I know there are people on Tumblr right now saying that this episode being the "brothers only" ending means that next week we'll get Cas back and Dean will confess his love or whatever... but y'all, it's not going to happen. I'm sorry. I'd love to be wrong. If I'm wrong, I will gladly eat crow and celebrate along with the rest of you, but I just... I've been burned before. I know what's going on here, and it's not what you think it is.

Dean was undeniably devastated in this episode. We see him drinking to excess, falling asleep on the floor, grasping onto tiny moments of joy like with the dog and then being furious and upset when they fall through. But that devastation was not textually about Cas specifically. Sure, there were moments, like him telling God to bring everything back, and then namedropping Cas specifically. Or the way he ran up the stairs when Cas' voice was on the phone. But what I'm saying is? Those are crumbs, there for those of us who care to gobble up, easily ignored and subsumed by the larger losses the boys are suffering. Sam is devastated too, guys. About his girlfriend, about Charlie, about Donna, and Jody, etc. etc. etc. Who's to say their grief is any different from one another, even though they're handling it with different coping mechanisms? The "I love you" wasn't even on the "previously on".

Like. There's a universe where Dean does get a moment of Cas-related catharsis in the finale, even though Misha's not coming back. Maybe he has a private moment to grieve just for him, to contemplate that specific loss. But I'm telling you: I don't care if an openly gay man wrote 15x18, I don't care that Misha found it moving. The bottom line is, Cas confessing his love for Dean was the moment of catharsis the show was willing to offer us. We ain't getting much else.

So going back to Jack, why on earth does nobody suggest that maybe when he's popping the rest of the world back to the way it's supposed to be, he also brings Cas back? This is what I'm talking about with contrived sacrifices. Last week, they could have written a way for Dean to get out of that scrape without Cas dying. And this week, Jack's determination to be a "hands-off" God is not enough to explain why he wouldn't restore his father Castiel from the Empty. Especially since Chuck brought Lucifer back from the Empty, proving that God can do that. Even though that contradicts earlier lore but whatever. The point is, I'm saying it's sloppy. Cas' death, Cas staying dead, does not feel like an earned inevitability to me. I'm prepared to eat my words if they bring him back in the finale, but even if that happens (which it won't), he's not going to be smooching Dean Winchester on the mouth, y'all. He's just not.

So then that ending. "Finally free," says Dean, completely unaware that he's echoing the theme from the end of season five but making it hopeful now for some reason? And that end montage felt like an ending 100%, and I won't say it was bad to see it, see all the memories, the characters... I mean, Charlie dancing in the elevator, getting glimpses of Ellen and Jo, Bobby, Crowley... I'm not going to complain about that, it was honestly quite fun, but it also felt extremely anticlimactic and gave us no sense of where the characters are going to go from here. And yes, I know we have an episode next week, it's just...

Here's the thing I'm scared of, and I'm going to go ahead and put it here in the "cons" section because I don't know where it belongs yet. Despite my complaints about this episode, thematically there was one thing it got right: the answer to defeating Chuck wasn't destined, it wasn't in a book of preordained endings. They had to come up with it by themselves, using the tools at their disposal, and they won, and they get free will now, they get the release from having someone else tell their story. Great. So... what does that leave us next week?

As mentioned above, I really don't think the final 43 minutes is going to be an epic gay love story where Dean fights to get Cas back, I really don't. That leaves us two options: either a tepid re-tread of the themes already established, an epilogue of sorts where we just get to see a life in the day, a new normal for the boys. I wouldn't be furious about this, but I also think it won't really feel like closure for me. They just keep hunting? They keep saving people? That's fine, I guess, but they can't really walk back the fact that God is their son, can they? When they die the next time, do they go to the Empty? Who is Death, now? Are Heaven and Hell okay? Are we meant to be convinced that nothing will ever come back to bite them in the ass, they'll live long lives, and a benevolent afterlife is waiting for them when it's over? I'm not convinced I believe in things being that simple, so it sort of seems like the show would end by saying "okay, and more of the same."

The second possibility is worse, though, that being a total status-quo shift, like the end comes and the Empty is after them and they have to become the new Death and Empty as some speculated, or some wild harebrained plot twist gets thrown in at the last second and undoes the actual good parts of the theme established here. I hope for the first, but I don't know that it'll make me happy, to be quite honest. I really don't want it to feel this way, but Cas being gone is the big elephant in the room, for me. It truly is.

Pros:

I did like the earlier parts of the episode, the eeriness and the helplessness of them being alone. Continuing with the Avengers comparisons, it was very similar to the long, slow opening to Endgame, where we see a lot of grief, a lot of helplessness, an lot of directionless moping. That felt appropriate and it made it all the more invigorating when Michael showed up, giving us a spark of direction in which to move.

