piarles + second chances 🌻

He skips the universes like he used to skip the stones in the river behind his house in France. One by one with no pauses and no thought of slipping and falling into the river and being taken away.

If the universe hasn't washed him away by now, well. It can go fuck itself.

Pierre didn't ask for this. For any of this. He doesn't even really know what's happened. The technical explanation is complicated and long winded, at least when Sebastian gives it, so Pierre doesn't even bother remembering it. It's enough to know that everything went to Hell, and that there was no turning back.

George simplified it for him one night.

"It's like - imagine a tower built out of cards, yeah? So every universe is a card, and those universes touch. Not all of them, not the same ones, but they're all cards from the same deck. And so what happened was that someone pulled one of the bottom cards and..." and here George trailed off, because there was no need for him to go on. It was a pretty clear picture.

This George was pretty, too. The George from his universe was pretty too, but he didn't have the scars on his back that this George did. George never offered an explanation, and Pierre didn't ask.

They almost fucked that night, him and George. They were drinking, and the lights were low, and the world was ending and they kissed, but George's face was smooth and he didn't have dimples, and Pierre couldn't. He just couldn't, and George couldn't either, because the name on his lips when they separated wasn't Pierre.

"We are sending you to Gamma-Delta-Pi," Sebastian says and Pierre chuckles.

"Like American sorority, non?"

George butts in. "Actually, if it's for boys, it's a fraternity. Sorority is for girls."

Sebastian and Pierre roll their eyes simultanously. "Alright, alright, Mister Know-It-All," Sebastian continues. "Pierre, get in, asess the situation, and get out. This one is on the border of the Gamma Quadrant, and we don't want to have any more nasty surprises."

"You mean like the flesh-eating monster world we found last time?" Pierre asks cheerfully. "I would like to avoid that, too. Though the scar makes me very popular with the ladies."

He leers at Seb, who indulges him with a small smile. "Just go, Gasly," he says, and Pierre straps in and checks if he has his knife, and then the lights start flashing and he's gone.

There are no ladies. They all know it, because they are all in the same boat here. They've all lost everything that mattered to them, and are now living outside of time and space, in the liminal spaces between universes, collecting strays.

They're all the only ones who survived the collapses of their worlds. They are all the only ones left.

Pierre keeps his eyes open as he travels through the wormhole. Sebastian was the one who found him, stepping out of a wormhole just like this one as Pierre's world ended. Sebastian was the one who dragged him away from the race track and the body in red racing suit Pierre was clutching, his face a grimace of perfect, horrible understanding. Sebastian was the one who dragged him away as the vebomous clouds overtook the sky, and the last thing Pierre saw of his world was the darkness swallowing Spa-Francorchamps.

It had to be Spa. Of course it had to be Spa.

George was already there when Pierre arrived, as were some of the others. They were all different, much different than Pierre remembered them to be. None of them, bar Sebastian, were racing drivers in their original universes. Pierre knows that's what hurts him the most.

No. He shakes his head. That's a lie, but don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't. Don't you dare.

The wormhole tightens, and stretches, and spits him out. He's distracted enough nkt to land on his feet, and falls down on his knees.

When he opens his eyes, he's in Suzuka.

He almost throws up. There's cars piled up against each other right in front of him, a chain crash like the one he barely avoided in another life. There's a McLaren, and a Mercedes, and a Red Bull, and a Ferrari at the end of the row.

Pierre doesn't think. He runs.

There's smoke coming out of the cars and the sky above it too dark even for a monsoon season and Pierre can't see a thing properly, but he doesn't care.

"Not again," he mutters as he tears at the halo, determined to get the unmoving body from the cockpit. "Not again, please God, not again, not again, not -"

"Pear?" Charles' voice is weak. He coughs, and it's the most beautiful sound Pierre has heard in a long time. "How - am I dead?"

Pierre sobs a laugh and undoes Charles' belt. "No, calamar, you're okay. You're going to be okay."

Pierre can't see Charles properly under the helmet, but he knows his best friend. "But - I must be dead," Charles says, and there's fear and confusion and profound sadness in his voice. He lifts his arms nonetheless and lets Pierre pull him out.

"Why," Pierre asks distractedly, trying to ascertain Charles' state and keep an eye on the rapidly approaching darkness. "Why do you think that?"

Charles' leg is broken, Pierre thinks, because he yelps in pain when he tries to step on it. Pierre grabs him around the waist and throws Charles' arm around his shoulders, holding him up. He glances at the sky. The darkness is eating the grandstands, and they have to go.

