i don't think the branwen tribe under raven's leadership operates under the "the weak die, the strong live" rule.

they did, back when raven and qrow were kids—raven points out the rule like qrow should know it—but once raven took over... the bartender sees shay as nuisance rather than a genuine threat; the tribesmen get their asses kicked more often than not; they rely on numbers, not individual strength; more notably, when yang demands raven to send her to qrow, damn it, the tribesmen don't take too kindly to it: "that's enough! you watch your mouth in front of our leader!"

if the weak die, the strong live, you'd probably expect your leader to be able to stand up for herself in the face of demands and some light swearing, daughter or not. instead, the tribesmen don't wait for that, they step in on their own.

shay threatens yang: "when raven finds out what you did, you're dead!" <- there's an expectation, trust, that if they can't deal with something, raven will take care of it for them. and when shay finds out that yang is raven's daughter, he thinks it's him who's going to be dead. maybe he was being a tad dramatic, but the next time we see him, he's on guard duty.

if there was any punishment for his actions, all it would have amounted to was guard duty. the weak die, the strong live, you fucked up so i guess you're off to guard duty.

based on the bartender, the citizen living outside the kingdom walls in anima aren't super afraid of the bandits in general; they are, however, afraid of raven. the tribesmen aren't, though, but they seem to be of vernal (the "spring maiden"), if these two bandits and their differing reactions and behavior around the two are anything to go by:

it's a night and day. almost literally lol

the bandits respect raven without any hint of fear, they're willing to throw hands for her (unless they're against a maiden, that is, then she's on her own lol), in a sense, under raven's leadership, they are a family; the kind that goes "i've got your back, you've got mine".

i have no doubt this wasn't the case back when the twins were kids—qrow wasn't wanted after his semblance manifested for crying out loud—but things have clearly changed, since then.

Levi x Reader:: Marks

Summary:: Sometimes you hated those scars so much, letting insecurities wash over you and allow self-hate to take place. But Levi was always there to remind you how beautiful you were. 

Word Count: 1458

Warnings: Some nudity

Feedback is deeply appreciated~!

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You let out a hiss as you slowly unbuckled the belts of your gear one by one, letting them drop heavily on the ground before quickly discarding your uniform and undergarments, throwing them in the laundry basket, leaving you bare. Blood flow finally began running smoothly and normally now that there was nothing to painfully tighten and restrict your thighs. You undid the taut bun, setting your hair free and relieving your scalp with a short massage as you proceeded to enter the bathroom. You let out a sigh of content the moment the hot water washed over your body, easing your sore and tense muscles.

The past forty eight hours had been nightmarish. You had returned from an expedition gone wrong. Two of your squadmates had been injured and as a good captain you had stayed by their side for hours as the doctors and nurses treated them. After that you hadn’t even had the time to wash and change as a mountain of paperwork had been placed on your desk. If that hadn’t been enough, the families of your injured subordinates wanted to speak to you so you had to spend more time reassuring them that everything was all right before returning to your tedious tasks. You had been so busy and just like that, two whole days had passed. The same could be said about the other higher-ups. Levi, Hange, Erwin, Mike and the other squad leaders and section commanders were up to the neck buried with work and in such moments you asked yourself whether it was worth to become a captain.

There was so much responsibility.

You wrapped a towel around your body as you finally exited the bathroom, now feeling more refreshed and clean. But when you stepped into your bedroom and passed by the mirror, you froze, slowly turning to look at yourself.

Your skin has always been easy to bruise and you hated that. Now, staring at your thighs – at the ugly markings from the belts marring your skin – you felt sick. And suddenly, you got reminded of every scar your body held. There was one on your calf when a titan had bitten down as you were trying to save a comrade from its jaws. At this point you probably had multiple scars on your back from the amount of times you had fallen, gotten hit or thrown left and right or smashed while fighting those monstrous creatures.

There was one on your abdomen too. It brought shivers down your spine every time you remembered how you obtained it. It happened on the day Wall Maria fell. The Scouts had returned from an expedition. Instead of returning to the base, you had asked Commander Shadis to visit your family – inform them that you were alive and ease their worry.

Your house was near the gates.

You had spent amazing few hours with your family – eating and laughing and chatting together. And then there had been an explosion and only a second later something heavy had rammed against your house. The sound of breaking and cracking of bricks and wood and falling debris had been deafening. You had almost been buried alive under the debris, a piece of wood stabbing you. You had thought that you were going to die. But someone unexpected had come to save you.

Levi.

That had set the beginning of your relationship. When you had asked him why he had gone looking for you despite all the odds, he had just shrugged, saying it was because you were the only person he was able to tolerate. It was valid, considering you were the first and only person to offer him and his friends help and friendship after they joined and you had made sure to shower them with lots of care and kindness.

You didn’t know whether it were insecurities or something else but right now you felt horrible. You hated those scars. You hated your body. You tiredly sat on the bed as you thought about all those other…normal girls who had clean, spotless, soft skin. Tears gathered in your eyes and before you knew it, you were sniffing, trying to suppress your sobs as you cupped your hands over your mouth.

You didn’t even hear when the door to your private quarters opened.

Levi’s eyes widened as they fell on your shaking shoulders. Your back was facing him as he stood silently by the door frozen, unable to move, his mind immediately listing and searching for reasons as to why you were crying.

His legs quickly carried him to your form and he crouched down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. You flinched as you lowered your hands and looked at him through blurry vision before wiping away the offending liquid. He waited a bit, giving you time to compose yourself. When you seemed ready to talk, he spoke.

“What’s wrong?” it was a simple question but his tone was soft and soothing that you felt like caving in and telling him. But you were also ashamed. You didn’t want to appear weak or stupid in front of him. You didn’t want to bother or worry him unnecessarily. After all, one of the reasons as to why he allowed himself to love you, allowed himself to accept you and enter a relationship during those horrid times, was because he knew you could take care of yourself. He knew that you could handle anything thrown your way and survive and come back to him even stronger.

But sometimes you couldn’t help but allow a few moments of weakness. Was it selfish of you?

“It’s…nothing. I’m just being silly, that’s all,” you breathed out and he frowned, his hand squeezing your knee a bit scoldingly.

“You’re crying your eyes out for nothing then? You know you can tell me. But if you don’t want to, it’s ok,” he said as his other hand moved to grasp one of yours in reassurance, making you let out a sigh and close your eyes.

“I hate my body. I hate how…many marks it has,” you sniffed and prepared for him to say that you were behaving like a child or to berate you and scold you for being so weak, eyes squeezing more and more shut when you imagined every scenario.

But he didn’t do anything like that. Instead, what he did surprised you.

He gently unwrapped the towel and let it fall and pool around you, leaving you bare and exposed. You had half a mind to cover yourself with your hands but you were curious as to what he was about to do.

His face got closer and closer until he placed his lips onto your thigh, right over the still red markings from the uniform belts.

“Is it this one?” he asked quietly as he gently kissed it before moving to the one on your other thigh. “Or this?” he repeated the action before lifting his head, hands softly brushing against your legs and climbing upwards, passing by your hips, caressing your sides and resting there as he nuzzled against your abdomen.

“Or maybe this one?” he whispered as he peppered the jagged, long scar with fluttering kisses while his hands raised more and roamed over your back, fingers tracing each scar with such care and love that the tears started falling again. But this time it wasn’t out of sorrow or self-hate. It was because he was worshipping your body. He was worshipping you.

And it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of these scars and marks,” he muttered against your skin and your hand went to thread his raven locks. “They are a proof that you went through hell and you were strong enough to push through and survive. To keep living. Because if there’s one thing that’s worth it in this cruel world, is staying by your loved ones’ side and building beautiful memories together. That makes all the pain and hate fade,” he said before he looked up, his eyes meeting yours as one hand went to wipe off your tears, thumb brushing your cheekbone tenderly.

You gave him a watery smile as you leaned and captured his lips in a delicate kiss which quickly turned into a searing one as you tried to pour all your passion, gratitude and love through it. He rose to his feet and climbed on the bed without breaking the kiss, causing you to lay down as he towered above you, the hand that had brushed your tears still caressing your cheek with love while the other slid down to cup your breast. 

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

Teenage Dirtbag (K.S.)

While I’m not exactly who you hoped would be writing these requests for you, I hope they are what you were looking for @nonchalantflower and anon 💛 I had so much fun writing for Kyle and would DEFINITELY be interested in writing more parts for this if you guys are interested! Enjoy, my thirsty friends 😘

(arguments, slight physical roughness, smut)

“Don’t forget your lime, sweets!”

You smiled and raised your cup in silent thanks to the girl pouring drinks behind the kitchen counter. It was far too loud to do much else. Music blared as people drunkenly sang karaoke in the living room and the rest were either singing along or trying to yell over the sound trying to hold conversation. You had not been much of a party-goer before Kyle, and you weren’t much of one after either. You sighed, looking into the cup for a moment before shooting back the contents. You briefly wondered why you were even there until a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N!!! Come dance with me pleeeeaaasseeeeee!” That’s right. You’d promised your best friend, Missy, that you’d escort her to this specific party to make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. You knew it was just a lame excuse to get you out of the house, but you figured it couldn’t hurt anything. You allowed her to pull you into the backyard where the band was going strong and hot bodies danced freely in the night air. There was something about it that made you relax a bit. Your body slowly succumbed to the alcohol and began to rock to the music along with everyone else in the crowd. “That’s my girl! Get it babe!” Missy cheered, dancing and laughing easily with you. You let yourself laugh too, feeling yourself untense for what felt like the first time in months. It felt good. The longer you danced, the more you lost track of your surroundings. You closed your eyes and slipped under the music and intoxication.

You were abruptly pulled from this euphoria, however, as the music came to a close and Missy began tugging you back toward the house. “There’s a group starting Seven Minutes in Heaven!” she squealed. You briefly realized this was exactly the trouble you were supposed to be keeping her out of, but she was so excited that you couldn’t find it in your mildly inebriated self to tell her no. You and her brushed past multiple couples making out and someone definitely revisiting their dinner in the bathroom to find a large circle of people gathered in the library upstairs. A tall, blonde jock walked around collecting bits and bobs from each individual in his sweaty hat. You watched Missy pull her earring from her ear excitedly, ready to add it to his collection.

“God, this is so bad,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I ask.” She elbowed you sharply in the ribs before placing the earring in.

“You gonna play, toots?” the blonde asked, eyeing you up and down.

You shivered in mild disgust, quickly shaking your head. You were about to make a snide remark when Missy pulled the clip holding your hair up from your head. “Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re playing, and that’s final,” she said, adding your clip to the hat. You huffed, submitting easily. You definitely couldn’t deny that you needed some action.

“Alright, gents! Who’s up first?” the blonde called over the group.

“This guy over here! Total closet monster!” A group of guys started cheering and shouting from the corner of the room. You couldn’t quite see who was the object of their jeering quite yet. “Everyone knows bassists get HELLA pussy! Let’s goooo!!”

That was the first in a series of events that quickly filled your stomach with dread. No. Fucking. Chance. Suddenly, the unfortunate boy was pushed out from the group of shouting teens, confirming your worst fears. You swallowed, looking down and praying he didn’t see you.

“Shit,” Missy whispered in shock, turning to look at you. You grimaced, suddenly feeling a bit ill.

Chants of “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” rose from the whole room as the lanky boy you knew every inch of rolled his eyes and reached into the hat. You shivered, praying silently that fate could not possibly be cruel enough to lock you in a closet with your

ex-boyfriend for seven minutes of pure hell.

Fate laughed darkly in your face.

The minute he pulled the clip out, his intoxicated smile fell from his face slightly. He recognized it. Even now.

“That’s the little miss right over there!” The jock pointed to you and his exclamation was followed by a series of cheers and “oh shit”s from people who recognized the situation. You suddenly found yourself pushed to the middle of the room next to him, Missy shouting your name behind you as strangers' hands forced you forward.

“That’s his ex!” someone shouted, making you visibly cringe. The group collectively fell to hushed whispers and quiet laughter.

“Shit.” You finally forced yourself to raise your head, looking over at the boy who’d uttered the syllable and that you were once convinced you were in love with. He was still looking at the clip in his hands, but quickly felt your eyes on him and looked up. He was smirking softly.

Rage ran through you from head to toe in half a second. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Well, lovers, the closet awaits! No one denies the destiny of the hat!” The more times this blonde opened his mouth, the more you wanted to punch him in the throat.

“The destiny of the hat,” Kyle repeated, clearly amused by the unevolved thought processes of the people around him. Pretentious asshole. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to the closet, seemingly unaffected. You watched in shock and anger, unable to understand how he could possibly think you were going to go through with this. He simply stood inside the doors, looking at you expectantly along with everyone else in the room.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you muttered, stomping after him. The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers of crude things you’d hate to imagine your mother hearing. Wearing that damned smirk, he pulled the closet doors closed behind you and sealed you both in darkness.

“Seven minutes starting now. Remember kids: make love not war!”

You scoffed, your arms over your chest. “Okay. What the actual fuck are you

trying to prove?”

Kyle shook his head, looking at you in earnest. “What is it, Y/N? Don’t believe in the destiny of the hat?”

“You are a child,” you spat, fury bubbling in your veins. The blissful feeling of the alcohol in your system was long gone, replaced with anxiety and frustration. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Now he scoffed. “You never knew who I was, Y/N. You just saw what you wanted to see and were disappointed. Join my little anti-fan club!” He threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

“You’re so full of shit! You’re so busy hating the world and everything in it that you refuse to let people into your life.”

“Yeah, life really dealt me such a stellar hand, don’t you think?”

You fell quiet, so frustrated you couldn’t find words. Tears burned in your eyes and your fists clenched at your sides. You stepped forward, pressing a finger into his chest. “You had me, you asshole. But you pushed me out when you felt yourself start to need someone.”

He exhaled sharply, making you realize how close you had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice suddenly lower and quieter, but still sharper than a double-edged blade. “It’s my fault I needed space to grieve my dying father- my apologies.” His breath hit your face as he over-punctuated every consonant, his hand finding itself holding your chin.

Your eyes went wide as he laid his hands on you, your breath caught in your throat. He noticed instantly, his predatory eyes glancing down at your mouth for a flicker of a moment. You both knew it was all over.

He pushed you roughly back to the other side of the tight closet, his mouth on yours with ravenous intensity. You gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him away. Your wild eyes met his, searching for something to make this make sense. Unable to find it, you tugged him back down to your lips. He growled lowly, his hands sliding under your shirt and firmly holding onto your sides while your hands tangled into his mop of dark curls; old habits die hard. His insatiable lips traveled down your neck to the spot he knew made your knees weak.

“Fuck, Kyle,’ you squeaked, hating how easily you’d given into him. But he had kissed you first. Perhaps the shoe was finally on the other foot. You were pulled from the moment by the sounds of cheering coming from outside the thin closet doors. You’d nearly forgotten you were being listened to by a room full of horny teenagers.

“Plebeians,” Kyle muttered hotly against your skin, unhindered by their antics. His hands slipped in opposite directions, one approaching the waistband of your jeans and the other reaching for the underside of your breast. Your hand quickly grasped his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyes flashed, meeting yours. Despite the darkness, you could see the lust in them. “What is it, princess? Forget what it’s like to be touched by a creature with an IQ higher than 6?”

You locked your jaw, glaring at him while you fought to catch your breath.

“There’s my stubborn girl,” he breathed hotly against your ear as you slowly released your grip on his wrist.

“I’m not your girl,’ you gasped, feeling his cold hand slip into your panties.

“Maybe not. But no one gets you wet like this.” He groaned softly, feeling your slick coat his fingers as he drug his fingertips through your folds. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Mm, and I’m sure you aren’t turned on at all, right?” you jabbed breathlessly, you hand slipping up his shirt to rest against his hot skin.

He visibly shuddered, leaning forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Tease.” His long fingers made slow, tortuous circles on your clit, making you let out a soft cry into the dark closet. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

His filth made you tremble, fisting his hair and tugging just hard enough to get him to let out a grunt of pleasure. His fingers quickened their pace, the forearm of his opposite side pressed against the wall next to your head as he pressed your bodies together. You reached down to feel his lust pressing adamantly against his fly and could confirm that he wasn’t lying. “Goddamnit.. I’m close,” you confessed, feeling your body betray you. You so desperately didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but his fingers were too persistent and he knew your tells far too well.

A harsh knock on the door struck like a cold splash of water. Kyle quickly pulled his hand from your pants,his damp fingers splayed against your bare stomach. “Alright, kids. Couples counseling is up in 30 seconds. Put on your clothes and get decent… or don’t.” Fucking idiot.

Kyle stepped back, seeming to suddenly come back to himself. Still breathless, you straightened and grabbed hold of his angled jaw. “You are going to finish what you started, or, so help me-“

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the still-very-present bulge in his jeans. The muscles of his jaw contracted beneath your fingers. “Trust me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

The door flew open and you quickly pulled your hand from his. Applause greeted you along with momentary blindness from the brightness of the room. Kyle’s hand was around your wrist and pulling you out of the room before you could even fully regain your bearings.

(To be continued?)

Without you, what is the point?

AO3 / FFN

Summary: The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..."

.

"Who the hell was that white monster?"

( One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was...Here.)

A/N: Was inspired by this post on tumblr to write this up and the delicious angst monster inside me rose like a motherfucker, ready to wreck havoc. Now suffer :))))) (Takes place after the episode: Ladybug. So, canon divergent.) "Even if I cry, even if I smile, even if I hate, I'll live my life with love" Samurai Heart (Some like it hot!) - SPYAIR ~(x)~ . . . 'What...what is this!?' 

Chat Noir's knees buckled before he could comprehend, collapsing to the surface he was perched on, eyes wide open and lips parted in absolute horror. Icy, sharp shivers ricocheted through his veins, his entire body shivering as he frantically observed the dystopian element around him and choked. One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was... Here. The remains of Paris and its monuments floated like motionless corpses in the deadly sea, his paralysed body stuck to a stray beam belonging to the Eiffel Tower like glue. The moon was absolutely shattered and split into halves up above, answering his questions on why the sea level was so high but generating more worries about how the satellite managed to get into that state in the first place. Most importantly, he knows with all of his heart and soul that the person that he considers the closest to him was his Lady...so what on earth did she experience? And when!? What the hell happened to their beloved home??? "YOU'RE BREAKING MORE THAN MY HEART NOW, MARINETTE!" Noir took a double take, leaping to his feet by muscle memory and whipping out his baton in combat mode, ready to protect Marinette at all costs from the angry voice, only to pause and his body to become paralysed once more. His mind speeding faster than the speed of sound as the dread that rooted itself in his stomach started to build up and spread out like a plague, muscles twitching with the fight or flight response. "Ma...Marinette? This is...Marinette's memory?" His lips trembled as he murmured to himself, vaulting away from the area with his weapon and hastening towards the sound of the horribly familiar voice. The cogs were starting to click in his mind but the more he saw of the destroyed city, the more apprehension gnawed on the base of his skull, his brain screaming to get the girl to safety no matter the costs. His heart pummelling his chest as the jitters inside pressured bile to build up in his tight throat. By the time he reached the area, Chat Noir felt like his soul left his body, shackling his frame on a lone, abandoned pillar as his face blanched with terror and gutted him. "Give me a hug...MARINETTE!" Chat Noir couldn't do anything but blink as the stark, white...imposter attacked, his Lady (his princesse) scrambling to her feet in order to dodge the infinite amounts of ancient destruction that was headed her way. Alabaster discs of elimination barely grazing the surface of her suit... Blinding power surges of eradication decaying the area she was momentarily stranded in mid-run... Omnipotent beams of slaughter swallowing everything it touched... All the poor blonde could do was gape inaudibly, every attack his doppelganger threw and every aghast expression Ladybug made, branded to his brain mercilessly until all he could see... ...Was black. ~(x)~ "Chat Noir! Chat! CHAT NOIR!"

A voice... "Chat, please wake up! CHAT!"

