#belle bawl stars

[pyatka-the-best]

a valentine's day gift for my dear @zombiruga

i love her so much😭

there are illustrations and the cover for the tara/belle fanfic

[waybrightgender]

i fucking hate last words of a shooting star i think mitski needs to be euthanized

[joffyworld]

Woe of the Bolide

Alone, binded in recompense,

Feel the binds tear at your flesh,

1000 years; No family left,

Sorrow claims the Lord of Dying.

How could they think to treat us so?

When not so very long ago,

Among the stars our fates were sewn,

A family, beautifully thriving.

Was it necessity that drove the knife?

Deep to the heart from Kin to Kin,

The bells shall ring as the spider sings,

"Why, oh why, sweet life?"

Or was it jealousy run rife?

Did they feel and fear the end of life?

How it might come quick and cut them short,

Did they feel their actions fair retort?

No other way, lacking remorse?

Death for He, Undying.

One dark thought, a single pain,

Flashes stark inside Death's brain,

If morality is shades of grey

Who there was shaded darkest?

Here we lay, a corpse in shawl,

Betwixt white walls of wayward souls,

Hear their calls and deathly throes,

Stuck between Death and What's Remaining.

Within these very hallowed halls,

Bellow the bawls and calls of thralls,

How we'd trade them all for a chance once more,

At life with those who spite us

One day, however, the fates shall change,

Send the key, formed in the shape,

Of woollen service to the ever great,

Their flock perfect for the flaying

It will be they who liberate,

Ichor stained chains that hold and cage,

The one true lord, Long live his reign!

Death, unbound and thriving

Then from eternal void shall rise again,

Beauty and grace,

The lasting change,

That of Death....

Eternal Ending.

[anxiety-lemsbian]

‧͙⁺˚･˖ ࣪⭑☾[ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛꜱ ɢʟᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ? ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ, ᴏʀ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ. ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴘ. ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴛɪɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏx ɪꜱ ᴠᴜʟᴘᴇꜱ ᴠᴜʟᴘᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴇᴅ ɴɪᴄᴇ.]☽˖ ࣪⭑･˚⁺‧͙

hi! i'm aster.

she/they, minor, ENG + some ESP and Auslan, poet, audhd, sapphic ace, careless man’s careful daughter, infj, shark lover, sylvia plath stan, lucy dacus listener, aries sun, gemini moon, pisces rising, #1 boygenius (+ solo careers) obsessor, ravenclaw but FUCK JKR, pinterest princess (androgynous), aspiring forest witch, chronic fatigue + generalized anxiety disorder + depression sufferer, greek salad lover

FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

current hyperfixation/talk to me about:

the ark x boygenius parallels

special interests:

sylvia plath, boygenius, bluey, sharks

fandoms:

everything sucks, boygenius (+solo careers), jucy, gilmore girls, brooklyn 99, heartbreak high, bluey, bridgerton, osemanverse, sunflowers and lavender, kiki’s delivery service, hamilton, matilda the musical, ruby redfort, aurora cycle (zila's my GIRL), nevermoor, stargirl, agggtm, biac, wednesday, lady bird, the owl house

books:

the anthropocene reviewed, the bell jar, stargirl, loveless, radio silence, death sets sail, goddess girls series, dear poppy, aurora cycle, anne of green gables series, sick bay, henry hamlet’s heart, hani and ishu’s guide to fake dating, nevermoor, iwbft, heartstopper, solitare

ships:

wenclair, lumity, cazzie, emisue,

artists:

lucy dacus, chappell roan, hozier, florence and the machine, radiohead, phoebe bridgers, julien baker, gracie abrams, noah kahan, boygenius, taylor swift? (melbourne n3), lorde, cavetown, mitski, eliza and the delusionals, boyish, beabadoobee

songs:

claw machine, nuvole bianche, leonard cohen, garden song, there it goes, triple dog dare, home by now, no surprises, cartwheel, me and my dog, american teenager, good news, scorpio rising, townie, last words of a shooting star, strawberry blond, we’re in love

playlist:

psa: when i use 'girl' in relation to me (crafty girl summer, etc.) i mean it androdgynously :))

my sideblogs are:

@leftfromrightfromwrong : boygenius and sometimes art

@listen2yourownvoice : radio silence+ a bit of general osemanverse

tags: # aster writes- poetry. #aster writes i guess- more poetry. #asters saved posts- saved posts. #aster loves boygenius- me loving boygenius. #aster's lyric rambles- when i just post a bunch of song lyrics in a format. #aster bawls on the floor- due to sadness, cringiness or laughter, i am on the floor and out for the count. # aster thinks (not really) - what it sounds like pretty much # it’s me i’m the girlfriend - can’t even explain this one actually #percy <3- literally just @trashmeowcan #ari 🌻 - @waitingforthesunrise

@asterisalemsbian • Pronouns.page

link to my old intro post:

[michi-lyrics]

若者のすべて - wakamono no subete - all about youth -> フジファブリック - fuji fabric || english + romaji

song: 若者のすべて - wakamono no subete artist: フジファブリック - fuji fabric year released: 2007

this song was recently covered by suis from yorushika! her cover was used in the end of the movie called 'drawing closer', also known in japanese as  「余命一年の僕が、余命半年の君と出会った話。」 (a movie i personally would recommend!! it was really good and made me bawl my eyes out, like most movies do)

--------

english lyrics:

summer’s peak has long since passed said the man on TV doing the daily forecast but as I run along the city paths I cant help but feel that, everyone's still having a blast

the 5 o'clock bell strikes but I can't seem to place a finger on the heart string that it strums still I can't seem to leave this trance conveniently left behind by fate's glance

so the year, bids farewell, the flowering flames disappear these memories could never leave, even if you're not here with me but if you are, I hope you are here with me, beneath the stars how bizarre, my mouth's ajar practicing these words in dreams didn't get me far

with the promise I drew from the world the present shifts in a moment, now I'm back again

rushing home, a street light blinks alone nearly like a dream I saw, back when I was only four but now it seems, a little more bright to me nearly like I want it as, reality

so the year, bids farewell, the flowering flames disappear these memories could never leave, even if you're not here with me but if you are, I hope you are here with me, beneath the stars how bizarre, my mouths ajar practicing these words in dreams didn't get me far

