#(ash does not know the truth either)

[ginzuras]

still thinking abt the ashfur redemption au if anyone was wondering

[sylviareviar]

hey guys i've been playing through pokemon black and white (i borrowed a copy of white from my local library) and every time i play these games i always do it with a "Pip" and "Fluffy". Since the game would be unplayable if I kept Fluffy as a Swablu, I allow myself to evolve him into an Altaria when the time comes, but the whole point of Pip's character is that he doesn't evolve, because he just can't. Therefore, anytime I play a game that has Piplup in it, I use it without evolving it and treat it as my main Water-type Pokemon, sometimes even replacing my starter.

My question is this: I'm getting to a point in Pokemon White that it's getting a little too difficult for me to keep playing with Pip as he is (if I could only give him custom stats, I'd give him higher bulk and special attack with a small boost to speed so he'd be able to take more hits without being so helpless). Should I evolve him and forget about my little "anime challenge"?

I feel kinda bad, but since White isn't my game anyway, I don't feel as bad as if it were my own game, Pokemon Black or Black 2. I don't intend to evolve him in either of those games. Plus, if I evolve him in White, it would be as though, in another universe, Pip was born with the capability to evolve. I'll be able to teach him moves I couldn't teach him as a Piplup and pass those on to future eggs if I want to do any further breeding. It's just that I keep hesitating anytime he levels up and keep cancelling the evolution.

I've kinda found myself at a crossroads here...

[cephalomod]

for people who don’t watch Squiddo, I can’t exasperate enough how much their entire lifesteal season 5 revolves around Ashswag.

in every single episode, Squiddo is either motivated by Ash or the major conflict of the episode is Squiddo doing something that goes against/could harm Ash. by watching solely her videos, you get the impression that Ash is Squiddo’s closest ally and have a generally positive opinion of him

this is contrasted beautifully by Ashswag’s s5 video. where Squiddo isn’t mentioned at all, and Ash isn’t running around protecting spawn and being a good person - he’s a shitty self-centred capitalist.

Squiddo also makes Ash look more impressive than he is. for example, in her nuke video, Squiddo implies that Ash was able to singlehandedly stop the nuke and help her kill Wemmbu. they conveniently leave out that Ash was working with a group, was only able to locate the nuke because Spoke gave him coords, that the nuke actually DID blow up spawn, and the fact that Wemmbu actually escaped from Ash. there are many moments like this but this is the funniest and most egregious one

lifesteal youtube videos are always great in how much of an unreliable narrator the creator gets to be (and god knows I am not the first person in this fandom to point that out). I love this particular example though because it’s remarkable the lengths Squiddo goes to twist the truth in order to make the story Ash-centric. this makes a LOT of sense in retrospect with the dating reveal. Squiddo also said that they didn’t have an in-character explanation to giving Ash a heart on their first day, so tried to play it as their character idolising him from there on out, so some of it is conveying their character’s idolisation of Ash

I just can’t stop thinking about the wider character implications here. just… the idea of cAsh genuinely being cSquiddo’s entire world and her having an incredibly distorted perception of him. the fact that he, though he does care for her, cares nowhere close to the extent she does for him. the fact that cAsh is an awful person, and not nearly as competent as she believes he is, and cSquiddo will never accept these things due to her unwavering loyalty

please. do you guys see my toxic unrequited s5 squidswag vision.

anyways, I present the fucking thumbs up vs heart hands art that Squiddo drew that one time, which perfectly encapsulates this whole thing:

[thejukeboxzero]

Finals are still kicking my ass, but that's neither here nor there, Pt.5 mon amis-

_____

It’s been a few days since Dean got laid out by a guy who buys his kid light up sneakers and he’s built a fun list of lies to tell customers when they inevitably ask about the bruise that’s blossomed across his cheekbone. 

So far his favorite choices have been ‘an angry drunk guy tried to start a fight after closing’, ‘Sammy”s massive ego bumped into me’, and- much to Ellen's appallment and Jo’s amusement- ‘it was a sex thing’.

Because, really, when you’re a bartender you really can’t have people knowing that some scruffy professor in a rumpled trench coat took you out, then people will start thinking they can take you on when you cut ‘em off or toss them to the curb.

“I don’t blame him for hitting you right across the kisser,” Ellen grumbles after Dean tells his newest tall tale to the deliveryman just passing through, “I wanna’ do the same right about now.”

“I thought you loved me.” He asks with feigned sadness.

Ellen had gotten the truth out of Dean within the first five minutes of his shift, which was no surprise for either of them, she knows when he’s lying and how to get God's honest truth outta’ him. It’s infuriating.

“I love that you know when to stop pushin’ your luck.”

“Touche.” He goes back to wiping down the counters, biting back any more snarky remarks in the process.

It’s early in the day now (well, early for him), a little after 3pm, which means there’s barely anyone in the building, just the day drinkers who insist they can stop at any time, Ellen and Dean getting the bar ready for another evening of college students trying to pass off fake IDs made of printer paper, and Jo milling around the dining area, stocking napkins and condiments and whatever else she does (Dean doesn't know, and he doesn't want to, you couldn’t pay him to be a waiter, he’s happy behind the bar).

The front door opens with a brassy jingle and Dean snaps his head upwards only to be sorely disappointed at the sight of the Ash stumbling in, probably running off zero sleep and a liver-killing amount of energy drinks.

“Why’s Dean lookin’ at me like I just kicked his puppy?” Ash asks no one in particular, plopping down in the stool nearest to him as Dean picks his cleaning back up, “And what happened to your face?”

Dean turns around with a cocky grin, ready to make up the most obscene excuse he can possibly dream up, but Jo beats him to it.

“Some crusty old professor kicked his ass ‘cos he abducted his kid.” 

“He’s not crusty or old!” Dean throws his rag down on the worn wooden bar top with a wet ‘thwack’, “And I didn’t ‘abduct’ shit!”

“Top notch priorities there,” Jo chastises, sitting between Ash and Dean with a pile of unrolled silverware, “Defend his looks then your innocence.”

“It’s not like that, Jo.”

Jo leans towards Ash and whispers dramatically, “Dean has a man-crush on the…” She takes a breath, feigning a swooning motion, “strong blue-eyed academic.”

“I do not!” He feels heat creeping into his cheeks, “And- I- I never called him that.”

“No,” Jo agrees with a smug grin, “You just said he had ‘one of the hardest punches you have ever felt’ and that ‘his eyes just drilled into your soul’, which is way worse, in my opinion.”

“That sounds like a man-crush.” Ash confirms, accepting the glass of water Ellen silently slides him.

“I do not have a man-crush!” Dean turns his back to the peanut gallery, busying his hands by getting a new towel from the bleach bucket they keep under the counter, “Besides, wouldn’t it just be a normal crush? I mean, what’s the friggin’ difference if it’s a dude or a chick, right?” They’ve all gone quiet so he deems it safe to face them again, “It doesn't matter, because I do not have a-”

“Hello, Dean.”

“A man-crush…” He hopes his jaw isn’t too far on the floor, because Novak is standing right there, across the bar,  staring at Dean and his fucked up little group of merry men awkwardly, “Professor Novak!”

“Please don’t- only my students call me that.” He mumbles uncomfortably, pinning his gaze to the ‘no drinking under 21’ sign above Dean's head, “My name’s Castiel.”

“Castiel…” Dean mutters under his breath, trying to get a feel for the weird, clunky name, “Okay then. Well, Castiel, you wanna’ park it or you just gonna’ stand there?”

“I already parked outside,” Castiel answers but, thankfully, he strides over to the stool right across from Dean, “But I suppose I can sit.”

“Awesome, man, make yourself comfy.” Dean looks off to the side and see’s Jo and Ash both staring at Castiel.

Ash seems somewhat uninterested, like he’s just trying to match Dean's description of Castiel to the one in front of him, but Jo’s eyes are bugging out of her head as she looks from the professor to Dean, finally mouthing ‘he took you out?’.

Dean waves a dismissive hand in her direction, “What can I get you, Castiel?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t really drink.” He admits and Dean kicks himself.

Not everyone is eager to go for drinks, Winchester, should’ve just asked to meet him over coffee or something.

Dean tries to think of what they have that won’t be too harsh on the guy's palette, “Tell ya’ what, you like apple cider?”

“I believe so…” Castiel nods after a moment of thought, “My brother makes it every year in the fall and I quite enjoy it..”

“Well, this ain’t homemade and it’s got some alcohol so don’t go chugging it,” He bends down to retrieve a can from the mini fridge built into the wall, “But there’s this brewery a few counties over that makes some real good stuff, recently did this- ah what’s it called?” Dean squints at the can, “Honey-blackberry cider, you might like it.”

“Thank you,” Cas watches with intensity as Dean cracks the drink open and pours half of it into the nicest glass within arms reach. He accepts it when offered, taking a hesitant sip before a faint smile finds its way onto his face, “This is quite pleasant.”

Damn… He has a really nice smile.

No, focus on the task on hand.

“Glad you like it,” He can feel the distinct burn of three pairs of eyes staring at him and Cas, “And- uh- I’m glad you came by.”

Castiel finally makes eye contact with Dean, eyes still as piercing as their first meeting, though not nearly as homicidal (Hell yeah, progress), “You are?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I physically assaulted you.” Man this guy is blunt.

“I kinda deserved it,” Dean leans his forearms on the bar, leveling himself with Castiel, “Besides, who doesn't love a good battle scar, they make you sexy.”

Jo takes that as the perfect time to interject, “No they don’t!”

Dean ignores her, “Seriously though man… I’m lucky you didn’t do more, if I’d been in your position and thought I’d lost Sammy…” He chuckles and shakes his head, “Probably would be in police custody for manslaughter.”

“Yes well,” Castiel cocks his head and Dean really wants to know if Jack learned that from Cas or vice versa, “Jack is insistent that you caused no harm, if you had…”

He lets his threat hang in the air.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean mumbles, hanging his head in shame, “How is Jack? Is he okay? I didn’t traumatize him, did I?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Castiel takes another sip of his drink, “It appears I was more distressed than him, though I don’t think he understands the gravity of what could have happened.”

Dean feels a weight being lifted off his chest, one he didn’t know he was even carrying, but he’d just been so fucking worried he’d scarred that kid for life.

“How are-” Dean cuts himself off quickly, still painfully aware of the audience they have, Dean just knows he’s going to be the subject of endless teasing after this, “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Castiel squints at Dean like he misheard.

“Yeah, it’s just, I guess losing your kid might be stressful-” ‘You guess??? Fucking smooth, Winchester’, “And uh… Sorry about that, you know.”

Castiel stares at Dean with a pinched expression for a couple beats, “If that was supposed to be an apology for causing me emotional damage, it was terrible.”

Ellen lets out a bark of laughter from where she is definitely just focused on counting the till and nothing else.

“Not my finest…” He mumbles out, pushing away from the bar like the few extra inches of space will keep Castiel from seeing how red his face has no doubt gotten.

They slip into an uneasy silence, Castiel sipping at his cider while Dean hovers near, not too close, not too far.

“I am sorry.” He tries again, once Cas has emptied his glass and chosen to stare through Dean with those shocking eyes.

“I know.” Castiel states it like a fact, slowly standing up, “And I thank you for wanting to make sure my son is okay, it seems you are not as careless as I first assumed.”

“Jeez man, thanks.” Dean can’t help the gooey grin that creeps onto his face at the compliment (or, at least, he guesses it’s a compliment).

Cas nods in response and only then does Dean realize what’s happening, that his cup is empty and now he’s walking right back towards the door; It makes something in his chest twist painfully.

“Wait just- uh- fuck-” He nearly trips over himself trying to get out from behind the bar, ripping an old receipt off the cash register as he scrambles for Cas, who stops and regards Dean with a tilted gaze, “We didn’t get off on the right foot-"

“Understatement.” 

Dean would be offended by the short response, but there's a hint of amusement in the man's tone that makes it soft, almost like he’s trying to be sarcastic.

“I know, I know,” He fishes a pen out of his back pocket and scribbles out his number, shoving the crumpled paper into Cas’ hand before he can chicken out, “But if you ever want another drink or somethin’ just let me know and I’ll tell you when my next shift is.” Then, he hastily adds, “It’s the least I can do.”

Castiel looks down at the old receipt, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

The scrap is carefully tucked away in the pocket of Cas’ well-worn trench coat, “Thank you, Dean.”

“Of course, Cas,” He claps his hand against the professors- very firm- bicep and gives him his signature Winchester-grin, “Don’t be a stranger.”

_____

<<First│<-Prev│Next->

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: In Omnibus Aequitas

Summary: Agatha isn't the only witch with a force of nature trailing after her.

AO3

A/N: oh my god i can't explain how excited i am to post this! so much thought and careful crafting went into this!! actually begging someone to ask for the TED talk on my planning process for this because hooooo boy

this is my first time writing Lilia, so apologies if the characterization is shaky at all!

also to give credit where credit is due, the idea for this Reader was prompted by a post from the brilliant trickofthelights, whom i admire greatly. i'll attach the post here

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

Shadows often linger in the periphery of Lilia’s vision; this she has grown to accept, on the basis that they are gone when she turns to face them. And she is glad of it each time. The twisted shapes and figures of the primordial horrors that linger are not made to be witnessed, even by her eyes.

So when a figure lingers, she turns with the expectation of seeing the silhouette vanish, but she’s not the only one who turns.

It strikes her as odd that Rio should see whatever she does. This thought occurs to her mid-ballad, fire licking at the back of her neck. When she looks, though, the figure does not vanish, but neither is it a horror to behold.

You are as beautiful as she remembers. The memory, coupled with your eyes on her, nearly trips her up. But Lilia holds strong through the rest of Lorna’s ballad—even as the burns on her shoulders ache, even as your eyes dart away and meet the curious gaze belonging to Rio, even, even as you watch her with that unerring devotion she had once craved.

When Alice tilts her head back, singing with the full force of her soul, Lilia’s eyes leave you. She watches the curse burn to ash above Alice.