Her voice... Before the girl cradling him on her lap could breathe, Chat's eyes snapped open and the boy exhaled sharply, shooting up into a standing position and scanning his surroundings like a cornered, frightened animal. His ears, both human and feline, were deaf to Ladybug's queries as blood roared in the drums, almost didn't feel her hands clasping his forearms as he whipped his head around back and forth. The odd silent rooftop they were stranded on allowed him to scour the city, proving that Paris was still intact. The moon up ahead was still whole and luminous in the night sky- perhaps brighter than it usually was. No akuma around- most likely defeated by Ladybug solidarity. And... And, there wasn't a white cat in sight, much to his relief... "Chat, breathe." Finally, the teen clad in black acknowledged his Lady, the girl now cupping his cheeks, fingers digging through his blonde tresses and eyes both soft and wary. "You're safe now. I'm here." She added, knotting her digits into his strands with a sigh. Thankfully, the hero visibly relaxed, pupils no longer constricted to mere, dangerous slits and his erratic heartbeat was now simply an echo in his aching chest. He allowed himself to lose control then, pulling Ladybug into his arms despite her squeaks and hiding his face in the crook of her neck, the shock and confusion from the event that just transpired mere seconds ago like a nightmare ravaging through his flesh. The hair on the back of his neck stood up on its ends and his sentient tail wrapped around them both like a ribbon, bringing them closer and closer. Chat didn't even note the soft purr that escaped his body, a defense mechanism that he was usually absolutely embarrassed about. Ladybug let out a softer sigh this time, body losing tension as her lashes fluttered shut and she inhaled his familiar, fresh scent to keep her grounded. His soothing purrs contributed to the break down of intensity. She felt goosebumps rise under her suit as his claws tentatively combed through her twin tails, tangling up with her raven locks and his soft lips parted open and shut against her neck, his breathing still coming out fast and unsteady. Despite her attempting to make him feel safe, she in turn felt like it was him trying to protect her, the anxiety and questions that she tried to push away flaring inside her body like a bomb. Yet, the way his figure perfectly curled around hers like a weighted blanket and the way his strong, toned arms pressed her against his chest, his heart beat drumming against her heart, allowed Ladybug to drop all her guard and simply indulge herself in his warmth. A selfish luxury that she tried her best locking away in the deepest crevices of her heart and swallowing the key. However, just one raw touch from her partner, one moment of weakness and the Pandora's box was opened, a waterfall of emotions and feelings seeping out of her pores with relief. . The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..." . "Who the hell was that white monster?" His face remained hidden under her jaw, his arms locked around her torso so that she couldn't escape. Not this time. He felt the way her form tensed up again, her breathing quickening and her lashes brushing against his suit wildly as she blinked her eyes open in shock. 'No...no! He couldn't have...he SHOULDN'T have seen THAT.' Ladybug screamed internally, panic welling up in her throat, causing all words to die on the tip of her tongue and replace it with a weight, her eyes quick to water with anguish. She shook her head, digging her fingers into his shoulders, physically begging him to let it go. "Y-You..." She sniffed, looking away to the side, guilt plastered all over her face and unable to meet the heated glare her partner directed when he pulled his head away to confront her. His arms remained an iron cage, one his Lady could break out of if she really wanted to but she remained limp in his hold. "You should forget about that..." She answered weakly, still avoiding eye contact. "Nothing good will come out of knowing-" Anger ripped through his body and Chat Noir's jaw clicked from the intense way his teeth grounded themselves against each other, his tail snapping against the floor with outright rage and his eyes as venomous as a predator's. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, Marinette." His steely hiss was a sudden, harsh blow against her screaming heart, the girl's eyes widening as she faced the pissed off boy, lips parted in a gape. "Who the fuck was that!? And when?? When did THAT happen!?" She shook her head again, prepared to counter back and deny everything he said no matter how foolish it was, only for her world to spin as he instantly swept her up, bridal style and took off with outstanding speed. The force of his enhanced power boost against the rooftop caused an explosion of cracks in the concrete and slates, his body like a bullet as he manoeuvred from rooftops to streets and lamps with leaps, twists and turns. The cargo in his arms doing nothing to hinder his speed and strength as the elusive black cat darted to his destination like a shadow ninja and almost invisible to the naked eye. Ladybug couldn't do much but keep her face pressed against his throat, her arms around his neck like a vice, her heart still clenching and unclenching under her ribs at the sudden revelation. He knew now... He knew who she was! She tried so hard to keep it a secret, so hard to protect him! Yet, just like everything else in her life, it blew up in her face! Tears streamed down her cheeks without permission, her mind anticipating a sudden visit from a disappointed Bunnyx who would undoubtedly berate her for destroying the future again and causing her partner's ultimate demise once more. What the hell did Maître Fu even see in her anyways??? The right thing to do now was take away her miraculous here and there and never let her come across her Chaton again! Not after knowing the pain that she will bring to him in the future. She would give up everything in the world if it meant that her partner could live a happy, safe future. Even if it's without her by his side. Suddenly, Ladybug felt her surroundings halt to a slow but steady stop. Experience with running at inhuman speeds allowed both heroes to polish off their sprints and landings- otherwise the heroine would have definitely been shot out of his arms the minute he braked. She tensed as her body was brought back to its bearings, her ears now hyper-aware of his thrumming heartbeat and her feverish face sensitive from her tears and Chat's body heat. With tenderness, a juxtaposition from his momentary frustrations earlier on, Chat Noir deposited Ladybug on her feet, his eyes hidden under his fringe and his frown breaking her heart into two. He kept his distance, perhaps a metre or so away from her, leaning against what she recognised as the railings of her humble abode's balcony. The teen girl swallowed, the sight of her home cementing the fact that her partner unquestionably knew who she was under the mask. And he absorbed the idea as naturally as breathing. As if it was no surprise that the girl behind the impenetrable mask was none other than herself. No questions, no double takes, like he knew all along... Tikki, despite Ladybug's lack of willingness, unravelled the transformation on her own, her charge frozen on the spot completely as if she was stark naked, hugging her body to herself. "T-Tikki!?" Marinette rasped, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed with slight betrayal. The little Goddess only sighed and delivered a comforting smile, stroking the teen's cheek. "You need to tell him everything. Don't worry anymore. I...I think it's time." "It's...It's time...? You- you don't know that! What if it's not!? What if Bunnyx pops out of nowhere right now and says otherwise!? What if another disaster happens!? What if-" "Marinette. Please. Trust me and talk to him." The kwami directed Marinette's chin to her partner who was yet to move a muscle, eyes still shadowed by his unruly locks and knuckles whitening under his suit from the tight grip on the railings. The French-Chinese couldn't help but shiver. Why couldn't things just be swept under the rug for now? Why couldn't things go her way for once in her life? "You don't need to be so tense." Chat's sudden words sent a jolt down Dupain-Cheng's spine, arms now folded behind her back as she nervously bounced from one leg to the other, bottom lip worried by her teeth. "I'm sorry for blowing up on you like that. That was such a dick move of me." He tilted his chin up, eyes now visible and gleaming with such melancholy that Marinette wanted to do nothing but envelope his sad little face into her arms and soothe his pain away. "I just...I need to know, Marinette. What did I see? What did you go through?" A beat of silence went by, sombre greens gazing into empty blues. The wind was almost silent and the arrondissement was asleep for the night, giving the two more privacy than they could ask for. Taking a gamble, Chat pushed away from the railings, approaching the girl hesitantly and decreasing the distance between them both. "This isn't something that can be forgotten or unspoken about forever, Princesse." His eyes were pleading, faux ears drooped against his blonde hair and tail slack against the floor. The glow of the moon and fairy lights made the scenario quite dreamlike and hazy but the feel of his clawed fingers entangling with hers indicated that everything was very much real. "I...I'd rather hear it from you than try to piece it together by myself. I don't want to jump to the wrong conclusions and I don't want anymore misunderstandings between us...no more...no more secrets, please." His eyes bored into her very being, heightening her nerves but at the same time, she wanted the very dams that were holding her back to finally break and bestow everything her partner deserved. She decided to take Tikki's advice, the little ladybug in question hidden away to give the pair some confidentiality. "Before I do," Marinette began quietly, rubbing a circle on the back of Chat's hand and peering to the side momentarily below her lashes and then back at him again. She bit her bottom lip, debating internally whether she should go with what she had in mind or not. "Can you promise me one thing?" "Anything." The boy replied without a beat, face intent and serious. Marinette nodded, as if to reassure herself first, squeezing his hand and her heart skipping a few beats when he squeezed back with much gusto. "Promise me that you'll still fight by my side, no matter what." "W-What? I mean, obviously I will! I told you many times, it's me and you against the world-" "Promise me!" The designer demanded, her face ambitious despite the way Chat almost jumped out of his skin. Her eyes were now pained and stormy but it was also determined and raw. The windows to her soul. "Yes...I...I promise." He squeezed her hand tighter and then grasped the other one with his spare hand, bringing both of them to his lips so that he can deliver a chaste kiss against the knuckles, his emerald crescents never leaving her gaze. He also smiled sadly, ears lowered in submission, knowing that what he will hear from now would make or break him. Letting out a shuddering exhale, a breath she didn't know she was holding, Marinette beckoned him to follow her to the back of her balcony so that the two could sit down against the wall. Originally, she was attempting to sit by his side, only for him to grab her waist and settle her on his lap, resting his forehead against her shoulder from behind and interlocking his hands with hers. If her silly partner pursued to make the same move a long time ago, before the events that occurred after Bunnyx pleaded her to save the future, Marinette would have pushed him away with jest and reprimand him for his lack of personal space. Now? Now she craved for every source and warmth from him. Now she indulged in every touch and smile he gave. Now she relished the way his heart beat in sync with hers and fit perfectly with her body. "Whenever you're ready," Chat prompted, the heat of his form setting fire in the pits of her stomach yet alleviating all the heart ache and suffering she endured for the past lonely, long months. She stared up at the night sky, leaning her head back against his shoulder, her blues then peering to the side at the golden strands that took over her vision as the hero remained with his face hidden. She played with his fingers and began to recall everything to him. ~(x)~ "...No..." His first word after she recited the entire event was no more than a breath. The boy was on his knees, sitting parallel to Marinette now as he couldn't stand being able to freely touch her, knowing what exactly he was capable of. "Chat?" Fear exploded in the girl's chest, her heart swelling with apprehension as she watched Chat tremble and eye his hands with indescribable hate. "...Chat Noir?" Regret was evident on her face, the loud, pessimistic persona inside slapping her for not keeping her mouth shut. "...I...I..." Immediately, the images of Marinette's memories that he stumbled across earlier on barrelled into his mind without grace, stabbing his brain with all the harsh truths and the utter devastation that he caused with one hand. The miraculous on his horrendous finger suddenly looked vile and disgusting, weighting the digit like a burden. A miraculous with a power like this does not deserve to exist- no. A monster like him does not deserve to exist. "I can't do this." The boy didn't dare to look at his partner, swift to twist the ring off his finger but was met with a strong lunge and wail from his companion before his detransformation could settle. "No! You promised!" Marinette cried, face hidden into his now, cotton shirt and shaking her head over and over again, repeating her words. The ring merely laid a few feet away from them, Plagg unable to eject himself from the jewel as the miraculous itself was rejected by the boy. "Marinette- how...how could you want me after all of that!?" His hands were on her shoulders, trying to push the distraught girl away but she remained persistent, latching on his shirt and refusing to see his face, his identity. "I destroyed the world! I-I-I destroyed our home! Our friends! Our family! You!" His words trailed into a sob and his voice cracked, tears cascading down his eyes. "I don't care...you promised! You're not allowed to break them! I won't let you!" Marinette's arms interlocked around his torso like an iron cage, body shaking with pure heartbreak. "You promised...you promised..." She chanted like a mantra, his shirt now saturated with her tears. Yet, Adrien couldn't help but be overwhelmed with not only her affection, but also his for her. Finding out that his Princesse and his Lady were one in the same was like a priceless wish granted by the most benevolent of Gods. Of course the girl he loved turned out to be his other half, his partner, his life. Of course the girl he loved turned out to be sweetness incarnate, a bundle of selflessness, his everything. But now knowing that he turned the very same person into a gaping corpse under the sea in an alternative timeline? "You deserve better...so much better..." Adrien whimpered out, ceasing his struggles to get out of her hold and giving in to his selfish desires, cradling Marinette against him with his arms. "You deserve someone who would never, ever have the power to hurt you. You deserve someone who can make you happy. Someone who you won't fuck up everything for you-" "Shut up! I don't want anyone else! I want you!" As if to emphasise her point, she headbutted his chest, earning a surprised grunt from him whilst her nails dug into his skin through the cloth. "And if you leave without the ring tonight, then I will no longer be Ladybug..." Her muffled threat was like a slap across the model's face, the boy pulled away indignantly, grasping her shoulders so that he could see her face. Marinette on the other hand, kept her eyes stubbornly closed, fingers still grasping on his shirt so that there was still very little distance between them. "Don't be stupid Marinette! Dieu, you are the most smartest girl out there- you shouldn't be spouting such ridiculous bullshit! Paris needs YOU. You're the only one who can do the damn job right-" "And Paris needs you too!" The bitterness and heat in her face then subsided, her shoulders slouching as Marinette hung her head low, exhaustion weighing on her soul. "I'm the one who messed up...I'm the one who caused the future..." "I'm the one who destroyed it! I don't see how any of this is your fault Marinette!" "But it is, Chat! I fixed it by undoing the stupid mistake that started all of it! But now, now? Everything...everything is ruined again! You're leaving me...alone..." Adrien felt his heart shatter at the way his love curled in to herself, her slender digits slipping away from his shirt to cover her face, her knees tucked against her forehead and her broken whimpers ransacking her body. Guilt, self-loathing and self-hate devastated his body to the point where he was choking on his sobs, his grip only tightening on her shoulders as his body shook with tears. He did this. He turned her into this. He's nothing but despicable, atrocious, monstrous- "Marinette! Adrien! Watch out!" Tikki's alarmed cries snapped the two out of their state, the former feeling the breath knocked out of her lungs at the sudden revelation of who exactly her partner was. The feeling was then replaced with ten times more pressure when she allowed her eyes to rest on his figure, more than enough evidence that the boy truly was her other half. Her body froze. Agreste on the other hand gaped at the fluttering akuma butterfly that made way towards them, grabbing Marinette instinctively against his chest and spinning them around so that his back was facing the detestable creature. "Adrien!?" Mari gasped against his shoulder but the boy only replied by pressing her closer against him, one hand cradling her neck whilst the other clutching the fabric on her back, a defeated smile resting on his lips. "No matter what, no matter the circumstances, you cannot be akumatised. If me alone managed to do what I did in the future, then the world would be absolutely doomed if you were to be under Le Papillon's control." His never ending tears kept falling, dripping into her hair as he inhaled her sweet, vanilla scent like a soldier going to war. As if this was the last time he was going to see her. "You. Idiot. STUPID!" Marinette tore herself away from him, slapping her hands against his dumb face and bringing it towards hers aggressively, a tiny part of her inside cackling at his bewildered expression. "Neither of us will get akumatised! Not now, not ever!" With that said and done, gaining a hopeful glimpse from her Chaton's eyes, Marinette slammed her lips against his, swallowing down his gasps as she attempted to give him the most passionate, meaningful, desperate kiss she could ever muster. All her feelings, her thoughts and wishes were poured into this one, singular, press of lips. Her soft, chapped pair bruised clumsily against his confused but sweet pair. Their inexperience and befuddled emotions made the kiss sloppy and painful, teeth clicking against each other and noses knocking with one another from time to time, the exhales from their noses causing their faces to tickle uncomfortably. The upcoming akuma was soon pushed to the back of their heads as the pair relaxed, Adrien tilted his head to a slight angle, reciprocating the kiss with more instinct and capturing her bottom lip, feeling Marinette shudder under his touch as his experimentally traced the seams of her lips with his tongue. She in turn pulled on his upper lip, slipping her hands away from his face and trailing them down his shoulders, resting them there and letting her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Their hearts pounded in sync, what seemed like years of unrequited pining turned into heat and more under their skin, swallowing each other's sighs and gasps. Their selfish desires, their yearning wishes, all granted into this collection of intimate kisses that only stole their breaths away over and over again. "Adrien, mon Adrien," Marinette couldn't stop the sweet little whisper that left her lips, brushing his. Her already rouge tinted cheeks simply reddened in full force as the boy gazed at her with so much love and so much admiration, it hurt. His response was to kiss her again, boldly slipping his tongue fully into her mouth as he pushed her down to the ground, one hand tearing off the ribbons in her hair so that they can comb through the silky tendrils and the other clutching her upper back, their legs entangled in a way that one wouldn't know where they started and where they ended. Marinette never felt such heat, such passion, such love in her life, ever. She let herself go, pushing away all logical thoughts and queries as she let herself sink into this wonderful feeling. Her mind rebooted every second, every moment as the duo explored each other's mouths and lips, noting down the silky feel of the flesh and the sensitive points. Adrien felt his heart swell to the point where he couldn't breathe. If being able to kiss Marinette like this forever was possible, he'd have definitely stayed like that. "Stay, Adrien. Stay..." Cheng breathed out, slowing down the kiss to a lazy, softer pace. Her request halted the boy in his movements, his lips which were puckered against her cheek tightened into a grimace. This time, Marinette cupped his cheeks with more softness and sweetness, her lips curling up into a timid, rosy smile. The strawberry complexion in her cheeks brought out the blue in her eyes, making them glitter under the moonlight. Slowly, Adrien took one of her hands off his cheek with his own, never breaking eye contact as he rubbed circles in her finger-bones and then applied sweet, feather kisses along the appendage. He let out an exhale, his lips carrying a bittersweet smile as he tilted his head to the side. He searched for any doubts, any distrust in her eyes but all he saw, much to his ecstatic boyish joy, was her never-ending love for him. Her doubtless trust in him. Like they were soulmates. "Are you...are you sure? That you want me? Even though I'm...me?" He wasn't used to such raw, positive emotions directed towards him. He has been abandoned, neglected and scorned at for so long in his life that the idea that such an incredible, wonderful girl wanted him of all people was unimaginable! Yet, this was his reality. And she kissed him...she kissed him like that. Like they were made for each other. Though, this in turn got him thinking about something else, confusion now printed on his face. His heart scowled, threatening him at gunpoint if he dared to ask the burning question. "Wouldn't...wouldn't you prefer to have the boy you like as your partner?" His question was met with a mischievous smile, an attractive raised brow. Marinette simply tugged his face closer to hers so that their noses shared a gentle kiss, her smirk widening. "Bold of you to assume that he already isn't." For the umpteenth time, Adrien found himself rendered speechless by his Lady, the redness in his cheeks blooming by ten folds as the puzzles and bridges started to connect in his mind. Albeit it took a while but in his defense, the hot kiss which should have been evident enough of Marinette's feelings for him, turned his brain to mush. "M-M-Me? All this time...I was my own rival???" His look of awe and shock then switched to deadpan and annoyance. Adrien groaned, shoving his face into Marinette's hair and wrapping his arms around her body. "I've been cockblocking myself..." "So have I," Mari stroked his hair, eyes closed with contentment and body completely knackered from the roller-coaster of emotions she's gone through. "I tried to set you up with Nino." His tone was dry and beyond done. The boy was so done with life. "And I fixed that by setting him up with my best friend~" "I rejected you for you and got M. Dupain akumatised-" He then shot up, incredulity plastered on his face, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Wait a minute. Wa-aaaaait a minute." Marinette gulped under his scrutinising glare. "What was with the whole 'I'm in love with you Chat Noir' thing???" "Let's just say that I come up with the most dumb things on the spot when I think someone's connecting the dots to my secret identity..." "No no no, you are not getting off THAT easily-" "Ehem," The pair paused with their bickering, spotting Tikki who was watching them with an amused smile whilst one of her hands kept the akuma restrained by the antennae. "Maybe get rid of this first before you both get too deep into the flirting?" The little Goddess kept in a shit-eating grin as both teens bursted with red, fumbling to their feet and awkwardly looking at anywhere else but at each other. They couldn't believe they forgot about the akuma entirely! Not wanting to waste anymore time, Marinette transformed into Ladybug, quickly purifying the butterfly and watching it fly away with a soft smile resting on her lips. She wasn't blind to the wonder and astonishment Adrien had on his face, as he took in the entire scene with much pleasure. Ladybug sunk down, picking up the ring that Adrien threw away, rolling the jewel in her palm and then clenching it tight in her fist. She then faced the boy again, the latter looking away as fear still lingered on his body. He bit his lip, peering at her fist below his lashes and rubbing his arm self-consciously. "Adrien?" Ladybug rested her free hand on his, bringing it to her heart, smile never leaving her face. "Will you?" The model's face exploded with red. "H-Huh...?" "Will you be my Chat Noir again? Please?" She spread his hand, stroking the finger that was usually adorned by the powerful mantle. Mimicking his alter-ego's actions, she brought his fingers to her lips, kissing the calloused tips and trailing her soft, kiss-bruised mouth down the palm till it reached the inside of his wrist. She placed an open mouthed kiss, eating up the way he jumped slightly at the sensitivity. "I do! I-I-I mean!" He gulped, embarrassed by his ultra eager response, trying not to jump the girl into another kiss. It's not his fault that this felt like a marriage proposal. "If...if you think it's the right thing...me being Chat..." "You being my Chaton will always be the right thing, Adrien." His Lady smiled so wonderfully, slipping the ring on his finger in a manner that caused his heart to expand and explode on the spot. But then, then, she kissed him again. A saccharine, soft press of lips, the two teens grinning too much for it to be a proper kiss but they didn't care. It felt perfect. It felt amazing. It felt like right. "So is anyone gonna tell me what the fuck just happened???" The heroine and boy parted with a surprise, darting their eyes to the confused dark kwami who darted his head between them both frantically in return. His acidic green eyes then widened and his jaw dropped. "Don't tell me..." "I MISSED THE REVEAL!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...." . . . ~(x)~ A/N: 6PM me - "Oooo I'm going to make this super angsty and short so that I can do my homework later on!" 10 hours later... 4AM, sleep deprived me - "Hahahah...no UwU" I'm not proofreading till tomorrow. I'm gonna do my homework now. Bye hoes.