with grazed knees, and by your side I'll walk until, the end of this view

so the year, bids farewell, a final spark across the stars these memories could never leave, no matter how far time brings us apart if you are, I hope you are what a joke, it's au revoir there you are, here you are yet my minds lostits words all from afar

once the end, the very last, light of the year leaves us to bask would we stay, the very same looking up at the sky that never changed

romaji lyrics:

manatsu no piiku ga satta tenki yohoushi ga terebi de itteta soredemo imada ni machi wa ochitsukanai you na ki ga shiteiru

yuugata goji no chaimu ga kyou wa nandaka mune ni hibiite 'unmei' nante benri na mono de bonyari sasete

saigo no hanabi ni kotoshi mo natta na nannen tattemo omoidashite shimau na nai kana nai yo na kitto ne inai yo na attara ieru kana mabuta tojite ukabeteiru yo

sekai no yakusoku wo shitte sorenari ni natte mata modotte

gaitou no akari ga mata hitotsu tsuite kaeri wo isogu yo togireta yume no tsudzuki wo tori modoshitaku natte

saigo no hanabi ni kotoshi mo natta na nannen tattemo omoidashite shimau na nai kana nai yo na kitto ne inai yo na attara ieru kana mabuta tojite ukabeteiru yo

surimuita mama boku wa sotto aruki dashite

saigo no hanabi ni kotoshi mo natta na nannen tattemo omoidashite shimau na nai kana nai yo na nante ne omotteta maitta na maitta na hanasu koto ni mayou na

saigo no saigo no hanabi ga owattara bokura wa kawaru kana onaji sora wo miageteiru yo

[glade-constellation]

Here’s a TSAMS snippet I wrote on a whim. I feel like some of the canonical stuff about Eclipse was wasted during his last arc and I really wanted to play around with it. Sorry if it’s a little odd to read, I was just writing whatever came to mind.

Possible TSAMS Spoilers : This is happening some time after Eclipse gets the star, not sure quite when but there has at least been time for Sun and Moon to do some bonding after Moon’s memory wipe.

CW : Strong language, canon-typical violence

“How are you all so ‘smart’, yet so fucking stupid,” Eclipse growled out, hands bawled into fists now shaking at his sides. “You just don’t get it, do you? You guys sit on your asses and blame everything on me without thinking for one moment that you could possibly have had an ounce of help in the matter. No, nothing could be your fault, because that would mean I’m right.”

“Eclipse, I don’t-”

Eclipse whirled around, clawed finger jabbing forward. “Shut it, Sun. This isn’t about you.”

Moon stepped forward to pull Sun behind him, giving an audible growl. His pupils were slits at this point as he glared. The visible rage only dropped slightly when seeing Eclipse's own anger bleed into chilling glee.

The taller solar animatronic slowly gave a sharp toothed smile, rays slowly rotating. “Actually, it’s never been about you. You were just the means to an end. I never wanted to hurt you specifically, not really. All of this, every moment of trauma I caused you, was for Moon.” Amber eyes glared daggers in the direction of the lunar animatronic, burning with fury despite his grin.

The slow screeching sound of metal crunching metal filled the air. Eclipse gave a huff of laughter when realized Moon had just dented his own fist in his rage. Moon’s claws dug into his palms as he shook. “You’re telling me that you hurt my brother, not because he may have hurt you, but because you wanted to get to me?!”

Eclipse threw his hands up, “Finally, we’re getting somewhere! That took longer than thought, honestly.”

A roar shook the air as Moon charged forwards, fist raised. Sun cried after his brother, reaching to try and grab him but failing. Eclipse simply gave a cackle before Moon seemingly froze in his spot, suspended just before he could land the hit.

Eclipse stepped forward, around the fist so he could stand face to face with his assailant. His smile dropped again as he stared the other down. “Here’s the thing, Moon. I’m you. I am every bit of your own nasty desires, ripped from your very own head. You hated yourself so much that you tore apart your own coding and left it behind. Every time I’ve hurt him, every time Sun has experienced pain by my hand, it’s because a part of you still lives on with the desire to do so to him.”

Slowly, oranges and reds began to bleed into whites and blues. Rays were retracted to be replaced with a starry night cap, the bell at the end gingling slightly as it swung down. Moon’s optics widened, horrified by the sight before him. Eclipse gave a low laugh, now red eyes turning up in a sharp smile on a crescent face.

“Sorry to disappoint, but you never stopped hurting your brother. Not really.”

[astoriadia]

Book #13/100: Angels Before Man, by rafael nicolás

Author: rafael nicolás Published: 2022 Genres: Fantasy, Queer, Romance Rating: 666/5 stars Ok.

This review is going to be a hot mess. I have so many feelings and thoughts, and thanks to this book I've decided to start doing reviews just to get the thoughts out about them because WOW.

When it comes to buying books, I often wait until I've finished reading a book checked out from a library before I buy it, likely off of Thriftbooks to save money; this is mainly because I want to be sure I'll enjoy the book I'm buying, and that I'll reread it. When it came to Angels Before Man, by rafael nicolás, I knew I wouldn't have read it before buying, because I was going to love this book. The premise is so simple: as eluded to in the title, Angels Before Man is a chronology of a time in Heaven before man. Of course, that scope is massive, and so it's narrowed down to (I believe) the span of a few million (or was it billion?) years. The story followers Lucifer, in a queer retelling of Satan's fall.

When I saw this off of TikTok looking for book recs, I was stunned. Gagged, one might say. The moment I could, I bought a copy. When it came, I was in my room, reading away. And before I even get too far in this review, let me just say it's incredibly ironic in my eyes that this was book number 13. While 13 is seen as an unlucky number, without a doubt, this is the single LUCKIEST book I will have a chance to read this year, no doubt, because of how incredible it is. Everything about ABM is polished and gorgeous. The first half stays relatively in frame with standard third-person but is just so wonderful to read I love it, and the second half has some of the most gorgeous prose I've ever read; I'm talking like To The Lighthouse levels of stunning with how it seemed to switch perspectives and every character's thoughts began bleeding into one another like some psychedelic fever dream. Of course, while this prose is fantastic, I had to pause at multiple points to take it in because of how dense (in a good way!) and layered it is. Speaking of the characters, they're fantastic. I loved all of them! Or rather all except one, which, IYKYK. If there's one thing I appreciated about the second half of the book (and I did not appreciate crying at 3 AM), I loved hearing from characters like Lucifer, Rosier, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, Asmodeus, Baal, Michael and Phanuel. So many distinct characters, and yet throughout, one of the things that unites each of the characters is the tragedy they undergo.