You’re gone when Lilia glances back.

---

Sharon, human she may have been, was right about one thing—no witch can be expected to traverse the road without rest. So, the coven opts to take turns keeping watch around the little fire they’ve built.

Lilia volunteers for the first watch, restless, feeling the weight of eyes on her still. She should’ve known you wouldn’t stay away long.

Your entrance comes when the rest of the coven has fallen asleep; Jen and Alice on one side of the fire, propped up against the rock they sat upon, Agatha furthest from the fire, back to it, while Rio—if that is her true name—sleeps near enough to lay a hand on her waist. Teen, she assumes, remains in the makeshift bed they made for him.

She sees your shadow at the edge of the clearing, hesitant. Looking over her coven one last time, she stands, and walks to where you wait outside the light.

“What do you want?”

You reach out, a hand on either side of Lilia’s face. She doesn’t shake you off. Yet.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I left.” You murmur.

Lilia’s lip curls, “Are your brutal truths meant to be endearing?”

“No. They’re meant to be nothing more than what they are.”

Against all odds, Lilia has yet to throw off your hold. You run your thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. Everything in you wants to kiss her—has dreamt of it for over a century—but you know it won’t be welcome.

Her curls are frayed and wild around her face in an endearing picture. Mess suits her just as well as refinement; though that could be your bias talking.

“Why are you here?” Lilia asks.

“Because you’re here.” And because your job brought you here, but that’s less romantic.

She seems to sense the omission. Any warmth drains from her expression, her hands removing yours from her person. You miss the closeness immediately.

“A truth and a lie. Which will come next?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Then go there. But leave the coven out of this.”

“I have no choice, Lilia.”

Lilia scoffs, “You had a choice when you vanished for a century!”

You close your eyes against the reminder. Hurt flares through you. The ache from years of longing, feeling that veil between you exist so thin, yet being unable to reach through. You hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse.

It was torment. A century should have been easy, but a life without Lilia felt like clawing your way through. If you tell her, will she believe you?

“Please.” You whisper. You’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Goodnight.”

You hear her walk away, can’t stop yourself from blurting, despite the consequences, “Please, don’t put yourself in harm's way.”

Her jaw is tight, eyes wary. She looks you over as if something about you will give away what you know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. You recognize it as both a way to keep you out and support herself. You ache to be let back in.

“This whole Road is a death wish.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger than normal.” You say, then, smaller, “I can’t protect you.”

“Are you asking for my sake or your own?”

“Whichever you’ll listen to.”

“Why ask at all?”

You step forward, hands outstretched to take hers, but you stop short, “Because I love you, Lilia.”

The admission makes her flinch. Her eyes water and she swallows hard. For a fleeting moment you see the startling vulnerability behind her eyes—the loneliness you should have quelled—before she locks it away.

“You can’t love.” Lilia sneers, “It would tip the scales too much.”

“That’s not true.” You defend.

“Oh? Then who, in this wretched universe, have you decided to hate?”

You bite your tongue. Lilia takes your silence for its own—incorrect—answer. Bitterness creeps into her smile.

“Goodnight.”

---

“Here to watch the big show?” Rio asks, lagging behind while the others move forward.

“Just doing my job.”

“Really? I’d say things were pretty square when you showed up.”

You eye her, despising her knowing smile, “Why are you here?”

“My job.”

“Hm. And how many bodies have you collected, again?”

Her smile is wide, but her eyes are cold. She’s always despised that the two of you are equals; that she can’t add you to her menagerie of bodies. Just the same, you’ve despised that you can’t write her name down.

Agatha looks back and tilts her head. You know she can’t see you. Like nothing has happened, Rio turns that grin on Agatha, skipping back to her side.

You catch Lilia’s eyes on you and ignore the question in them.

---

Lilia watches. She follows you in her periphery, makes note of where you are at all times. Her eyes always dart to your hands. Every time she finds them empty, she relaxes.

She’s taken watch, again. You read the weariness in her posture.

Against your better judgment, you lay your hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off.

“You need rest as much as they do, beloved.” You murmur.

She stiffens at the old endearment, “We’re splitting the time. I’ll manage.”

You run a hand through her hair. The curls are still loose, wild. You untangle a few of them. Squeezing her shoulder, you place a kiss to the top of her head, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, your hand quivers. You still it. Your punishment was endured with grace, you must endure the distance with the same.

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Lilia scoffs, “Right.”

The weight of her mistrust is like a knife in your chest. You do not endure the pain with grace; you flinch, tears springing unbidden to your eyes. Lilia’s eyes close in regret.

You wonder if your presence is more of a burden than blessing. Had you mistaken her intent all those years ago? Love is not an emotion that’d come to you naturally. Perhaps, in your learning, you misunderstood, and Lilia’s kind heart wouldn’t allow her to break your illusion.

She had loved you once, hadn’t she? You could swear she had.

“You have to know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Unless the greater universe calls for it.”

Her tone is honest, but sadness lingers within it. All you want is to see her face.

“If I thought it would do you any favors, I’d throw it all away.” You admit in a whisper.

Lilia turns, then. Her brows are furrowed as her eyes search your own, frantic, swimming with fear. In another time and place, you’d follow the statement with a smirk; but you cannot bring yourself to summon the facade now, not with her.

It isn’t a lie—your admission. If not for the overturning of the world without you, you’d forsake the job on your shoulders. You’d unmake yourself in a moment for her. For the younger witch who sang freely and lamented her gifts. For the wizened witch who eyes you with trepidation, mind rife with your betrayals and shortcomings.

“Where are your lies?” She asks.

“I tell them to myself, so you can have all my truths.”

Lilia smiles then, but it’s bittersweet. A warm hand settles on your cheek. You can’t help it—grace be damned—when you press yourself into the contact. They’re still there—the callouses you remember, rough against your flesh. She still smells of smoke.

There’s a rustling of fabric across the space. Alice shifts, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Lilia’s touch is gone from you. You settle next to her as she rests, not brave enough to lay another hand upon her.

---

You watch the knife fall as if time has slowed; absently, you think it might be, Time always did love her cruel jokes. It falls with Teen in the direct path. You feel the pen heavy in your hand, the paper near-weightless and yet the heaviest thing you’ve come to bear.

But then Lilia moves. The one moment you need time to slow for you, it’s returned to normal. Lilia shoves Teen out of the way and takes his place in the dagger’s path.

You fall to your knees, “No!”

Throwing your arms out, you aim a burst of magic for the dagger. Consequences be damned. Alice is faster, though, and moves Lilia from the dagger’s path before your magic can make contact.

Rio’s eyes are heavy on you. She can’t do anything—you didn’t technically break any rules, but the intent is damning enough.

“Now this is going to be fun.” Rio purrs.

You stare at the pen and blank paper you dropped in your haste to save Lilia. Your purpose. How close you’d come to unmaking yourself and yet… yet, a part of you is ambivalent to this. The larger part is freaking out, though.

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You flinch. They shouldn’t be able to see you.

Checking your mental list of active charms, you realize you’ve made an error; in your grief-induced act of heroism, you dropped every single charm on your person and directed the energy toward Lilia. The cat’s out of the bag, it would seem.

Lilia is the first to recover, moving out of Alice’s protective hold, “Do you ever think?”

You bristle, yet to stand from your kneeling position. It gives her an advantage over you this once.

“Well and often.” You defend.

“Well?” She questions, beautiful in her terror and rage, “You call that thinking well? You could’ve been killed!”

“You were in danger, Lilia.”

“And you’re not allowed to interfere.”

Ignoring all the eyes on the two of you, Lilia turns and storms through the exit that opened. You watch the road-conjured costume melt back into her normal visage as she gets further away.

It’s then that you recognize the silence.

All of them are staring at you save for Agatha, who eyes Rio with a mixture of trepidation and understanding. You stand as gracefully as you can manage. Smoothing down your clothes, you try to smile, but the action feels slippery on your features. How long has it been?

“What is it with you witches and beautiful mysteries?” Jen asks, “And where can I get one?”

You flush and fidget. The weight of their attention is so much less pleasant than your beloved’s.

Alice tilts her head, “Who are you?”

Holding out your hand, you speak your name. Rio laughs. You blush, remembering that mortal creatures don’t comprehend the original language, not like the two of you. Lilia once said it sounded like botched latin. The coven exchanges various looks of confusion.

“Lilia just calls me—”

“A pain.” Lilia’s voice cuts in, “A very severe, persistent pain. Are you all coming?”

You’re the first to follow, which prompts no shortage of grumbling. You find yourself grinning.

---

“Well, at least we have extra help on The Road.” Jen shrugs, later.

“She can’t help.” Lilia and Rio say in unison.

The two share a look. You can read the distaste in Lilia’s eyes. She doesn’t seem to think much of Rio, not that you do either—and you actually know her.

“Seemed pretty eager to help you, Lilia.”

“A foolish, misguided mistake on her part.”

You flinch at the statement, staring down at your hands. With the charms gone, you witness their true appearance; one completely dark, as if left to char in ember, the other so pale-white it is near translucent.

The beauty of a mortal body with a mortal heart is a range of emotion you’d have never felt before. Though lately, the gift feels more like a burden. Pain is your ever-present companion these days. Even when you look at your beloved, the love that overtakes you is laced with poison; with the reminder of what you had to do.

You can’t bring yourself to wish away the heart in your chest. But you do wish Lilia would be a bit more gentle with it. You’re hardly in the position to make requests, though.

“I can assist in small ways. Taking a watch at night, tending the fire.”

“No.” Lilia shuts you down. You freeze, “You are to do nothing but observe. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, beloved.”

You ignore the look between Alice and Jen.

---

The end of The Road is so near you can practically taste it. It tastes of rot and chaos, but you put that down as a symptom of your disposition. You watch Lilia and the rest of the coven relax, inhaling deeply.

A smile teases at Lilia’s lips.

“What do you smell?” You whisper.

The smile doesn’t vanish as you expect. Rather, it extends to her eyes as she regards you.

“Your perfume.”

You melt. Knees like jelly, you take her hand in your own, and press a kiss to the back of it, ignoring the eyes on the two of you. The Witches Road will give you what you most desire at the end. And before the last trial, it gives the traveler a taste of what their prize is. She can’t reach the end without knowing the truth.

“This body wasn’t mine, did you know that?” You ask. Her expression shifts as she grows a bit more tense in your hold. You hold tighter, “The witch before me had a little over a century left in her when I came. As payment, I had to serve out the rest of her years without the one thing that made it feel like living.”

The words are tumbling from you faster than you can comprehend them. You watch her face, hoping that what you’re stringing together makes enough sense for her to see. Even if it takes some other force whispering the facts into her ear for her to understand, you’ll just be happy that she knows.

Lilia’s the brightest witch you’ve ever known. She’ll figure out what you’re saying, but you just can’t stop; you need to say the words you’ve been dying to say for all these years.

“I never wanted to leave you, beloved.”

There’s no privacy on this cursed road, but you don’t care. If she asked it of you, you’d tell every soul you met how you love her. Lilia Calderu owns your heart, but even more than that, she owns your soul, and you have no desire to take it from her hands—even if she decides to rip it to pieces as repayment.

Let the coven know how you lived a century-long prison sentence to be with her. Let Rio and the greater powers know. You have no shame.

Lilia sneers, “You foolish woman.”

Her hands fist in the front of your shirt and pull your lips to hers. It’s messy; a clash of teeth and lips and noses, a poor imitation of the world-tipping kisses the two of you have found in one another. You’re both horribly out of practice. Never let it be said, however, that passion does not make up for tact. The near-quivering of Lilia’s grip and the force of intent behind her kiss makes up for any clumsiness.

The time on The Road has left her lips chapped, bitter with the remnants of lipstick, and never before have you known something so utterly perfect. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close enough that not a breath can exist between you. She sighs against your lips.

A curse of a mortal body is the functions that a higher being like yourself wouldn’t deem necessary; in this case, the need your lungs have for oxygen. Your heart is beating out of your chest and not from desire.

You pull back, panting, forehead resting against Lilia’s.

Breath successfully acquired, you tilt your head and press your lips to Lilia’s cheek, her temple, her forehead—anywhere you can reach, murmuring, reverent, “Lilia. My Lilia.”

“Darling.” She whispers with every kiss, voice hushed with devotion.

A lifetime apart seen to its end. Your fingers still itch with the pent up desire to hold her despite doing so. You were shameless before, but now… Gods help her.

Rio watches the entire display with shameless interest. Her eyebrows are high, a small, curious smile on her lips. Teen had been the first to turn away and busy himself with watching The Road. Somewhere mid-kiss, the remaining three found something more pressing to devote their attention to.

The lack of seeing, however, does not stop Jen from sighing, “When will it be my turn?”

Alice laughs at her side.

---

“Did you know all along?”

Lilia looks up at Agatha’s hushed question. She takes in the messy, haggard, but satisfied look of her fellow witch. She also catches the look Agatha throws your way. You sit across the clearing, Teen at your side, listening with rapt attention as you explain something about the moon.

“I had a suspicion when you mentioned my fortune.” Lilia admits.

A suspicion. A burgeoning hope she hadn’t let herself acknowledge.

“Oh?”

“What is fortune if not a lack of balance?” She shrugs, unable to look away from you, “To change it meant the end of my pain.”

“Enter, your solution.”

“Solution and problem.”

The two share a wry laugh. Lilia’s careful not to ask any pointed questions about Rio, though curiosity does eat away at her. Is anyone better suited to appreciate her experience?

Rio, while polarizing, is beautiful—and seems to have attached herself to Agatha in a way best suited to the witch. There is a beauty in it. Though she admits she’ll always prefer your well-meaning brutality over that which Agatha receives. To each their own.

“The Road seems to play favorites, giving you your prize early.” Agatha muses.

“Having her isn’t the prize,” Lilia corrects, “keeping her is.”

Agatha hums, eyes contemplative.