Not the Kevaaron thing because I got a random urge to write about Kevin running away from Evermore and going to Wymack. There might be angst idk

TW - hints at abuse and anxiety

Kevin waits until he knows that Riko is asleep before creeping out of bed and throwing crumpled clothes into a faded black duffel bag. He grabs an old white shirt and wraps his left hand tightly in it, biting his lower lip to stop himself from screaming out in pain. He zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder, holding his left hand close to his chest as if it were about to be taken away. He takes one last look at his room and holds back a fearful sob. If this were to backfire then Riko would kill him for sure. The blood pounds in his ears with screaming thoughts as he quietly leaves the room and pads down the hall. It was unbearably dark, but he grew up without the light so he could navigate these winding corridors without a single thought about it. He reaches the steep black stairs and freezes as his heart begins to pound out of his chest. He couldn’t do this. They were going to find him and kill him. He was fucking property, Riko’s toy, he couldn’t go far without being dragged back. The air around him grows thick as his body begins to burn with a growing itch. He was going to die anyway, he might as well try to live first. He quietly runs up the stairs and pushes the four digit code into the security pad. The door makes a quiet click sound and he bites back a nervous laugh as he slowly pulls open the door. The early evening air hits his lungs with the welcoming glow of the sunset burning his eyes. He shifts out of the door and slams it shut behind him and watches as a flock of birds fly above him in a freeing clump. The icy December air numbs his left hand and he winces at the reminder to keep moving. He looks behind him before walking quickly towards the large gates that protect the stadium from any vandalism. “Shit”, he whispers as the gates don’t push open and he looks over to another security pad. He doesn’t know this number, Tetsuji didn’t want them knowing in case they’d run away. He shouldn’t have told them the code to the stadium one, but that’s on him. Kevin presses Riko’s birth date into the pad but it makes a low beep sound of disapproval. He tries Tetsuji’s next but is met again with a low beep. “Fuck”, he can’t turn back now, they’ll rip him apart just for trying to run. He tries to even out his fraying breaths and tries one last birth date; his mother’s. He closes his eyes and waits for another beep but lets out a relieved sob as the gate clinks. He pulls open the gate and runs. He can’t look back, can’t even breathe but runs. His legs wobble with each violent step as Kevin rips himself away from Evermore; the tall sharp stadium becoming a mere shadow behind him as the sunset glows beside him.

The taste of blood pools Kevin’s throat and his legs have become numb from the escape, but he’s free. He slows down to a stop as he approaches a sign directing him to the USC stadium and prays that the Foxes were still at the banquet. The Ravens couldn’t go this year because Riko didn’t feel like mingling with amateurs - as he called the other teams - so Tetsuji let him beat the shit out of Kevin instead. The wind blows colder as Kevin hunches over and makes his way towards the brightly lit stadium in awe. If he could change teams, if he ever had a choice, he would choose the Trojans. The stadium was beautiful, the team was strong and the team captain was..well, he wasn’t allowed to notice those feelings; but he could if he was brought up here. He stands to the edge of the parking lot and desperately searches for the ugly Fox bus that always stands out in a dull crowd. He steps further into the car park and whimpers helplessly as it is filled with plain cars and dull team buses. They’ve left. It’s too late. He stands still and tries to calm himself as he thinks of all the places that they would go to; all of the hotels. He crosses out 5 star stays and starts off in the direction of the town and rubs his left hand obsessively. Why did it have to be the Foxes? If he adored the Trojans so much, why didn’t he just stay here? ‘Because this isn’t home’ he thinks to himself and speeds up into a jog as his eyes start to tear up. He can’t be weak and he can’t give up now.

He reaches a tall neutral painted hotel just a few minutes away from the stadium and stops as a bright orange trim catches his eye. He walks past the hotel and down a dark sidewalk as the bus comes into view with its ugly orange paw guiding him closer. He’s never been happier to see the shit team’s colors before and spins on his heels to run into the hotel; his head pumping from the throbbing pain in his hand. “Excuse me”, he approaches the cream colored desk as the receptionist looks up at him. She flashes him a bright smile that contrasts her tired red eyes and he shifts on his feet. “I was wondering if there was anyone staying here under the name of Wymack? Um, David Wymack?” his throat catches at the name and he tries to quietly clear his throat as the receptionist turns to type something into her computer. “Yes, is he expecting you?” she looks at Kevin’s ragged state and lingers on the bloodstained shirt around his hand. “Yeah, I’m a..a friend”, he looks at the wall behind her as he says this because he can’t believe what he’s fucking doing. Why did he think this was a good idea? What if he gets turned down? What if Wymack just sends him back to Evermore? He couldn’t. Kevin just had to trust him with all his gut because he was his dad wasn’t he? The receptionist clears her throat and waits as Kevin snaps his attention back to her. “He’s in room 217, the elevator is unfortunately out of service at this moment. But I’m sure that you can manage four flights of stairs”, she smiles at him tiredly this time as he thanks her and turns towards the stairs. He didn’t know how sick he felt until he stopped and was sure that he might not make it up the stairs; but he’d come this far, he couldn’t give up now. He pulls his aching body up the stairs with a drag as the steps keep coming in a never ending ascend. The urge to just curl up and stay on the steps pulls at Kevin as he drags his numb legs further up. There were only three more flights to go.

As he reaches the fourth floor he slumps onto the wall and bites the bloody fabric with his teeth. His lungs are burning and his head is pounding with the exhaustion. There are twelve doors on either side of the corridor and Kevin hopes that the one he needs was not right at the end. He walks past eight mahogany doors before finally reaching room 217 with the gold lettering slightly chipping on the ‘7’. He brings his shaky right hand up to the door and knocks softly. His body freezes as he hears swearing inside the room and he has to fight the urge to turn and run. The door swings open to a tired looking Coach Wymack in his underwear and a faded orange tee. “What the fuck?” he shoots his head past Kevin and looks up and down the hall as if he were expecting a flash mob to appear out of the empty walls. Kevin opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out are wet sobs as all of the fear finally crushes him. Wymack watches him in stunned silence for a second before pulling him into the room and shutting the door quietly behind them. “Who’s that?” a female voice comes up beside Kevin as he hides his face in his good hand. “Kevin. Kevin Day”, Wymack whispers behind him as the woman pulls Kevin’s hand away to take a look at his face. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Wymack crosses one leg over the other as he leans onto the doorframe with one brow raised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go”, Kevin stutters the words out between sharp sobs. “Come and sit down”, the woman leads him to the bed and pushes him down. “What’s wrong?” her kind eyes stare at Kevin as he runs his hand through his hair. “I can’t say”, the woman nods and places a gentle hand onto his knee. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m Abby, by the way”, she watches his pain filled eyes before looking down at his crumpled clothes. “Are you hurt?” she hovers a hand over his left hand as he pulls it closer to his chest. “I’m scared”, he whispers as Abby nods and gently pulls his hand onto her lap. “Can I have a look?” he nods at her and watches as she peels away the shirt to reveal the mangled mess of his left hand. “Shit, you need to go to the hospital”, she stands and turns to Wymack as he steps over to take a closer look. “No, please don’t. I cant go there”, Kevin looks between the adults and shrinks further away from them. “Kevin, your hand is fucking broken. We’re taking you to the hospital. Abby, get the keys”, Wymack nods towards his jacket and steps closer to Kevin. “No!” he dives to his feet and backs away against the wall. “Please don’t. I’m begging you, I can’t go”, he holds his right hand to his throat as the world starts to blur and spin around him. “Kevin”, Abby rushes over as Kevin drops down to his knees. “I can’t go, please don’t make me go”, he repeats as Abby pulls him into a fierce hug. “David, grab the first aid kit, it’s in my bag. Fuck, and grab some towels”, she keeps holding Kevin close as Wymack leaves to gather everything. “I can’t go, he’s going to kill me”, Kevin whispers in her ear as Wymack returns with the towels and supplies. “No one’s going to hurt you, okay?” she lets go of him and opens up the first aid kit. “How did this happen?” Wymack crouches beside Kevin and squeezes his shoulder. Kevin doesn’t look up as he whispers “Riko” with a wince. “Shit”, Wymack stands up and begins to pace the room. “You’re going to have to tell me everything, Day”, he shoots Kevin a look and Kevin feels like this was all a mistake. He knew that he wouldn’t be wanted here either. “Okay”, he whispers and tells them everything. Everything that he can without having to mention the hell that he went through everyday just to survive. And they listen. Wymack swears and paces whilst Abby carries on working with the mangled hand as best as she can. “Please don’t tell them where I am”, Kevin looks up at Wymack pleadingly. “No” he shakes his head in disgust, “I’m never letting you go back there”.

Febuwhump: Day Eight

Prompt: “Hey, Hey, This Is No Time To Sleep

Summary: On the Endgame battlefield, Peter finds himself overwhelmed by outriders and some heroes swoop in to (hopefully) save his life.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Word Count: 1,877

Written for: @febuwhump

✧༺✦✮✦༻∞　　∞༺✦✮✦༻✧

The outriders tore at Peter’s suit, their claws digging underneath the plates of armor to rip at his flesh. His extra, steel limbs formed a cage around him, but they only protected him for a brief moment before getting torn off effortlessly. The alien screeches rang in his ears and made his bones quiver. Too overwhelmed by the dog pile of aliens on top of him to fight or even move, Peter could only curl up in a tight ball with his arms hiding his vulnerable head as much as possible. Tears of terror streamed down his cheeks and his lungs frantically drew in and released breaths of dust-polluted air as he hyperventilated helplessly. Claustrophobia engulfed his body as all he could feel was thousands of pounds of outrider bodies smashed against him and their talons and teeth tearing away at him ravenously. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but fierce claws slashed across his face and the next thing he knew, his vision was blurred by his own blood in his eyes and his head was spinning. He coughed and choked as the world began to disappear around him. He felt as though he were falling endlessly into a pit of darkness, with nothing but the sounds of alien screams to accompany him. The little spider’s heart thundered in fear, then shifted into nauseating palpitations that only added to his lightheadedness.

Then, everything went dark.

“Hey!” Steve called to anyone who was listening, “those outriders, what do they have?!”

Sam swooped down to get a better view and fired his guns repeatedly at the outriders that hunched over a bloody lump like dogs feeding on roadkill. Too absorbed in their snack to notice the bullets, the outriders ignored Sam as if he were a bothersome fly.

“A little help!” He barked the request.

A blast of energy sped past the Falcon and pummeled into the pile of aliens. Everything the energy touch was instantly sent to hell, and Sam only got a brief glance at the alien’s chew toy before Carol swiftly swept it into her arms.

“What is it?” Sam asked, flying high in the sky to meet her.

She looked down at the bloody lump in her arms and her entire face went ghostly pale as her eyes widened. He opened his mouth to nervously repeat his question, only to be interrupted as she sped away to a small, hidden cave created by the ruins of Avengers Compound. Sam raced after her, his heart pounding in his throat anxiously. Don’t be Bucky, please don’t be Bucky. I fucking swear- his mind desperately rambled.

He stumbled to a landing inside the cavern where Carol was hunched over a body with her hands desperately clasped over a wound on their neck. Sam hurried to her side and looked down at the bloodied body. His stomach lurched at the sight, and he only recognized the Spiderman from the small bits of sleek, red, armor clinging to his smallish stature.

“Oh shit,” Sam spat under his breath and immediately knelt down beside Carol and clasped his hands over another wound.

The boy’s face was sabotaged with deep claw marks, one going right through his left eye while his sides were shredded with holes and tears were teeth and talons had met in a desperate effort to consume him. Sam grimaced as his hands were rapidly coated with warm, thick blood yet he refused to budge. Did he believe that he and Carol could save this kid with only their hands? Absolutely not. But for fuck’s sake they had to try. Peter had so much life left to live, he shouldn’t have been out on a battlefield and fighting aliens. He should have been with his family, comfortable and safe and not worrying about if he would survive the next five seconds.

Sam knew nothing of this kid, but in that moment he couldn’t help but be filled with fury. If this boy died, his blood would be on Tony’s hands and Sam wouldn’t let him forget it for a second. It would stain Tony’s skin for the rest of his life because it was Tony who recruited a fucking fourteen year old child to battle full grown adults. And why? Why a child when he had a list of potential heroes that he could pull out at any given moment just by asking an artificial voice in the ceiling? It was because Peter was young, eager, maybe even a little scared. He was all too easy to manipulate and blackmail into getting on Tony’s side of a war he didn’t understand. He still didn’t know what he had been fighting for.

Sam was yanked out of his thoughts as Valkyrie landed at the cavern’s entrance on her Pegasus and Steve slid off the creature’s back. The captain rushed across the cave to meet the two others who kept their eyes glued to Peter.

Steve’s heart sank at the sight and he knelt by the boy’s head. No one could bring themselves to speak, it almost seemed like they were afraid that by speaking they would hurt Peter further. Of course, they had to say something sooner than later.

“He’s breathing,” Carol quietly observed, “...just barely.”

Steve rested one hand on the side of Peter’s face gingerly, “kid, I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t realize how young he is,” Sam observed through gritted teeth, “Stark’s gonna get an earful when this is all over.”

Peter whimpered softly in agony, all though he truly wanted to scream endlessly until his lungs gave out. Every nerve in his body was on fire to the point he almost passed out the moment he regained consciousness.

“Peter?” Carol called, “can you hear us?”

“I...” he barely managed to wheeze out, his voice so weak that it could hardly be heard.

His eyes began flickering closed once more and Sam’s heart skipped a beat frantically, he could practically see the boy’s life slipping away. It was slipping away right through his fingers— almost literally, seeing as their was all too much blood escaping his clasped hands— and he found himself thinking: I can’t let him die. I can’t lose this kid. This was only his second encounter with the spiderling, but he was already determined to protect him from any harm.

“Hey,” he snapped, yet his tone was gentle, “hey, this is no time to sleep. Stay awake, Spidey.”

“Y...yessir,” Peter croaked out.

Valkyrie jogged over, suddenly realizing how concerned she was. Steve had honestly forgotten she was there.

“Let me take a look at him,” she demanded.

Sam and Carol both scooted out her way as much as they could without taking their hands away from Peter’s wounds. Valkyrie sat on her knees and examined each gaping wound, forcing herself not to flinch away— every time she thought she had laid eyes on the worst of it, she’d look a little to the left or the right, up or down, and something worse would meet her gaze.

She tore her eyes away from the boy, then her eyes trailed to meet Carol.

“You have magic hands, don’t you?” She recalled.

“Yes,” Carol replied, “I’m Carol.”

“How much control do you have over your hands?”

“Enough.”

“Can you warm your hands up just enough so that they burn him?” She requested.

Carol raised her eyebrows, “good thinking.”

“What are you thinking?” Steve asked.

“By burning his flesh, the bleeding will slow down,” Sam explained then looked back at Carol, “please hurry.”

She nodded then sprawled her hands across the wound on his neck, gradually heating up her hands while also being careful not to blast the boy. Peter’s expression began to twist into one of dreadful agony as the burning heat seared his flesh. Steve and Valkyrie’s hands snapped over his body, holding him down as he screamed between gritted teeth. His muscles tensed against their grip and his body trashed reflexively.

Carol worked swiftly and seamlessly, doing her best to drown out Peter’s cries as she wished there was a way she could save him without hurting him like this. Steve muttered to Peter, telling him he was strong, saying he would be okay, anything he could think of to comfort him. The spider continued to cry out and trash until his body completely gave up and went limp with exhaustion. Not long after, Carol finished up her work and sighed heavily with her hands coated in crimson blood.

“Has anyone seen Peter?” Tony asked through Steve’s earpiece, his voice tight with anxiety.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “he’s with me.”

“Thank fucking goodness,” he sighed in relief, “I’m coming over.”

“He got beat pretty bad,” Steve warned, “but please come over.”

The four heroes exchanged anxious glances as they listened to Peter’s hoarse breathing. Carol’s hands rested on Peter’s arm, Steve kept one on his shoulder, Valkyrie’s gently played with his matted hair, and Sam lightly touched his other shoulder. It was like they were so terrified of loosing him, they physically refused to let go of him. Peter didn’t mind in the slightest. Even has he clung to consciousness ever so desperately, he could feel the people around him and that was the only comfort he needed.

Tony clumsily landed in the cavern soon enough. He raced to Peter’s side and the small group scooted away for him. Sam grit his teeth, but forced himself to fight back any comments.

“Oh shit, kid, I-“ Tony held one of Peter’s hands in his, his entire body trembling with anxiety.

“Is okay...” Peter grunted, “M’sser Stark, ‘m okay.”

The hoarseness of Peter’s weak voice only frightened Tony further, “god, Peter. This is all my fault, I-“

“We can’t keep him here,” Valkyrie interrupted upon hearing an explosion outside.

“Y-you’re right,” Tony nodded and the others agreed.

“I can take him away from here,” she offered, “there’s room on my Pegasus.”

“That’s so cool,” Peter mumbled, still hardly conscious.

Sam smiled down at him then looked back at Valkyrie, “please take care of him.”

Soon, Peter was gingerly placed on Valkyrie’s Pegasus and she carefully transported him as far away from the war as she could. When she flew through the thick of the battlefield, Sam, Carol, and Tony accompanied her, keeping the enemies at bay.

Tony’s anxieties were rocketed high into the air without Peter in his sight. He needed to see him, was he okay? Was he still alive? Had he reached safety yet? Tony needed to see him, he just had to. He needed to ask FRIDAY if his heart was still beating and watch the AI display his heart rate and assure him it beat steadily. He needed to watch Peter breath in fresh air and watch his mouth move when he spoke. He needed to hear his horrible jokes and-

“Tony, look out!” Strange cried before shielding Tony from an aerial attack, “stay focused!”

“Right, right,” he shook his head, as if shaking Peter out of his thoughts, “sorry.”

Strange had already seen this all. He knew what happened to Peter, and he wasn’t worried about whether he would live or die— he already knew the answer. Part of him wished he could tell Tony how it would play out, but the rest of him knew that was against the rules. If he stated the future, it wouldn’t happen and there was only one way to win, regardless of casualties...

you're okay now

When Sirius crossed that door, he knew he wasn't going to come back, or at least he didn't plan to. No way he was going back to that place; his own hell. After he finally decided he was going to run away from home, he couldn't wait one day more, he escaped that same night while everyone was sleeping, knowing that the next morning when his parents were awake; he wouldn't be a Black anymore. He didn't care that much for his family anymore, only for Regulus. But he had to leave, the abuse, the curses, the words that have been spoken in that house drained every single drop of happiness he had, he felt empty. But now, out of that place, running through the streets, he finally felt like he could breathe again. But It wasn't a pleasant sensation that was taking over him at the same time- it felt like he condemned himself to a certain and doubtless death. Orion and Walburga were going to find him- and kill him. They would torture him until he regretted his decision, but it would be too late since he wasn't their son anymore, and he would die painfully, probably under the eyes of his younger brother. Please, please don't hurt him, he thought. The Potters' house was getting closer.