Lucifer, for instance, who the narration follows for the majority of the novel, is handled in such a delicate way that I was almost reminded of The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath, with how carefully nicholás brings you into his breakdown, to the point where it feels (and in some ways, is) justifiable. Although Lucifer is a great character, Rosier was my personal favorite throughout the novel (though in the past few days I have been switching my favorite on a nearly hourly basis). Throughout the novel, Rosier acts as a guiding force for Lucifer as he gets introduced to heaven, yet by the end of the novel, he faces immense tragedy, and while I won't go into specific spoilers, I'll just say it had me bawling my eyes out. Perhaps one of the biggest themes besides tragedy throughout the book is love. This is alluded to on the back cover, where it states that Lucifer learns to love himself through a growing friendship with another angel, Michael. Of course, I don't trust any description for this book anymore, since the Goodreads one called it "part cozy coming-of-age story" (I WAS LIED TO /J). Throughout the novel, love is depicted in a plethora of ways; I found examples of it in almost every scene, and though some of these situations showed positive love, there was also a number of scenes where love was shown in negative ways. The relationship between Lucifer and Michael, for example, borders on mutual glorification by the end of the novel; God's relationship with Lucifer as well is also a twisted form of love, one that acts as a strong force pushing Lucifer towards his breakdown.

Before I wrap up this already-long rant about what might be my new favorite book, I have talk about the ending. Heart? Gone. Where it went, I don't know. I break in my books' spines when I first get them, and while that normally doesn't spoil my reading (since I've already read them), with ABM, I hadn't read it. I saw, accidentally, the four words that end the novel. At that time, I didn't think too much of it, but by the time I had finished the novel, at 3 AM because I had started the second half a few hours ago and HAD to finish it because it felt like I was watching the slow implosion of a planet, I was actually dying. I'm serious. When I saw those four words something happened and all of the sudden I was just. Dead. Deceased. Crying my eyes out. I woke my cat up and he gave me a look but I kept crying.

Lastly just because I can't listen to a bunch of songs since I wrapped up the book without tearing up, I am sharing them here because if I can't listen to them without crying anymore then you shouldn't be able to either.

A&W, by Lana del Rey

The Archer, by Taylor Swift

I Know The End, by Phoebe Bridgers

Kyoto, by Phoebe Bridgers

What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish

hoax, by Taylor Swift

Motion Sickness, by Phoebe Bridgers

Dear Reader, by Taylor Swift

You Missed My Heart, by Phoebe Bridgers

Love Is A Game, by Adele

Moon Song, by Phoebe Bridgers

Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd, by Lana del Rey

False God, by Taylor Swift

P.S: ABM is apparently a part of a trilogy, and the second book, Angels & Man is set to release sometime this year??? i fear you will not hear from me ever again if this book comes out and is as devasting as the first. rafael nicolás please write something nice im begging you JUST LIKE SOMETHING SET BEFORE ACT 2 OF ABM WHERE EVERYONE'S HAPPY

TLDR: My heart hurts from what I read and my head hurts from trying to process what I was reading and I think I can't listen to Phoebe Bridgers anymore without sobbing violently.

[jane-0-doe]

“Bad Day” Drabble

————○————

TW: Mentions of Scars & Injuries, (Poor) Description of a Mental Breakdown

————○————

A/N: Thanks to the anon who pointed out I wrote smth stupid lol I appriciate it :)

————○————

A shaky hand searched for keys in a bag. It was covered in multiple scars — some were straight and fresh, and some were healed and star-shaped.

After some struggling, Izuku finally reached them.

Tears were already forming at the corners of his eyes, and he sure as hell wouldn't let them fall in public. Not again.

The doors swung open, hitting the wall behind them. Izuku didn't particularly care at this point; he was desperate to be in his safe space again.

He didn't give two shits about the neighbors either. They would complain about him and his mom living there anyway.

After entering the apartment, everything was a blur — locking the door, taking off his shoes, and throwing his backpack on the ground.

Izuku just wanted the pace his bedroom gave him after a long and tiring day at school.

When he first arrived at the education facility, it was pretty fine, as no one decided to budge him.

Then it went downhill when the time for math class came. His teacher, Miss Enshin, was in a bad mood today, so she gave him special attention during the lesson, laughing at him after he couldn't solve a math question made for college students.

Izuku learned it was for that age group because he checked it online after the class ended.

Later, during lunch, Bakugou and his goons found him. That encounter gave him a nosebleed and a first-degree burn across his forearm.

Fortunately, the bell rang, forcing his bullies to leave — but not before 'blessing' him with the knowledge they plan on finishing it after school.

As they said, they did. A few bruised ribs and a dislocated shoulder weren't that bad, though. They could have done worse — like they once did!

That time, the bullies gave him a few cracked fingers and a big, first-degree burn directly on his stomach, accompanied by a few deeper cuts on his arms and the back of his neck.

He ran to his bedroom as the tears started to fall. Sobs threatened to escape as he finally reached his destination.

After the doors were closed, Izuku started bawling. His tears fell like a waterfall while his shoulder shook during his wailing.

His body ached. His brain, his stomach as well as his heart did. It was a bit odd and he should mind it, but not right now. Maybe later.

His breakdown took around an hour because, after a while, he heard keys rattling downstairs.

It meant his mother was back, and as if to assure him, he heard her voice calling out.

"Izuku, darling, are you home?" Inko yelled, presumably from the kitchen.

"Yeah! Um, J-Just give a second!"

Izuku's breathing was still shaky, but he answered.

He collected himself off of the floor and made a run for the bathroom, where he locked himself.

Wrapping up his injuries and making sure he didn't look as if he just had a breakdown (which he did) took a concerningly short amount of time.

Practicing had its effect.

He unlocked the door and headed for the kitchen.

There she stood, smiling in a loving manner. His mother had her favorite pink apron on, meaning she was cooking.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" The green-haired woman asked her son.

He only smiled gently.

"It was alright, mom."