You’re aware of the eyes on you from across the clearing, but pay it little attention, instead devoting yourself fully to the question Teen has asked you. Gesturing with your hands, you weave similarities between the First Coven and their own. He watches you with a starstruck expression.

Something in your conversation prompts him to tilt his head. He fiddles with the little spellbook attached to his hip. Your musings come to a natural close and he speaks up.

“Can I ask—why Lilia? I mean, she’s great, but I guess I don’t understand.” Teen changes the subject.

You smile.

“Do you know the average person’s response to upsetting the state of the world?” You ask. Teen thinks, then shakes his head, “There isn’t one. It doesn’t matter what they’ve undone in the grand scheme, they’re painfully ignorant of what they’ve done. And what’s worse, most don’t care.”

It’s an old grievance you have with the greater universe. You recognize the necessity of it, but will never deny how it grates on you.

“Lilia… Lilia spent a large part of her life as a harbinger of tragedy. She’d travel through villages and upturn their worlds with a prediction.” You sigh, chest aching with the pain you know she suffered, “But when she did, she always sought to fix it. There were times she leveled the scales so completely that I didn’t have to do a thing. Few had ever considered me in such a way before.”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to Lilia. Her eyes are already on you. The warm, steady weight of her gaze makes you melt.

“And the others, well, none of them were her.”

Teen nods, “That’s sweet. I think.”

You chuckle. In a moment of fondness, you ruffle the curls on his head. He rolls his eyes but allows the contact; how do you tell a force of nature no?

---

You stare back down The Road with the coven. Though the return journey will be without any of the usual hassles, you curse the greater powers for not just providing an exit door. Your feet are killing you.

Lilia looks weary despite having rested. You rub a hand over her back, working out the knots you find with a skilled hand. She sighs.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks.

You raise a brow, “Back to the start of The Road.”

Lilia glares, though it lacks significant heat, “Us, darling.”

Ah.

“Wherever you lead, beloved.”

“That’s a lot of control.”

“Give me a century or so and I’ll start making decisions again.”

Her fingers lace through your own. Lilia stares down the length of The Road she has traversed and conquered, yet the greatest battle lies beyond. The world will never again be the same for her.

You raise her hand to your lips. You press gentle kisses to the knuckles.

“To the return of your glory.” You murmur.

Lilia looks at you for a long moment. Using your hold, she pulls you down, into a short but mind-numbing kiss. You hold tight and sigh, content.

She corrects, “To the return of balance.”

[notmorbid]

one little spark.

dialogue prompts from one little spark by ellie banks.

you little asshole.

everything is annoying today. everything.

i've always liked a little scorched earth.

i've never seen the point of going out with quiet dignity and grace.

you like problems.

whatever i do, i do right.

a combination of age and life have left me absolutely fuckless.

you don't need me to take care of you.

has anyone ever told you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?

being single is so damned weird.

i'm fond of crashing through caution tape.

if he doesn't take care of you, i'll hunt him down and kill him.

starting small is not in my wheelhouse.

you never seem afraid of being wrong.

how did you get here so fast?

always the dangerous choice.

you don't understand what you saw.

you deserve to have some closure.

sometimes i want to burn this place to the ground.

i'm not sure if it's a dream or a memory.

shut out what you can't control, and focus on what you can.

i try not to engage in wishful thinking, but sometimes it's hard.

maybe it's me. maybe it's that 'bad blood' shit.

if i can't trust you, i can't trust anything.

are you taking care of yourself?

what does 'normal' look like right now?

cheating in your head isn't a thing.

i want to figure out how to embrace what i have left.

do i have _____ on my face?

it's okay to feel like you don't know what you're doing. that's normal.

i don't feel like anything about me is very normal.

i keep grudges like other people keep cats.

sometimes you have to take steps forward, even if they're not in the shoes you would have chosen.

i couldn't stand letting you see me struggle.

everyone has secrets.

you weren't a mistake to me.

no one's ever looked at me like that but you.

it's okay to not know what you feel.

i want you to never blame yourself. for anything.

i was a little bitch to you, and i'm sorry.

why do people like uncertain women so much?

if you were happy, you wouldn't be here.

simmer down, kid.

this isn't a happy place for me.

guilt is different from shame.

what's the difference between god and a surgeon? god doesn't think he's a surgeon.

i always end up telling you my secrets.

how do you think that would've gone, you and me?

____ felt like the safe choice.

i know you can't rebuild from ashes, but you can build something new on top of them.

i would have been there for you, if you'd have let me.

did everyone know but me?

i'm married, not dead.

at least i say what needs saying.

it's not actually hard to be nice to you.

i don't have time for feelings. i've got shit to do.

you're kind of an asshole.

if you can't handle a woman scorned, don't scorn one.

life is a lot more complicated than anybody wants to believe.

i felt like a teenager when i saw you.

you're as afraid as i am.

why aren't you angry with me?

i want us to get to know each other again.

it has been a very long time since i've been on a date.

i don't know why anyone would choose to be single.

you fascinate me.

i don't have time to sit around and marinate in subtlety.

you've been kind of a secret fantasy of mine for a while now.

i always knew i was the main character. thank you for supporting my narcissism.

this will never be over, will it?

no matter what, i want to know you.

i'm going to pour wine.

i really like you. i wasn't supposed to.

i'm trying to just enjoy the moment, but i'm bad at it.

i didn't have words for it then.

i thought maybe things would improve with distance.

when did we finish having all our easy conversations?

you've never liked sunrises. you hate getting up early.

you're my girl. you always were.

for once in my life, i wanted to be the one who got picked.

i wanted to make you my enemy, but you aren't, are you?

you aren't innocent, but you aren't evil, either.

i'm never the bigger person. not for the hell of it.

i don't know if i knew anything about my own life.

i'm not sure what i'm remembering and what i'm dreaming.

the truth will come for you, if you don't come for it first.

'should' doesn't fix anything.

was i ever there for you, or did i just torture you?

i remember the first time you held my hand.

in my lowest moment, you kept me safe. from myself, from everything.

i tried not to think about it. i didn't tell anyone.

i'm really not mature enough for this.

timing has never really been my strong suit.

i'm just hormonal. it's making me weird.

i wanted to make sure that you were taken care of.

don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.

i want to be as strong as you are. that's all i want.

i don't see a way forward without you, one way or the other.

you made my life here not hell.

you can be sorry and still forgive yourself.

your conscience isn't my problem.

i'm not one to argue with fate.

you got your character arc, after all. good for you.

[pasukiyo]

PERHAPS, PERHAPS, PERHAPS.

eric (a quiet place: day one) x f!reader word count: 2,894 warnings: a little bit of violence summary: perhaps it's chance. perhaps it's happenstance. but perhaps it is fate. perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 Hands find the sleeve of her sweater and she’s pulled backwards, her lips parting in a gasp as she turns. A woman, with dark hair beginning to fade into gray, locks her hands around her wrist, trembling. 

 “Please!” The woman shrieks. “I don’t know where to go! I need help! Please! Help me!”

 She’s frozen, her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out because the truth is, she’s just as helpless. She wishes she could help, she really does, but she’s alone in a foreign city while the world around her falls apart and all she knows to do is run. 

 She tries to shake off the woman, but she only tightens her grip, and it’s not until she screams again that she lets go. It happens in a blur. One moment the woman is on her arm and the next she’s taken away by one of those things. She can’t even process what they look like because they move so fast. 

 She stumbles backwards as a car alarm sounds and she only just manages to duck in enough time to avoid being crushed as the airborne vehicle flies overhead, crashing into the building behind her. Her teeth catch her bottom lip and she whimpers, holding her head in either of her hands. Screams sound and die, wheels screech, vehicles crash, windows shatter, people are torn apart and it’s all just too loud. 

 She sinks to her knees in the middle of the chaos-ridden street and covers her ears, the hot water in her eyes falling fast down the apples of her cheeks. She feels utterly alone and only now does the weight of her family’s abrupt deaths begin to seep in, like poison injecting itself into her veins and wearing down her bones. 

 She wonders if this is it— if today is the day she dies. 

 She wonders if she should just stay here: on the ground, unmoving, waiting for death to take her. 

 It’s harder to breathe than ever now and she can’t calm herself down, can’t even focus on inhaling a steady breath. The ground quakes below and she thinks something explodes, but it’s hard to hear over the ringing in her ears. She only thinks to duck until she faces the ground as smoke pervades the air and ash falls and all she can see is gray. Her hearing is only just coming back to her when she hears a scream— whether it was her own or somebody else’s, she’s uncertain— but all she knows is in the next moment, everything is black. 

 The world is still black when she hears her name. She stirs and thinks it must be death calling upon her but then she hears her name again and it sounds… real. Still, she does not open her eyes, lingering in that state between waking and oblivion. 

 The voice calls her name again and suddenly it sounds… familiar. She’s heard it before but she’s unsure where. She must be dead, she thinks. 

 But is the afterlife supposed to feel so… real? As in, she feels the warmth of fabric above her and thinks it must be a blanket, the cushion of what she can only think can be a pillow beneath her head. She can feel her feet, so she moves them, and she can feel something soft underneath them, something her entire body can feel. It must be a mattress she sleeps on but how when only a moment ago, her knees were on the asphalt of a crumbling street?

 Her name is called again and this time, she feels a weight on her shoulder, a hand. It suddenly registers that she isn’t in the city at all but rather somewhere else entirely different and her eyelids snap open at the realization. A shadow looks over her and she pushes herself to sit upright, her throat tightening as she tries to blink the blurriness away from her vision.

 “Hey!” The voice calls again, the hand on her shoulder firmer. The silhouette before her warps and moves and it must be the source of the voice but her muscles remain taut with panic. “It’s me! It’s just me.”

 She tries to draw air into her lungs but it’s hard when she can hardly make out where she is and the hand falls from her shoulder to instead find her cheek, pulling her face towards the shadow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths as she continues trying to make out the face of the shadow before her. 

 “It’s me!” The voice says again. “It’s Eric!”

 Eric. 

 The shape in front of her finally materializes and indeed, it is Eric. His brows are drawn in concern, his big, signature doe eyes round and searching hers. Her mouth feels dry and it opens and closes multiple times before he places his hand on her chest, right over her pounding heart. She glances down to his palm, watching as it rises and falls with her breaths before his other hand reaches for her chin. 

 Their eyes meet and for a moment, it’s like the world stills and it is only him she can see. His eyes are so dark a brown that they seem to merge with the sea of black in its midst and she thinks she will lose herself if she stares too long. His lips move to form the words “breathe” and “it’s over now, you’re safe” and it seems easier now that she’s rapt in his eyes, shining like dark topaz. 

 Her chin rises as she inhales and she focuses on his hand on her chest as her head dips with her exhale. Air floods her lungs and the world begins to turn again.

 “Okay?” Eric asks carefully, his hand no longer on her chest but still hovering above just in case. She takes another deep breath before she nods, sniffing. It’s only now set in that she was sleeping and she was living a nightmare, or rather, reliving her nightmare. 

 It’s been three months since day one, since the nightmares began and every day since has been long, some longer than others. Every day since the first sort of happened in a blur, but she remembers the day she met Eric like it was yesterday. 

 She remembers the boat, the boy with the cat who she’d just watched escape death before he swam to his new beginning. She remembers the conversations they had on the (what felt like at the time) seemingly never-ending boat ride, the vow they didn’t speak aloud but seemed to silently agree on that they’d stick together, and they did, even when they arrived on the island. She remembers it all and so she pulls the boy in front of her into her until she can rest her head on his shoulder, fingers clutching his white t-shirt. 

 His arms wrap around her middle and hold her close, his breath warm as it threads through her hair, seeping down to her scalp. Her nails burrow into his shirt, deep enough to snag skin underneath and her heart pounds against her ribcage, dread creeping up her spine at the realization that she doesn’t want to let go. When he inevitably begins to pull away, she sinks her nails into his shoulders like the claws of a cat and a crease forms between his brows. 

 “What is it?” He asks and she swallows, brows pinched together. “Will you stay with me?” She questions and his expression softens, nodding as he lets go of one of her shoulders to gesture with his thumb behind him. 

 “Yeah, you know I’ll always be right over there,” he says, referring to the small sofa bed across the room. He gives her bicep a reassuring squeeze and turns, moving to pull away again but she finds his hand, clasping it between hers as tight as she possibly can. 

  “No, I mean will you…” she pauses, sighing as blood bites her cheeks, filling them with color. “…will you lay with me?” She finishes quieter, his hand growing warm in hers. 

 He turns to face her again and when their eyes meet, silence strings between them. She swears she can see him connecting the dots until realization washes over him and finally, he understands. He blinks again, once down to the bed and once to the open space beside her. On his next blink, color floods his cheeks and he nods, lifting up the blanket to slide underneath it. Their legs touch for the briefest of moments and either of their breaths hitch. His skin lingers for a heartbeat before it’s gone and she has to take in another deep breath through her nostrils to quell her quaking heart. 

 They both settle themselves down on the mattress and it creaks beneath either of their weight. She holds her breath again, still under the guise that one of those things will come snatch her away at the smallest of sounds, but the reminder that they are on the island, that they are safe fills her with some solace. Even though the relief never stays long. The past always comes back to haunt her, as if some sort of evil spirit has made it its sole mission to taunt her. 

 “Hey,” Eric whispers and she turns, realizing he was looking at her. “Are you alright?”

 She nods, sniffing again. “Sorry, I’m just… thinking,” she replies, blinking back towards the ceiling. “I had another nightmare.” He sighs beside her and she hears the sheets shift a little as he adjusts his weight. “It’s okay. I get them too.”

 It’s easy to forget she’s not the only one who experienced the horrors of the invasion, that she isn’t the only one who lost things, people. She forgets she’s not the only one who is haunted by what transpired that day and she peers back over towards Eric. He stares up at the ceiling, his hands neatly folded on top of his stomach and his lips pursed. He taps his fingers against the back of his hands a little awkwardly, as if he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. So instead, he remains silent, waiting for the moment he succumbs to sleep. 