It was the only place he had, and he knew the Potters loved him more than his own family ever did, that's why he trusted they were still awake to receive him, or at least James. His best friend, his brother- he didn't even know about his plan. And now he was forced to deal with it, and Sirius felt genuinely sorry for not having another place to go. He was scared, alone, and with only his wand in hand. The lights were still on, a miracle in all the misfortune he was having. But he knew exactly what that light meant- only James was awake, probably reading or planning some dumb but still functional strategy for Quidditch. The boy always used those hours when the world was sleeping to fulfill his internal nerd wishes, like reading in silence or studying. Sirius was too scared to use the front door, afraid that Euphemia or Fleamont opened it. They were the loving parents he wished to have, and he didn't want them to see him like this, with tears threatening his vision and his hands trembling visibly. So with all the strength he had, he jumped the fence in the back, heart tumbling against his chest. "Please open, please do, please," he mumbled, knocking on the glass door of the backyard. He used to move with confidence and infinite calm, but now his movements were nervous and clumsy, he tried to call himself, but it wasn't easy when he knew exactly what going to happen if his family found him. A few seconds later James appeared, wand in hand, ready to attack whatever was trying to gain entry to his house. Of course, he didn't expect to see his best friend pale face gesturing through the class, and when he opened, Sirius entered so quickly he almost fell to the ground, still nervous, he tried to speak, but no words came out. "Padfoot? what are you doing here? it's almost one am," James was whispering, trying not to wake up his parents.

Sirius stumbled against his own words. "I... I ran away."

James dropped his wand, his mouth suddenly open, "Oh, Merlin..."

Sirius felt insecure seeing his reaction, his mind was picturing a thousand different and cruel scenarios in his mind. Scenarios where James told him he couldn't be here, where Walburga walked through the door and grabbed his arm to take him back, every scenario worse than the previous one. "I'm... I'm sorry. I had nowhere to go, Prongs! They were sleeping and... since last night... I wouldn't have lasted one day more in that house, it was killing me! I know your parents have their own problems but..."

"But they love you like their own son. You are my brother, Sirius, and you are welcomed here whenever you want. It's just that..." James patted the couch, trying to make his agitated friend calm down a little, and it seemed to work for a minute. Sirius sat down and James took place next to him, "It's just that I was surprised to see you there, in my backyard... no one else knows about this?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not even...?"

"Not even Regulus nor Remus, Peter neither."

James nodded, he noticed how Sirius was still shaking, slowly sinking in the couch as if he was trying to hide from the danger, James hated seeing him like this, so weak and afraid of everything. "Okay... So I will prepare my room, and you'll sleep here, okay? then we are going to see what we can do, I'm sure my parents won't have problems with having you here."

Sirius wanted to trust James's words, but all of that seemed so ideal. What if Walburga came right now to the house and killed his best friend? attacked the Potter's? maybe kill him on the couch he was sitting? his imagination was going stronger with every second that passed, and soon the little calm he gained during his chat with James left him. His eyes were watery again, and his head hurt as if someone was stabbing him, he couldn't control it, he was drowning, he couldn't breathe. James panicked almost as a reflex, sadly, it wasn't the first time Sirius had a panic attack, but that one seemed terrifyingly strong, he was breathing loudly and clumsily, sweat in his forehead. "Sirius, Sirius. I'm here for you, you are having a panic attack. Feel your breath... I'm here."

"I can't... I can't feel it. I'm not breathing."

"Close your eyes, relax your stomach... you are breathing, slowly. Do it with me, okay?"

Sirius tried his hardest to follow James's breathing pattern. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the silence of the place, his friend breathing, his hands holding tight the cushions of the couch.

"There you go..." James was nervous, something was telling him that the panic attack was far from ending, but at least now Sirius was breathing a little bit steadier, "I'm going to try and contact Remus, okay? wait here, keep breathing... I will be back in a second."

Sirius nodded without lifting his sight from the ground. He had to keep it together- it wasnt a good time neither a good place to breakdown. But even after all James's efforts for keeping him were helping, seeing him walking away even for a few seconds made him go into panic mode again. No, Sirius, breathe, he tried to repeat, but his voice was drowned by the sound of choking, he really felt like he was dying.

He heard James in the background, speaking, probably trying to contact Remus. The werewolf had this magic effect on the boy with the raven hair that made him feel calm in a matter of minutes, and seeing Remus would make him feel so much better, knowing that he was close, that Walburga wasnt going to kill him too- because that was probably one of the main reasons that Sirius parents had to end him, their oldest son was gay and was dating a werewolf, a werewolf named Remus Lupin. But with Remus by his side, everything was easier- what if something happened to him? what if during one of his transformations he injures himself really bad? of he gets hurt by another wizard? everything was possible, and Sirius's mind was doing its best job reminding the poor boy that he was no one from now on. Not Sirius Black, only Sirius, forever and ever. He wished his tears drowned him.

"Sirius."

And there was the angel Remus Lupin, with messy hair and wearing his favorite sweater. His gaze was full of worry, and one more time, Sirius felt guilty about making him feel that way, he didn't want to worry his friends- but he was so broken. "Remus..."

Remus crouched himself, his hands on Sirius's knees, "It's horrible what you are going through, love. But you need to breathe, okay? Just like James told you. You can hold my hands."

Before ending his sentence, Remus's hands were already being grabbed by Sirius's. He was squeezing them, but the werewolf didn't seem to mind, he was too focused on pronouncing numbers to guide Sirius breathing, and it was working, surely slowly, but it was.

James was leaning on the door frame, still concerned about his friend but happy seeing two of the people he loved the most on the planet complementing each other so perfectly. In the beginning, he couldn't understand their relationship, but later, while seeing how they stared at each other with so much love he understood. That was love, pure and healthy love that was helping them heal their bruises; both external and internal. But clearly, he felt like he was invading some intimate moment, so he left the room towards the kitchen. Maybe Sirius would like some tea when he was feeling better.

When the attack finally ended, Sirius felt like he could pass out anytime soon, but he was glad his boyfriend was there for him, smiling softly and caressing his knuckles as if they were crystal. He muttered some gentle "thank you" when Remus started cleaning his cheeks stained with tears. "It's okay. Just for you to know, I was still awake when James told me about you. You have not had a panic attack in a long time, I'm really proud of you for being able to deal with it, I can't imagine how horrible it is."

Sirius was drawing the bruises in Remus's hands, smiling softly at their texture, "I missed you, Remus. James also, and Peter too, I haven't talked with him recently."

"I'm sure James will try and contact him when he ends whatever he's doing. I'm not judging, but my tea it's better than his."

Sirius laughed a little and Remus thanked all the powerful wizards he could remember at that moment for seeing his boyfriend finally feeling better. James walked into the room, with two cups of tea in his hands, he sat next to Sirius, giving him one of the cups and the other one to Remus, "Heard you were feeling a little bit better and also heard Remus complaining about my tea-making abilities."

Remus took a sip, "I wasn't wrong."

"Hey!"

Sirius laughed but drank anyway, that's what he needed. Normality, love, his friends, James and Remus bickering in a silent living room, the only one that was missing was Peter, but they would probably reach out for him soon. "I should go and talk to my parents about you staying."

Remus bit his lip, "They won't have problems with that, right?"

James rolled his eyes while he got up from the couch, "You are doubting my parents too much. They love Sirius, and if they could have any problem I would convince them, I'm James Potter!"

"Yes, you are. Now James Potter, would you mind give me and my boyfriend some privacy?" Remus spoke again, arching an eyebrow.

"I will only because I want to. Don't forget this is my house, you lovebirds. I will also ask if Remus can stay."

James walked towards the stairs, smiling softly at his friends. Remus took his place on the couch, and Sirius automatically snuggled against him, being honest, the tea wasn't that bad, but he was feeling really tired. And the werewolf understood the gesture without words, his arm in his boyfriend's shoulders while he hummed to the crickets making noise outside.

"I don't what I'm going to do now."

"We, because you are not alone. We'll figure something out, I'm sure." Sirius yawned, "I love you a lot."

Remus left a little kiss on Sirius's hair, "I love you too. Now, rest, you need to."

The werewolf took the cup out of the boy's hands and left it on the ground, far enough not to step on it later. "You're okay now, Sirius, you're okay."

TROS - What did I even watch? Or how I lived to see the day Disney murdered a prince, left Cinderella alone in the desert, and hoped for the world to rejoice because it was “fun”?

Dear friends, I’ve been here for the spoilers and I’ve even talked with some of you. I went to watch the movie today, with 0 hope of anything except of seeing my baby Ben Solo and Adam’s fenomenal acting (and listening to some good John Williams). 

I knew it would be horrible, but as @nevernerdenoughblog said seeing it makes it even more. Like @clairen45 it felt so wrong. Should I rejoice with a Reylo kiss that Rey gave but seconds later didn’t even cry over Ben’s dead body? I refuse to acknowledge this characterization of Rey. She was the only one that ever believed in Ben Solo, she shipped herself to make him know he was loved and wanted and to help him. Where was this Rey in this movie?

I am sorry guys (especially for the tagging) but I need to write this out or it will eat me and you guys are the few ones that relate to my pain. You know what really hurt me the most in all this? Toxic masculinity disguised as feminism.

1) FAREWELL HEROINE’S JOURNEY

They trashed the Heroine’s Journey. They murdered it and spit in its face. JJ Abrams simply decided that the Heroine’s Journey (done in act 1/ep. VII and act 2/ep. VIII) was not cutting anymore and decided to send Rey on a Hero’s Journey (ep. IX only, new 1st, 2nd and 3rd act altogether), where she has become this almost toxic masculine fighter under Leia’s training  — Badass girl? Yes. Full of anger? Yes. Logical? Yes. Connected to anything? No, not even herself, she kept on the run, afraid. In search of the Jedi detachment? Yes. —, only to send her happilly off to a desert planet in the end of her journey and finishing with her alone talking with an old lady.

Which remind us of the start of TFA, meaning she has comeback to what? Luke didn’t even comeback to that “home” in Tatooine the end of his Hero’s Journey? So she went to a place of death to what? This is a slap on the face of the Heroine’s Journey. This is how toxic masculinity corrupts and interrupts the most uncomfortable (to psychologically unhealthy bystanders) and fundamental (to the woman herself) phase of Heroine’s Journey: You want love, family, a partnership, connection, nurturing or progeny? That is weak, it is foolish. You need to fight, to conquer, to take, take and take. Otherwise you won’t be strong or independent.

REALLY???????????

I AM CRYING! WHY? WHY? WHY? Daisy, are you really seriously satisfied with this ending? Because REY DESERVED BETTER. 

BTW, BEN SOLO DESERVED BETTER! The true feminist of this story DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER! ADAM DRIVER DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER! He always respect the director’s view, does his best to accomplish it and brings his best acting to the table. The only saving grace in the whole movie to me was Ben’s arc because 1) Adam was doing it and 2) He honored his character. Man he deserved so much better!!!!!

I’m not even going to repeat what everyone already said about where is George Lucas’ Fairytale Story, because you guys said it all. But I have a beef with Disney executive decisions:

2) WALT DISNEY - HOW I WISH WALT WAS ALIVE

Walt Disney. Much have been criticized concerning his choices to make HEA in fairytales. But what now? We find balance by wanting our children to grow up to be cynic and seeing the feminine as weak? Unhelpful? Bad? 

“Yo independent women! You need no prince even if you have one. He can compassionately and selfelessly die to save you because he loves you and you can go off, happily, to celebrate with your friends! You don’t mourn his body, oh no. You don’t tell him you love him. You forget him. You go be that cool lonely warrior.”

Excuse me but I can kick ass and have the romantic love life and children I want! I can have both! Because I am a human being and I deserve it. This is not a matter of being a men or women. This is a matter of balancing the feminine and masculine within.

But that is not just it. BEN SOLO DESERVED BETTER! WALT WOULD NEVER, EVER LET A CHARACTER THAT WENT THROUGH ABUSE AND SO MUCH PAIN DIE THE WAY BEN SOLO DID! Is that a Disney movie??????? I mean, what did I just watch????

Walt Disney, the man who promised P.L. Travers, upon knowing who Mr. Banks was to her (her deceased alcoholic father) and what Mary Poppins, her work, meant to her, said:

“George Banks and all he stands for will be saved. Maybe not in life, but in imagination. Because that is what we storytellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope again and again and again.”

THAT IS WHAT STORYTELLERS DO! Like so many fanfic writers in this fandom @nite0wl29, @stargazer1116, @intp-slytherin97, @eleanor-writes-stuff, @postedbygaslight, @raven-maiden, and so many others!! Btw, thank you all!! My vacation starts tomorrow and I’m going to read again all your amazing fics to regain exactly that: HOPE!

What was TROS? Leia and Luke believing in the good in Rey? The whole Jedi Order believing in her? I have nothing against that but why didn’t they believe or help Ben too? Ben didn’t receive any of that love, WHY? What was wrong with him? What did he do?! He was the most selfless of souls, just like his Father and Grandmother. Is this vicntim blaming??? WHY DISNEY, LUCAS FILM and JJ ABRAMS, WHY?!

I used to think people were wrong when they said Disney was only doing SW for money. Because Walt Disney also said and lived by this rule:

“The important thing is the family. If you can keep the family together — and that’s the backbone of our whole business, catering to families — that is what we hope to do.”

SW is about family and I refuse to accept ep. IX as SW. It has all the make up of SW, but it lacks the heart and very essence of it.

As dear @eleanor-writes-stuff said, so much for criticizing Rian Johnson, only to consagrate his work. That man honored the storytelling art and I’ll be forever grateful to him for his touch in SW and for how his writing touched and changed my life. And I know Waltz would have approved too because he also said:

“I prefer to entertain people in the hope that they learn, rather than teach people in the hope they are entertained.”

3) PLOT? WHAT PLOT?

Leia’s feelings for Ben have remained ambiguous, you can both read her as someone who wants her baby boy dead (because her death allows Rey to stab Ben to death if she wants to, when Ben was never going to harm Rey) or not. Actions speak louder than words, and this was the movie when Leia would have the chance to assume the responsability for her mistakes and take action, instead of only claiming she believed her son was alive.

If she clearly wanted to reach Ben, was Maz’s words needed? No, they weren’t. It was exactly because Maz needed to voice it that proved Leia’s actions could be read as ambiguous. Again, actions speak louder than words. Her body only disappeared after Ben’s did too because what? She was expecting him to die so she could collect his soul?

I dearly love Leia’s character but LEIA DESERVED BETTER! CARRIE DESERVED BETTER! In the end I’m not sure what to make of the ST Leia. She could have helped Ben but clearly sent him away to Luke because? What?

Ben Solo get his redemption from his own 2 hands + his father’s memory (not force ghost) + Rey’s confession. In the end he becomes the bride of the monster, only to die right after, in a what? Plot twist?

Finn, who? That was so messed up! Rose? Poor Rose!!! Hux? Oh Hux deserved better too. I was glad to see that Poe matured though and grew in his arc.

I’m also mad and confused about other plot points:

Ben throws his bleeded kyber krystal away because of his father. Okay. Why did no one help him when he cried on the Force to crack his kyber and soul, but Luke Force Ghost appears to catch Rey throwing a lightsaber in an on fire tie fighter?

Rey would turn to the Dark side if she killed Palpatine, right? 5 minutes later she won’t turn to the Dark Side anymore even if she still kills him in anger? Just because the self righteous jedi chose to let Ben get thrown down the abysm by himself but Rey was the Chosen One?

Still on this topic, so she choses to give up her soul so Palpatine uses her body as the vessel of his soul and the legion of siths, in order to save her friends, but she won’t take Ben Solo’s hand, even if she claims she wants to + retaining her body, to do the same?

I think force bonds don’t make much of a difference anymore when one of the parts dies. Ben can die and Rey seems pretty okay?

INTERESTING FACT: Beside me there was a father with his 6 or 7 year old son. The child kept asking what was going on everytime the movie introduced any plot twists or too much information too quickly. When the Reylo kiss came on screen, you know what the kid said? “I told ya!” I wanted to cry when seconds later the boy was claiming now was Rey’s turn to bring Ben back. Children understand the Heroine’s Journey and it doesn’t scare them. It is beautiful like that. The father then had to try and explain to the boy that other things were going on and that no, “that guy was gone”. What have you done people?

4) EPISODE X

I must have a clown face. They lied to us about this movie being “The Rise of Skywalker”. Maybe they lied to us about this being the end of the saga? Considering JJ claims this is fun, happy and hopeful, yeah, I doubt they are making an episode X or ressurecting Ben Solo after throwing in the garbage the Heroine’s Journey. I vaguely remember Adam also said he wasn’t going to appear in another SW.

IF they do announce an ep. X, I’m not watching it unless Ryan or someone like him directs the movie.

I loved to see Han Solo’s memory helping his son. That man trully loved him and it is tragic that he screwed up as a father only because he thought he wasn’t enough to be a good one and that Leia and Luke would know better.

I also loved to see Ben Solo as his father son and grandchild to his grandmother and great grandmother. He was beautiful and I love him and he’ll be forever with me.

I liked the Reylo kiss... but Rey’s actions in this movie have affected me so that it doesn’t feel like they scrapped the surface of making justice to this that could have been the happiest and most balanced of all SW couples.

IT COULD HAVE BEEN EPIC. IT COULD HAVE BEEN GRAND. But it wasn’t.

I’ll forget TROS. YBTOTT is now canon to me, because it is a perfect 3rd act in this trilogy, and @postedbygaslight honors the Heroine’s Journey like few writers have the gut and courage to do. Thank you so much Wayne!

And if anyone had the patience to read this to the end, thank you. I feel it too guys, this was awful and horrible.

Everything for You

(For this one I’m going to assume that Plumbeline is in her mid twenties during the recent events in Crown of Candy, and was around five when the Ravening War ended)

My dress drags on the stairs behind me as I walk down the stairs, my slippers silencing my feet on the marble. The manor is cold today, colder than usual, and I wrap my arms around myself.

My great grandmother’s old, creaky voice echoes through the foyer “Blienne, come here.” She summons and I obey.

“Coming Granmumma,” I reply, reminding myself not to run or rush.

Mother always tells me to be respectful, but elegant. To leap down the stairs, tripping over the skirt of the flowing dress I’m wearing, would most likely be the least elegant thing imaginable.

I enter the family room to see my great grandmother sitting on one of the couches, green hair in wild waves Mother would never allow one of the other family members to wear.

I perch myself on an armchair across from her “Good afternoon Granmumma.” I greet, and when she doesn’t respond I continue speaking “Oh, have you seen that beautiful comb that Father brought from the Meat Lands for me? I’ve been looking for it, I’d like to bring it-”

“The comb isn’t important.” Granmumma interrupts, green eyes distant “You should know that.”

I force a polite laugh. I think I know where this conversation is going “Well, not really, but I’d still like to have it. It’s the non-essential things that make life worth living, at least in my eyes.”

Granmumma’s hand snaps out to grasp mine, faster than I thought she was capable “The comb isn’t important, Blienne. Not to you and I. House Corymbos possesses the last of Fructera’s magic, you cannot continue to let your gift fade.”

“Granmumma you know we’re not supposed to talk about that-” I rush, but don’t pull my hand away. I don’t know why.

Granmumma waves her free hand and a coffee table lifts into the air. My words fade.

She turns back to me, eyes warm “Try, Blienne.” My great grandmother urges. I hesitate and Granmumma continues “I know you have the gift. As much as you deny it, as much as my granddaughter denies it. I know I shouldn’t have waited so long to push you.”

And I listen.

There’s always been that quiet song of magic in my blood. Ever since I was a child. I’ve been good at ignoring it for years.

But for the first time, I yield to that song. Let it envelop me, let myself fall into the magic.

Frozen smoothie begins to spread from me through the room, soft and slow. I stare at sight, watching the pastel pink spread through the room, glittering in the light. I reach down to the floor and brush my fingers over the new surface, ignoring the cold biting through my hand.