"Because," Charles starts to say, and then gets frustrated and starts fiddling with his helmet. Pierre should drag him away, but he has to - h3 has to see. Charles takes the helmet off, pulling the balaclava with it, and when he turns to Pierre, his heart almost stops. It's him. It's really him.

Charles' hazy eyes are flitting all over Pierre's face, and there's sweat on his face, and he looks awful, and he looks more beautiful than Pierre remembers him being.

"Because," he says, and his voice is shaking, "you died in Spa."

Pierre chokes back a sob. He raises his hand and puts his palm on Charles' cheek, presses his thumb where he knows Charles' dimple to be.

"No," he whispers as the sky above them darkens. "No, mon amour."

A tear falls out of the corner of Charles' eye, and Pierre wipes it away.

"You did," he says, and holds Charles close, and activates the transporter.

“They will pay for the things they have done.”

Goncharov (1973)

Why the fruck do i keep listening to midnight rain and think about Obikin?

sksksksk i had to go find the song tbh

anyway! yeah, i can see why you're thinking about obikin. made me think of them in a modern au setting kinda where anakin is a singer-songwriter maybe and he becomes a breakout star and rises in popularity quickly, and it's all so thrilling and dazzling, and people love his music, his lyrics, love him, and he's just riding that high. it's everything he's been dreaming of.

and i'm thinking he's in a relationship with obi-wan before it all happens. obi-wan is a singer too, but he doesn't have any stardom ambitions though, he likes to keep it small and intimate, likes to play in smaller clubs and cozy settings because he doesn't like the glamour and hypervisibility of big popularity. he's turned down big agents before.

he's incredibly proud and happy when anakin gets his breakthrough because he knows how desperately anakin's wanted it and how hard he worked for it. and anakin wants to share it with obi-wan. so much. he wants to work with him, he wants to take him with him everywhere he goes, wants to show him off, wants to be with him and go big with him.

except obi-wan doesn't want that. he doesn't mind anakin's popularity, but he doesn't want to be dragged into it. he doesn't want to be in the spotlight, doesn't want to keep dodging calls and proposals and paparazzi and interview requests, doesn't want to have to keep justifying why he doesn't want to go big with his music (anakin's talked publicly about how his boyfriend is an amazing musician too and ofc people find obi-wan and his music). but anakin is so happy with all the adoration and attention he receives. they start fighting over it more and more because anakin keeps trying to pull obi-wan into the limelight with him while obi-wan keeps rebuffing him until obi-wan eventually decides to break up with him.

he does it because he doesn't want to stand in anakin's way and thinks it makes it easier for him to further pursue his musical career without having obi-wan by his side as a dead weight who can't give him what he wants.

anakin ofc takes the breakup as a rejection of everything that is him. he tells himself obi-wan is begrudging his success; that obi-wan secretly also aspires to be widely popular and is frustrated that anakin got everything he wanted; that he's just too afraid to go after it.

anakin writes a bunch of songs about the breakup. they're angry and sharp and fans go wild over them because omg what happened between these two?? there are wild speculations about it naturally, and anakin is flippant and arrogant about it publicly while obi-wan dodges all attempts that try to get him to talk about it (or anything else).

a couple of years pass. anakin's remains famous and popular and dazzling, and obi-wan follows his career. he's happy that anakin's music is so well received, that he's even won awards for it, but it always accompanied by a deep, deep ache. some days he misses anakin so much it's like a physical hurt.

meanwhile anakin also keeps tabs on obi-wan, despite himself. he finds a video of obi-wan playing at café that's been recorded by a fan, and he looks so good, he's laughing as he talks to the patrons before the song, and the track is so beautiful, obi-wan looks so gorgeous singing, that anakin slaps his laptop shut and almost tosses it across the room because the pain and anger eats at him with renewed vigour. he digs up some old songs, ones he's written after the breakup, the soft and achey ones, the ones he poured his pain and despair into, the wistful ones. anakin falls down a hole and spends days reworking and refining them, and when his manager hears them, they convince anakin to record them. it turns into a whole album. it's still uniquely anakin but it's different from his previous albums, it's much more vulnerable, there's a depth to it that wasn't there before, it's real and raw, and anakin tries to back out of releasing it because he's too afraid to expose himself like that. but the album becomes a huge success. he wins several awards for it, and he's so proud and at the same time utterly heartbroken because essentially, obi-wan gave him this success.