 “Tell me about England,” her voice fills that void between them and he almost flinches, snapping his head towards her, an incredulous look upon his face. “What?” He says as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. The corners of her lips twitch, “tell me about England,” she repeats. “I’ve always wanted to go. And well… it doesn’t look like I’ll be going any time soon.”

 He exhales and it almost mimics a laugh but it dies as soon as he rolls his head to face the ceiling once again. He stares into the darkness above, sifting through the memories he has of home. The truth is, it’s been so long since he’s been home, the memories are already beginning to fade away. His mother, his father, his little sister, their cat, his childhood home, the town he grew up in. The more days that pass, the farther away all those things seem. He can still see them toward the horizon but they’re fading behind shadows. He fears that soon enough, they’ll be nothing more than black shapes out in the distance, too far away to make sense of what they are. 

 For a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Frodo purrs as he leaps onto the bed, curling into a ball at their feet. And then, Eric finally speaks. 

 “Growing up, I never thought where I grew up was small until I came to the States,” he begins. “Did you know that the entire population of New York City is over four times the population of Kent?” 

 Her lips curve into a tight, genuine grin and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies and he scoffs. “It’s crazy,” he mutters. “I’d never seen so many people in one place before in my life.”

 She laughs again and this time, her grin splits her face and when Eric turns, his gaze lingers. She stares back, finding his eyes even in the darkness. Even in the dark, she can see the way they soften in searching. Whether it is her or his memories he is searching, she is not sure. She grows warm at the sudden awareness of their closeness and she has to turn away again to ease the erratic beating of her heart, folding her hands just beneath it, sucking in a deep breath. 

 Eric clears his throat. Then he continues, “there was this bakery around the corner from my house. My sister and I practically kept that place afloat all on our own with how many times we went.” 

 She turns and watches his side profile as a soft smile curves his lips and she thinks to herself, how can she possibly look away? Neither one of them ever really talked about their life before the invasion much, but maybe they should’ve tried sooner, if he was going to look the way he does now. It’s the brightest she’s ever seen him, the fastest he’s ever talked. His eyes gleam at just the mere mention of home and she wants to know more, wants to learn more about him. 

 “Have you ever had focaccia?” He asks, turning to find she’s already staring and she raises a brow. 

 “Ever had what?” 

 His brow furrows and he looks almost offended, a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Do the Americans not feed you focaccia?” She laughs, shrugging. “I honestly have no idea what you’re even talking about,” she replies and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “It’s only, like, the finest bread in the world,” he says. “But the best is at the bakery near home. It’s the focaccia of all focaccia. Their focaccia beats all focaccia.”

 She chuckles, “I’ll have to take your word for it then.”

 “Well, anyway, my sister and I would get focaccia from that bakery everyday after school,” he blinks, brow dipping. “Except Wednesdays. They were always closed Wednesdays. I always hated Wednesdays because of it.”

 She cannot help it anymore so she laughs, her shoulders wracking with the sheer power of the action. She clasps a hand over her mouth to attempt to suppress any embarrassing chortles and Eric sputters, the mere beginning of his own laugh. 

 It’s something she can’t remember doing last: laughing. At least, genuinely laughed. It must’ve been before the first day but that day feels so long ago that she can’t place a finger on nearly anything before it. 

 So this feels good. It feels like things can be almost perfect, because even if this lighthearted feeling is only fleeting, in the moment, it feels right. It feels right to be here with Eric, laughing over a life that neither one of them will ever have again. Laughing even as the world crumbles around them. Laughing as they pretend that everything is okay, if only temporarily. 

 There are tears in her eyes now from how hard she’s laughing and she blinks them away, peering over at Eric through her watercolor vision. He’s still coming down from the high his laughter gave him when she reaches over, fingers finding his arm. 

 “Eric?”

 He hiccups with laughter, “yeah?”

 She sniffs and bites back another laugh. “Can I kiss you?”

 Maybe it's the spur of the moment. Maybe it’s just happenstance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be. 

 She doesn’t know. 

 But none of it matters right now. 

 Because his gaze drops to her lips and when he looks up, she finds he wants her just as much as she realizes she wants him too. 

 Eric says nothing, only reaches for her, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her in and her arms wrap around his neck and then their lips are one. They fit together in the perfect mold, as if it truly was just as she thought: meant to be. 

 Perhaps, Eric was who she was meant to find all along. End of the world or not, life— at least on Eric’s end, it was more chance on hers— brought them both to New York at the same time and she can’t help but wonder, as his tongue swirls her mouth, whether she would’ve found him anyways. 

 Perhaps they would’ve run into each other on the street. Perhaps, even on the subway. Maybe they would’ve walked into the same restaurant at the same time and locked eyes. Or maybe they would’ve gone to the same shops, the same hotel, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 An arm slithers around her waist and draws her into his chest and she knows that this is fate. It simply can’t not be. 

 She pulls away for a moment, just so either of them can catch their breaths, and their eyelids peel open and seemingly nothing else matters. There’s a sort of silent understanding between them— Eric must feel the same. 

 And that’s enough. It’s all she needs to be okay again, to want to live. 

 They crash into one another again, like two stars in a stellar collision. She burns brighter than she ever has before and they melt into one another and relish the notion that this is enough. 

a/n; saw a quiet place day one the other day and i think writing an eric fic was inevitable so... HERE YOU GO! i hope you all enjoy this one and let me know if you'd like for me to write up more eric fics! i'd love to explore this character some more :)

🤍 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! ✨

[alicentsgf]

its interesting how nat and shauna are such parallels of each other. both the skeptics of the group, forced into acting out roles they dont want to play because the others believe its the will of some higher power

shauna forced to be the butcher. when she chose to pick up that knife she couldn't have known where it would lead. that she'd have butcher javi alone, pulling cloth over her eyes so she doesnt have to fully experience the horror of it. because they have to eat and everyone is looking to her to make that possible. to take the burden of making a person into meat so they dont have to face the reality. they look to the wilderness to allieviate their guilt, so they can tell themselves it was the will of some higher power, where shauna just stews in it, burdened by the actual weight of her choices. sending jackie to her death, telling the others jackie wanted them to eat her, telling them to wait as javi drowned. at every turn shes made the hard choice for them, to keep them all alive. every time she strips a carcass shes stripping away her own humanity a little more as she relives the moment she had to cut into the dead body of a 14 yr old boy who was good and kind and that she liked. and the others cant ever fully appreciate the burdens shes taken on for them, because then they'd have to face the actual visceral, bloody truth of what they've all done.

just as they cant appreciate nats sacrifice either. nat whos forced to lead, chosen as a direct result of javis death, of letting him die. letting the boy who risked his own life to try and save her die in her place. every day when the others look to her to lead shes reminded of the choice that got her here. but she still does it, because she knows they all need her to play this part. she knew coach was out there surviving, she could have tried to find him and left the others to fend for themselves, but how could she. she doesnt feel she deserves to live, at least not peacefully. she thinks she deserves the burden after what shes done. shes isolated, asked to make all the hard choices, to people manage, when so much of it is not her strength. and not only does she just play the part, she does her absolute best for them because Nats tragedy is she cares so so much about people, she can't stop caring even when they’ve hurt her. and it works. its GOOD. they build something good out of the fucking ashes. so good they can play games, waste food, and have petty fights !! so good they begin to forget just how bad the winter was.

they both did too good a job. these 2 non-believers carried the burden so well the others dont even see how much they've sacrificed for them. they all thank the wilderness when if anyone saved them, it was shauna and nat. and now everything they've built is going to burn because these two girls couldnt see each others pain clearly. even though they should be able to understand each other best. they’re both crushed by the expectations placed on them by the others, with no faith to abate their grief and shame, all of it changing them so deeply they're becoming unrecognisable to themselves, let alone each other. their little moment of telling each other to be safe in the cave is going to haunt me. probably not as badly as its going to haunt them though.

[antianakin]

So I actually love that the Syril/Dedra stuff in this latest arc ended up being this massive parallel to Anakin and Padme in Revenge of the Sith.

I also love that it's not an explicit 1:1 comparison, either, they're BOTH evil assholes and BOTH get to have direct parallels to both Padme and Anakin.

Syril is a dreamer of sorts, and his partner uses him and lies to him and he eventually ends up having to watch his whole world come down around him because of that.

Dedra is making her own choices, she didn't HAVE to include Syril in this project on Ghorman, but she also didn't want to be on the project to begin with and people higher up than her put her in that position of needing to follow through on it and SUCCEED by whatever means necessary. Trying to keep both her relationship and her work life despite the lies and manipulation it would require was a selfish thing to do and something ultimately did have to give.

It's Syril who finally has to see things clearly, has to see his PARTNER clearly, and it's Dedra who is begging him to stay with her, giving him platitudes and excuses to try to convince him that it's worth it to stay.

And, ultimately, it's Dedra left in the ashes while the man she clearly cared for gets killed and turned into a martyr, destroyed by the fire she helped to start.

But it's also Syril who CHOKES Dedra when he finally gets angry, and who does not seem inclined to let go until she tells him what he wants to hear. Syril is not some innocent little waif who didn't know what he was doing. Syril is in this for selfish reasons, too, despite the ways he's convinced himself he's a hero working for a just cause. When he finally learns the truth, he doesn't share that with anyone else, he doesn't try to help the rebels. And when he sees Cassian, the first thing he does is ATTACK him. Syril's sense of self has been completely upended, but he's been manipulating the Ghorman rebels and lying to them this whole time and he KNOWS IT. He's been spying on them and reporting on their movements to the ISB.

And I love the complexity of that and the way they utilized all of these parallels to Anidala in Revenge of the Sith and Mustafar to highlight the toxicity of this relationship and the selfishness of both of these characters.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 71 ~ Version 1

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,035ish

Summary: You take the cure and deal with the consequences.

Notes: Please send in reactions! Can't believe we're here already. I'm literally crying. HELP PLAN MY NEW LOGAN SERIES HERE.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“Are you sure?” Wade asked.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I’ll try for all of you.”

“Then there’s something you need to know.”

“What do you mean?” Laura wondered.

“When you take the cure, it has to be activated.”

“What do you mean it has to be activated?” Logan asked.

“My phoenix ability…” You whispered. “I have to die.”

“What? No! Absolutely not!”

“It’s the only way,” Wade tried to explain.

“So what happens when she dies and doesn’t come back?”

“Then we know that the cure didn’t work,” you say. “No matter what, there’s a chance of it not working.” You looked to Laura. “Do you still want me to try?”

She nodded. “You either die trying or we watch you die a long agonizing death,” she said. 

“Then I die trying.”

“I can help you,” Wade offered. “I can make it painless and—“

“I will do it,” Logan interrupted. There was no room for argument in the way he spoke and the look on his face. “It’s something I have to do.” 

You knew what Logan was thinking, that no one else should bear that weight but him. “Okay,” you whispered. It was no use trying to argue. “Then… I guess it’s time to say goodbye.”

~~~

Per your request, Logan moved you back to your bed. There was no way that you were dying in a blown up pool in your living room. You requested to speak to each of them separately, beginning with Wade.

“I knew I was your favorite,” Wade teased as he came in and shut the door. He waltzed over at sat on the edge of the bed beside you. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me first, huh?”

“Wade,” you smiled. “I really didn’t know I needed you in my life.”

“Everyone needs one of me, Buttercup, especially you.”

You chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth… You need to rekindle things with Vanessa.”

“Buttercup—“

“No. I know that you’ve been busy taking care of me but, no matter what happens, you knew to try with Vanessa. You saved the universe for her. And you both deserve happiness.” You grabbed his hand. “Do that, for me?”

He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’d do anything for my favorite superhero.”

“I know… thank you. Thank for fighting for the universe and finding Logan. Thank you for fighting for me and Laura. Thank you for finding this cure… I’m sorry if he doesn’t work.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault if it doesn’t work. And let’s not talk like that. What if it does work? There’s so much that I want to see from your powers! Once you’re back to your best self, we’re all going to get out of here. Somewhere that you can show off your powers to me and of course, Peanut out there.”

“Deal.”

The room grew quiet, almost choking the two of you.

“I’ll take care of Logan and Laura,” Wade quietly promised.

“Thank you,” you teared up. “And take care of yourself too.”

“I’ll try.” He leaned forward and held a kiss to your head. “You’ll always be my favorite hero, Buttercup… Always.”

You gave his hand a squeeze as he stood up and walked out of the room. You looked up at the ceiling, trying to control the tears. But before you knew it, you were thrown into a coughing fit, choking on ash. Laura rushed in, coming to sit beside you and help you through the cough. Once the cough has died down, you and Laura are holding onto each other, quickly becoming sobbing messes.

“I need you to know how grateful I am that you came into our lives,” you finally said through the tears. “You have been one of the greatest things that has ever happened to my life.”

“Thank you for taking me in,” Laura responded, still crying as well. “Thank you for being the best mom.”

“I need you to listen to me, Laura. I need you to always remember how amazing you are. You have become better than they made you to be and I need you to continue on that path. Okay?”

Laura nodded. “Okay, mom.”

“You finish up school. You find someone to love and who loves you even more. Live a full life, no matter how long you live.”

“It’s going to be hard without you.”

“I know, kiddo, but I also know that you can do it.” You took a deep, strained breath as you pulled the dog tags and ring from around your neck. “These are yours now. Do what you wish with them.” With a trembling hand, Laura took them and held them close to her chest. “I love you so much, Laura.”

“I love you, too, mom.” She leaned forward and wrapped you up in a hug.

You held a kiss to the side of her head. “If this doesn’t work, please don’t mourn too long. Keep going. Keep living.”

“I’ll try.”

“I know you will.” You pulled away and cupped her cheek. “I am so proud of you, kiddo, and will always be.”