While I thought the fight with Chuck was edited really strangely and didn't work for me, I did like this ending for Chuck. Very much like the end of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Chuck doesn't die, which he honestly would have found a satisfying, creative ending for his story. Instead, he gets to live on as a normal human, sans powers, and be forgotten. Brutal and appropriate! It ties back into the free will thing. Chuck can do whatever he wants with his remaining time, but he can't steal other people's choices from them any longer. It's the black and the white, the good and the bad, of being just... human. Which ties in with Sam and Dean being more or less hopeful about their outlook moving forward. (God, I'm so fucking scared they're going to screw up the few things I liked about this episode in next week's finales.)

Like I said, I did find Jack becoming God an appropriate ending for him as a character. It's the right type of bittersweet: he's there, and we can imagine that in the future, he does go visit Sam and Dean for a beer. Or maybe he doesn't, and that's okay too. Knowing he's at peace, knowing he's benevolent, and that he'll do the best he can for the people of the world(s). It's nice, a comforting deity instead of a manipulative overlord. And the fact that his benevolence and kindness and compassion are born out of a human mother, and two human fathers, and an angel who embraced humanity with everything in himself... instead of from Lucifer, who tried to create him in his image? Well, that's a lovely resolution for a character that became a surprising favorite over the years.

As I think I mentioned last week, I'm willing to let this show manipulate my emotions here at the end, when it can manage to do so. So yeah, of course I loved that Cas and Jack's names are added to the table along with SW, DW, and MW. Obviously that's adorable as hell. And as I said, the montage worked for me, it was certainly quite lovely. I just... like I said at the start of this, I'm just frankly terrified of what's coming next week.

I mean, here's the thing, I want an ending that honors Sam and Dean as the protagonists of this show, but I want it where they live in the bunker, and Eileen and returned-from-the-dead-Castiel live with them as their partners. If someone told me I couldn't change a thing about what's happened so far, but I could decide how the last episode went, that's how I'd end it. Showing a network of hunters getting support and able to live more stable, reasonable lives while still doing a dangerous job. Sam embracing his intellectual prowess and running things from the bunker, Dean and Cas going out on the road, Sam and Eileen going out on the road, or any combination therein. Jack watching over them benevolently from above. Jody and Donna and the girls living their best lives. Kaia and Claire as a couple, onscreen. A glimpse of a more stable afterlife, now that Jack is there to run things, the confirmation of a peaceful ending whenever our human protagonists do finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Peace, but change, too.

I just don't believe that's what we're getting. I can't believe it, and that makes me really frightened for what comes next week. I'm prepared to be pissed off. Quite frankly, I'm expecting it.

6/10

#review #supernatural #supernatural review #spn 15x19 #spn

[ocular-intercourse]

@mangosandchili, Asher, the 4th

🌲 What is the kindest thing your OC has ever done for someone? What is the kindest thing someone has ever done for them? On the flip side, what is the worst thing your OC has done to another person?

People probably don’t immediately consider Asher to be kind, especially not since Adam disappeared. But that’s just because Asher tends to hide it. He is full of kindness, but most of it is silent, secret. Being kind for him is easy, cause he has the means to be kind easily, he does not want the attention because he does not want the praise for something that is so effortless with his privilege. He’s the person to pay for a meal when nobody is looking and when they go to pay the waiter tells them it’s already taken care of. He makes donations, but never in his name. He protects every single person close to him every single day. That’s probably the kindest thing he does, taking the weight of the world on his own shoulders so nobody else has to help carry it. As long as his father is focused on him, he’ll leave his brothers be, as long as he plays along with his father’s wishes for as much as he can bare, his father won’t punish him by harming people close to him. As long as he does not tell people about the things that are happening they are not implicated, they can just live their lives without worry. The kindest thing.. oof, I mean ppl are kind to him all the time cause they want in on the money and connections, so he does not trust a lot of it, or take it very seriously. Devin sticking around even after learning about his father and everything that is happening would be the one. Asher might not want it, but he’s definitely thankful for it, and it does save him. The worst thing is another wonderful painful thing to think about for Asher cause he sees so many terrible things he could list, but one is and will always be on top: Getting Adam killed. You could argue that it was his father, not Asher’s fault at all, but Asher would just counter with if Adam hadn’t known him, hadn’t been his boyfriend, he would not have died, so how could he not blame himself.

🌳 What does your OC do when they see others upset or in pain? An upset friend? A stranger?

That is extremely dependent on the situation. A lot of time he has to keep in mind who is there, what they will see, what his father might hear about it. If he can tell the problem is periodical, it will go away without his help, he will more often than not just ignore it. It’s not worth it, putting people on his father’s radar by associating with them. Most things people are going through are nothing compared to the things his father would do to them if Asher gave him any reason to believe they could be a useful tool to hurt or motivate him. People close to him, Devin or May, he would stay away from them in public, make it seem like he could not care less, and check in on them as soon as he has the opportunity to do so without witnesses. No wonder people think he is self-absorbed and cruel.