“It’s incredible,” I breath, a smile spreading across my face.

A harsh, angry voice cuts through the room “What the hell are you doing?!” Mother yells, storming through. The frozen smoothie cracks and shatters, fading into nothing in seconds. 

Dread creeps through me. I never should have done this, never should have entertained Granmumma. This is the opposite of what I’m supposed to do.

Mother turns on Granmumma “She’s leaving for Comida tomorrow! She’s going to be the youngest handmaiden to the Bulb-damned princess of Fructera, the daughter of the Concordant Emperor! Do you know how much work I’ve had to do to get Blienne that position? How much training I’ve had to give her to make sure she’ll be able to restore some of the glory to House Corymbos that you lost when you insisted on continuing to support magic, even when the Bulbian Church took power? I will not have you continuing to ruin this family. I will not have you putting my daughter in danger. Besides Brightgarden, Comida is the lion’s den for magic users. She will be hanged for witchcraft!”

Granmumma sits up straight, folding her hands in her lap. She hardly looks fazed “Magic is worth it, granddaughter. We are the last keepers-”

“I’m not listening to this,” Mother says, waving her hand dismissively. Her face is the angriest I’ve ever seen it “Blienne, go to bed. You have a long journey tomorrow.”

I nod, standing and brushing off my skirt “Yes Mother,” I reply and rush off, not looking back.

(Three years later)

I haven’t looked back at magic. Not since that day, not once.

I’ve done what Mother asks of me. Time and time again. I have been what my great grandmother should have been. Obedient and elegant and Bulb-worshipping.

The other handmaidens scoffed at me at first. I was young, part of a disgraced house, and it was clear that every coin my family had left was put into getting me here.  I let them scoff. I didn’t retaliate. No matter how much the magic within me begged to.

Two things made it worth it. 

The honor I’ve been bringing to my family, to my elder brother and younger siblings, to my parents. The future I’ve been giving them.

And Lady Plumbeline.

I loved her from the moment I saw her and I have continued to love her ever since. The beautiful, quiet, strength and bravery of her. The elegance and skill. The undying ambition and the intelligence and ruthlessness to back it up.

She doesn’t know, of course. One of the many things Mother taught me for court is to hide my emotions expertly. To portray what I want people to see.

It’s been a useful skill in climbing the ranks. It was useful among the other handmaidens, who were surprised to say the least, when I rose to become Plumbeline’s favorite. Her most trusted. And from Plumbeline’s support, I began to build House Corymbos’ reputation back up, brick by brick.

I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t have Plumbeline’s support, her company anymore.

Because Lady Plumbeline has gotten sick. Deadly sick. None of the healers know what to do. Emperor Uvano has said that it’s a sickness his family has been prone to throughout the years. A one common to die from.

I remember when I heard that it’s likely she’d die. It was hard to keep the mask hiding my emotions on then. My knees went weak, my eyes filled with tears, and my chest tightened impossible. I felt my magic race through my veins, fear and sorrow fueling a surge more powerful than I had ever experienced.

That tightened feeling in my chest hasn’t faded, but gotten sharper as Plumbeline’s condition has worsened. And worsened. Until the possibility of Plumbeline’s death, which looms closer every day, is the only thing I can think about.

It’s the thing keeping me awake tonight.

I curl up on top of my blankets, deep violet curls spread out around my head. As usual these past few weeks, my mind is occupied with racing through every piece of medical information I’ve ever heard. Anything that might save the girl I love.

And then it crashes into me.

Magic.

Not magic I know. I haven’t trained nearly enough to be able to help. But Granmumma told stories of beings of magic, spirits of Fructera.

I reach out my hand, digging inside myself for something. Anything. Any way to summon a creature that could save Plumbeline.

A seed appears in my hand. It’s a small, warm, light brown seed. I pick it up between two fingers, examining the object, trying to contain the hope that’s exploding within me.

The seed cracks open, sending a shock through my hand. I drop the seed on the floor, and before I can reach to pick it up again, a bright green sprout begins to curl up from the seed.

It grows right before my eyes into a creature with wood and bark for a body, leaves for hair, and different types of fruit dangling off of their arms, back, shoulders. It towers above me and I swing my legs off the side of the bed, staring up at the spirit. The Fruit Tree.

“Hello Blienne Corymbos,” The Fruit Tree groans, their voice low and grumbling. I open my mouth to respond but the Fruit Tree instead begins to move, kneeling in front of me and touching a large, rough hand to my chin “You are young for the burden placed upon you. The last magic of a land is no small deal, Blienne Corymbos.”

And then an orange snaps off the Fruit Tree and splatters on the ground. The Fruit Tree stumbles to the side, catching themselves on one hand.

“I am not as strong as I was, Blienne Corymbos.” The Fruit Tree tells me, sorrow clouding their voice. The sorrow seeps into me, adding into the anxiousness and worry. The Fruit Tree seems to sense my change in mood “What do you wish of me?” They ask.

There is no hesitation, not a doubt in my mind “I want you to heal Plumbeline Uvano. I want you to save her.”

The Fruit Tree tilts their head to the side, more fruit falling to the ground and splattering “You love her.” They say. Not a question.

“I do. More than anything.”

The Fruit Tree shrinks an inch. I flinch in shock, but don’t comment on the change. They weren’t exaggerating when they spoke of fading strength.

“There is not a world were you get to live a life with Plumbeline Uvano, Blienne Corymbos.” The Fruit Tree tells me and I feel... numb. I don’t feel anything “Do you still wish to save her?”

I look up at the being, the spirit of something long gone.“I believe she’s going to do good in the world. Plumbeline is worth it.” The Fruit Tree nods slowly, flickering and shrinking again. I scoot forward “What’s happening to you?”

“I am not as strong as I was, Blienne Corymbos.“ The Fruit Tree repeats.

The hope I feel flickers and terror races through my veins “Can you still heal her?”

More fruit falls on the ground. Item by item. Agonizingly slowly.

“I believe I can, Blienne Corymbos. But it will come at a cost.” The Fruit Tree says “My strength alone is not enough to save your love, not since magic has faded from Fructera. I will need yours. Permanently.”

I tilt my head, considering what he means by ‘strength’. And then I know. And even though I’ve been pushing it back all my life, I know I’m losing a piece of myself if I do this.

“You- you want my magic?” I ask and the Fruit Tree nods. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do anything. Just-”

And my magic fades.

Everything is shattering into a million pieces. I can’t see, can’t breath, can’t think. All I feel is aching emptiness. The remaining pieces of me turn to piercing shards, scratching at my insides.

Agony. That’s what I feel. My body fades. My being fades. I’m just an empty shell where a life used to be, where vibrance used to be. It hurts so badly, so so badly.

And then I’m back.

I fall to the ground and curl up, gasping for breath. The Fruit Tree is gone, along with the fruit that fell off of it. But i know that it worked, I can feel it deep within me.

All I can do now is hope that Plumbeline uses this gift wisely.

Accidents Happen - Peter Maximoff

word count: 1991 warnings: swearing, a bad title for a fic I wrote in the middle of the night so probs a lot of errors too summary: (y/n) cares too much about Peter to let him go on an X-Men mission without her, and it takes an accident, a loss, and a fight for them to admit how much they really care about one another (set during Dark Phoenix)

(y/n) was glaring daggers at Peter, shaking her head and crossing her arms in attempts to keep up her defense, and not back down from the argument.

“If you even think for a minute that I’m letting you go with them, you’re dead fucking wrong” She snapped, stepping in front of the speedster’s doorway, as if it would stop him from getting past her and to the jet.

The X-Men, as Charles had decided to call them, were called upon once again for a mission.  Except this one wasn’t ordered by the president.  It was an inside job really, tracking down Jean and getting her to calm down long enough to contain her.  Something, some force, had taken over her in the space accident, and her powers were going haywire.

“(y/n), please, calm down for a second,” Peter said, zooming around his room for a mere second before standing in front of her again, goggles on his head.  “This is nothing, we’re just getting Jean and bringing her back”

“It’s not nothing” She argued.

“Just because Charles didn’t ask you to come, doesn’t mean that-”

“I’m not upset that he didn’t ask me to go, I’m upset that you’re going.  She could kill you with a snap of her fingers, and you don’t seem to get that” (y/n) explained.  She couldn’t care less that she wasn’t ‘invited’ to go with the others.

“Babe.  Come on,” Peter said, setting his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t call me that”

“It’s gonna be fine.  It’s Jean, she’s our friend, she’s not gonna hurt any of us.  Not seriously anyways,” (y/n) rolled her eyes, but didn’t shrug his hands off of her.  “What? A few scrapes and bruises is standard, no biggie”

“Yes biggie, they’re all biggies!” (y/n) exclaimed.  Peter just chuckled and shook his head at the girl.  “Why aren’t you taking me seriously?”

“Because you’re too cute when you’re angry.  Like a marshmallow.  An angry little marshmallow trying to block the doorway so I won’t leave, even though the marshmallow and I both know that I’m going on this mission no matter what she says, or how cute and fluffy she is when she’s angry- are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, it just takes a while to process this much stupid at once,” (y/n) sighed.  “Fine, you want to go and risk your life, whatever.  Obviously nothing I say is gonna change that” The mutant girl sighed, and stepped away from his door so he could pass by.  She stared at him expectantly, arms still crossed tightly over her chest while Peter frowned.

“You know this is what we signed up for when we said we’d be X-Men,” Peter said, more gently than he’d been arguing before.  “And whatever happens, I’m coming back, you know that right”

“That’s just not something you can promise,” (y/n) mumbled defeatedly.  “Something feels off about this one, Peter.  Something’s wrong” She admitted.

“Hey,” One of his hands took hers as his brows pinched together.  “I can promise, and I do.  It’s gonna go fine, you worry too much about me”

“I have good reason to.  You can be a real dummy sometimes” (y/n) said, a faint smile on her lips.

“Wow, real mature, (y/l/n),” He monotoned, making her smile grow a bit.  “Come ‘ere” Before she could protest he pulled her into a hug, embracing her tightly, and unknowingly settling all of her nerves.

“Don’t die?” She mumbled against his chest, her hands gripping the lame yellow material of his suit tightly.

“You got it, boss,” He grinned down at her as they pulled away.  “Alright, I gotta go”

“Okay” She nodded, and faked a smile so that he wouldn’t be worried about her worrying.

“Catch ya later babe” He winked and pulled his goggles over his eyes, speeding off before she could scold him for that nickname again.

-

(y/n) and Peter had a complicated relationship, to say the least.

The longing and emotion between them was strong, so heavy that an entire room could feel it if they were together in it.  And it had always been that way, they’d been close since day one of breaking Erik out of the Pentagon.  Always on the brink of something more than friends.

However, due to their… line of work… creating and maintaining a relationship proved to be more difficult than you would think.  Not that either of them were all that ready to admit the feelings they’d harbored, for three years now, both too afraid of the other not returning those feelings.

No matter how obvious it was.

So, they went on with their lives as friends.  Friends who used teasing pet names.  Friends who bantered like an old married couple.  Friends who were scared to let one go on a mission without the other.

It was pain, this complicated relationship of theirs, but so far, it worked.  And it was better than not having one another. ___

(y/n) was sprinting into the hangar as soon as she’d heard the jet come home.  No one had called to let her know that they’d be returning home, like they usually did, but she brushed it off as a slip of the mind.

She watched Charles wheel himself out first, avoiding eye contact with the girl awaiting answers.  But she didn’t miss the solemn look on his face.

“Charles?” She called out, walking towards him so he couldn’t avoid her completely.  “What happened, why do you- what happened? Where’s Peter?”

She looked up again to see Kurt guiding Storm and Scott out of the jet carrying a stretcher between them.

“No… no n-no no no please don’t-” She choked on her own words as she raced to them, eyes wide and filling with tears.

“He will be okay” Kurt told her, hoping it would comfort her.  But as she looked at the bruises and blood that littered nearly his whole body, she couldn’t find any solace in his words.

“It was an accident…” Ororo trailed off as (y/n’s) hands shakily took the unconscious mutant’s face in her hands, focusing all of her energy on the touch, and with it, taking some of his pain away.  A perk of her mutation.  “It was all an accident”

At that, (y/n) looked up to the white haired girl with a confused expression, eyebrows furrowed and head shaking slightly.

Storm just nodded off behind her, and (y/n’s) eyes landed on Hank, carrying the last X-Men in his arms, a sheet covering her mutilated, cold, blue body.

She wasn’t sure what happened after she went into shock. ___

Peter still hadn’t woken up the next morning, so he’d missed the memorial service, leaving (y/n) to go alone.

She’d been by his side since he’d gotten home, even though he just laid in bed, knocked out, but breathing, and healing.  Every half hour or so (y/n) would grab his hand and take some of his pain away, bringing it on herself instead.

Today, her body was emotionally and physically weak, and she began to weep while taking his agony.

“I’m sorry,” She whimpered, a few tears slipping off her cheeks and landing on his hand.  “I should’ve just gone with you, I-I-” Her hands brushed away the wetness on the back of his hand.  “If I’d been there-”

“Don’t beat yourself up like that,” A familiar gentle voice spoke from the open doorway.  “You know you can’t think like that, (y/n)”

She turned to look at Charles, silent, and stoic.

“He wouldn’t want you to think like that.  And neither would she,” Charles went on.  “I know it’s hard, imagining all you could have done to stop it.  But the fact of the matter is-”

“Leave” (y/n) mumbled, surprising the both of them.

“I’m sorry?” Charles questioned, confused.  (y/n) was the last person to take her anger out on the undeserved.

“Please leave, Charles,” She repeated, feeling more pathetic.  “I need…. I need space.  I need time.  Away”

He nodded in understanding, pushing his chair out of the doorway, and shutting the door behind him, so she could have her privacy.

(y/n) sighed as she dropped her head against the bed, still grasping onto Peter’s hand, although she was no longer taking his pain.

“I’m lost,” She mumbled, to no one but herself.  “I don’t know… how to move on”

She swore she didn’t imagine it, and that Peter’s hand had squeezed hers softly, reassuringly.

Hours went by of her sitting at his bedside, mourning, holding his hand, taking away any pain she’d sensed he felt, no longer minding how much it drained her to do so.  If it helped him to wake up faster, she’d do it.

She felt half asleep and half dead, eyes barely opened, when she felt the squeeze again.  She hardly recognized when Peter’s eyes met hers.  One of them swollen, but they were still beautiful.

“Hey, babe,” He rasped out, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.  “Whatcha doin’ here?”

(y/n) blinked, jaw falling open as she finally processed that he was awake, and she shot up from her chair, leaning over the mattress to loosely throw her arms around his neck, beginning to cry again.  Peter chuckled, limply throwing an arm around her back and holding her against him.

When she pulled away and held his face in her hands, he could see the distress in her features.  The sleepless bags under her eyes, the slight discoloration in her cheeks, she looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

“How long was I out?” He asked her, and she shook her head, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“Two days,” She murmured.  Her thumbs began to stroke over his cheekbones, an incredible amount of relief washing over her that he was alright.  “Scared me real bad though” She added.  Peter smiled sadly, taking one of her hands, and curling his fingers against her palm, pressing his cheek further against it.

“Raven…” He suddenly said, eyes blowing wide, “She… she was-”

“I know,” (y/n) hummed before he could become too worked up.  “The service was this morning”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you”

(y/n) frowned, shaking her head, and stroking his cheek again.

“No… no don’t apologize, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” She told him sincerely.  “You did everything you could, in fact, I’m crazy proud of you, alright?” He nodded a little when he realized she was waiting for an actual answer.  “If anything, I’m sorry for fighting with you before you left.  It wasn’t fair of me to-”

“If I don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to either,” Peter cut her off.  “Deal?”

With a sigh, she nodded in agreement.

“Deal” She mumbled, and then leaned forward to softly and sweetly press her lips against his.  A small gesture conveying large and complex emotions.

Peter’s eyes fell shut as he kissed her back, hand weakly laying across the back of her neck, fingers swirling around the hair at the nape of her neck comfortingly.  When she pulled back, there were still tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t crying anymore.  She just stared at him, finding herself unable to do much else.

“I love you,” She murmured, heart skipping a beat at the admission.  “I had to tell you, before… I don’t know, something could prevent me from getting the chance”

Peter smiled at her, making her smile back.

“I love you too, babe” He said cheekily, and pulled her in for another sweet kiss.

(y/n) ended up crawling into bed with him that night, falling asleep cuddled against his side.

The worst of it was behind them, and now they could move forward together, truly. ___

taglist: @imofficallyobsessed

xoxo ~ jordie

YOU’VE BEEN FIGHTING THE MEMORIES ALL ON YOUR OWN

summary: She jumps. Takes the gun, but it’s got no bullets, so she hits Dax’s temple with the butt of the gun and he falls down, but not before dragging her with him. He slams her against the ground and wraps his fingers around her neck and Clarke thinks, maybe this is where I die.

In a memory, almost seven years old, when she realized she cares about Bellamy. When they were on the ground, before the great losses, before they realized they were never going to be safe again.

When they didn’t bear it so the others don’t have to.

---

or, in order to escape the mind space, clarke needs to confront her biggest fear - bellamy.

pairing: Bellamy x Clarke

words: 4,491

read on AO3

Time passes differently in Clarke’s mind space. She notices it when she counts to sixty seconds, but her dad’s watch only shows it has been forty. Other time, when she does the same, it has been hirty-seven seconds. The results are always different, no matter how many times she does the test.

If anything, time is slowing down.

By her calculation, she must’ve been in here for over twenty-four hours. Monty comes and goes, so does her dad, and even the chess matches with Wells can’t keep her from waiting for Bellamy to save her. Or anything to happen, really.

She has no way to know if Bellamy—or anyone—has seen her message or not. All she’s got is hope and faith in her friends. She’s holding onto that, and also on the fact that they’ve always managed to get each other out of situations like these.

‘Do you think I can only talk to dead people here?’

To her left, Clarke hears footsteps and recognizes them immediately. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘That’s kind of sad.’ She turns her head to the left and watches as Wells lies down next to her, taking a hold of her hand. ‘I’m glad I can talk to you again, though. Even if you’re just a projection of my mind.’

Wells smiles. ‘I’m just glad I could beat you in chess one more time.’

‘Shut up!’

They laugh, and Clarke finds it easy to not be worried. With Wells’s fingers interlinked with hers, the world seems to be a little less threatening place.

‘You know, there’s nothing I can do now,’ she says. ‘I gave them the message. Maybe they’ve seen it, maybe they haven’t, but I’ve done my part. I’ve made my move. Now I’m just waiting for someone else to make theirs.’

‘That’s incredibly deep, Griffin.’

‘I know, right?’

She feels Wells squeeze her hand and she looks at him, tears in her eyes. He’s looking at her with an expression she can’t decipher and she feels small. Clarke knows she misses him, more than almost anyone else. He, her father, and Monty are the reasons why she isn’t entirely unhappy to be stuck here. Another chance to talk to them is another chance to talk to the people she loved and lost.

But now, looking at Wells and seeing there is something she doesn’t know, it’s scary.

Sometimes Clarke forgets it’s her mind she’s trapped in. Everybody knows her mind isn’t entirely on her side at all times.

‘Clarke,’ Wells says softly, ‘there’s a door you’ve been avoiding the whole time.’

Sometimes it doesn’t allow her to have a choice.

Clarke looks away. ‘Wells—’

‘I think you’re preventing yourself from leaving his place. I think you can’t go out there and face him if you haven’t faced him here.’

Clarke’s throat tightens. She takes her hand out of Wells’s and props herself up, resting her back against the wall. Her lips quiver. ‘He forgave me.’

The door opens and Monty walks in. He’s still wearing the red jacket, and his hair is exactly as she remembers it to be when she first met him, but he lacks the innocence of a Delinquent. They all do.

Monty walks to them and crouches, looking straight at her. ‘He has. But have you forgiven yourself?’

‘It doesn’t matter. His forgiveness is the one I needed.’

‘It doesn’t work that way, Clarke.’ Her father appears from her side and sits next to her, pulling her into a hug. ‘You can’t move on if the guilt lingers.’