~~~

After Laura left, Logan hovered in the doorway. You were laying back on the pile of pillows, eyes closed as you tried to calm your raspy breathing. You were fading fast. Logan could see it and you could feel it. Whether or not you took the cure, there was most likely no tomorrow for you. But the cure was the last hope and Logan couldn’t give up on the happiness he had found with you. He stepped in and shut the door behind him. Your eyes opened and you pressed out a smile for him.

“Lo,” you held out your hand to him. He reached out and took it, taking the needed steps to stand beside you. “Sit, please.” Logan shook his head. “I need you to hold me.”

“I can’t,” his voice broke.

“You don’t have to do this. Wade can help me–”

“No. It has to be me.”

“But it doesn’t… I know that you won’t be able to forgive yourself if this doesn’t work.”

“I can’t bear the thought of anyone else having your death weigh them down or you going through it alone… I love you too much.”

“And I love you too much to have you do this alone.”

“I’m not alone… I have you, baby.”

“Please, hold me, Lo.”

Logan couldn’t resist anymore. He got onto the bed and carefully scooped you up. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I need to thank you,” you whispered, unable to stop the emotions and tears.

“For what, doll?”

“For taking care of me and Laura. For making me happier than I have been in years… For mending parts of me that I thought would never heal… I am forever grateful for you.”

“I wish I could have done more… I wish that I could truly take this all away from you.”

“You have done everything you could and more… Kiss me.”

The kiss is urgent, sloppy, and wet, due to the tears streaming down both of your faces. The two of you kept murmuring ‘I love you’ as you kissed, wanting the other to never forget. When you finally break, you stay close, with your foreheads touching and noses brushing.

“You changed my life, baby,” Logan whispered, voice cracking as tears continued to stream down his face. “I never thought I could be happy again… not after everything that has happened and all that I’ve done.”

“You are a good man, Lo. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I’ll try, darlin’... for you… I’ll make sure that Laura is taken care of. I won’t let her be alone.”

“You two need each other and you need Wade.” Logan chuckled. “I know he drives you crazy, but the three of you have to stick together. None of you should be alone.”

The two of you stay holding each other for a few moments, until the urge to cough becomes too much. Logan holds you as you turn to cough up more ash, your insides burning with pain. When it subsides, you lean back against Logan to catch your breath.

“I’m ready,” you whispered. “Are you?”

“I’m never ready to risk your life, baby… I need you.”

“I know.”

Logan dug the cure out from his pocket and opened it for you to take. You quickly take it like a shot, coughing as it burns on the way down. Logan gently turned you back to face him.

“I love you so much… Always,” he promised.

“I love you, Lo,” you told him.

Logan captured your lips into another kiss. You melted into him. Slowly, his trembling hand formed into a fist as it made its way up your back. His fist stopped at your heart and paused, feeling the frantic beat of it. His kiss grew more urgent as he silently prayed that he’d get to feel your beating heart again. Logan pulled you impossibly closer as he lined up his fist with your heart.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips before his claws released into your heart.

You gasped before you completely went limp in his arms, not breathing. Logan cradled you close as he sobbed, his claws slowly retracting. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry… Please, come back to me… Come back, baby.”

~~~

Days pass and you still haven’t turned to ash. Your body was still in your bedroom, decaying. No one dared to enter, but the smell has begun to creep out into the rest of the apartment. Laura has been curled up on her bed since Logan came out and told them you were dead. She couldn’t handle it. Logan has barely moved from the table, which was now covered in empty bottles of alcohol. Wade hadn’t sat down in days. He was moving between Laura and Logan, making sure that they were both still alive and breathing.

“We need to decide next steps,” Wade eventually brought up as he set a plate of food in front of Logan. 

Logan growled, clenching the empty beer bottle in his hand, cracking it. “No. She’s coming back.”

“Peanut, she would have been back by now. I’ve read her finals. She’s never decayed before turning to ash before.”

“This is different.”

“Yes, it is, Logan. She’s gone.”

Logan hated the fact that Wade used his name to prove a point. His head snapped in the direction of the hall as he heard shuffling. For a brief moment, Logan hoped but it was crushed when Laura appeared.

“We need to bury her,” she rasped. Logan’s eyes fell to the dog tags and ring that now belonged to her. “She’s not coming back.”

“We can’t give up on her like that!” Logan exclaimed.

“We aren’t giving up on her, Logan. We are respecting her.”

“It’s all my fault, Peanut,” Wade said. He hadn’t been able to stop moving because of the guilt that he was feeling. He brought back a faulty cure. You were now dead because of it. “I should have made sure the cure would work.”

“You’re not the one who killed her,” Logan murmured, eyes falling to the hand that did the deed. “My claws ripped through her heart.”

“Logan,” Laura came up and sat beside the man, “we all know that she wouldn’t have made it through the day anyway… you helped her.”

Logan scoffed. “Whatever.” He grabbed another bottle, tore it open, and took a swig. “Bury her then. I don’t care.”

“Where do you think we should bury her, Little Wolf?” Wade asked.

“Somewhere she loved,” she responded.

~~~

You had told all of them about your cabin in the Canadian Rockies and how you hadn’t been to it in years. Currently, your younger self and your husband still owned the property and Laura knew that neither of you would ever return to it. Laura decided to bury you at the edge of the cliff. Logan and Wade dug the hole and Logan carefully set you down in it before they covered you. Laura had made a similar marker to that of her father’s and placed it at your feet. Logan looked around at the view, the cliff overlooking the valley and the mountain range.

“This is pretty,” Logan muttered. “I can see why they stayed here… I wish that I could have provided something like this for her.” He moved to sit on the edge of the cliff, quickly following while Wade wandered into the cabin.

“Please don’t blame yourself, Logan,” Laura said.

“Who else is there to blame? There’s no one I can go get revenge on. No villain to fight off to protect us… My claws were what tore through her heart… It’s my fault.”

“Your claws are what healed her, Logan. She wasn’t the person in the stories I had heard without my dad and you were able to bring that back to her… to me… Your claws saved her from the pain and heartache that she would have continued to go through until her power completely destroyed her. They saved us from having to watch that.”

Logan nodded. “I’m… I’m going to need you to keep reminding me of that. So I won't give up on myself and walk away… This ain’t going to be easy for me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you walk away.”

“Thanks, kid.” Logan let himself think wistfully for a moment. “Laura… do you believe in an afterlife?”

“I don’t know. I think, maybe now I do. I hope that I’ll see my mom again and… and my dad. What about you?”

“I don’t know with the whole multiverse. I don’t understand how it would work. Like is there an afterlife for each universe or one for the whole multiverse?”

“I don’t know if it matters. I think that maybe, no matter the universe, we’d reunite with our loved ones again.”

“I guess I need some of your faith, kid.” The two fell silent, staring out at the view. “I hope… I hope I see my family and friends again. All of them… And I hope that Y/N is reunited with her James.” 

Laura was taken back by the admission. “You mean that?”

“Every word. Y/N deserves to be with her husband. I was lucky with the time I had and I will always cherish it. I am grateful she loved me as much as she did; in the way she did. I will always miss her and, yes, it hurts that she can’t just be mine. But her James–your dad–got to her first and I will do my best to respect that… Maybe, if there is an after life, I’ll get another chance with my original Y/N.”

“Yeah, maybe… Too bad you’re stuck with me and Wade for now.” She playfully bumped her shoulder into him. 

He huffed out a smile and reached over, pulling her into his side. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, kid, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

Another bout of silence fell between them.

“I miss her so much,” Laura whispered, tearing up.

“Me, too, kid,” Logan responded. “Me, too.”

“Hey! Are you two having an emotional moment without me?!” Wade exclaimed, clambering over. “I can’t believe you two! After all I continue to do for you, this is how–”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade,” Laura and Logan said at the same time.

“Just get over her, loudmouth,” Logan added, motioning for the man to come over.

Wade hurried over and plopped down at Logan’s side, nuzzling his face into Logan’s shoulder.

“Stop that,” Logan murmured.

“Oh, come on, Peanut,” Wade replied. “You know you love me.”

Logan scoffed. “Whatever.”

The three sat there on the edge of the cliff, watching the sunset, and holding onto the small moment of peace within their sea of grief. The three of them were a weird, makeshift family, but each of them knew that they had each other's backs. Always. And that no matter what the future held, they would fight it, together.

~~~

“Come on, princess.”

The voice was familiar but it wasn’t clear. Like you were underwater. Your whole body felt that way: floating and drowning at the same time.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart… You’re safe now.”

It took too much effort, but you eventually opened your eyes. The light surrounding you was blinding. Your hand came up to cover your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness. Once your hand fell down, you gasped.

“James?”

A grin spread across his face. He was much younger than the last time you had seen him. But you would recognize him in a line up of his multiverse counterparts any day. 

“Hey, honey,” your husband smiled.

“James.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.” You launched yourself up and wrapped him into your arms. He laughed as he hugged you back and held a kiss to your cheek. 

“It’s been too long.”

“Tell me about it. You didn’t have to watch your wife fall in love with another version of you.”

You pulled back. “You– you saw that?”

“I saw everything, princess.” He cupped your cheeks. “You and Laura stayed strong and stayed together. I’m so proud of you both.”

“I hate that I had to leave her.”

“I know. But we’ll see her again and we can watch over her too. And, I’m sure Logan and Wade won’t leave her on her own.”

“They won’t… Are you mad?”

“Mad about what?”

“That I fell in love again.”

“Not one bit, sweetheart. You deserved to be loved and you have so much love to give. Logan took care of you and Laura when I couldn’t. I will forever owe him for that.”

“I love you, you know? No one could ever compare to you.”

“I love you too, princess.” 

James pulled you in for a long awaited kiss. You sunk into it, tugging him closer to feel him. You couldn’t believe that this was real. That you were back with your husband after all this time.

“I’m never letting go of you again,” he breathed against your lips.

“Good,” you replied. “Because I’m never letting you.”

~~~~

Notes: Thank you for reading and I hope you read the second version of this chapter. If you choose not to, thank you for going on this journey with me. This series was so much fun to write and it was all because of how it was interacted with. I couldn't have made this series what it is without you. Thank you so much and I hope you stick around to see what's to come.

[croquis-el]

Continuing the theme of Naruhodou’s character, I would like to mention a few more striking details that run like a red thread throughout the series of games.

In addition to the incredible strength of spirit, perseverance and stubbornness, which I wrote about in the post below, the fandom also (fortunately) mentions his secrecy (he doesn’t reveal much about himself). But since I’ve already seen such a post and I’m unlikely to make a discovery for anyone, I won’t repeat it.

I want to talk about Naruhodou's short temper, his impulsiveness and how this complements his complex personality and difficult character.

Again, to avoid confusion: Naruhodou = Wright

It was a discovery for me that some part of the fandom considers Naruhodou an extremely patient person, ready to put the brakes on absolutely everything.

After all, this is not the case.

He isn't afraid that his words can touch a person to the quick (especially when it comes to the truth). There are times when he speaks without thinking or after thinking poorly (however, more often he speaks directly, clearly and carefully calculating his moves). He also doesn't give up his words, and if he understands that he was wrong, he admits it to his opponent, accepting defeat.

Returning to the topic of temper: Naruhodo can be easily angered. He is short tempered. Hothead. His dynamite fuse is quite short. It ignites quickly, explodes and cools down as quickly as the ash settles.

The first time (if we consider the chronology of events) we are faced with the consequences of Naruhodou's temper and subsequent anger is during 3-1 (Turnabout Memories; jp: 思い出の逆転).

Naruhodou testifies that after he listened to warnings about his girlfriend from her ex-boyfriend, he became very angry. Not believing a word of it, he lost his temper and “lightly” pushed the guy in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground (that’s strength!). Eventually, after his outburst, he began to worry (the ash had settled) and returned to check on Nonda (Doug Swallow), but unfortunately this led to his further arrest (again, when he made an impulsive decision to flee the scene of the crime).

Even if we ignore or question what Chinami (Dahlia) said where she mentions that Naruhodou can be quite violent (because all of her testimony was created to frame him), he himself mentions this several times in his testimony. Naruhodou himself knows that his behavior can change dramatically as a reaction to words or moments that are unpleasant for him.

Naruhodou has some patience, but it quickly runs out and he loses control over the volume of his voice and the words he speaks. He gets very annoyed by the strange or dishonest behavior of others and he unconsciously begins to raise his voice (this is all accompanied by a shaking screen while typing).

Naruhodou also admits that he can act like a child when he is angry.

Those who are spared the consequences of Naruhodo's temper are children. Naruhodo does not raise his voice or get angry at either Harumi (Pearl), Minuki (Trucy), or Ahlby Ur'gaid (Bokuto Tsuani) for their words or behavior.

The courtroom is no exception.

In most cases, Naruhodou pays close attention to his speech and behaves accordingly when in the halls of law. However, when his patience comes to an end and control of his voice recedes into the background, the judge is forced to reprimand Naruhodou. (But I want to write about Naruhodou’s behavior in and out of the courtroom, as well as his increased control over his outbursts and emotions, in a separate post.)

It is also impossible not to mention his impulsive actions, which he commits at the peak of emotions (the decision to study law, cross a burning bridge, defend the accused even under the threat of the death penalty, and other equally reckless ones). Despite this, he doesn't regret for a minute such turning points in his life.

I admire how alive and multifaceted Naruhodou turned out to be. He has many qualities that make the character very interesting. He isn't perfect, but at the same time, I want to sing odes and give flowers for him (beg, not only me).

P.S.

Let me remind you once again that English is not my native language.

I'm using screenshots from the game from the adaptation because the main post is still in English, and when translating from my native language or from Japanese, there may be misinformation that I would like to avoid.

[lurkinginnernarrator]

Yue Qingyuan didn't value his soul like one who possesses their soul does, because his soul belonged to Shen Jiu. In the same way, Shen Jiu swore his life to Yue Qingyuan, and so unlike a man who possesses his life, Shen Jiu did not enjoy it. In the end, neither of them got to keep their life, or soul.