(fans speculate who the songs are about because it's been years since the breakup. some immediately link it to obi-wan, others believe it to be one of anakin's more recent hook-ups.)

obi-wan listens to the whole album as he sits in his living room. he breathes through the ache and the yearning and wonders what made anakin write these songs. it's been years after all. and the first songs were less than pleasant for obi-wan. he almost texts anakin about it. he comes really close to it. he has the message typed out, he's two glasses of wine in on an empty stomach, and he feels petty enough, but he deletes it and lets it go.

anakin half expects obi-wan to react to it in some way. he gets frustrated and irritated and embarrassed when he doesn't.

obi-wan does, however, perform a song that he wrote together with anakin and has never played before. it's a banger. people love it. videos of obi-wan singing it blaze through social media, and anakin takes a significant amount of damage when he sees it. because. what does that mean???? obi-wan is singing their song. after anakin released what he dubbed his "obi-wan albumn" in his head. but he hasn't responded to the album at all.

anakin can't stop thinking about it. which is how he ends up at one of obi-wan's sets. he bundles up and disguises himself so nobody recognizes him, and he sits through obi-wan performing, closes his eyes and listens to his voice, lets the lyrics wash over him, and realizes that a lot of his songs are about anakin. they're much more subtle but anakin knows him, knows the things obi-wan sings about, and something clicks for him.

he waits until the set is over, until there aren't any more people occupying obi-wan, before he approaches him. they both freeze when they lock eyes. they haven't seen each other in years but it somehow feels like no time has passed and like it's been an eternity all at the same time. obi-wan packs up in silence and anakin trails him wordlessly until they're in the alley behind the location.

"you're singing about us," anakin says accusatorily, and almost feels stupid that these are the first words out. "you're singing about me."

"you're doing it too," obi-wan answers as he crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. he eyes anakin warily thinking anakin is here to call him out, pick a fight, sue him maybe, he's not quite sure.

except anakin gets all up in his space and there's wonder and yearning and hope in his eyes, and he's still so hauntingly beautiful it takes obi-wan's breath away. it makes his chest tight with how much he still wants anakin, and it's even worse what with how close they are right now.

"i can't believe you're singing about me," anakin says in a hushed tone.

obi-wan smiles a bit self-deprecatingly, even as he sways closer to anakin, too. "i never stopped singing about you."

"i never stopped singing about you, too," anakin admits. and then he fists his hands into obi-wan's shirt and kisses him.

that's how they get their heads out of their asses. of course they have a reunion fuck in the alley.

this got away from me oops, sorry, anon!

"They're absolutely perfect Moons." Sirius smiles softly as he looks down at the little infant in Remus's arms. The newborn opens their storm gray eyes slowly, smiling as they do.

"That they are Pads." Remus leans forward slightly and kisses his husband on the forehead. "We are going to be a perfect, little family."

"Well, perhaps not little for too long." Sirius's smile even more at the thought of having a big family with the man he loves. Little kids playing outside in their yard on warm day, laughing with the biggest grins on their face. Remus reading them bed time stories as they yawn sleepily. Play dates with James and Lily's children. Finally his wishes for a family with Remus were coming true.

"I would love that" Remus takes Sirius's hand in his own, and for a moment, all of their problems melt away. It's just the two of them and their little baby, and everything is absolutely perfect.