[badrcputation-moved]

"Are you okay?" Robin didn't want to scare the other, so she's gentle with a gloved hand very softly landing upon Furina's shoulder. The kindest smile upon Robin's lips as her little wings flutter. "... I heard you crying, I couldn't in good mind ignore it... Can I get anything for you?" She wants so badly to hug the other, without even knowing why she was upset she felt such strong empathy for her, but she restrains for the moment. Only wanting to offer any kind of support she can.

Robin @ Furina

— The sound of her voice was like the gentle ringing of bells; though Furina still jolts slightly at the touch. She turns around, her eyes swollen and her face soaked in tears. She sought shelter from curious eyes of onlookers in a tight alleyway behind a building, hoping that the sound of the busy street would drown out her sobs - unfortunately (or fortunately) for her, nothing escapes the ears of a well-trained singer.

And once she recognizes who it is, Furina yelps and springs up from her seat on an empty storage crate.

"M-Miss Robin!!" She hastily wipes her tears with her gloves - even if she knew it was too late. She noticed her. How embarrassing. "Ahah, no need to worry! I'm just..." No matter what kind of excuse she would have tried to come up with, it was all to obvious that she's been bawling her eyes out for quite a while now. "I'm fine." Her voice meek, he stares down at her ornate blue shoes for a moment.

But just as quickly as that moment came, Furina straightened herself, (and oh my stars, Robin was taller than her?) she cleared her throat, straightened the top hat on her head, and ran a finger through a light blue strand of hair. Somewhat presentable.

"It is such an honor to welcome you to our humble nation, dear Miss Robin~" She coos, unaware that her face was a bright tint of red, not unlike any other Robin superfan's... Furina takes a bow, extravagant, like many things about her.

"I'm truly sorry you had to see me in such a state. I did not think anyone would notice me. And please, can I get anything for you? After all, you're the guest here!~"

[astoldbyanj]

Prompt : Write about a What if in your life

A Bonfire Story

Part 1 The Spark

I didn't know it til it hit me. 

Bullseye, a flaming arrow to my chest. She had a fire in her belly and a fierceness in her eyes. I had a warmth in my smile and a skip in my step. We started out as friends, as the best of lovers always do. 

We were both so young, just two eager-eyed creative souls. We bonded over shared passions, how we both wore our hearts on our sleeves, unlike (seemingly) everyone else. We bonded over shared dreams. We'd lie on our backs in the middle of the classroom hallway, and look up at the cold florescent lights as though they were stars in the sky. 

One drunken night, I let her hold me in her arms. I looked up at her, blinking at the blinding truth that yes, I wanted her too. I pulled her closer to my breath, and in that moment, it felt like we were never meant to let go. 

We made magic together. We made poetry together. We'd stay up all night, telling non-stop stories to each other, hoping our story together would never end. We've never known love could keep us that warm, and burn that bright. 

We said one day, we would run away, and keep each other warm forever. 

___

Part 2 The Burn Out 

I didn't know it til it broke me. 

My first real heartbreak. Every morning, I'd get up hoping it was just a nightmare. I dragged myself to the bathroom like every step was walking on shards of glass. For three years we walked on flames for our love. How could a flame that bright turn into only embers?

We were both so young, just two reckless kids playing too close to the fire. When we couldn't take the heat, we'd burn out. Our hands and feet scarred by the burn marks. When her fierceness revealed itself to be fear, she'd lash out at me, like a dragon with a dagger in its wing. Hurt people hurt people. And I fought fire with fire. I was too young and immature to know a more loving way to fight.

The same flaming arrow that once captured my heart, was the same one that pierced through my soul. The same passion that I once fell in love with, was the same one that pushed us to our downfall. The same fire that molded us, that shaped our adolescent years together, has now burned away into the ground. Leaving behind two different mounds, almost unrecognizable from each other. 

One cool afternoon, I let her hold me one last time. We were on our go-to bench, sharing earphones, listening to a sad song about a love gone lost. She looked up at me with pleading eyes, asking if we could still be in each other's lives. It felt wrong if we wouldn't be. But l couldn't even meet her gaze, my eyes stinging in salt, and bitter sadness. It was too painful. Can lovers really turn back into friends? 

We said one day, maybe we'll be okay.

___

Part 3 A Second Match

I didn't know it til it was too late. Years of healing meant I couldn't look back. 

But what if it wasn't. What if what seemed like opposite roads were parallel lines that eventually converged back to each other? What happens when you relight one end of the line? Will the other catch flame too?

We were both so young back then... Now not anymore. I've grown tougher, thicker skinned, not easily burned. She grew calmer, cooler headed, not easily provoked... Both evolutions shaped through the wise old teachers called pain, grief, and time.

One mundane morning driving out for errands,  I let myself take a little detour. It just felt like a good day to drive the long way home. Ten minutes later, there I was. Finding myself pulling over to our old spot by the bell tower. I walked to the same bench where we used to sit, realizing that this bench has been there for so many versions of me. There was the college kid version of me, who was madly in love, terribly insecure, but carelessly happy too. I remember sitting there, with her head laying on my lap, and the sun in our hair. Then there was the broken mess of a shell of me. I remember sitting there with my knees to my chest, bawling my eyes out like it was the end of the world.

Then there's the version of me now. There was the girl I've become, more certain of herself, more true. I heard a little voice inside me say, I wish she could see me now, I wish she could be here now. 

Then I heard another voice say, 

"Hey,"

It was a familiar voice, so familiar, that it took me a while to register it wasn't part of my own. The voice was approaching the bench, calling out to me. It was a little shy, a little unsure, but it was a voice I'd know from a mile away. 

The sun was high above by now, enough to blind my vision. I blinked twice, checking if this was just another one of those dreams. But it wasn't. She was really there. 

By then she was just a few feet away I could touch her. Just the thought of that was like a match strike, shooting sparks up my arm. I could touch her. I could hold her hand. I could tell her, 

"Hey, you know what? We're okay. We're okay now."

Part 4 to continued (or not)

[sunnie-angel]

nobody look at me, my heart is too fragile after reading this. ro i hardly have the words to describe just how deeply this made me feel, but for you i’ll try.

All succumb to its touch, and the world you know slips away from your fingertips so violently you can no longer remember what it was like, in the beginning. 