Something about both of them entering Wan Jian's swordhalls for the other, Yue Qingyuan to claim a sword, to put a claim to strength, strength enough to rescue Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu, entering Wan Jian to grasp a physical symbol of what he has carried. The physical bond of his loyalty he cannot abandon, the devotion he cannot sever from himself.

(Something about a sword from Wan Jian tying one to Cang Qiong, so even if Shen Jiu could not belong with Yue Qingyuan, if he belonged to Cang Qiong, and Cang Qiong belonged to Yue Qingyuan...)

Them both bearing the physical symbols of their devotion, loyalty, and desire, affixing those symbols to their waists daily, for years, and in that same day, walking past one another, and feeling only heartache.

Miscommunication is Qijiu’s favorite pastime, you see, because to Shen Jiu, Xuan Su has a bitter meaning: A symbol of how Yue Qingyuan had truly moved past him. How he ascended, abandoning Shen Jiu to a mortal fate, an untouchable immortal cultivator.

Xiu Ya, to Yue Qingyuan. Yue Qi.

A reminder. A symbol of his greatest peace, a monument to his greatest failure. For Shen Jiu could master a sword when Yue Qingyuan could not. Yet, how could Yue Qi not feel comforted by his dearest person’s glorious triumph? To each of them, the other’s sword as a reminder of their greatest pain.

Poetically, PIDW!Shen Qingqiu consuming the shards of Xuan Su. The shards of Xuan Su, Yue Qingyuan’s soul, his broken ascendancy. Shen Jiu consuming that, subsuming it to himself, tying Yue Qingyuan to him, in a way that SVSSS!Shen Jiu did not get a chance to.

It is either the shards of Xuan Su, or a broken red string.

Someone said that Yue Qingyuan is never on time.

To which I thought, and perhaps, this could be true, Shen Jiu is always too early.

Qijiu seems eternally meant to pass each other, never meant to meet.

Shen Jiu, leaving the inferno of Qiu Manor, too early. Yue Qingyuan, finding cold ashes, too late.

Shen Jiu, dying before his time, or at least, his soul departing, too early. Yue Qingyuan, speaking painful truth instead of remonstrating his own folly, too late.

We don’t know what Yue Qingyuan and SVSSS!Shen Jiu’s last words were to each other.

Ashes and tears to go around!

Ten thousand arrows and a broken sword.

[raayllum]

The thing (or one of the things) about Ezran in early S7 is that while he's not being unreasonable, he is being hypocritical and unproductive ("You forgave Zubeia"). 7x01 is his breaking point after seasons of trying to keep everyone else together and weathering each conflict in as most an unaffected manner as possible, and he quite simply couldn't do it anymore.

Zubeia sent an assassin to kill your father? You long for your mother so deeply, you don't know your dad is dead yet, you do everything you can to get Zym back home because you love him (you can literally see through his eyes) and because it's the best chance for peace. Forgive her for killing your father and trying to kill you because she was grieving and Zym's dad for killing your mother because he's dead and they miss him. Put all your anger in a box at the one person who actually did kill him, because Zubeia saw her baby and changed her mind, and your found family sister (who is also missing) defected and spared your life that night, and he didn't.

Deny the ugly truths as long as you can by focusing on peace ("I ignored something that was true. I denied something that is undeniable"). Why should you have to acknowledge anger? Can't you just get past that? And then you can't, with the picture. (Then you can't, later, with yourself.)

Rayla comes back and Callum is fighting with her? Forgive and welcome her back unconditionally and try to counsel Callum through his big feelings. Rinse and repeat when Soren and then Zym goes missing. Advocate for and refuse to give up on Rex Igneous until he sends you sprawling into a wall.

Take on the responsibility of negotiating with the dragons. With Finnegrin (you offer up your hand, and so do your friends, your family). Talk your brother out of a more violent solution, and Rayla sides with you. She does again about hiding with the pearl and you save each other's lives. You look after home while she and Callum leave to save the world, and tell Soren the hard truth and deal with Viren till you don't. You try to spare Karim and his forces. You believe in peace. You believe in breaking the cycle.

"I am a king, and as a king, I choose love over strength."

"King of what? King of ashes?"

Ezran looks at what two years of trying to do the right peaceful thing has earned him — a destroyed kingdom while he was away — and he desperately, angrily, grasps at any semblance of control. This can't be all it was for. He feels like he's failed as a king, and is therefore a bad king. He needs to punish Sol Regem for it, but he can't. It needs to be Runaan's 'fault' because Runaan made him a king, even though keeping Runaan chained up in the Banther Lodge basement doesn't do anything but keep another family (Rayla's family) apart and make him feel in control. His pendulum swings so hard and strong, the target of his anger constantly changing to the most recent wound stacked upon themselves. After 7x02, he's not visibly angry at Runaan again until the finale; he's angrier at Callum than he is at Rayla because he thought he had control over his brother ("Callum. High Mage. We need you at this council meeting") even if that shouldn't be the goal or the focus at all anyway.

Callum doesn't betray him just because of Rayla, but because Ezran is perpetuating the cycle in a way that is antithetical to everything all three of them have striven to break, which is exactly what Callum points out to him. (If Rayla had surrendered or Callum had stayed, they just all likely would've been arrested, as it's unlikely Rayla and Runaan would've made it in the boat with Callum's magic, either. Would that have made Ezran, or anyone, feel better, hunting down his brother and friends, bringing them back in chains? No, and only Aanya is brave enough to say it out loud after Ez proves he values his bond with his brother / Callum's life over destroying Runaan's and Rayla's by proxy.)

"Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else."

What would killing or imprisoning Runaan (again) really have done?

"Hasn't he already been punished enough? Viren trapped him in a cursed coin for years. It's time to set him free." / "How much suffering is enough to pay for the mistakes we've made? No amount of suffering, yours or mine, will ever bring him back."

("As a father, I have a selfish wish, and that is for you and Ezran to be... free.")

"A life for a life. Is that justice?"

We also see that his scene with Runaan is one of the very last in the season. It's been months, if not nine, before Ezran was ready to have that conversation, ready to do with Runaan what he willingly did with Aaravos ("A king must look into the face and hear the words of those he judges"). A few days or a week by Callum's estimate wouldn't have been enough.

Ezran set Terry free to see if they could really trust him. He refused to do the same with Runaan even when it was causing clear pain and fracturing within his own family unit, nor did Runaan come to Katolis to face justice; it was just happenstance. But in Runaan being freed, he was then able to choose to come back to face Ezran's verdict. And then Ezran makes his own conscious choice.

"I'm going to forgive you. I don't know how, but I have to try."

He told everyone else that they had to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss in their hearts while also holding love. It was hard before. It was hard now. But he has to try.

(Nor does Harrow being in the bird erase the two years of mourning hell that Ezran went through, remove the crown from his brow, make things with Runaan any easier tbh, or mean he's 100% getting his father back.)

[umathurwin]

Omg hi! I feel like I’m the only sofia hater out there bc all i see are people loving her character is so boring to me and her and rafe relationship seems so forced to me like she is supposed to help him reconcile with his sister but instead, she spent all season doing nothing apart from the hollis plot

being called a sofia hater cracks me up because i feel like i never talk about her, in fact i usually forget she exists 😭 but i’ll accept it, because i really do hate the way her character (which had a great premise) was totally wasted

a youtuber i really love once described pansy parkinson from harry potter as “an original character wearing the skin of a minor character” and i think that perfectly encapsulates sofia. they make these moodboards, these stories, these elaborate headcanons about a character we know little to nothing about. do i respect it? hell yes. it takes a lot of work. but to have these intense convictions and arguments about a 0.5-dimensional character… WHY?

i went and rewatched every scene in s4 where she even just appears and wrote down my thoughts on them (despite how tedious this was… the action really does rely on the pogues) and like… wow. where do i start

her s4 introduction is the scene where rafe scatters ward’s ashes on the boat, and it’s awkward but in a fair way. i wouldn’t really know what to do either. in the same episode, she’s at the enduro cheering for rafe, but she is inexplicably standing TOTALLY by herself. i still have no idea if this was just filmed oddly or if it was deliberate but this photo kills me… girl why are you alone? at no other point is she physically excluded from the kooks like this. wtf

and after that? nearly every single moment she and rafe share the screen? he’s awful to her. he verbally mocks her in the bar when she tries to calm him down. he flirts with hollis right in sofia’s face and abases her for feeling hurt. he dismisses her every time she tries to express her opinion. rafe does not respect his girlfriend, nor does he care about her thoughts and values. how do i know?

because she knows. how exactly did she convince him to take the deal, again? well, first she says she thinks it’s a good idea, which merely amuses him. then, she makes up a lie about other club members denigrating rafe and how this deal could improve his social status—i believe this to be a fabrication because it easily could’ve and should’ve been explicit on screen if true— and this causes him make up his mind. she knows rafe’s insecurities. she knows what does and doesn’t entice him. and yeah, i’ll be honest, sometimes it makes me sick to think about how deeply she knows this man, and how little he knows/cares about her

rafe brings up marriage, living together, a future with sofia. but do you notice anything about his big grand speeches? ever notice how, when he’s describing his fantasy, it revolves around material things he can own and show off— and sofia has always been one of them? rafe never has anything to say about what she specifically does for him, what he likes about her. bc… what does he like about her? rafe is unfortunately, at the end of the day, selfish. he focuses on what he’ll be able to give her, and what having a pretty wife says about him. the occupant of that role is, well, interchangeable

when rafe “proposed” to her and she did not confess the scam, i knew it was over. this is rafe cameron we’re talking about, a man who values loyalty more than anything in the world, and that was her last shot at coming clean before it was too late. committing a betrayal (well…in the eyes of the narrative…more on that in a sec) and hiding it from him? guys there was zero chance of him learning the truth and forgiving her. i watched the premier with my mother and i even turned to her and said we just watched the final nail go into the coffin. and it did!

(also, not to beat a dead horse, but even after he gives her the ring and he leaves to morocco, he dismissively excludes her again! “i have to go” “what are you doing?” “don’t worry about it, bye!” and she just takes it?! STAND UP!)

fundamentally, sofia’s “betrayal” plotline was weak or, at the very least, not very well thought-out. it’s like the idea of sofia going behind rafe’s back was pitched, but they were unsure how to integrate that into the season. the explosive reaction that rafe had when groff revealed the plot seemed contrived, like the show wanted to put more of the blame on sofia than was warranted. rafe had all but made up his mind by the time sofia had been paid off; to claim that she was the big catalyst in his decision is unfair and literally just wrong. sure, he liked her giving her blessing (because he already wanted to say yes), but i have a really, really genuine question for all of you.

if she had said no, would he have called off the deal?

(spoiler, no. because when she changed her mind after learning of the scam, he dismissed her yet again. the show has countless opportunities for rafe to just care about his girlfriend, and he never takes them!)

while i’m nitpicking, she also never learns any information via her own efforts. every single time she uncovers a new detail, it’s because she’s working around a loud-mouth kook who coincidentally says the right thing at the right moment as she refills their ewers. fuck, can we give her a CRUMB of agency? please?

and yeah, i don’t even engage in any theory that sofia helped rafe reunite with his family. did she ever give any meaningful advice to him? she didn’t even have context—was he ever planning on telling her exactly what he’d done to sarah and her friends? could sarah even pick this girl out of a lineup?! ya, she really is the glue in the cameron dynamic. lol

counter arguments i’m ready to address:

“he takes the deal for her!” funny because,,, he really doesn’t. we even watch the reason he takes the deal— his family. rafe likes the opportunity from the jump but is hesitant because of the investment, and a dreamy montage of him, ward, and sarah is what cements his decision. sofia canonically had nothing to do with it

“but he says he’s taking the deal for him and sofia when he’s alone with hollis!” correct! but you’ll notice he literally only brings her up when hollis starts hitting on him. he’s not attracted to hollis, and her advances make him visibly uncomfortable. bringing up sofia was a way to shut down hollis without explicitly telling a business partner to get off his ass

“rafe brings up sofia’s opinion of the deal with groff!” true, but i actually see this as a display of rafe’s tact and emotional intelligence. rafe is suspicious that he’s been scammed, but it’s genuinely not wise to barge into the office of the man who has $400k of your money and your testicles in his fist to start threatening him— even when he’s not a murderer. “hey… so my gf thinks you’re scamming me… thoughts?” he’s being coy. he’s being smart. he’s not bringing up sofia in a loverboy context. cmon

***

deep inhale. okay, i’m done. i’m sorry i always forget about her. but it’s so much better than the alternative

[madame-mortician]

Reposting from my TikTok, but I adore this theory/headcanon, I haven’t seen anybody else talk about it but I basically see it as canon.

Basically, I think that The Evil Dead is the actual events that happened that first night. Cheryl getting possessed first and then the rest dying until Ash kills Cheryl and Scotty and survives the night. This is basically 100% canon because Cheryl returns so it wasn’t just that they retconned this movie out of existence to say that only Ash and Linda went to the cabin like Evil Dead 2 implies.

So what is it then?

Technically it’s just shitty continuity. Originally Sam Raimi was going to include the others in the opening recap (with himself playing Scotty) but they didn’t want too much of the film to be rehashing the first movie, so they cut it back down to just Linda since she as arguably the one that most impacts Ash.

But that’s no fun, so here comes my headcanon/explanation for these recaps despite the first movie being the truth. So essentially I believe Ash became so traumatised and went slightly insane, and this caused not only memory loss but also him to misremember what actually happened.

The Evil Dead is how the first night actually went down, and the second night is just Evil Dead 2 with Linda coming back and biting his hand before he finishes her off. Then the rest of the movie and whatnot. Now is there actually any differences besides the lack of characters? Yes. Subtle ones and definitely just continuity errors but shhh.

Firstly, Ash remembers Linda being attacked through the window like Shelly was. He also doesn’t know how he ended up finding out about the cabin, despite the first movie saying that Scotty rented it (but Ash doesn’t remember Scotty, so he doesn’t remember how he got the cabin.) And finally, Linda’s deadite looks remarkably less-gorey and visually ghoulish. She’s still scary and supernatural, but compared to the first film she’s very toned down.