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarrassment?

Anything positive probably. He is so deep down the rabbit-hole of hating himself for everything that has happened that he can’t accept the good things that are still there. That’s why he can’t understand Devin’s interest for the longest time, it makes him so angry to think he could see something worthwhile in him, he imagines it might just all be about the money. But Devin does eventually list a list of things that made him fall for him, one sounding more outlandish than the next to Asher’s ears. Most of all that Devin watches so carefully, he can see the stuff Asher tries to bury by being deliberately assholeish. He tells him how he can see his kindness, even when he tries to hide it, in the little things he does and hopes nobody notices, he sees how much he cares, that he tries to push for justice in the discussions he has with their teachers, he sees how big his heart is when he puts on an entirely different persona in front of his siblings.. and Asher cries out of relief of somebody seeing anything worthwhile in his character, but he still refuses to accept these things as true. Or more accurately, he argues them away, these things don’t count, most things, most accomplishments, don’t count for him, cause he either sees them as an act he puts on, or a direct result of the money and support he grew up with. That’s why he can’t stand the ‘gifted’ lable either, any talent he has he only has because he had all the resources of the world on his hands and a father at the back of his neck that did not allow him to be mediocre at anything. He does not quite see that only because you are expected to be extraordinary at something most people can’t just simply comply to that and actually succeed. But to him it’s all worth nothing.

🍃 Describe a regular day for your OC. What is their schedule (if they have one).          

His day has always been packed with activities and schoolwork, he’s very used to little free time, he is not exactly good at relaxing, or maybe he relaxes better by doing stuff than by doing nothing at this point. Being with Adam he had wrangled a bit more free time to be with him but he’s still very much overscheduled. So he has the art school classes, working on projects, learning, he has tutors for different languages, mainly mandarin at the moment, he goes to the shooting range, he has teachers for self-defense, he does not go to classes for instruments anymore but he still makes time to play, he goes to night school economics classes on the side, has to do the work and learning for that, he makes time for his siblings, time for the dance classes for the elderly he attends as a volunteering partner, he has clover, though she is well taken care of by the family’s staff, and any time in-between he probably fills with reading, or travelling to see exhibitions or concerts in other cities. There’s the social obligations of upper class people, socializing, fraternizing. Church on Sundays. And then there’s the times his father calls him in, demands him to be there, that can be as simple as business meetings, or dinner with some powerful allies, or turf war discussions with other crime families, or his father dealing out his punishment to the people that wronged him. And then recuperating from seeing people tortured and dying and suffering… Therapy. his plate is FULL. Which is not a bad thing, it keeps him occupied. He would simply not be able to do nothing, it would ruin him.

🍁 What is your OC’s most traumatic experience? (If they don’t have just one traumatic experience either pick one or describe them all!)

:) hooo boy, Asher has a whole portfolio of traumatic events, there are so many they start to become normal to him. He is surrounded by a lot of violence and psychological warfare. Of his father wanting to break him into becoming something he does not want to be. And when Asher refused his father’s orders too much he came up with a new way of disciplining him. Top of the list is of course seeing his boyfriend, love of his life, who he’s been with since they were practically children, tied to a chair, get shot and die, right next to him. By Asher’s father. As an direct answer to Asher’s behavior and educational measure, showing what happens when Asher disobeys. There’s not topping that, really. Maybe there is, but I refuse to.

🍄 How would your OC react to the death of a friend/family member/loved one? Is there anyone they can confide in?

:)) Godddd. Well, the one close death he’s been subjected to he has not really been allowed to deal with, no time for healing and grief. He did go to a clinic for a while after suffering a psychotic break down after what had happened. Asher tried for a while to tell the police what his father had done, even wrote to more distant police departments or investigators, only to always be redirected to his father till he had enough of Asher trying to rat him out and threatened sending Asher himself to prison for Adam’s murder, the staff at the clinic would gladly testify about Asher telling them about it, or threatened other people getting hurt if he kept trying to spread information. Officially, Adam ‘went missing’, the police covered it up, deduced he just ran away, queer kid from a somewhat small town, probably wanted to get away to the city. Asher and Adam’s family very much advocated against those findings, to no avail. He does not really have anybody to confide in. His therapist works for his father so he’s not very inclined to talk to him too truthfully. Other than that he has nobody he would share something like that with, cause he is too paranoid of his father finding out and tying up loose ends. Till now he’s pretty much just relied on numbing medication to get through the day, sleeping pills to get through the night. He has panic attacks and break downs and is irrational and aggressive, he is a mess, but he has no choice but to keep going. He has successfully pushed anybody away enough for them to either not care or leave him alone. I feel like, and Asher would hate that thought, anybody else dying, would almost feel like relief to him. One less person to be constantly scared for. One less reason to stay alive.