No. She doesn’t want to think about that. But her dad isn’t her dad, he’s a projection of her subconscious, and if her subconscious is telling her something like this then this must mean his forgiveness is not the one she needed but how can she forget for leaving him behind when—

‘How can I—Dad, I left him and—How could he forgive—It’s not—’

She’s engulfed in a hug from three people and Clarke feels as if she’s sinking. Her dad’s arms are strong and soft around her, pulling her close, and feeling his heartbeat throws her in a daze. She keeps thinking about the people she’s lost, things she’s sacrificed. The room where she hid her memory of Raven is heaven compared to the chaos happening inside her mind now; everything seems to be falling apart. The walls are cracking, cold breeze is freezing her bones, and the base of the house she’s lived in with Madi is shaking.

‘No, no, no, no—’

‘Clarke, calm down.’ Wells’s voice is coming through glass and she can’t even open her eyes. ‘You can do it.’

‘Clarke.’ Her dad pulls her even closer, shielding her with his body. ‘Clarke, stop it! You are not a bad guy!’

‘I’ll be the bad guy if that’s what you want from me,’ Clarke’s voice comes from every direction. It’s twisted and echoing and distorted and it keeps repeated, and Clarke tries to cover her ears. ‘I keep dying to save your asses and you can’t even be grateful for it. I die, and you’re not even trying to fight for me. You give up.’

‘NO! STOP IT!’

And it stops.

Everything does.

Clarke is alone.

She opens her eyes and she is in a hallway, one that resembles the hallways in Polis. It’s not just a memory – she can feel that. The way the door radiates, some aura that is simultaneously warm and cold, is different to any other door in her mind space. It has a pulse, too, and the pulse is slowed down, and it’s her pulse.

This is it – this is the central room.

Josephine was wrong, Clarke thinks. She finds it difficult to face her demons, the things she’s done and the people she’s killed, but she knows it was for the right reasons. She knows those were the things she had to do to save her people. She knows she was forced into making some of these decisions and that’s what people keep forgetting – she bears it so they don’t have to. She chooses to be the hand pulling the lever, over and over again, but she’s not the only one making the decision.

She always aches for a choice. For a better solution. For not as many deaths.

Always.

But this is the one thing that Clarke keeps forgetting – she isn’t the only one who bears it so they don’t have to.

One person that makes her feel a little less lonely; a little less like a monster they all claim her to be.

The only person who understands.

And he is the only thing she can’t face.

Clarke closes her eyes again, and pushes the door.

The wind is cold against her skin, raising shivers all along it. Her jacket is a little stiff and she recognizes it, and her heart sinks just a little. There is a gun in her hands and her fingers are gripping onto it for dear life; she hears shouting, not far away, and recognizes the voices.

She opens her eyes.

She is in a forest, the same one she buried her worst memories in. It’s different this time, though – it’s almost entirely quiet. There are stars above her and birds and insects chirping around her and the grass is a little different. She is walking, slowly, and the wind is howling in her ear but she can follow the voices.

Clarke runs. She finds them within seconds, and her heart stops a little when she sees him.

His curls, Clarke realises. He doesn’t have curls anymore, they don’t cover his eyes. And he has a beard now, and his jawline is not as prominent, and he looks so much older and battered and this is him that she remembers. Young and scared and lost, just like all of them were. Him in his prime, when they were still just two kids trying to save the lives of a hundred other kids.

When they were fighting for their lives only.

‘Clarke!’ he screeches.

She’s on her feet. She throws him the gun and he smacks Dax with it, and Dax falls to the ground. She tries to remember how this played out in real life, but she can’t.

She’s already losing her memories.

Dax moves.

‘BELLAMY!’

Her voice makes him turn around but Dax has already got his feet. He pulls Bellamy to the ground and he lands with a loud thud. His fingers scramble to get the gun to his side but he can’t. He tries to roll over, but Dax climbs on top with fingers to Bellamy’s throat. Bellamy grips his hands and tries to push them away, but he’s too weak.

Clarke can’t move. She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t remember.

The gun, she hears her dad’s voice.

She jumps. Takes the gun, but it’s got no bullets, so she hits Dax’s temple with the butt of the gun and he falls down, but not before dragging her with him. He slams her against the ground and wraps his fingers around her neck and Clarke thinks, maybe this is where I die.

In a memory, almost seven years old, when she realized she cares about Bellamy. When they were on the ground, before the great losses, before they realized they were never going to be safe again.

When they didn’t bear it so the others don’t have to.

Her vision is fading and she knows it’s her time. Maybe Josephine has succeeded, and this is how her mind helps her accept it. She knows Bellamy is wounded and likely dying, and she’s only happy she’ll die before having to see him do the same.

She knows it. She knows that life without Bellamy is not a life she wants to live.

She can’t bear it alone.

Clarke closes her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she’s not fighting anymore.

Something snaps and the hands around Clarke’s neck go limp, and so does the rest of the body that falls on top of her. It’s pushed away, plopping on the ground next to her with a thud, and she hears the grass rustle as someone kneels or sits down on the other side of her.

Her eyes are still closed. She’s not sure if she wants to open them.

She feels hands on her cheeks and underneath her neck, and someone pulls her into their lap. Their hands are rough and full of blisters and bleeding, but they’re caressing her skin softly, cautiously. Their fingers tap against her cheek lightly, and she can feel their breath.

Clarke can’t face it. She can’t.

She’s not ready for this.

Her dad’s voice echoes in her head: You can’t move on if the guilt lingers.

She has to.

‘Clarke,’ Bellamy says. She feels his breath on her neck; he is worried.

Clarke props herself up and opens her eyes only when she’s a safe distance away from him; this is her mind space. Her mind space doesn’t like her; it’s hostile. She can’t trust this Bellamy.

Not when he’s looking at her the way he looked at her that night, and the night when they pulled the lever in Mt Weather, when he found her tied to a wall for the first time in months, when they didn’t know if they were going to make it and he wanted to say something, when they were talking in Becca’s lab, and when he came to her rescue with Diyoza.

He’s looking at her as if he won’t be able to live if she dies.

‘Clarke?’

She shakes her head at him and looks away, trying to find a tree she remembers they were both resting against. When she does that, she tries to catch a breath, but her throat hurts and her heart is racing and she understands why she’s been avoiding this room this whole time.

Bellamy drags himself to sit next to her, their shoulders almost touching. She feels the heat of his body, his breath on her exposed skin as he’s looking at her, and she smells the mixture of blood, sweat, and dirt that comes off of him. Her eyes travel to his body, only to check the damage – his right ankle is a little twisted and there is a bloodied tear at his left thigh, but that’s all that might prevent him from being fully mobile. She glances upwards, to his face, and she’s relieved to find only a thin dark brown trail from his temple, down his cheeks. He’s looking at her and the moon is shining bright, and his pupils don’t look dilated.

Clarke releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. He’s going to be fine.

‘Clarke, are you all right?’

She nods. Looks away, too, because seeing him like this physically makes her sick with guilt.

You can’t move on if the guilt lingers.

She closes her eyes for a brief second, bracing herself for what comes next. Her lips quiver and her hand finds his, and she can hardly believe the warmth that spreads through her body when he gives her a squeeze.

His thumb traces circles around her palm and he moves a little closer. Her lips quiver.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says softly. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

‘You didn’t,’ he says, just as softly. ‘You saved my life.’

She coughs out a sob, and her throat hurts.

‘Don’t talk. We’ll rest for a while and then head back.’

He squeezes her hand again, and when he rests his head against her shoulder, Clarke knows it’s not the Bellamy he was at that time. He was softer, and gentler, and he was trying to do what’s best for him and his sister, but Clarke also knows that the memory she is reliving marks a point of no return for both of them – when they became each other’s worries.

She allows herself to soak it all in for a moment, resting her head against Bellamy’s. She can feel his breath stabilising and it’s hot against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Their hands are still intertwined and she wraps herself in this false memory, and wishes for it to never end.

She wishes for a redo. For another shot at all of this.

Maybe she’d do better, this time.

Minutes have gone by, and they haven’t moved. Clarke isn’t controlling what Bellamy does – she doesn’t want to.

‘I miss you,’ she says. She doesn’t even know if he can hear her. ‘The person you were when we landed.’ She laughs at the memories, and his head bounces a little, but he doesn’t budge. ‘You were so cocky, so full of yourself. I can’t believe I was actually fooled by that. I thought you were this big guy, the asshole of the universe, and I think this night was when I realized you weren’t, That you were just as scared as the rest of us. You had just as much to lose.’

She turns around a little bit, and looks at Bellamy. His eyes are closed and he’s dozed off, and the sharp lines of his face look softer under the moonlight. She presses her lips to the top of his head, feeling the dirt on it, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s still rubbing circles on her palm, even in his sleep.

‘You look so young, Bellamy. You were so naïve. I was, too – all of us were. None of us were cut out for war, any of the ones we had to lead. Maybe this is why I miss the young you. The young us.’ She laughs, again, only this time, it’s hollow. ‘We were so innocent, so determined to save the world. I wonder what we’d think if we found out how many times we failed at that.’

She realizes, then, that the whole thing isn’t just about leaving Bellamy in the pits. It’s about leaving him behind over and over again, every time something comes up. Leaving him behind after Mt Weather, when she didn’t realize he needed her just as much as she needed him. When going away and constantly having to remind herself that she thought she was doing them all a favour by not being with them, when she didn’t realize that he was going through the same thing. He was with her. He pulled the lever with her. And she left him to deal with it on without her.

And then again, she left him several times, for Lexa. She left him because even then, she found it difficult to face what she’s done to him. When he’d ask to speak with her and she’d have no time for him, and they couldn’t have the conversation they so needed. With time, in critical moments, when feelings are at their high, she could face him less and less.

They’re guilty of so, so many things. Their people don’t resent him for them the way they resent her, and she’s fine with that. If she can’t find it in herself to help him, at least the ones around him can. Even if she knows, deep down, that she’s the only one who can truly understand.

Just like he’s the only one who can truly understand her.

Together, they said, so many decades ago. But this night, when Bellamy asked her to run away with him, was the night when she first felt the word they’d use so much later.

When she realized it was going to be the two of them against any and every threat, when he returned with her to the camp.

It was the night she kept betraying – this was the Bellamy she kept betraying.

And this was the Bellamy she couldn’t face.

Until now.

‘Do you think you’d really forgive me?’ she asks. ‘In the real world, if I come back?’

Bellamy squeezes her hand; she doesn’t even know when he woke up. ‘I know I will.’

Clarke sniffs. ‘Of course you’d say so. It’s what I hope would happen. You’re just a projection in my head.’

He brings her hand to his chest and looks at the moon; she can see the outline of his jaw, and she wonders if they’re ever going to be as unburdened again. ‘Why does that matter? You know me best, Clarke, because we’ve been through the same things.’

‘You spent years away from me.’

‘Years in which nothing significant has happened.’

‘Echo—’

‘Did Echo save our people with us, over and over again? Did Echo leave me, over and over again, but I kept coming back to her because I knew she was what I needed?’ Bellamy questions. ‘I love Echo, Clarke. I’m not going to deny that. But no matter how hard she tries to understand me, she wasn’t with me in Mt Weather. Or Polis. Anywhere.’

‘I left you in the pits,’ Clarke breathes out. Her heart skips a beat.

‘You left me behind in the pits to die,’ Bellamy says. There is little anger, little sadness, little pity; it’s a statement she never wanted to hear. ‘But you fought for me, before and after. I know it was because in that moment, you had to make a choice between me and Madi.’

‘That what you said before I…’ died.

‘Clarke, think. I forgave you for a reason. We’ve both done things that weren’t good. We’ve both had to figure out how to work together again. But we’ve sacrificed things for each other, over and over again, and—’

‘That’s not a good thing,’ Clarke states. Her throat is closing in on her and she can barely raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. There are salty streams on her cheeks, all of them lost in Bellamy’s curls. ‘We shouldn’t need to sacrifice anything.’

‘No, we shouldn’t. But we did. And you can’t change that.’

The sky full of stars becomes interesting, because she can’t bear to look at Bellamy anymore. She’s painfully aware of his presence right next to her, and she knows he’s waiting for her to say something.

‘I wish I hadn’t left you,’ she says.

‘I forgave you for it.’

She turns her head and forces herself to look at him. His curls are covering some of his eyes, but she can see them, clear as day. They are dark but soft, and the freckles scattered around them are something Clarke knows she never paid much attention to. It would always be when they would be this close, that she would notice them – the little constellations. Sometimes, she dreams about them, and wonders if she could ever find the stars as beautiful as them. It’s not something she would admit – but the stars are unreachable, and Bellamy is here, always, and maybe she doesn’t need to reach for the stars to be happy.

But not like this. Not when she keeps hurting him. Not when she can’t admit to herself that she might love him, but she’s bad for him.

So she asks: ‘Which time?’

‘Every.’

Bellamy’s voice breaks and Clarke can’t even contain her sob. She covers her mouth with her hand, but Bellamy covers it with his and pulls it down. ‘It’s all right to cry.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she cries out, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘I know you are. Both me and the real one.’

‘I can’t know that.’

‘You do, Clarke.’ He takes her hand and puts it against her chest. ‘Right here.’

‘Bellamy—’

‘Can we not talk for a minute?’

He turns his head away from her, but it’s not menacing. It’s soft, and gentle, and she feels like he’s allowing her to have some space before she rushes into saying things she doesn’t want to say. Even if this isn’t the real Bellamy, it’s as close to the original as possible, and Clarke doesn’t know if she’s grateful for that.

It feels all too real. It hurts just as much.

They’re quiet for a while, and Clarke appreciates it. She notices that Dax’s body is gone and so are their wounds, and she appreciates that, too. She stifles a sob and lets out a shaky breath as she tries to regain her composure – she doesn’t want to cry in front of any Bellamy.

As if he’s heard her thoughts, Bellamy props himself up higher against the tree. Where his head lied Clarke now feels a cold breeze, but before she has the time to process it, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her to his chest. He’s warm and soft and smells like the Earth, and Clarke lets the tears roll down her cheeks. Bellamy’s fingers work their way through her hair and he hums a tune she doesn’t recognize, but she doesn’t mind. She closes her eyes, too.

Maybe she could forgive herself, if that’s what the future holds for them.

After what feels like hours, Clarke opens her eyes. One of Bellamy’s hands is still entangled in her hair, but the other one is rubbing circles into her shoulder. She listens to his heartbeat and it’s calming in a way that it feels almost too familiar. A part of her wonders if it’s her heartbeat, just attributed to Bellamy.

She puts her hand atop of Bellamy’s on her shoulder, and laces their fingers together. ‘I thought you’d be angry.’

It’s the truth. It’s why she’s been avoiding him – there was the big question of how her mind and her conscience would perceive Bellamy. She thought he’d be raging at her, throwing insults left and right, but maybe she knows him too well to let even her own fears fool her. Bellamy would never do that – he’s too strong, even in her own mind space.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You’re the one who’s angry. Clarke, when it comes down to you and me, I’ll give you forgiveness as many times as you need it. You just don’t want to accept it, because you feel like accepting forgiveness would mean that the sacrifices you make are worth nothing. That the people who die so we could live, that their lives mean nothing.’

‘That’s not true,’ she whispers.

‘No, it’s not.’ Bellamy pulls her closer and she feels herself relax into him. He rests his chin atop her head, and she wonders if they’ve ever been this close. ‘You did things that you did, and I did almost all of them with you. And the one thing I didn’t…’

‘It’s the thing I regret the most.’

‘You left me behind. But you came back.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘No, Clarke, you did. You keep coming back, just like I keep coming back. And maybe it’s time to move on. To stop holding onto things from the past. If Bellamy’s let go, you can let go, too. That doesn’t mean you forget what you did. Holding onto it doesn’t do you any good. If anything, it makes it harder for you to live, and be happy, when you deserve it.’

‘I never – I never thought my own conscience would be telling me that I deserve to be happy.’

‘You’re good at twisting everyone into hating you, but you know me too well. You weren’t afraid of entering this room because you thought I’d be angry.’

He’s right.

‘I was angry because I knew you’d forgive me.’

Bellamy presses a kiss to her temple. ‘Over and over again.’

‘Do you really think I deserve forgiveness?’

The world stops a little, even though nothing changes. Everything around Bellamy and her is frozen, and Clarke feels a little dizzy, but a little lighter, too. She can tell Bellamy is smiling, even if she doesn’t know why. She likes it, though – it’s been too long since she’s seen him smile.

He puts a hand on her cheek, putting a runaway strand out of her face. His face is soft but excited, and his smile grows a little wider.

‘You’re already accepting it,’ he says softly.

Bellamy’s eyes glance towards her lips and back to her eyes, eyebrows slightly raised, as if in question. Clarke closes her eyes, and waits. His fingers linger on her cheek a little longer, before pulling her closer and closing the gap between them.

The kiss is bittersweet, because she can taste both of their tears. It’s soft and gentle, and they’re taking all the time in the world, because that’s what they deserve after all this time. Clarke knows this is just a projection and none of it is real, but it feels nice to fool herself into thinking it could be. Maybe she could have this, sometime.

After all, she thinks as their lips part, this Bellamy has not had a single difference from the real one.

He smiles with sadness and hope in his eyes. ‘Don’t leave me behind this time.’

‘I won’t.’

With those words on her lips and Bellamy’s face in front of her, Clarke wakes up.

The 100 6x08 analysis - The old man is not an anomaly, only a prime

This episode was a step down from the previous one but hey, I guess they can’t all be brilliant. The pacing was too fast and a lot of stories happened at once. Still good though. Many reflections on the past which is indeed concurring with the Face Your Demons Theme. Okay, onto the recap.

Xavier, I mean Gabriel and the anomaly

I’ve heard the Xavier is Gabriel theory many times before and I mentioned it in last week’s analysis as well. I did not want it to be true and thus condemned it. As the episode started, a lot of things pointed to this fact and I kept wishing it away. At least there’s a good explanation for it since Gabriel being something which he’s completely against would have been hypocritical, to say the least.

Octavia and Diyoza are very much the same, they would make a great married couple. Just kidding. But they do have a lot of similarities, Diyoza is just the older sister with quite a bit more life experience. They’re both strong physically and mentally, enjoys power, willing to fight to the death for what they believe in and come from traumatic pasts. Absolutely the reason they make such a great team.

We learn that radio signals get sucked up by the anomaly and picked up in endless repeating waves. I guess that’s how Xavier knew about the earthlings’ actions. I’ve seen some tweets about Clarke’s radio calls being broadcasted but I doubt it, her calls were made from earth. They are now in a distant galaxy. It seems unlikely, yet I’m no astrophysicist or engineer, so I guess the possibility exists. Don’t get your hopes up, though.

Diyoza notes that Gabriel loved Josephine from the picture and that she was just looking to get laid. Either she listened to Blink182′s song one too many times or she knows exactly how to read people from one look. She also figured out that Xavier is Gabriel and referred to Bellamy and Clarke as the hostage taker and his girlfriend. I think it’s worth a mention.

It seems like the sociopath has quite a gift to make men fall head-over-heels for her. First the guy in the coffee shop, then Gabriel. Gabriel calls her his deepest desire and darkest fear. She’s going to use these tactics on Bellamy too. More on this later.

Gabriel explaining to Octavia that he was dedicated to destroying false gods while he was one himself must have hit a nerve since Bloodreina was worshipped like one too. Bringing about her tormenting vision of throwing her own brother in the fighting pit to remain in power. We’ve witnessed her journey back to Octavia but there are things she has to answer for. Bloodreina did terrible things and redemption can only be granted for someone who feels remorse. Octavia was willing to die to save the former terrorist from the anomaly and the red queen would never have considered such a sacrifice. She’s come a long way.

Diyoza’s weakness is her daughter and of course she follows Hope’s sweet little face into the crazy green light from where no-one has ever returned. If she does not come back, I’m sending Jason and the writers my alcohol bill. She’s one of my favorites and I do not want to lose her. At least she’s smart and capable, I have faith! 

When Octavia returns, she looks years younger, revitalized and healed. Did the girl under the floor, the grounder or Skairippa come back? Also, I spotted a slight connection between her and Xavier. Am I crazy? Maybe Gabriel was just awed by the phenomenon. What does this anomaly do?

Hello Kane II, goodbye Kabby

I still can’t figure out why the primes are worshipped. Is it merely because of the safety and flourishment of Sanctum or is there more to this story? The nulls (those who do not carry any genetics to produce a nightblood) even deem themselves worthless and consider it an honor to become a host.