I think Ash only remembers Linda since she fucked him up the most mentally, due to how close they were and how scary she looked. That and she is one of the only deadites to go absolutely nuts on him. Cheryl hits him, so does Scotty, but Linda stabs and hurts him so much more. This, and the fact that only Linda returns in the second night AND it’s her necklace that saves Ash, means he would remember her.

But why forget the others existed? Surely they traumatised him too? I think he forgot them because of his massive survivors guilt. He couldn’t kill Shelly because he was too scared, he did kill Cheryl and Scotty, and then with Linda he didn’t kill her. He left her outside and only killed her once he absolutely had to. With how mad he becomes, especially after he learns that deadites can be saved, it’s any wonder he would feel horrible about killing his little sister and his best friend.

Then if you factor Army of Darkness into it, the recap shows no blood or gore, and Linda looks completely different and we don’t see her deadite form again. If I had to guess, going off personality, by Army of Darkness Ash has basically gone mad and circled back into being a charming asshole (which he wasn’t in the OG film) so him forgetting most of the cabin besides the important details makes sense. Him remembering Linda wrong could also mean he’s either forgetting about her (which also makes sense since he finds two new lovers in this film) or he’s still so traumatised he doesn’t really remember what she actually looked like.

It’s much easier for Ash to go crazy and lie to himself about how many people died because of him, instead of being constantly haunted by horrifying images of his loved ones in agony.

TL;DR: The Evil Dead is what actually happened, Evil Dead 2 and Army of Darkness is what Ash remembers due to trauma.

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Thirteen

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Thirteen!! I'm actually so excited to post this one. There's some angst, but like it's not all bad, this is actually probably one of my favourite updates to date. But this is just a forewarning! Lots of swearing too, to be expected really so.. Anyway, hope you enjoy it, have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of emotions over this one!

Thank you again for all the love this series has gotten, means so much and really does keep me writing:)

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy @helloitsme1223

Masterlist

It was strained. 

The entire house, its whole atmosphere. It was just incredibly heavy and strange.

It wasn’t hard to miss either, judging from the careful way Rosie had been watching the two of us since she’d first woken up this morning. 

But last night hadn’t fared any better. Em had been weirdly distant; not meeting my eye, dancing around subjects, hardly speaking at all in actuality, and then he went as far as to avoid my touch— even as I’d handed him a fucking fork. 

It was such a harsh reality check for me in truth, because suddenly, I felt like an intruder. 

“El?” Rosie’s voice rang out, drawing me from my inner musings as well as the slice of toast I’d practically been burning a hole into. 

“Hm?” I replied belatedly, dragging my eyes up and away from my plate to cast her a distant look, but Z was just wearing this perplexed sort of frown that had me blinking away any remaining haze as she dropped her spoon into her bowl of cereal. The splash sent a few drops of milk flying over the countertop.

“Called you like four times.” She sighed, that frown of hers still prominent enough for me to throw a small smile back in apology.

“Sorry, just– must be half asleep still.” I attempted to shake off the solemn feeling I’d been cast in, laughing faintly before I finally took a bite out of my own breakfast, hating the way the bread tasted like ash in my mouth.

She didn’t seem to take the bait though, not if the scrunch of her brow was any indication, or her next words, “Are you sure? ‘Cause last night–”

I didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for Marshall’s sudden appearance in that next moment because the girl swiftly cut herself off in favour of hurriedly spooning another load of cereal into her mouth.

Marshall whipped around the island without so much as a glance in my direction, opening up the fridge before he turned towards the coffee pot he had laid out but hadn’t used since my first day here. The kettle and the half-made mug of tea I’d set out for him either going unseen or just ignored. I was betting on the latter.

I opened my mouth to say something, if only to break the debilitating silence, when the man himself unknowingly cut me off. “You almost ready?” He questioned Z, who was still slurping up the remnants of her bowl. 

The girl’s eyes darted towards him from over the porcelain brim of it before she dropped her arms to cast him a buoyant grin lined with, what could have only been, a milk moustache. I couldn’t help the fondness my smile gave way to, or how I reached out to wipe her upper lip with a nearby napkin. 

Her expression softened at either the gesture or my laughter, I wasn't quite sure, but her bright eyes glanced back over to her Dad just as I withdrew my hand.

“Nearly, just my shoes.” Rosie told him easily enough, kicking her legs out beneath the table to better show him her shoeless feet. I saw Marshall roll his eyes out of the corner of my own eye and deigned to take a long sip of my brew if only to keep from flashing him the shared smile that threatened to break through. I didn’t think it would fair well right now, me trying to buddy up to him over his daughter's shameless antics. 

“We got fifteen minutes ‘fore you’re late.” He replied to her as he all but drained his mug dry, the heady smell of coffee grinds polluted the kitchen's air. I bit the inside of my cheek when the familiar warning of scalding his mouth crawled its way out across my tongue, but I didn’t dare speak a word.

Rosie bobbed her head in a quick understanding, already jumping down from the barstool to run and grab the last of her things before she could set off for school, forgetting the dirtied bowl she had left on the counter.

I didn’t think much of my next movement, in truth, mostly looking for a reason to ignore the heavy cloud which had since settled over the shared space, as I picked up both the bowl, my plate too, to carry them both over to the bin and sink. 

A sound had me glancing back over my shoulder instinctively once I’d turned on the taps though, surprised to find Marshall already looking in my direction, or rather the sinks, I supposed.

But maybe I was wrong about that, because my surprise jumped straight up to shock when I heard him speak, to me. “How many times I tell you, you ain’t gotta do that?” It didn’t sound much like the question it was meant to be, more of a grunt than anything else as his hard stare flickered up to meet mine.

It was instinct for me to frown, but as my forehead went to furrow I was quick to smooth it back out again and turn my back on him, knowing this conversation would be much easier if I made quick work of the dishes in the sink. “I don’t mind.” I muttered back, hands already covered in soap duds.

He didn’t deign to respond, just let the sound of the water fill the lengthy space that had been created between us so suddenly. My heart ached a little over it, in truth, as I wondered what I’d done so wrong to have fucked up the easy thing we had going on here. 

Because look, it wasn’t as though I was new to quick snipes or heated conversations, or whatever the fuck this was. But it unsettled me enough to know that it was him that I was on the outs with. Marshall, he’d practically taken me in, done more than just house and feed me, but now he was just over it? Done with all the niceties because of an almost– what, kiss? If it had even been that at all. 

But I didn’t, scratch that, I couldn’t linger on the thought because if I did, then I would be sure to start fucking throwing back words a lot more scathing than just ‘I don’t mind’.

I was broken from the way I was furiously scrubbing away at my plate with the scour when my personal space was suddenly invaded. I all but jumped out of my skin as my head shot over to the left to find Marshall now stood there, leaning over me in the tight corner which sat between the two adjoining counters, just so that he could drop his cup into the soapy basin. 

His eyes met mine the second I looked up at him, mouth somewhat agape enough to have those icy blues of his dropping down to catch a quick look before they settled back on my own again. I went to swallow, confused and caught entirely off guard by the intrusion, but found I couldn’t. Which was good, in reality, seeing as I didn’t dare want to let onto the fact that he’d garnered anything more than surprise out of me.

“Seein’ as you don’t mind then.” 

Marshall’s comment perplexed me further, before I caught wind of what he was really getting at with it. So it was in that next moment that I allowed my eyes to narrow, even as he brushed back against me slowly, almost languid in his retreat. 

I huffed out a tiny, grim laugh, more air than anything, when I shoved the dish I’d been cleaning into his chest, flicking soap and water all over him. But it was missed only slightly by his moving form, catching his bicep instead and allowing a trail of water to drip down his bare forearm. “You won’t mind dryin’ then.” I shot back scathingly, clenching my teeth.

As much as my own action had surprised me, the drawl of my accent heightening in my anger gave way to the actual shock which lined beneath it, forcing me to turn back to the sink before Marshall could realise or actually comment on it. 

I didn’t know what it was about what had transpired that kept him from jumping down my throat, but he kept quiet even as it took him a good second or two to grab the towel hanging by the draining rack and wipe at the sodden plate. 

It was tense after that. Not a word was spoken, and so a shaky exhale left me the moment Rosie reentered the room, her shoes clicking against the kitchen tiles as she slung her school bag over a single shoulder. 

If Marshall heard the reaction, he gave no indication, but was quick in the way he jumped back from the counter to meet her. “Let’s go.” He all but demanded after he’d chucked the towel down onto the side so that he could round the island. 

I didn’t have to look back to hear the confusion Rosie obviously felt, “Is El not coming?”

Opening my mouth to answer her, my chest pinched when Marshall did so for me instead, “Not today. Come on, you gone be late.”

It was with that which he withdrew from the room with, leaving me blinking and Rosie gaping at his retreating figure. I wondered then where the hell it had all gone wrong. 

When Rosie casted her eyes back to me, my hands were still hovering over the sink but I witnessed the way her usual smile had transformed into something more solemn, or perhaps just ruminative. 

Being the adult, as well as the ‘bigger fucking person!’ I wanted to scream at his back. I forced my expression into something a whole lot sweeter than just the bewilderment that had plastered it a second before. I let go of a large breath and reached for the tea towel. 

“I just got a new idea for a song, figured I’d write it down before I lost it, you know?” I attempted to reassure, brushing off how odd the entire situation must have seemed to her.

Because why was I covering for a forty-something year old man and his pissy demeanour? Well, one simple reason could be that it wasn’t Rosie’s fault that her Dad was being a massive prick at the moment, and that I for one wasn’t going to be shucking her with the bubbling irritation I felt for him. Something which I’d picked up from living in a house a whole lot worse than this, where you didn’t know whether a reply would earn you an outright laugh or something to tell your future therapist about.

Z was nothing if not perceptive though and so when she just hummed I was quickly taken back to my own childhood, to when some of my mum’s less shittier boyfriends had attempted to lie their way out of what was obviously happening between the two of them. My skin itched at the thought.

“You gonna be here when I get home?” She asked me before I could say anything at all, which broke my fucking heart, because Rosie was so quick to add to her question, if only to make it seem as though it had been something other that it was, “You know, ‘cause Dad’s talking to the school about what happened yesterday… So I just figured you might wanna hear about it when I got back.”

“Of course I do, Z.” I promised in one hasty reply, already moving to dry my hands before I could even really think about it. “Of course.” I repeated as I made my way over to her, smiling warmly when she met me halfway. “It’ll all be just fine, you hear me?” I murmured to her the second I let myself get swept up in one of her gentle hugs, “Your Dad will sort it all and I’ll be here waiting to hear about it the second you get home, okay?”

She was quiet for a long moment before she just whispered, “Swear it?”

My eyes shuttered closed and I buried a sad smile in the top of her head, already reaching out to lock my pinky with hers. “On my life.” I swore quietly, forcing myself to match the wry grin she wore when she pulled away to peer down at our interlocked fingers. Rosie giggled lightly, choosing to swing our arms back and forth.

I shook my hand in return, wobbling the pair of our limbs ever so slightly, before a slight cough gained our attention. I looked up whilst Z spun around on her heel to find Marshall stood waiting just outside of the doorway, a hazy shadow crossing over the bridge of his nose as he toyed with the set of keys he had in his hand. 

His voice was all too soft when he spoke, eyes zeroed in on his daughter, “Time to go, bean.”

It took everything in me then to look away from him and over to the clock stationed on the far wall, letting Rosie’s hand slip from mine after I gave it a small squeeze. “He’s right.” I sighed lightly, “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

She was already peering back up at me when I looked over and so I wasn’t too startled by the sudden embrace she wrapped me up in before she hastily made her way towards the front door. 

The quiet which settled in after her wake forced my gaze to return to the man who had yet to follow, his eyes faltering between my own before he dipped his chin in a barely there nod, a gesture which spoke volumes as he turned to leave.

–

Messages  Lottiebug 🐞 In school!! Sorryyyyy didn’t mean to ignore u Was out late and passed out At lunch now, promise to call later xxxxx Love u don’t miss me too much:))

I actually wanted to wring the kid’s neck. She was such a stress inducer that I was sure to head back home to her covered in hives come this point. I mean, where did she get off on making me worry like that? Especially after all that had gone down, all that she had kept from me. And with Rosie last night too, her entire situation having flooded my mind with memories of the past.

Messages  To: Lottiebug 🐞 You’re the actual antichrist I swear Where the hell have you been Lotts?? I’ve been worried sick just waiting for a text or a call, did your phone just die? Or did your charger break again? I swear I’m flying home if you don’t call me the second you step out of those school gates

Or you know, maybe sooner if things with Marshall carried on.

I sighed at the burst of adrenaline which had rushed and drained from me in a too short moment, before I tossed my phone down onto the couch I’d taken to sprawling on, a plethora of notes and pages dotted all around me. 

I figured it was at least one less thing to worry about now though, even if everything going on with Lottie was still a rather large issue at hand. I wanted to scream about it all actually. But currently, my biggest problem was this song. And maybe the man who was set to return in the time between now and the moment Rosie got out of school. 

Because see, I had a small hunch that Marshall was probably going to avoid me for as long as he possibly could, which would end up being the very second his daughter danced back through that door.

The thought had me groaning again, unhappy with how everything was turning out, as well as the lyrics that I just couldn’t get to sound quite right. See, I hadn’t been outright lying to Z when I’d claimed that I had an idea for a new song. Being unable to sleep truly worked wonders on the psyche and could send your imaginative thoughts into a whole other realm.

But still, I was struggling to get it all to fall into place, the verse sounding much more like a bridge and the chorus still lacking something. Even so, it was promising. That much I could tell. Only thing was, I was stuck on whether or not it was going to end up on Marshall’s scrapheap or my next album. 

It was what I was here for, wasn’t it? To write, to collaborate. Even after we’d gotten a little bit side tracked the last few days. But I just didn’t know how much he wanted from me, we hadn’t really spoken about it or hashed over all the gritty details. And yet, even after last night and this morning, I was still here trying to pull something together for him to come back and hear. Even if I was sure that he’d can it the second he did.