What a way to start. The sound and the fury of the apocalypse as inevitable as breathing. Memory of the violence and terror of it lingering in that space between sleeping and waking before your eyes have opened but with a certainty in the air.

Blood tracks your every step, a haunting you will never be rid of. Until  your last breath, you will remember it.

It’s the intangibility of the end made tangible. Haunting and cloying, crawling after each dogged footstep. You will never be same. It will never end.

No longer does the smoke catch in your lungs, and the nights are clearer than they ever were, stars shining on a city with no one to look up to them.

Something about the image of the last line struck me, like the clarity of a bell ringing out into silence. No one left to notice, no one left to care, and yet still they shine bright. How cold. How cruel. How eternal.

Blood in the spaces beneath your nails, blood that pools and darkens in linoleum and hardwood and concrete, blood in your mouth.

The blood’s tangible now, just like the fear of more than death. It traces the hollows of your throat and follows you out of those woods and into the cities you once knew.

You wonder what you must look like to him, half crazed and yet entirely subdued.

A moment of clarity in a fear soaked mind. The desire for tenderness, the closeness of being seen, lurks in the background but hasn’t crystallized yet. It will.

“I just can’t. I can’t do it alone. Not again.”

Ro, i knew from this line alone that whatever you had planned, it would take them both in its arms.

You hate that he’s kind, a little.

He’s still kind even in a world that has turned unkind. Your heart aches because of all the ways it still cannot harden. He is kind, even at risk to himself, and you hate him for it because this world does not accept kindness lightly.

You sneak a look at him through your lashes, and the feeling travels up to sit beneath your ribs, stretching soft like toffee, sticking to all it touches, too sweet a feeling for a world like this one.

Toffee, a sweetness that ran out of this long dead world long ago. It doesn’t fit now, in the shape of your ribs, just like your love doesn’t fit the cold face of this earth.

Something is forged in the earth where your hands lie, weaving your palms together, an invisible thread that ties you.

The intimacy they share is forged not fated. Memories of danger and hardship overcome dispersed between meagre moments of happiness have brought the two of you to this moment. It’s time tested and hardened. Meant to last.

The entirety of the reunion

I can’t even begin to express how badly this scene got to me. The hope and the knowledge that this won’t end well. The way pieces of Jason get torn out of him. I was tearing up too badly during this scene to really take it all in. I am in awe and devastation. I can’t really say more than that.

“Come on,” you murmur thickly. “We have to do right by them.”

This line broke me a little bit.

You lead him out of that room, away from the ghosts, away from the pencil shavings left undisturbed and a sketchbook that never got to be filled.

It’s the detritus they all leave behind that highlights their absence. The potential unfulfilled and the dreams left unmoored.

Fading green eyes find yours. “I’m...sorry.”

It’s really not his fault. But he’s not the kind of boy to believe it so and you don’t have the luxury of time to convince him. He tried though, and that’s all that mattered anyway.

Jason goes first and, as you had promised, you follow.

I will be bawling my eyes out over this line for ages. Keeping a promise is such a simple thing, yes? Even at the end you still keep it. For a moment I wanted to picture them lying there together, bodies curled up together until there’s nothing left but a pile of bones so intermingled you can’t tell where one person began and another ended. But it’s not that kind of story. I hope that somewhere in them both is an instinct that ties them together after everything.

JASON X F!READER [12k]

synopsis. the end of the world comes and goes. you’re just trying to survive another day, but you don’t quite expect to become so attached to the green eyed boy who saves you. “i’m here,” he tells you, and a horrible part of you wonders, for how much longer?

warnings. zombie apocalypse in a no capes au, attempted sexual assault, body horror, gore, angst, character death, violence. (if you feel i'm missing any tags, please let me know) sfw but minors and ageless blogs please don't interact with my profile

note. for my sunnie @fic-over-cannon, who always lets me talk her ear off about my jason wips, and without whom i would never have listened to everywhere, everything by noah kahan properly and thought of this fic. you are such a sweetheart and deserve all the good things in the world. unfortunately all i can offer at this time is this fic. i love you, and i'm sorry

additional disclaimer that i am NOT american so i’m talking out of my ass and my expertise is like a six month stint in the midwest please ignore any inaccuracies i’m just a baby

read on ao3 | the playlist

The end of the world comes and goes. 

There is, as with all things, blood and the destruction promised. The end sweeps through the country, burnt buildings and shattered glass that crunches further under your feet. It leaves few survivors, cares not for wealth nor poverty, health nor sickness. All succumb to its touch, and the world you know slips away from your fingertips so violently you can no longer remember what it was like, in the beginning. 

The world ends, but then it doesn’t, really, it doesn’t burn when it should have. You are still here, somehow, aren’t you? (It’s only a matter of time before you aren’t. Only a matter of time before you, too, join the horde.)

You find each other in the wreckage, on the outskirts of the city you’d grown up in. The body in front of you twitches as it falls – only moments ago, inches from your throat – and green eyes assess you coldly, your own tracking his movements with your heart in your throat. Blood stains your hands, and they curl around your weapon when he lowers the barrel of his gun.

What are you even living for? All you know is gone and lost, stolen from you by a drooling maw and ever starving fingers. Blood tracks your every step, a haunting you will never be rid of. Until  your last breath, you will remember it.

You stay by his side, let him offer you a hand out of the rubble and sink your teeth into the tough skin of dried meat he pulls from his pack. It’s a kindness you refuse to leave unpaid. The days turn into weeks, and he doesn’t demand you leave. You aren’t sure when this thing became a partnership. Perhaps when he’d taught you how to wield your weapon better, clumsy movements turning precise, fear hardening a once soft heart.

I’m going to find my brothers. They’re out there somewhere. Over a small fire in an abandoned department store, he tells you this, green eyes flicking over his shoulder to meet yours.

How do you know they’re...

I just do.

Oh.

You coming? Or you got people to –

No. No, I’ll help you.

A nod, then, seals it.

The end of the world brings with it a disconcerting level of silence you find it difficult to grow accustomed to. Your skin crawls at the stillness of it all, the unmoving air of abandoned homes you use as shelter. A city once unrelenting, the echoes of what once was ring in your ears as you traverse through the city. No longer does the smoke catch in your lungs, and the nights are clearer than they ever were, stars shining on a city with no one to look up to them.