At first, I thought Abby was being selfish in her fight to save Kane and then I considered that she might have another plan but unfortunately she disapproved my faith in her. Never trusting her again.

This was the first episode this whole season where I was on board with Raven - minus the spacewalk. She lost her moral-high-ground attitude in the speech to Abby which made all the difference in the world. But she still looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Obviously, she gave in to save Abby, the woman who has been like a mother to her until the addiction. On some difficult level, she still loves her and doesn’t want her to die. I have empathy, still think it was the wrong choice.

“Abby, what have you done?” My question exactly. In what world will Kane accept murdering someone to save his own life? There’s no way he’ll forgive her for this. Is there still a chance to save his real body and bring him back?

On a sidenote, Simone does not seem much better than her daughter.

Hickory Dickory Dock, Clarke’s life is on the clock

Many have said that Russel will turn to the side of our heroes. Although his regret and conscience are constantly shown, nothing can trump the love for a child. Just ask Clarke, she went to the same lengths to save hers. 

We all know by now that Josephine is a master manipulator and she does not disappoint. She is so complex and good at being bad that you cannot but love her and her hair-twirling. And I cannot compliment Eliza’s acting enough. When her father refuses to help, she blackmails Riker into building her an EMP.

Poor Jordan thinking that Dellah is still alive. The only reason Clarke survived is because of the neural mesh from ALIE’s chip that still resides in her brain. Josephine said a mind-wipe hasn’t failed in centuries. Sorry, but I have no hope for Delilah. Unfortunately, Jordan does. He cares so much he even risks his life for her. Which is now in the balance. Well done on calling Bellamy out once again though. “You only care about Clarke.”

I knew Madi was taking the wrong path. And I loved Dad!Bellamy in this scene. Asking whether killing the primes is her idea or Sheidheda’s like a father would ask his teenager whose idea it was to smoke. And she acts superior to both Jordan and Echo yet keeps quiet when Bellamy defies her. Why would no-one watch her while they know what she’s up to?

Anyway, she fails in her plan, leading to two fatalities and all of them captured except for Echo. Jade has orders to bring Josephine back at any cost. She’s a null, worthless to the primes and now knows what they’re capable of. Her face at the end tells me she’s doing the complete opposite. Echo saved her, I think they’ll join forces in saving everyone but the primes.

Memori Forever?

If I wasn’t so mad at Murphy, that “sort-of” proposal would have been beautiful. One of them is dying. When a relationship on this show heads in the direction of happily-ever-after, it’s doomed. Linctavia. Marper. Kabby. And I don’t think it’s Murphy because what fun would a post-apocalyptic world be without the cockroach. Then again, there has been a lot of things in this season pointing to his death.

He points out that he’s never been perfect, not even close. Damn right. But Emori lived the survivor’s life back on earth too and understands him better than most people. Although he’s still willing to help Josephine, it’s not without guilt. It’s written all over his face. While he thought Clarke was already dead, going along with Josie’s plan was easy but now it’s more complicated. Which is why he ultimately tells Bellamy about Gabriel. At least he paid attention.

Who would Bellamy have chosen? Murphy or Clarke? My money’s on his soulmate for sure. Josephine cuts him anyway and his life is hanging by a thread for the third time in a short while.

Are we going daytrip 2.0?

Bellamy and Josephine are heading to Gabriel. I knew they would be the ones to ultimately rescue Clarke. Nothing else matters to Bellamy but bringing her back. Even Echo notices when she tells him, “Save Clarke.” She’s a spy, she can see what’s going on.

Clarke ultimately gave up her fight against Josephine when she was manipulated into thinking Bellamy deemed her expendable. For the one, it’s always the other and for the other, it’s always the one. They are soulmates, incomplete without one another. 

Bellamy’s willing to leave everyone, including his girlfriend, behind to save her. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. I’m pretty certain their little journey to the anomaly will be filled with Josephine taunting him in her effort to escape. And I  think we might get a confession out of this. Now, the million dollar question, will Gabriel be able to kill Josephine in order to save Clarke?

Diyoza or Murphy or Jordan?

All three of their lives are on the brink but who will die? My guess, none of them. Murphy’s chips exist for a reason. Kane will certainly reject this new life, will Murphy gain Gavin’s body? 

The anomaly called Diyoza, I think she had a ticket to enter. Octavia looks younger when she returns, maybe Diyoza comes back with her little girl. It is called the temporal anomaly after all. 

Russel assured Priya that they’ll do everything they can to save Jordan. So, he’ll probably survive too.

Since there’s no episode next week, I’ll probably do another predictions post. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

⊱ Don’t Doubt My Love ⊰

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: During a visit to Asgard, you wonder if you’re good enough for Loki.

Words: 1,660

A/N: I’ve secretly grown an obsession with Thor and Loki over the past couple of weeks after watching Thor 1-3. As a result, this (along with a few others) happened. I’m kinda nervous since I haven’t written about Loki before, but I tried my best. As always, hope you enjoy! 

[Credit to the GIF owner]

It was already quite late when you decided to leave your room and go for a walk around the palace. No matter how hard you tried, sleep evaded you. You were restless; tossing and turning underneath the covers for so long that you eventually gave up. Slipping on your shoes and tying a silk robe around your waist, you headed out of the door.

The halls were empty, void of any maids or guards that were present earlier. It took some time searching for the grand balcony you had spotted in the morning. Once you finally reached it, you found yourself standing outside in the cool air, basking underneath the moonlight.

Asgard at night was so peaceful, so serene. The stars seemed to be more plentiful and a lot brighter here than the ones back on earth. 

When Loki had invited you to Thor’s coronation, you could not refuse. You were always looking forward to seeing Asgard for yourself after hearing the countless stories from him. He was gifted when it came to his words, but despite the way he described his home, it was not enough to capture the kingdom’s real beauty.

Hours have now passed since you last saw of Loki. He had been incredibly busy attending to his royal duties from the moment of his arrival, leaving you to settle down all by yourself. 

Thor was kind enough to carry your bags and escort you to his brother’s quarters where you would be staying for the duration of your trip. Afterwards, he gave you a grand tour of the palace, and when Loki still hadn’t shown up, you ate lunch with the blond prince.

Unfortunately, Thor had some business to take care of after you two finished your meal, and again you were left alone. You decided to stroll through the Queen’s gardens, viewing the exotic flowers in awe and enjoying the fresh air.

As you sat on a wooden bench with a book in hand, a young woman appeared before you dressed in an elegant garb, introducing herself as a member of the court.

At first, she seemed kind. You were having a lovely conversation with her when she suddenly asked what your intentions with Loki were. You stared at her, dumbfounded and taken aback by her intrusiveness. When you excused yourself, the woman pressed on, even after you refused to give her an answer.

“I must warn you,” she had stated firmly, “that raven-haired prince tires very easily. You do not know how many bodies he takes and how quickly they are disposed of once he’s got a taste of them. I’m not sure what he sees in you but do understand that you do not belong here in Asgard, nor with Loki. Soon, you’ll return to Midgard where you belong, and he will not remain by your side.”

Her taunting voice still echoed in your ears. The wind blew softly against your skin, and you felt a chill run down your back. You figured that your little exchange in the garden was the reason why you couldn’t sleep. 

Ashamed to admit it, you believed that there was some truth behind her words.

You began to wonder what Loki sees in you. She was right, you weren’t special by any means. You were a nobody living in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment and working a dead end job back on earth.

Your life was nothing comparable to Loki’s. The man was a prince, a literal god. One day, you’ll grow old, get sick, and die. As morbid of a fact that was, it was true. 

Loki deserved someone more than a mere mortal, someone more than you.

A tear escaped your eye, and you used the sleeve of your robe to wipe it away. This trip was certainly not going according to plan. You wanted to enjoy yourself, relax and spend time with Loki. 

Doubt clouded your mind as your insecurities overwhelmed you. You had even planned on telling Loki that you love him during this trip, but now you weren’t too sure. You had never had fallen in love so deeply and fast, and you were scared.

You wanted to run.

“I had a feeling I would find you here,” the sudden sound of Loki’s voice caught you by surprise, and you quickly turned around to see him standing right behind you. His hands were clasped behind his back as he approached you carefully. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lied with a smile. “I just needed some air.”

Loki sighed as he rested a hand on your shoulder while you looked back out to the horizon. “I apologize for leaving you on your own today. There’s too much to do in preparation for the coronation in the upcoming days, and I needed to get those out of the way before we could...”

You nodded when Loki paused, but you weren’t listening. He took note of that, and he placed a hand underneath your jaw and gently turned your face towards his. “You have been crying.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, realizing that there was no point in denying it.

“Why?” He asked, concerned. Loki had never seen you cry, and you hated that you were showing him how weak you were.

“I don’t think this…” You trailed off as you darted your eyes away from his blue-green ones. “I don’t think we are going to work out.”

“What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, trying to keep more tears at bay, before your mouth trembled open as you continued, “You could be with someone more, Loki. Someone worth your while. We’re two different beings from two different worlds. You’re going to realize that I’m not for you and I’d rather have you figure that out now than later.”

There was silence, and having said everything you could think of, you decided to leave Loki with his own thoughts. You started walking back inside the palace when you felt his hand encircle your wrist, pulling you back and preventing you from escaping.

“Have you lost your mind?” You heard him ask, noticing both the anger and disappointment in his voice. “We have been together for almost five months. I know it isn’t a long time, but I thought our relationship was going great. What happened to make you think this way?”

You remained quiet as Loki’s hands came up to cup the sides of your face, his gaze boring into yours. You could see his tears forming and the pained expression he wore. He was hurting because of you.

“There was this woman,” you muttered in a hushed tone. “She told me that I didn’t belong here and that I didn’t deserve you.”

“And you believe her?”

Sniffling, you gave him a nod, and Loki let out a deep sigh. You glanced down to the ground, afraid to make eye contact with him.

“Darling, please look at me,” he requested, but you shook your head. Loki repeated again for a second time, and reluctantly, you finally did what he asked. Your heart ached at the sight of the sad smile on his face.

“Listen to my words, my sweet,” he began softly. “From the very beginning, you have accepted me for who I am. You chose not to fear the monster that I once was, but rather see me as the changed man that I had become. Meeting you has been the best thing that has ever happened, and I have grown to be a better person because of you. Darling, you are nothing like that woman, nor anyone else. You are strong, caring, beautiful, and unique, you are all I could ever want in a partner. You are not just what I deserve, but much more.”

“Loki…” you whispered his name, but his words had left you speechless. All you could do was lean forward and delicately place a kiss on his lips. 

Loki eagerly responded, his hands moving down to grasp you by the waist as you wrapped yours around his neck. When you pulled away, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you rest the palm of your hand on Loki’s chest, feeling his heartbeat flutter underneath it. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to doubt you–to doubt us.”

“It’s alright, dear,” Loki tenderly assured, bringing your hand up to his lips and sweetly kissing each fingertip before smiling down on you. “You had captured my heart and held it ever since the day we met. I love you, darling. Never doubt that.”

Warmth spread through your cheeks at Loki’s declaration. It was as if those three little words made all of your previous worries disappear, and you were left with a man who wanted you as much as you wanted him.

You were tired of running, you were tired of beating yourself down. Loki found you special, and you didn’t want to deny yourself happiness any longer.

“I love you too, Loki,” you returned with a widening grin.

“Come, it is getting late, and I plan on showing you more of Asgard tomorrow. Let’s get some rest,” Loki said, but you stayed put.

“Can we stay out here for just a bit more?”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Anything for you, my love.”

Loki buried his head in the crook of your neck as the two of you held each other close. It wasn’t long until he led you back into the bedroom and you slipped under the covers together. He took one of his arms and draped it across your waist, pulling your body flush against him. 

Just before exhaustion took you both, you felt Loki kiss the corner of your mouth and then murmuring once more about how much he loves you.

It didn’t matter to you if people thought you had no place in Asgard. What only mattered was that you were in the comfort and security of Loki’s arms, the one place where you knew you truly belonged.

Backstage of the Universe - ch7

TW for panic attack from the very beginning of this fic, including references to past child abuse - hence the early cut on this chapter! However I do hope you enjoy it, because it’s my favourite so far ^_^ in which Erik talks Charles down and is generally way more amazing than he thinks he is.

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you prefer!

Erik had barely a moment between realising that Charles was panicking, and being hit by the wave of panicked projection. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, trying, failing to get enough oxygen, he was going to die, he was--

“No,” said Erik firmly, pressing his fist into the plush carpet and twisting, grounding himself in the sensation. He pushed himself up, stumbled forwards, shoving the box of papers onto the ground and squeezing Charles’ biceps. “Charles! Charles, listen to me, you’re not dying, but you need to focus!”

Charles whimpered, and Erik’s heart ached. He couldn’t do this! He should get Raven, get someone, anyone, who was softer, who could give care to someone in this state. Svlad was crying, curled up on the floor, and Erik couldn’t help both of them - he probably couldn’t help either one. Erik would surely only make it worse. He was shattered glass and broken edges, people cut themselves on his presence and that’s how he liked it. He couldn’t even manage to keep from hurting those he cared about. He was not kind.

“OK, Charles, it’s OK, let me go get Raven, I’ll just--”

Please please sorry sorry don’t deserve anything good just a piece of shit a bad boy never try hard enough why won’t you try harder just work harder you disappoint me Charles you pathetic piece of crap pathetic--

Erik dropped to his knees, pressing closer, all thoughts of leaving him trampled. He cupped Charles’ face in both hands and rested his forehead against Charles’. “No, Charles, you’re not, you’re not, do you hear me? You’re the strongest man I know.”

Fucking useless child won’t try hard enough I know he can reach further than this but we’ve plateaued disappointed no no I’m sorry I can do it I can be better--

Erik closed his eyes and imagined pulling Charles into his mind. As sharp-edged and utilitarian a landscape as his mind probably was, he would at least have more control. He hoped. He had a sharp spike of panic, of I have no idea what I’m doing, but pushed it back ruthlessly. This was not the time for doubt. “Come on, Charles, come into my mind, look, I’m inviting you… you can… can hide here, if you want?”

--leave me he’ll leave again and they all leave and it’s only right I deserve that I deserve to be alone when I’ll only turn into them into a monster broken keep making the wrong choices--

“No, Charles, listen to me,” Erik babbled, words pouring from his lips or from his mind, he wasn’t sure which. “Come closer, focus on my voice, focus on my thoughts alone. Here, I’ll keep you safe here, come into my mind. I’ll keep you safe. You’re safe now.”

There was a hush, and a popping sound, and dead silence. Erik sat on the bare floor and cradled Charles’ small body in his arms, resting on his lap. He rocked, and rocked, and Charles sobbed against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he poured out all his grief. Erik closed his eyes and kissed the soft brown hair, breathing in deeply in relief.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Charles whispered, wiping his face.

“Shh, none of that,” Erik said stiffly, but he still laid another kiss on him and stroked his back.

Charles hunched his back and hid his face in Erik’s shirt. “No, I’m so sorry. God, that was just pathetic, I’m…”

“You are not pathetic, Charles,” Erik clipped. “You were spiralling, caught up in memories. It happens.”

“Not to you.”

Erik hesitated. “Not anymore.” He stroked his hand down Charles’ back, fingers bumping over his vertebrae. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

“Tell you what?”

“That you had been treated that way. That you’d been tortured in the name of science, just like me. Like those children.”

Charles scoffed. “What they did to me was nothing, Erik. It’s pathetic that I can’t handle memories of a few rough words, and if you think that I would dare to compare what I went through to your… your…”

“You are not pathetic,” he repeated sharply.

“I am,” said Charles, defiant and grieving at the same time. “I am pathetic. I can’t cope with these little hardships--” he paused and before them a memory appeared. Erik staring up at Xavier Manor, Charles at his side and the children behind them. Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship.

“Charles, I--”

“Do you know what I thought then?” Charles asked, looking at the memory in front of them, at the two men they had been. “I wanted to argue, I wanted to say it had been hateful, and then I remembered that every single one of the people around me had suffered so much more than me, and I felt so guilty at my disgusting privilege. How pathetic - how dare I feel hurt at my memories, poor little rich boy, when my hardships were nothing - nothing at all. Next to yours they were the buzzing of a fly, and yet there you were. The strongest man I’d ever met.”

Erik gently turned Charles’ face away from the memory. “Do you think so poorly of me? Of all of us?”

“What? No, of course--”

“Do you think that just because I’ve been through something you judge to be worse, that I have no room in my heart for compassion for you?”

Charles ducked his head, and behind him Erik caught a glimpse of a different memory, of Erik staring Charles down in the plane to Paris and blaming him for their people’s death. Erik frowned and looked away. “I’m an idiot, Charles. You already know this.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said again, looking back up at the memory, playing on a loop. All the names of the dead. “I should have been stronger. I’ve always been so weak.”

“Bullshit,” Erik said sharply, and bit his tongue. This was why he should have called Raven. He took a deep breath and tried again, holding Charles’ gaze, even though it burned him, like it always did. The depth of his sincerity and hope. “You’re strong in ways I’ll never know, Charles. Strong enough to hold a group of foolish, traumatised children together and defeat a monster. Strong enough to keep trying, when the world kept wanting to push you down. Strong enough to get up every morning and face the day with kindness and faith and so much compassion it hurts to look at. And you are strong enough to deal with this, too.”

Charles’ eyes drifted shut, and suddenly he looked exhausted. “I wish I could stay here,” he said. “Where are we?”

Erik looked around, and laughed. “My mother’s kitchen,” he said. “I would sit under the table, out of the way while she cooked, play and listen to her sing.” He smiled out in wonder. “I’d forgotten about this place.”

“And you brought me here,” said Charles softly, looking up at Erik in wonder, and something else, memories appearing of chess matches by the fireside, legs stretched out in front of them, long nights and arguments. Charles blushed when he saw them projected there, and they faded to mist.

“Are you ready to go back?” Erik asked. “I don’t know how long we’ve been gone, but I think you were projecting your panic attack to half of the state.”

“Oh God,” Charles said, eyes widening in horror. “Oh no, the children!”

They appeared back in the darkened room, Erik’s head spinning with the sudden change. “Svlad,” Charles called softly. “Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry about that, I really…” Charles sniffed suddenly and wiped his face. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

The little boy uncurled from the floor, peering up at him with wide, scared eyes. Erik held out a hand for him, and just like that, he stumbled forwards, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist and pressing his face into his chest, as Erik petted his back.

“Oh, sweetheart, you poor little thing, I’m so sorry. No, no, of course I’m not angry with you at all, I was afraid, and… and sad, but I didn’t want to make you feel like it was your fault.” He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. “God, I just keep… messing it up with you. I’m sorry, Svlad.”

“Dirk,” he said softly.

“Pardon?” said Charles, looking down.

“I… I prefer to be called Dirk Gently,” he said, shooting a look at Erik, then back up at Charles. “If you don’t…”

“Dirk,” said Charles, smiling and stroking his hair. “Of course. We’ll all call you that from now on.”

***

The sky was dark, now. All the children were in their beds, exhausted after the enforced panic attack. The rest of the household walked quietly around, avoiding each other’s eyes, awkward with Charles, and it all made Erik want to bash their heads together. None of this was helping in his campaign to stop Charles calling himself pathetic.

Charles looked up at him as they made their way back to the study after saying goodnight to Dirk. “Thank you, my friend,” he said softly.

Erik smirked at him. Because he’d never been able to do soft and compassionate and nice in his life. “It made a bit of a change for me,” he said. “Saving you for once.”

Charles stopped, his mouth falling open. Erik took one, two more steps before he realised, and turned. “How can you not know?” Charles asked.

“Know what?” Erik said, retracing his steps, his hands still in his pockets.

“You saved me so many times, Erik,” he said, ocean blue eyes staring up at him in that way that he could never handle, the endless depths of hope and something. “All those times before Cuba, every time I thought I was making a terrible decision, when every step I took felt like the stupidest idea I’d ever had, you were right there next to me, and you believed in me with such conviction I could feel it in my bones.”

Erik frowned. “You doubted yourself? You, the cocky little brat of a professor, you doubted--”

“I doubt every word out of my own mouth,” Charles said, his lip curling in bitterness. “Did you really not know?”