“You look like someone just shit on your chest.”

I startled at the voice, flailing a tad to get a better look at the figure which now loomed behind the sofa, but it seemed as though the scare had been enough to send all my hard work flying. 

Three things happened in the next moment: I gaped, frowned, and then ultimately topped it all off with a rather hefty huff, turning back to grab at the pages I’d just been scrawling on with my tongue tucked between my teeth.

“Shat on my chest?” I answered back in the same dull monotone he’d just used, face screwing up slightly as I stretched to collect the last page that had slipped its way further down the sofa. “You know that expression intimately, or just guessing?”

A breathy snort sounded just as the page I’d been reaching for was snatched up before me. My gaze snapped upwards in narrowed slits to scowl at him, unimpressed by the action, before I held out a hand towards him, silently asking for it back.

Marshall took no note. Instead his eyes flitted over the red ink I’d been working on, reading it at a mile a minute. He handed it back without another word said and then rounded the sofa to fall into the seat beside me. 

He had picked up a couple drinks whilst he’d been out, it seemed. Just a couple of coffee’s from what I could first tell and so I wrinkled my nose at the obnoxious smell they let off whilst I settled the final page back into the pile I’d since formed.

“Figured you’d be gone longer.” I couldn’t help but mention whilst he settled in, taking a slow deliberate sip from one of the brown paper cups before he slid the other across the coffee table in my direction, an action to which I raised a brow to.

He shrugged languidly as though nothing had occurred between us earlier, like he had the entire world at his feet actually, and then gathered up the pile, flicking through the pages without much care. “Dealt with that kid and his shitty-ass father, stopped off to get somethin’ to eat when Paul called, then came home.” He quipped promptly enough, leaning forward in his seat to rest his cup back down on the table and shuffle the first few pages between the hands he now had resting on his knees, “This new?”

I flicked my tongue over my front teeth, harsh enough to feel it drag and keep my head from imploading, but careful enough that it didn’t bleed– just yet, I allowed myself to add on. Because honestly, if I had to refrain myself much more than I currently was it sure was going to. 

“Yes.” I quipped shortly, picking up my phone to slide through the brief voice notes I’d made the previous night in bed and then again when I’d stepped out of the shower this morning. “It was just something I kept on replaying, a little melody.” I explained if only so that I wouldn’t allow myself the space to start pestering him with questions and his sudden switch up, because what was with that? “Figured I’d just get it down whether it was good or not.”

He grunted out a hum.

I gritted my teeth.

“What happened at the school then?” I asked in a mutter, feigning nonchalance even though my eyes were already trained on him reading my words and the fact that I was now dying to know what he’d been on about when referencing this kid’s ‘shitty-ass father’. 

His eyes were slow in the way they sloped over to me, my own darting back down to my phone if only so that I could pretend to meet his stare. He looked away again a second later, rolling a single shoulder. “Some teacher caught the shove yesterday, principle was already waitin’ for me when I pulled up.”

Surprised, I blinked. “What, he dragged both you and the kid’s dad in?”

“She. Misogyny has no place in the modern world, Elia.” Marshall corrected all too easily with that curt smile of his that he was so used to using. Typically it would have had me chuckling, but now it just pissed me off further, especially with the use of my full name.

Instead of reacting though, something I supposed he was aiming for there, I rolled my eyes. “She, what the fuck ever. What happened?”

Marshall leaned back in his seat with a quiet huff, “Guy got what was comin’ to him, fuckin’ wrung him and his kid out. Bitch figured he could say a bunch of shit about me and my daughter and I’d just let him?” He blew out a small titter then, though his evident smile was grim, “Bastard’s jus’ lucky I didn’t throw him through one of them windows. Could pay someone more than what he earns in a year to chop his fuckin’ hands off for me.”

I didn’t know how to take his words, all I knew was that a strange emotion had settled over me upon hearing them, almost uncurling the coil that my shoulders had wound themselves into. 

Still, I licked at my lower lip and reached out to take the other cup he’d pushed down onto the table, pleasantly surprised by the lack of coffee it offered. Infact, the sweet taste of chocolate started to chip away at the icy irritation that had been brewing since early this morning. 

“So, no lawsuits?” I murmured over the brim, pulling up a leg to get more comfortable on the sofa, seeing as my little makeshift workspace had now been overtaken. 

Marshall’s eyes caught on me in that next moment and, stupidly, I wasn’t put off by the way they were so clearly examining me. The grit of his jaw softened after a minute and so I figured he’d found whatever it was he was searching so intently for. “A fine for parkin’ in a no-stop zone. But nah, no lawsuits this time ‘round.”

One corner of my mouth ticked upwards impulsively, though I was quick to smother it behind the paper cup, feigning a sigh instead, “And here I thought I’d get to witness a real court in session.”

Em didn’t hide his own smile at my words, his eyes gleaming in a way that gave more away than he realised. You see me, they said. 

I supposed I did.

–

Working on music had always been a way for me to channel or process my emotions and thoughts, whether it was when writing or just messing around. It was possibly the reason as to why I was constantly in a bubble of it, when working, when cooking, driving, when I showered or got ready for bed. It was just always there, a constant companion in a way. 

Em seemed to be torn from the same cloth. In the days I’d spent with him and Rosie, I’d gotten to understand that in a whole new way, he played music almost as much as I did, even if it was barely audible, I could still see the way it settled him in the drum of his hand or the tapping of his foot. I guessed it was why we worked so well together, just in the studio of course.

Somehow we managed to leave whatever resentment and odd feelings we’d been experiencing at the door to the downstairs studio when we’d moved from the living room to get a start on writing again. The song I’d been working on earlier had been pushed to the side so that Marshall could show me the few verses and ideas he’d had for the song we’d been messing with previously, the same one he’d called Dre and practically fawned over.

“I figure it’ll open the album.” He explained from where he’d wheeled his way over to the sound deck, scribbling over the top of it with the pen he kept chewing on subconsciously. “Set the tone, then we can just work around it.” 

I hummed noncommittally, rereading the chorus I’d jotted down and since toyed with. “Could have a big voice on it,” I suggested to him, “Like, it sort of feels like a symphony in the way it builds, I reckon a few people could be jumping over one another for a chance at it.”

When I was met by an immediate silence, the scratch of his pen having paused, the rustle of his papers too. I dragged my eyes up and away from my own page to cast him a sparing glance, but was evidently surprised to find him already watching me. Rather intensely.

“What?” I queried, dropping my hand away from where I’d been rolling my lower lip between my fingertips.

He levelled me with a blank look, “You’re fuckin’ stupid if you reckon I’ma ask anyone but you to sing on this.”

My brow furrowed, before I raised my hand in a placating gesture. “It was just a suggestion– a good one too. Song won’t get as much recognition if I’m on it.”

That blank look shifted so quickly that I could barely even blink before it morphed into something which visibly portrayed his inner irritation. “You think I give a fuck about shit like that? I care about how it sounds, not how much it can make.”

Rolling my eyes, I just shook my head and looked back down at the marked margain, not entertaining him with a reaction. I knew I was right in my words and hadn’t meant anything by it, he could take it how he liked for all I cared. 

He didn’t appear to enjoy that though, seeing as he dropped the pen down onto the deck with a clatter to push himself to his feet and walk closer to the couch I was still perched on. “I mean that shit. What, you think I was jus’ gone push you aside? You think that little of me? Last I checked, this was your fuckin’ song.”

His voice was littered with misplaced exasperation and the way he chose to tower over me, even if he was still stood a foot and a half away, showed it too. He was looking for a fight, had been waiting for it, gearing up. I realised then, rather belatedly, that he wasn’t too good at holding onto his emotions. Sure, he could wait and bite his tongue when he chose to, but those feelings he had only seemed to bubble further the longer he held them in, as though they were stewing in the acid of his stomach, waiting to burn through.

I could really see it now. He was antsy, overassessing, overthinking this entire situation. I could almost smell the unease he’d been simmering in, and I knew it was all down to what had transpired the night before. Only now, he had a real excuse to bite back at me. Rosie wasn’t around to hear or interrupt, and me? I was done being impassive. 

“Yeah, Em. Of course,” I drawled with little to no care as to how I was practically scoffing at his words, “I think you’re an egotistical prick who just wants to steal my work, wasn’t as though I was the one to suggest getting someone else on it or anything.”

He didn’t take too kindly to the sarcasm. 

“You’re awful fuckin’ mouthy for someone who claims they a nobody, you know that?” He sniped back with enough heat to have my back immediately straightening, “All high and mighty, that it? Like you can do no fuckin’ wrong.”

My mouth fell open because– what?

“Just waltz in here,” He continued on in his tirade, “Into my goddamn life and jus’ throw your opinions out, then expect me to lap it all up. Well I ain’t your fuckin’ lapdog and I’m sick of listenin’ to you tell me what to do and how to do it.” He shot out, casting me away with a gesture of his hand which seemed so pointless, what with the way his unblinking gaze was still hooked on me. 

“Me?” I bristled, my voice high in the face of his outright irony as I stared up at him. “You brought me here! You! You were the one to call me, Marshall. You were the one to ask me to collaborate. To come stay with you here. To invite me into your fucking goddamn life!” I mimicked callowly, “So don’t go throwing that shit back in my face just ‘cause it's blown up in yours now.”

“The fuck’s that meant to mean?” Marshall seethed, ridgid in his stance as I forced myself to my feet too, done with sitting below a man so full of anger. 

I laughed bitterly and shook my head at him. “I don’t know what the fuck last night was, but since it happened you’ve been acting like a proper dick about it. An even bigger one than I’d been expecting, too.” I told him plainly, pointing towards his chest as I tried to bite back my gall smile, “And everyone else might be fine soothing your ego and apologising to appease whatever fucking delusions you’ve conjured up in that thick head of yours, but I’m not gonna let a grown man mess with my head and make out like I’ve done something wrong or acted inappropriately. ‘Cause look, I’m sorry if I offended your sensibilities, but again, you’re old enough to fuckin’ be able to work through your own feelings. I can’t be expected to read your mind!”

My chest was heaving with all the anger that fueled my words and I only realised a second too late just how close we’d grown in the short space that sat between his heated question and my reply. 

I glanced up into his eyes, that familiar blue gone, now swimming in dark hues. They flickered between my own and for a split second, I wondered what he saw. He was breathing just as harshly as I was, lit by the intense conclusion we’d been pulled into. 

It was make or break, I figured. 

But then he met me halfway and suddenly I was drowning in him. His hands in my hair, tugging, my fingers digging into his sides. It was unlike the night before, where his breath had been teasing, ghosting over my skin in baited wait. His words soft and genuine. Now it was just sparks flying off–  only not in that shitty Disney magic sort of way, but instead it felt like steel being forged in fire. 

I couldn’t concentrate on the way he was biting at me, teeth clashing as he forced me to expose my neck, me responding in the only way I knew how, dragging his lip between my incisors and pulling. Tugging. Hoping it hurt.

He walked us backwards, feet encasing mine, drawing me up against the nearest wall. My fingers dug in harder, feeling the muscle of his torso jump beneath me. He knocked my head back and we both heard the collision it made with the concrete there but neither of us seemed to care. The sting was enough for me to sink my nails into the skin of his neck and he retaliated by dropping his mouth to my jaw, leaving me gasping at the ceiling that sat above us, pulling him closer even as his own hands started to explore.

“Bastard.” I blew out, voice hitching when his tongue circled around my pulse point.

He answered me by nipping at the skin there, not enough to bruise but to mark, dragging his mouth lower and lower, tugging at the hem of my top until he bit harshly into the collarbone he’d exposed. I choked on my next breath, clawing at his nape until he soothed the sting with a featherlight kiss. 

I dragged his face back up to meet mine, his jaw in the palms of my hands as I knocked my nose against his, panting against his open mouth, not even questioning how I’d gotten this worked up by just his teasing. Because that was what this was, a game. The opener before the real show could begin. He seemed to know it too, smirking briefly at me before he slotted his mouth back over mine, dragging his thumb down my cheek to pool in the small dip there.

My hands fell too, they clung to whichever part of him they could find, but it wasn’t enough. It felt as though everything I’d been feeling, every emotion I’d experienced, not just over the past twelve hours, but during our phone calls, our texts, and the days I’d spent with him here, were pouring out of me. From crevasses that I didn't even know could exist until then.

He pushed and he shoved, greedy in the task of getting what he wanted, but I was just as bad. Just as eager. The moments over the past week where I’d lingered too long, looked too intently, were all making sense now. Silently, I hoped I left my own mark on him, something that was enough to have his mind lingering on me instead. 

I wondered then if he’d known this had been coming. If all his irritation had just been pent up tension. If he’d been angered by the fact he’d given himself away last night.

But then he pulled away. 

My eyelids fluttered.

His thumb dropped to swipe over my bottom lip. It settled there for a second, then two. 

It withdrew, smeared in a sheer coat of spit. I watched on, jaw agape, as he lifted it up to meet his own mouth, wiping it clean in one swift suck all whilst he stared back at me, his eyes taunting. Mouth menacing. 

My next breath escaped me in a silent shudder.

His eyes, dilated and glimmering, flickered between my own. Mirrored arousal looming over us like a thick fog, before he took another step back.

Away.

Retreating.

Only, was that what it was?

I watched, baited by his stance. By the devious look his gaze gave way to. The rest of his features were solemn almost, so blank that it was practically daunting. But his eyes…

They told a different story.

The studio was so quiet I doubted the thought that he couldn’t hear my heavy pants, or the way I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I waited, pondering over his next move, what he might say, before he tilted his head.

The motion caught me by surprise, ever slight as it was, before he spoke, “Times up.”

My face must have ploughed through a dozen different emotions in that brief pause, but confusion won out, head shooting to the right the second he decided to move, crossing the short distance which stood between him and the door.

“Z’s home.”

Ah.

Fuck.