You travel out of the city, eventually. The bridges had been the first to go, in the beginning – an act of damnation perceived as absolution. Better to contain it within the island, you think bitterly, to damn the desperate millions who could not seek refuge. Still, you find a way through, travelling on foot through the tunnel they forgot to destroy – filled with stationary cars that prove just as difficult to navigate around as a destroyed bridge. You come out the other side by the skin of your teeth, and the both of you continue.

Do you know where we’re going?

A sharp look, as if questioning your loyalty. Last I heard, they were in Georgia. You getting cold feet?

No.

Then come on. We’re going to lose daylight.

It’s easier, the further you travel into the country. The quiet out here makes sense to you – it had been here long before the beginning of the end, before the beginning of all things. Gotham had never known peace, you think. It was not meant for that, ever moving, ever alive. Out here, there are less of them, too. Very quickly you learn that the end of the world did not kill with it all other vices.

Despite your rationing, despite ransacking what places you can for food, it dwindles down. Maryland, now, you think – you’d passed a sign a few hours back – he’s begun to slow down. His face is pale, but he stubbornly clamps his jaw when you try to get him to eat the last bits of your food. It’s in the middle of this argument, nearing tears and trying to keep quiet, when you’re found.

The trio makes their presence known by the deliberate snap of a branch, and you stiffen, hand flying to your hatchet as you whirl around. Jason moves closer to you, until your shoulders brush.

“You folks look like you could use a good meal.” The one at the front eyes you unabashedly as he says it, eyes trailing down your figure. A prickle of unease runs down your spine, and you shuffle closer to your partner.

“Couldn’t we all?”

He lets out a little laugh, and raises his hands. “You’re trembling, darlin’. Relax, it’s just an offer.” He looks over at your companion. “Your man over there looks like he’s about to fall over.”

It feels like a gut punch, despite his grumbled “I’m fine.” because you know he isn’t. In the end, you ignore the warning in your gut, and you find yourself making camp with them for Jason’s sake. The three men share looks amongst themselves when you shuffle closer to him, but you try your hardest not to pay them any mind, pressing bits of dried meat into trembling hands and watching him until he swallows every last bit. You don’t take a bite of your own soup until they do, relaxing only in the slightest when he seems to have gained back some of his strength.

“Where are y’all headed?” the second of them asks, and his expression rankles you less, so you answer.

“Further south,” you say carefully, looking between the three of them. “And you?”

The first grins at you in a way you think is meant to be charming. “Shit, sweetheart, I’ll go wherever you do.”

You stiffen and he lets out a laugh. “’M only joking, jeez. Going west – they’ve got communities over there.”

You can barely let out a non committal hum. Beside you, Jason’s head presses into your leg, and your gaze slides over to him. In sleep, he looks younger, more like what you think he might’ve looked like before all this. Black curls rest close to his forehead, hair cut close to the scalp courtesy of the scissors you’d found in a gas station a few days ago –

All of it?

All of it. Don’t need it getting caught on something and getting us killed.

Can’t you tie it back?

What, you attached to this look? Knotted hair does it for you?

No. It’s just –

...It’s just hair, kid. C’mon, I’m getting tired.

Fine.

– The group settles into silence after that, and though your lids weigh down, you take watch. The night is quiet for the most part. You’re kept company by the whispering trees and the occasional sound of an owl. Every so often, a branch will pop in the fire, the sound making your limbs stiffen reflexively. Your eyes scan the treeline each time, vigilant. You balance your hatchet across your knees, and wait.

Eventually, black bleeds into the cool blue of dawn and Jason stirs beside you.

“Morning. You didn’t sleep?” You dart a glance over to the three sleeping bodies a few feet away and he presses his lips together in understanding. “Should’ve woke me.”

You shrug, looking away to where daylight breaks through the thick of the trees. “You needed the rest.” And before he can argue back – you can already hear the retort, and you don’t? – you stand up, passing him your axe. There’s a small knife in your shoe, and you don’t intend to go too far, you figure it’ll be fine. “Gonna powder my nose.”

He snorts at the phrasing, and you offer him a tired smile. Relieved that he seems to be in better health today, you step away from the campsite. The breath of air you take is cool in your lungs, and you stretch your arms above your head as you step over rocks and fallen branches.

Relief muddies your senses, you think. You forget to be mindful, forget that this is not just another day, not just a camping trip of sorts. As you pull your jeans up, there’s a rustle nearby and you freeze, hands on the waistband of your pants tightening in unease when someone breaks through the foliage and it isn’t Jason.

“Oh,” he says, stopping short in front of you. There’s something like surprise in his voice but it feels short of convincing you that he hadn’t meant to find you, the artificial coating of his words doing little to hide the interest in his eyes. “Guess we both had the same idea, huh?”

You wrinkle your nose, taking a step to the side. “Yeah. It’s all yours.”

His hand clamps down on your arm as you go to walk past him and you stiffen. “Whoa, what’s the rush, little lady?”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him. “Can you let go?”

He balks at the look on your face, before his own hardens, lips tugging into a sneer. “You should be a lot nicer, you know. If it weren’t for me, you and your little friend would be dead by now. How about a thank you?”

You consider spitting in his face as you grind out, “Thank you.” Still, he does not let go. “Can I go now?”

He mulls it over, before shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t sound so thankful, let’s try that again.” At the look on your face, which suggests you’d rather die, he grins. It’s a mean thing, eyes glinting as he tugs you closer. Your heart picks up at the proximity, and by your side, your fingers curl into fists. “Or, you could just pay me back proper. How about you put that mouth to use?”

You stay still, frozen as he draws nearer. The stench of his breath makes your stomach turn and suddenly you’re in motion, raising a foot to stamp down on his with all the force you can muster. It takes him by surprise and he yells. You take the advantage to wrench your arm out of his grip, pushing him as he stumbles and booking it through the greenery.

He recovers quickly, if the crashing behind you is anything to go by, bellowing threats. Your arms sting as you push through the foliage instead of carefully stepping through as you had earlier, branches scratching and snapping as you barrel in the direction of the camp. The brush of fingers against your neck makes you scream, loud and high, and you force your legs to carry you faster.

The distance to the campsite isn’t far but every step seems to stretch and time slows with the threat of leaving you disjointed, forever stuck in this moment with hands reaching for you.