“How could I?” Erik laughed softly. “I’m not the mind reader.”

“But I… I thought I was obvious. I thought everyone could see right through me, so many people did… their thoughts were always so… but you. You never stopped… you had so much faith in me. It was dizzying. I’ve never felt so strong as when you looked at me.”

Erik took one more step towards him, the moment hanging between them like crystal. He looked down at the watery blue eyes, the tears so quick to come still.

“You saved me so many times,” Charles said again, almost in a whisper.

Erik dropped to his knees in front of Charles, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’m looking at you now,” he said.

Charles took a shuddering breath. “I know,” he said. “It’s terrifying. And… and wonderful.”

Slowly, Erik closed the distance between them, his thumb brushing the tears away from Charles’ cheek, and kissed him.

Tagging everyone who interacted with last chapter - thank you so much! @thewritersspeaking, @slytherclaw134689, @akasanata, @iwillshipyouman and @stuckinlight

Knowing Mortality (Femslash February)

Prompt: Wings Fandom: Avatar Pair: AzulaxTyLee Song Rec:  Within Temptation’s Stairway To The Skies

Summary: Azula makes a sacrifice on the battlefield and is left for dead. In her final moments she sees an angel.

A little warning for a mildly graphic description of character death. I tried to keep it tasteful though. Also going to note that in this fic, Azula and her family are not royals. 

Blood seeps between her lips, she doesn’t know exactly where it is coming from. She does know that she has a blade in her belly, it leaves her queasy and shaky. She does know where her fellow combatants are. She thinks that they thought she was already dead, so they have left her to actually die. Or maybe they knew she wasn’t dead yet but have deemed her as a lost cause and left her anyways.

No matter, they are right.

She will be dead soon.

Azula clutches her middle as the pain flares to a higher intensity. She doesn’t want to die. She isn’t one to blabber on and on about how she is to young to die. But she is the youngest on her team. The youngest and the smallest. She considers that this is another reason they have chosen to leave her. But this doesn’t add up, she is the youngest and smallest but she has respect. Respect and authority. She was a battle away from becoming a general.

It becomes apparent that they truly had thought that she was already a corpse.

She is starting to feel like one.

She hopes fervently that someone will come back for her.

That a lone traveler will spot a dying girl and provide aid.

An hour or so passes and not a soul comes by.

The meadow is vacant and Azula knows that no one is coming.

She has seen it before. The battle has turned the place into an unusable wasteland. Farms can’t be grown on soil so charred and bloodied. The vegetation that was there is dead. Flowers have been burned to the root and those that haven’t, have been sucked dry of water. Where the ground isn’t blackened, it is cracked beyond use. There isn’t a body of water to utilize.

There is no reason for anyone to weather the stick of dead bodies.

They have always romanized death on the battlefield. They told her stories of war heroes, immortalized by their final acts. They painted it as this glorious and honorable thing. As an empowering, brave sacrifice. But she feels anything but. She is terrified. Terrified and dirty. Far from glorious, blood coats the lower have of her. Her face is clammy and muddy. She smells like death and defecation. The pain has turned her stomach enough for her to heave a mix of blood whatever else was in her body. It isn’t empowering, it is silently humiliating, even if no one else is around to see it. She doesn’t feel like a hero. She feels like a frightened child.

She is a frightened child.

She doesn’t feel strong.

She feels weak. Right to her very core.

And she grows weaker still as her blood wells around her.

She cries to herself because she doesn’t want to die. She’d departed from her family on awful terms. She wanted to one up Zu-Zu in front of father, who constantly flashed all of his wartime badges. She wanted to make her mother feel guilty for not caring for her as much as Azula thought she ought to.

She is going to feel guilty alright.

Because her daughter isn’t coming home.

Though she wants to, Azula can’t even cry out. It hurts too much. She thinks of sending a lightning bolt to her chest. But she is too weak to produce anything more than a tiny spark. A spark that she very well might have imagined. Her body shudders.

Breathing is becoming a task and she is certain that her eyes are glossing over.

Still, the pain doesn’t relent.

There is nothing noble or bold about this.

But Azula doesn’t die so soon.

Her body holds on for another three days.

She wishes it didn’t.

She feels a warm hand cup her cold cheek. She is shivering violently. The quivers of death. A part of her still isn’t ready. She still doesn’t want to die. But the pain is unbearable and the discomforts of laying in her own filth and clotting blood are even worse. She wants to die as much as she wants to live. She doesn’t want to die, she realizes, she just wants someone to take her out of this miserable state. She wants someone to save her.

The same hand brushes hair out of her sticky face. She doesn’t know how this person can stand to touch her. “It’s going to be okay.”

But Azula knows that it isn’t.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Azula squints, trying to focus on the girl talking to her. But what she sees doesn’t make sense and she decides that what she is seeing as a hallucination brought about by her dying brain as it shuts itself down. A final defense mechanism to distract her from what is about to happen.

It is a good distraction, she must admit. And she doesn’t mind succumbing to it. The fingers stroking her cheek seem to shimmer with white-gold light. The light doesn’t seem to come from within so much as it looks like the light is pouring onto the hand.

“Who are you?” Azula tries to choke out, but she doesn’t think that she has managed anything tangible. Somehow the girl still knows.

“My name is TyLee.” She takes Azula into her arms. Azula has the awareness to feel bad for probably dirtying the girl’s white gown.

Azula reaches out and brushes her fingers against wings that look like they are made of diamond and pink pearl. But they feel like they are made of silk or...it is like a fabric she has never felt before. “It hurts.”

“I know.” TyLee nods. She can see the sorrow in her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

TyLee offers a sad half smile and Azula knows.

She wasn’t ready, but she nods anyways.

“You’re going to feel a lot better soon.” She holds her hand above Azula’s chest. The glow on her hand seems to double in luminosity. And then she stops, seeming to hesitate. “You took the blade for someone else?”

Azula nods, the motion ails her.

“You loved her didn’t you?”  She leans in closer and Azula detects the scent of fresh rain on summertime hay.

Azula’s lower lip quivers and her eyes burn.

“She made it out alive.” TyLee notes.

Azula tries to smile. At least she isn’t dying for nothing at all. She doesn’t know how TyLee can stand to do so, but she brings her lips to Azula’s. The taste is like vanilla and sugar. The feeling is like being wrapped in silk and bathed in warm light. Her stomach flutters pleasantly as pain is enveloped by a gentler feeling. Like brushing up against the wool of a koala-sheep or finding oneself in the middle of a swarm of butterflies.

She supposes that dead isn’t so dreadful.

.oOo.

When she wakes her body feels lighter.

Weightless.

Perhaps it is because she doesn’t have a body at all.

She looks down at the one she once had. It looks even smaller than she had imagined. Her eyes are closed. She almost can’t recognize herself, death had hollowed her cheeks and paled her skin so much.  Her hair is matted with blood and grime. Her body isn’t as elegant as it had been before the war. A raven is already making use of the wound that ended her.

A lump forms in her throat and she thinks that she might cry all over again.

TyLee takes her hand. “You don’t need to see that.”

She doesn’t want to.

TyLee sweeps a hand through her hair. Silky, black hair that smells of  burning sage. TyLee takes Azula’s hand and holds it up for her to see. It has the same radiance that she has seen on TyLee’s but with a blue tinge instead of gold. Her skin is still very pale, but in a lively, glowing way.

Azula feels celestial.

Divine.

And she supposes that there is a reason for that. She is somehow still afraid.

“That will pass.” TyLee notes. “It’s kind of hard to adjust at first…” She trails off, following Azula’s gaze to her ravaged physical self. TyLee cups Azula’s cheek again and turns her head. “Don’t look at your human body, it’s better if you don’t.”

TyLee is right. Her physical form has been lost to her and there is nothing to gain from staring at it and making herself ache more. Nothing to gain from putting more fear into her...does she have a soul anymore? Perhaps she is only a soul now. She shouldn’t be afraid still.

“That will pass.” TyLee repeats herself. “You still have a good part of your human mind with you. Eventually it will fade and you won’t be afraid anymore.” She takes Azula’s hand.

“Will I remember?”

“Your human life?” TyLee nods. “Of course. But you won’t long to have it back, that will pass too.”

Azula doesn’t know if she believes her. The girl drifts closer and pulls her into a hug, her wings folding around Azula’s new form. A form she is not yet familiar with. Not yet comfortable with. She doesn’t know if it suits her aesthetically. But it can’t be any worse than what is down there.

“You’re beautiful.” TyLee notes, stroking her wings.

Wings that Azula is now aware that she has. Wings that she has been using wholly instinctually. Wings of a radiant blue. Wings of blue feathers that end in fire not unlike the kind she had mastered in life. Perhaps this form will suit her after all. “Can we go somewhere else, this place is depressing.”

TyLee smiles. “Let me show you your new home.”

One and a Half Miles

Relationships: Emori/John Murphy, Monty Green&John Murphy - AO3

Rating: T

Summary: John Murphy is bleeding out, and neither Emori or Monty are going to let him die. [Taking place during the season 5 finale.]

“I’m not going to do that to you, Emori. I can’t run.”

“Yes you can,” she tells the stupid, stubborn, selfish, selfless man that she loves. She’s about to repeat it, would gladly spend their last nine minutes just getting him to his feet if it meant he could see a future with both of them in it, but Monty has other ideas.

“No, but I can,” he says, and suddenly sound is rushing back into her ears, and how had she been able to block it all out? The siren pulses, like a dying heartbeat, and John screams like an electric shock. All three of them restart.

Gunfire is the loudest thing Emori’s ever known, bone rattling in a way desert storms and coyote howls could never match.

The silence that comes when it ends is equally strange. Both she and John hold their breath, hunkered down in the back of the rover. Even with his face clenched in pain, he doesn’t make a sound as they wait for the bubble of silence to burst. A few seconds later, it does. A mighty roar splitting the air from the rear of the gorge.

John exhales a grunt as he props himself up, holding his shoulder.

“Did the bullets go through?” she asks, swallowing her fear. In his all black clothes she can’t tell how much blood he’s lost. He shakes his head. Good, then he won’t bleed out. She hopes. His face is still screwed in pain.

Outside the rover footsteps thud against the ground. The army is pressing forward, but she and John will fall back with the wounded. She pushes open the rover’s back door, catching sight of Echo and Bellamy, waiting up ahead to meet Madi.

Bellamy looks ready to run over and help her when their eyes meet, but she shakes her head. “Go!” She shouts, “We’re right behind you!”

She turns back to John as the army runs past. She has to lock part of herself away when she looks at him, hurt, with shattered breathing. “Come on,” she says, sliding out of the rover and offering him a hand, “we don’t want to be left behind.”

He takes it, stumbling out of the rover. Already the bulk of the army has past, rushing into the valley. For a moment the silence returns, until John murmurs, “Holy shit.” She can’t believe it either, they’ve won. But it doesn't feel like it, there’s a pit in her stomach that’s telling her it’s not over.

“Can you walk?” she says, he’s leaning on the side of the rover, looking worse than he had a couple seconds ago. She presses a hand to his shoulder, and something swirls in her gut when she feels how saturated his coat is. Her palm is covered in his blood in an instant. She slings his uninjured arm over her shoulder and puts her arm around his waist, it would almost be familiar if he wasn’t throwing most of his weight on her.

“Yeah,” he bites out, teeth pressed together, and she wonders if he knows how much he’s leaning on her, but she can’t bear to ask. “Let’s go.” They push forward too keep pace with the stragglers, John unsteady on his feet, but still walking. Half the people around them are on stretchers, and in a messed up way it’s good to see people closer to death than John is, he’s strong, he’ll be fine. She’s worrying over nothing, he’s lived through worse.

She catches sight of Harper’s bright hair a second later, carrying the front half of a stretcher with Jackson.

“Harper,” she calls out on instinct, with nothing to really say. Harper turns and meets her eyes, a relieved smile on her face even as she plows forward. Then she sees John and her smile shrinks.

“Murphy are you okay?” She calls out, it’s the only moment she slows by any measure.

“You know me,” he grunts, “I’ve had worse.”

Harper nods and keeps moving, reassured by his lame joke, but Emori can’t understand how she’s relieved when there’s that aching hollowness in his voice, that raw pain.

“Good job, you guys,” Monty says, having creeped up on her right without her notice. That should be a warning sign that something is slipping in her head, no one ever creeps up on her. She nods because it’s what she’s supposed to do, glad that the uphill slope into the valley gives her a reason for her lack of response. It’s not time to be patting themselves on the back yet.

The trees and mist should be a relief, especially after the blood soaked sand of the gorge, but it’s not as green as it was when she left it, and even when leaves begin to crunch under her feet the stinging smell of blood persists. It’s John’s, oozing out of him to dirty Eden’s floor. Her grip on his waist tightens and it’s the only thing that keeps him upright when he stumbles on his next step.

“Come on,” she says, “I’ve got you.” And if it’s possible he leans into her more, but it’s fine, it’s nothing she can’t handle. Her steps are slower but they’re still in the right direction.

“Emori,” Monty says gently next to her, and how had she forgotten he was there? “Are you—”

“I’ve got him,” she interrupts, ignoring the panic in her voice. Maybe Monty doesn’t hear it, or doesn’t recognize it—has she ever been panicked in front of Monty?—because he nods, and rushes forward to stand next to Harper and it’s then that she notices they’re the last in the group.

“Emori,” John says, his head now slumped forward, his voice thick like the blood weeping out of his shoulder. “Emori, I’ve got a bad feeling.” He stumbles again, but she catches him. She bites her own lip and now she’s bleeding too but she catches him. “Emori, listen to me,” he says once they’re taken three more unsteady steps and she doesn’t want to listen to him. She’ll gladly hear a thousand apologies, but not until those bullets are out of his shoulder and there is more blood pumping in his veins. And like a vengeful god, her wish is granted, a siren’s wail cutting off whatever he might have said.

“You’re surviving this,” she says, pushing them forward to catch up with the others. She thinks he nods, but maybe the movement of his head is just a result of his unsteady gait. She doesn’t want to know.

He slips forward more, bent double as he walks, and her arms fall to his, trying to pull him upright. She’s not tired, she’s got him. She’s got him.

Then’s Raven’s voice crackles, resounding with the siren. “Everyone listen up, life as we know it is about to end. Again. Get back to the transport ship now for immediate evacuation.”

No.

There’s been a bitter taste in her mouth since she climbed behind the wheel of the rover that morning and now she knows why.

She grits her teeth, bites down on her fear before it can well up in her. Her grip on John’s arm tightens, even as he lets his arm go limp.

“Wait, wait, wait, stop a second,” John gasps, but they can’t stop, ahead of her she hears it. Nine minutes. The part of her that’s soft and weak combines with the part of her that loves John endlessly, and she ignores the fact that they those parts of her haven’t mixed in months (but they have, haven’t they) and she settles him against a tree.

She thought she was panicked before, but she wasn’t. And she’s not afraid, but she’s not calm either, so she touches him, just touches him. His shoulder, his thigh, and he’s still so warm, so alive. So why is he clenching his eyes shut against her? Against the world? It’s just the pain, she reminds herself, as Niylah comes to sit on his other side.

“He won’t make it,” she says, without even looking him over. She’s wrong. She’s so wrong Emori could throttle her, but Niylah stands, sympathy absent from her face. “We have to go without him.” Emori stands up, gives John room to breathe, to keep breathing, to catch his breath before they keep on moving. She watches as the others push forward, stronger than before, as Harper kisses Monty before going with them.

They’re going too, she decides, she just needs to get John on his feet. And now she has Monty to help her.

“She’s righ’” John says when she kneels next to him, hand on his shoulder, his leg, still warm. “Just go. It’s too far. There’s not enough time.”

No. She's left him before: in the desert, in the woods, in space. In the home they'd built for each other. But they’ll never find each other again if she leaves now.

And he’s wrong. There is enough time. She just has to convince him.

“Well I guess we’re both going to die,” she says, draws out the words so he knows, so he understands. She’d have died for him six years ago, and she'll die with him today. But only if she has to. “Because there's no way in hell I can leave the man I love behind.”

John’s face crumples, a different kind of pain to add to the first. And she hates that there was ever a time where he thought she didn't love him, where she had wished she hadn't. But he knows now, as sure as he used to. Hope swells briefly in her chest, maybe that’ll be enough.

But he shakes his head.

“I’m not going to do that to you, Emori. I can’t run.”

“Yes you can,” she tells the stupid, stubborn, selfish, selfless man that she loves. She’s about to repeat it, would gladly spend their last nine minutes just getting him to his feet if it meant he could see a future with both of them in it, but Monty has other ideas.

“No, but I can,” he says, and suddenly sound is rushing back into her ears, and how had she been able to block it all out? The siren pulses, like a dying heartbeat, and John screams like an electric shock. All three of them restart.

Monty hunches over with John on his shoulders, and her hand goes to his back to keep them both steady. Monty and John heave in counterpoint and she hardly breathes at all, muttering nonsense to the both of them as they push on ahead.

“We’re almost there,” she says for the sixth time because Monty’s red in the face and so is John, and that stupid siren says they only have three minutes to impact.

“If we don’t get back, Harper will never let you live it down, Monty,” she blabbles because she can’t breathe and she’s pretty sure her heart isn’t beating right. And nothing makes sense. “Echo will cry, Monty, we can’t make Echo cry.”

“None of us are dying today, Emori,” John grits out. And somewhere she hears two minutes blare in her ears, but her heart soars anyway. Yes, she thinks.

“Yes,” she says. “You’re doing so good, Monty, we’re so close.”

“Almost there,” he huffs, the seventh time, and she nods even though he isn’t looking at her. Monty could make her believe in anything.

They break through the mist, and suddenly the ship is there, a looming salvation. A countdown starts, from somewhere, and she thinks of it like a simulation, as long as you’re strapped in by zero, you’re good. They’ll be good.

They break through some bushes, and Bellamy is there, a friendly salvation. He rushes over, and puts John’s other arm over his shoulder and he and Monty carry him between them as she reaches out and squeezes Monty’s bicep. It’s just a few more steps.

“With time to spare,” Bellamy quips as they climb the ramp and Clarke pulls a lever to close the door. Emori feels the thrusters boost from under them, and she gasps in relief, hearing more than seeing Bellamy clasp Monty’s shoulder.

The ship lurches to side suddenly, a second death wave roaring under them. Clarke is the only one who manages to stay on her feet. Bellamy, John, Monty, and herself all end up in a pile on the floor, and for a weird second she’s thrown back to her first few seconds on the Ark. It’s probably all the panting, Clarke’s the only one with any sort of composure.

Emori sits up, before any of the boys, leaning over to put pressure on John’s wounds. There’s glassy disbelief in his eyes, and his next breath might have passed as a chuckle if he wasn’t so exhausted.

“How do you still weigh that much on an all algae diet?” Monty says, breaking the silence, and they all laugh, but maybe her most of all, tears falling into the corners of her mouth.

“Thought that stuff was supposed to account for all our nutritional needs,” John says, a six year old joke, because the stupid man always has to get in the last word. His left hand comes up to cover hers on his shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean it’ll make you a dead weight,” Monty says, his beautiful smile bright on his face, because no one’s dead, they’re all alive.

“Not dead,” John counters, reading her mind, and Bellamy laughs, so the rest of them have to. “Thanks, Monty,” he says, lower, and for a moment she thinks she’s the only one that’s heard, but she looks up and Monty’s still grinning at the both of them.

“‘Course,” he says lowly to match, and pats John’s leg. “Now go see Abby so you can keep being not-dead.”

“Not-dead,” he repeats as she helps him up. He feels lighter and she likes to think that’s because the sense of doom is gone and not because of blood loss. “That’s our new thing, Green,” he continues, leaning his head against hers, joking and half-delusional, “not-deadweight.”

“Sure Murphy,” Monty replies, “It means no cowardice, no uselessness.” Emori doesn’t know what he means, but John must, he blinks heavily.

“Yeah,” John agrees after a moment, and Monty leans forward to pat his shoulder one more time before leaving the strange entry-way to the ship, to find Harper, no doubt. Bellamy is hot on his tails, but Clarke lingers for a moment like she wants to offer them help but then decides not to, leaving them alone as they slowly make their way further into the ship. John’s limbs are heavy, as are hers, but they’re alive. They’re all alive. “Yeah,” John repeats one last time, just to her.