🌾 What would your OC be like if they were evil. Or if they’re already evil what would they be like as the good guy?

Evil Asher would be happy??? That’s really the ideal solution to all his problems. If he complied to his father, happily, to step into his footsteps and become his successor, he would not have a single problem. All of his trouble comes simply from him not being able to live with hurting other people. If he’d just be able to do that, no problem, he could just life his regular life at the side. So evil Asher would be soon-to-be crime boss, and good at it.

💐 How would your OC react to somebody telling them that they love them? (+ bonus give another characters/OC name!)

Nausea, doubt, refusal, panic. He does not want it, there is nothing good that comes from loving him, other than putting people in danger, when his father considers them as effective ways to threaten him. He hardly let’s other people say positive things about him, I love yous are definitely too much, he would probably be extra dickish the next couple of days, trying to scare you away more effectively. Devin definitely has been through that a couple of times, any time Asher lets him get a bit closer the next day he pushes him away twice as hard. Good thing Devin is persistent, as long as he knows Asher is just putting on an act because he is scared and hurt, he has no problem seeing past his behaviour.

🌷 What does your OC hate about themself? What lies about themself do they believe? On the flip side, What does your OC love about themself?

:))) It’s all shame and guilt and hatred. Even if he has good sides, they are either an act, or they are just useless? They do nothing for him, or for others. He’d rather be a bigger asshole, feel less, care less, and other people would be much safer.. well the regular civilians at least. He tries sometimes to convince himself, the people his father deals with, the ones he kills or punishes, they are in that situation for a reason, they dealt with the wrong people, they have made that deal knowing what could happen. Better to hurt them, than to hurt unsuspecting folks. But he just can’t justify hurting people, no matter who. So maybe what he hates the most about himself is his code of morality. He also hates thinking about his childhood, about admiring his father, before he knew about any of the crime. The lies he believes about himself are the ones he tells himself, about how terrible and unlovable he is, just a snobby rich kid with no redeeming qualities. He’d really have to dig deep to find anything he would actually consider lovable, I can’t quite come up with anything honestly. Jeez. Poor boy.

🥀 What is something your OC blames themselves for and is it really their fault? Does it keep them up at night and is there any lingering trauma?

Adam’s death, of course. Not that he has any control over his father’s actions, but he could have told Adam more about what was happening with his dad, so he could have made the informed decision of getting the hell out of there. He thinks about it all the time. His guilt, what he could have done differently, how he’s not allowed anything good anymore, cause Adam is somewhere rotting in a ditch and he is living, enjoying things? Impossible, not allowed.

🌺 In what situation would your OC be pushed to commit an act of violence? Would they go as far to kill someone if they had to? How would this affect them and their relationships with others?

:)))) He is constantly being pushed to commit acts of violence and he constantly refuses even though the consequences are hard. He does, however, finally, eventually, get pushed over the edge, when he’s once more facing the same situation, of the boy he loves sitting tied up in front of his father. He laughs about it sometimes, afterwards, the absurdity, the god-complex of his father, who really thought putting them in a room, giving Asher a weapon and telling him to kill his boyfriend would somehow not lead to his own death. So yeah, Asher does decide to kill his father. Thought the deciding part is not exactly an active choice, he blinks and is suddenly kneeling over his father’s perforated body. Which is probably the only way you could get Asher to kill someone, not by making him choose to consciously, but by giving him no other choice, for him to lose control and let his desperation take over. Devin tiptoes around Asher for a while, cause he’s just scared of what that did to him. He’s very attentive, looking for shock and trauma and anything he can help with.

🌸 What would your OC do if they were given god-like powers or the ability to change anything about the world for a whole day?

He would want to meet dead people, mostly artists, he admires. Have a chat with Van Gogh, meet Kurt Cobain, pick Hieronymus Bosch’s brain.. Just talk about creation and inspiration and their world views.

🌼 Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

One of his loved ones dying because he was stupid enough to agree to be close to them, as secretly as they could, cause he should know better, his father has eyes and ears everywhere, how could he be so stupid and selfish. Alternatively his father finally giving up on converting Asher and trying to do the same to Gabriel, or Leo when he is older.

🌻 What advice would your OC give to their younger self? What advice does your OC need now?

Kill him NOW??? You will kill him eventually, just do it now. Safe Adam.  Right now, hm, probably something about sharing the burden. Talking to people, his family specifically, since they are involved some way or another anyways and might just be able to help, if only by having an open ear. But he’s a burned child, he is way way too scared of consequences to his actions now that he would want to take risks, even if they seem unlikely. Better safe than sorry.

#mangosandchili #ocs #asher