You burst into the clearing and bolt to where Jason is. He’s already on his feet and he meets you halfway, standing resolutely in place when you try to push him further away – we need to LEAVE, what are you doing? He steers you behind him when your pursuer breaks through, and you grip the back of his jacket. Still, he refuses to move, an arm stretching behind him to curl towards you protectively.

Your mind seems to black out then, because when you blink, Jason’s hands are hovering over you and there’s an awful amount of blood on them.

“You hurt? Did he touch you?”

Your gaze slides over his shoulder and your stomach begins to turn when you see what’s become of the man. Blood soaks into the earth in copious amounts, another carcass to join the millions. You tremble and he turns your face back to him. His palm is sticky, and the realisation of why brings tears to your eyes. You shudder, stepping closer to him.

“You’re fine,” Jason mutters, breathing hard. He repeats it when you begin to cry in earnest, clutching fistfuls of his shirt. “You’re fine. I got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You learn a few things that day. The first, that he’s not hesitant about taking lives if it means yours are safe. And second, that a horrible, terrible part of you doesn’t feel remorse that he did it.

In the wake of the murder, the fallen man’s companions had fled, unwilling to meet the same fate, and Jason had let them go. You keep to yourselves after that, travelling further south and avoiding the few survivors you do come across. Guilt festers in your stomach when you sneak glimpses of weary faces run haggard, but fear weighs out when you feel the phantom brush of hands on your arm and neck.

Neither of you speak about it beyond the set of the sun that day but it brings about a shift, however miniscule it may be. He’s less willing to let you stray far from his eyesight, now. Sometimes, even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of vigilant eyes on you. But it isn’t only Jason who’s affected by the changes. You linger closer to his side, now, never beyond arm’s reach, never more than a few paces away, unwilling to risk being parted once more.

The spill of blood only brings with it more carnage. It feels rather like a curse when, in the days that follow, only havoc trails after you. Blood in the spaces beneath your nails, blood that pools and darkens in linoleum and hardwood and concrete, blood in your mouth. It clings to you, a stain you’ll never be rid of, no matter how you scrub your skin. The frigid water sticks you like a thousand pins, pinking in the dying light of the day, and still you scrub.

The end of the world doesn’t harden you like you think it’s supposed to. You think maybe if you were idealistic, it would be a kindness, to retain your softness. But it has no place here, meant for a life long gone. For all the precautions you take, the weapons you wield and hide on your person, you still feel like vulnerable prey, the soft belly of your heart exposed. You flinch, you freeze, you–

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He says it quietly, standing at the mouth of the river, behind you. Red lingers in the corner of your vision – his flannel, darkened. You ignore him.

You’ve stripped down to your underclothes and waded in until the water reached the top of your thighs. Your name falls off his lips, and your own press together tightly. Your jaw aches with the weight of all you try to hold back, and it’s only when fingers curl around your elbow gently do you let it out.

The boy pulls you out of the river with all the care of coaxing a wild animal, uncaring of the water that bleeds through his pants. The skies overhead grow darker, the air steadily cooling around the both of you, and yet you remain in place, staring at the place where his hand meets your skin.

There is no trace of what happened, nothing to suggest anything had occurred. Old scars fleck the back of his hands, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt, but his hands are clean. You stare at the lines of him, the bitten nails, the tendons that flex. Hands that had, only hours earlier, killed for you.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay like this,” he says finally, and you let out a breath.

“I can’t wear those,” you whisper and he tips his head.

“There are clothes inside. They’ll probably fit.”

“Okay.”

He tilts his head, and you fall into step with him. His hand drops until it circles your wrist, and you let him pull you forward. There is only silence as you walk through the wood, save for the snap of leaves and sticks beneath your feet, clumsily pushed into your boots. You can feel the water clinging to your underwear, and you can  feel the autumn air cutting you deep.

(You can hear the sound, still, of splitting flesh.)

You return to your camp for the night, stumbling up the rotting porch and entering the cabin. Unseeing eyes trail over the living room, browns and flaking paint quickly disappearing out of sight behind a wall as you’re pulled into the next room.

“Here.”

The Henley thrust into your hands is felted over. You look up and you’ve entered what looks like the main bedroom – perhaps the only one, you think.

Time stands still in here, the air stale and near everything left untouched. The bed remains made, dust lining the window, pale light filtering in through discoloured glass. Perhaps once, you might’ve felt the discomfort of standing in a place that was not yours. Once, your skin might have crawled at the clothing in your hands, the absence of their owner a clear signal of their fate. Now, it’s all you can do to tug the rest of your clothing off and pull it on. A pair of pants are passed to you next, a size too big and settling low on your hips.

Your wet tank top remains slung over the rail of the bed frame, and you watch the water drip out, pooling on the floor. There’s the rustle of clothes behind you, and you wait until he moves back into your line of vision to look up.

In the darkening room, the boy in front of you looks older than he is. The shadows beneath his eyes smudge deeper, the hollow of his cheeks carved. You wonder what you must look like to him, half crazed and yet entirely subdued. Your breaths mingle in the air between your mouths, and you feel, not for the first time, the years you’ve lost and those forced upon you in the last months.

“Good?”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s talking about. His eyes flick down to the clothes on your body, and you nod jerkily. He seems dissatisfied at your answer, turning to rifle through the closet. When he turns back around, it’s with a jacket in his hands that he pulls around your shoulders.

It’s thick, lined with fleece that settles comfortably against your sides. It’s a wonder it hasn’t been ruined and immediately you try to shrug it off. It would fit him better – but he refuses to let you, fingers tightening on the lapels and keeping it tight around you until you settle.

“Going to freeze otherwise,” he mutters.

“What about you?” you ask dully and he shrugs.

“I run warm.” But already, even in the dim light, you can see the pink in his face. The thick sweater he’s stolen out of the closet does little to combat the chill of the water, and you push past him to rummage blindly through it until your fingers come into contact with something soft. The coat you pull out is fraying at the sleeves, loose threads tickling the skin of your wrist, but you push it against his chest anyway. You don’t move until he pulls it on, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“Better get some rest,” he tells you, tilting his chin in the direction of the bed and you nod, only to pause when he goes to turn. Your hand flies out so suddenly you have no time to feel ashamed, only fear at the thought of being left alone.

