#and cbeeduo fluff because I MISS THEM MORE THAN ANYTHING

[freezethebeez]

Falls to knees dramatically

How could you do this to me? Leave me on that cliffhanger? I have been betrayed!

But I will wait patiently- I will hold onto this cliff for the week, and soon I will have my reward.

Holds onto the cliff while they work on their own stuff

stay strong!! we've only got one more teeny tiny cliffhanger in ch 10 and then no more!!

it was really evil what i did to you all at the end of ch 7, but the goodies on the horizon :D

for comfort, have a small snippet of entirely self-indulgent comfort writing i've been doing.

-> below the cut is a catalyst!beeduo fluff drabble written in 2nd person. all fluff, no cliffhanger, but also not canon lol

drabble yep

"I've never seen the sunrise before," he mumbles sleepily into your chest. His head's been resting there for hours now, you think. He's been listening to your heartbeat; you don't plan on moving anytime soon.

"Not even on film?" you ask. Your fingers gently scratch at the fine hairs on the nape of his cold neck, just as his run across your warm arm.

"No. I've seen it on film, but I don't think it's the same." It's not. You know it's not. You nearly put off killing yourself for it at one point.

You only hum in response.

It's a privilege to be awake long enough to see it. It's a privilege that he doesn't have. You wish you could find a way to give it to him somehow, let him live through you.

As pretty as the sunrise is, though, there's no place you'd rather be.

His room is dark, blackout curtains drawn. His bed is far too large for just one person, composed of the most plush, comfortable mattress you've ever sat on, covered in the finest duvets, and you could easily see yourself spending the rest of your life here.

With him, of course, because this moment merely wouldn't be the same without his head on your chest and his fingertips skimming up and down your arm.

He's always been like this– overly gentle and scared to touch. It was a miracle he even asked to be here, a miracle you even heard the soft request in the first place.

"Can I just– can I listen to your heartbeat?" he'd asked, voice a meek murmur. You'd smiled at him, laid down, him laying down beside you, shifting slowly until he was comfortable– checking if you were, too, of course.

He's always loved that fact that you're human– alive and human. He's always loved the sound of your heartbeat and the way you breathe, the way your skin is always warm and carries blood underneath�� he's always loved the way your blood tastes but hates it all the same (the more chaotic part of you loves that part about him– how he lives in a world of paradox. It's fascinating).

Just as the slivers of the sun's golden hues begin to paint the sky outside, you feel him go limp.

He stills. His hand stops moving. He doesn't respond when you sigh, doesn't move to snuggle closer. He doesn't smile when you kiss the top of his head.

He's dead on top of you.

You look through the sliver of light again. The sky probably looks beautiful right now, your mind filling the gaps that the blackout curtains create.

You have a dead corpse laying on top of you and the sun is rising just outside the window. But there's no place you'd rather be.