RE-LEARNING TO WANT / THE OPPOSITE OF PLEASURE It’s a rainy morning in July when I wake up and realize that I cannot think of a single thing in the world that could make me feel pleasure. I sit up, I get out of bed, I walk into the hallway.     I do nothing.     I don’t want to have a glass of water. I don’t want to open a window. I don’t want to listen to music I don’t want to read I don’t want to watch anything I don’t want to talk or move or go back to sleep. I don’t even need to pee. I’m not a stranger to this feeling. I’ve been here before. I know what I should do. So I wreck my brain for one thing, just one tiny little thing that I could     like.     A minute passes. I feel panic rising like bile up my throat, but also I don’t care because I can’t care about anything and panic is a feeling reserved for people who want things and like things and fear things and right now I’m not sure if I will ever do any of those things ever again. This thought makes me feel worse.     I do nothing. / What is the opposite of pleasure ? The common answer to this question seems to be: pain. Again and again the two are juxtaposed in literature, philosophy and art - ‘Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness.’1. But there is pleasure within pain. This may sound like an oxymoron but the truth is: pain is a symptom of having loved, and lost. Pain is a symptom of wanting something you cannot have. Pain is a symptom of needing something that will hurt you. Pain is a symptom of caring.     There is some pleasure to be found in this thought - a cathartic kind. In fact, I’d argue that this type of pleasure can be found in any kind of negative emotion: because fear is born out of the desire to protect yourself, jealousy out of the desire to become something you yearn for, anger out of the desire to right something you believe to be wrong, and despite their discomfort all of these emotions are ultimately proof that you care, need, want. Proof that you are alive and striving for happiness. So in the end, the only true opposite of pleasure is this:     its absence. / It’s a sunny morning in January when I wake up and look at my life and realize that it is absolutely empty. I remember my graduation six months earlier, the giddy feeling of limitlessness, of absolute freedom, of being able to go wherever you want whenever you want.     I remember that already then I knew it wouldn’t last. I remember the growing feeling of helplessness, the swelling self-doubt, the no longer knowing where I wanted to go and who I wanted to be. I recall all the days that have passed since summer, stretching like gum while slowly but surely my personality fractures and fades into the pale ghost of my self. I keep haunting the flat for all of winter, spending the hours scrolling through endless social media feeds in an attempt to distract myself from the mould on my mind. Time has turned into jelly. I don’t talk to other people. I can’t remember how to feel.     I do nothing. / Depression has a way of making you come undone. It’s not just ‘feeling sad all the time’ - it’s a complete unravelling of all that you are into something that is not quite you     but also not quite anything else. A handy little list of symptoms will tell you this in its own language: loss of interest, feelings of emptiness, lack of drive, fatigue, difficulty making decisions, diminished appetite. Small, simple terms for a great black hole in your head. What they tell you is that there is a chemical imbalance in your brain that is fucking with your mind and body and that this is the cause for your apathy, isolation, disconnection from everything you’ve ever loved and everything you’ve ever been. What they don’t tell you is that even as you are beginning to heal and the chemical imbalance in your shit brain is slowly starting to get evened out again, you might find yourself having entirely forgotten  how  to  want. That you no longer know how to strive for something instead of preserving all your energy for the sole purpose of getting through the day. That you no longer know how to make yourself feel good instead of just making yourself feel sane. That you no longer know what might bring you pleasure, or even how to allow yourself to feel pleasure, because this feeling, just like the rest of you, has become a stranger to your mind. / Eventually, I think back to that July morning, to the grey cotton fuzz that had filled my skull back then and is enveloping every nerve in my body now. I think of my too-tight chest and the ringing in my ears. I think of walking down the hallway, out onto the back porch where I look beyond the houses on the other side of the dew-covered garden. I think of my breath catching at the sight of the mountains in the distance; granite giants draped in heavy rain clouds, their stark outlines against the soft grey skies. There is pleasure in beauty. I think of going back inside, finding pen and paper, writing THINGS I STILL LIKE 1. The mountains I think of this one sliver of comfort opening something in my brain, of slowly continuing to fill in my list (- the smell of coffee, feeling the wind on my face, guitar strings under my calloused fingers, the flow of a good sentence, making others laugh). I remember how, by the time my family had woken up, I could be normal again. I’ve since thrown away the list. I am starting over now. I’m staring at an empty piece of paper, giving myself time. I am doing      something.                   I am learning to want again.

uhhh. bruce wayne modelling gig. have a good day 🥰

Legend has it when you squeeze a clown's organs they honk

first time talking about smth not trans/t4t related on here but yall are really fuckin awful to aro/ace ppl. like i see like "u cant identify as asexual until ur 18 its an inappropriate sexuality for a child to have" and its like ok thats just like homophobia/transphobia again. u just made queerphobia again. do you know how many times i heard that its weird for me to identify as trans "so young" (i was 16)? and like "u cant identify as aro/ace if ur traumatized cause what if its just the trauma" ok and what if trauma with men made a girl a lesbian? you just made homophobia again. and dont even get me started on "WELL WHAT IF THERES AN AROMANTIC HETEROSEXUAL CIS MAN WHO WANTS TO BE QUEER" and oh yeah im sure youre so scared of "predator men" invading your spaces sike u just made transphobia again. like at what point will we as queer people stop attacking our queer siblings and collaborate as a community to create meaningful change? at what point?

if nardo was a kdrama, this would be the mads photoshoot for 1st look / dazed / w korea to promo the hashimada vote episode.

i think i broke something

may i request a lil squip bmc

oh yeah, this guy. the squid

do u think the ocean washed over currentpaw's grave quick little thang inspired by famous prophets stars by car seat headrest for @sootslash's clangen comic @fog-and-the-frost !!! i luv this series sm i am soo invested .. also the paws are currentpaw's...hard 2 tell shhh

okay the new tntl musical 2 is just. fucking excellent from start to finish. nonstop bangers, wildly funny, everyone is having a blast while being Very Talented. my only thought after finishing it is, as angela puts it:

me when I