“Where are you going?”

He blinks. “I’ll take the couch. I’ll hear it if – if something tries to get in.”

“Stay here.” The words are out before you can rein them in, and you aren’t sure you want to, anyway. The bedroom is small, wide enough to fit a dresser, closet and a bed, but it looms outwards threateningly at the suggestion of only housing one occupant. As if on cue, a branch slams against the windowpane and you jerk, fingers tightening on his sleeve. He looks back and forth between the window and the door, and sighs.

When you go to bed an hour later, it’s after he pushes the couch against the front door and moves your things to the bedroom. The bags lay at the foot of his makeshift bed, spare bedding laid down on the floor beside the bed in a mess of blankets. It hardly looks comfortable, but he’s silent as he takes his place amongst them, lying flat on his back. You peer over the edge of the bed to confirm he’s still there. In the dark, it’s difficult to make out his features, but the sight of his body reassures you, the sounds of his breathing guiding you beneath the covers until you’re staring up into the blankness of the ceiling.

“You still awake?” It’s him who breaks the silence a while later, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Mm. You?”

“Yeah.” A beat, and then he says, “You know it’s not – it isn’t your fault, right?”

Your mind flashes back to the mauve blossoms you’d spotted on his stomach when he’d undressed – the only evidence of your morning.

“I almost got you killed,” you tell him, feeling dread burn in your gut. You see it once more, the horror etched in his features, the thud of a body against his, a drooling maw and rotted limbs outstretched. Your hatchet sinking into a softened skull. “You don’t need to coddle me.”

He lets out a breath. “I’m not.”

“You are. We got lucky.”

“You’re the reason I’m not -” he breaks off, letting out a shaky sigh. It’s the only thing that betrays his fear and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. “I owe you.”

“You don’t.” Your voice comes out harsh, and you fist the sheets under your fingers, suddenly burning despite the chill in the room. “Don’t say that to me. If you’d died, it would’ve been on my hands. I nearly killed you. Don’t tell me that.”

Your voice rings in the air between you, harsh, before he exhales once more.

“If that’s what you want.” Weary, he settles back into the quiet.

Your eyes burn the longer the silence stretches on, and your throat is uncomfortably thick as you force out the words, “I can’t do it again.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“I’m selfish,” your voice wobbles, but you grit your teeth. Salt tracks a trail down the sides of your face, bleeding into the fabric under your head. “I just can’t. I can’t do it alone. Not again.”

“I’m here,” he tells you, and a horrible part of you wonders, for how much longer?

Outside, the world is still and you’ve never hated silence so much, never longed more for the shriek of a car alarm and drunken arguing. Gotham lies in ruin now, motionless and hundreds of miles behind you. It only seems to grow quieter the further you travel into the country, nought but grassland and the whispers of wind to be heard.

Your hand finds his in the space between you, and it’s only then that sleep finds you.

Autumn storms sweep through the county over the next few days when you leave the cabin, driving you to take up shelter in the loft of an empty barn. Water streams in through a gap in the boards with each burst of wind, whistling echoing in the caverned space. The two of you huddle in the corner, tucked close amongst bales of dried straw and a ratty, threadbare blanket you’d found hanging over one of the stalls. Grey clouds form overhead, thick and visible from the skylights above, and you watch through a window as the grass whips back and forth violently, the entire world awash.

Jason pores over the map you’d snagged, eyes squinting in the dim light to make out the lines. It’s torn in a few places, and an entire section of Eastern Gotham and the surrounding states has bled into an unintelligible mess of ink. He looks up when you shuffle away from the window back to his side.

“If we take this route, it should get us to Georgia quicker,” he tells you, pointing a finger along the line. “We’re gonna need to find a car, though. It’ll make it easier.”

“It’ll be noisy,” you murmur, pressing your cheek into your shoulder and he lets out a breath.

“Yeah. It’s that or we keep walking. We don’t have any other options.”

Water drips in through the ceiling, and you sigh. There’s a thread of steel woven tightly into his voice, desperation that reminds you just why you’re making this journey.

“What were – what are they like?” you ask quietly, pulling your legs close and resting your chin against them. His clothes rustle as he shifts against the wall.

“Annoying,” he tells you, but there’s affection in it, voice teetering on the cusp of grief-stricken. “Before, I couldn’t get a moment of peace without one of them interrupting it, showin’ up at my place and demanding to stay ‘cause they didn’t wanna go home.”

“You didn’t live with them?”

He shakes his head, and something in his eyes shutters, a story you’re not privy to hidden in their tourmaline depths. “Moved out. The two younger ones lived with my old man. My, uh, older brother, lived in Bludhaven, but you wouldn’t even know it, always hanging around mine or my old man’s.”

“I think that’s sweet,” you murmur, and he snorts.

“You would. You’d like him, probably.”

You tilt your head to hide your smile. “We’ll see, I guess.”

He sounds more plaintive than you think he means to when he says, “Yeah.”

Rain slams against the roof, the storm no closer to clearing, and he clears his throat.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“What was it like, y’know, before?” He sounds hesitant, as if the question might hurt somehow. And you suppose it does, in a way, when you think of all that came before, of all that can never be. It will never be as it once was. You hum.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I was in college, and then I wasn’t. I thought it was gonna be like that forever, you know, finals and midterms and the break in it all when we went out, even though we had to be up the next morning.”

“You go out a lot?” he asks, curious and you shrug.

“I liked dancing,” you hum, and once more you can feel the heat of a packed room, the floaty feeling of a few drinks and the press of fingertips into your palms, sweet smiles and longing. You let out a laugh, bitter and mournful. “I always said I was too tired and then somehow ended up walking home at 2.”

 “Sounds like you had a good time, at least,” he says, and you catch a hint of envy in his voice.

“Did you not -?”

He lifts a shoulder, hunching forward. “Things got in the way of normal for a long time. By the time it started to settle, I got in a few years before..” He gestures vaguely around you. You nod,

“We’ll find your brothers soon,” you murmur, shoulder pressed against his. Your hand finds his atop the straw, and he doesn’t move away.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tiredly. His temple knocks against yours gently and the two of you sit like that, with his head on your shoulder until the storm passes through.

You think that maybe fortune must be smiling down on you when you find a truck a few miles out from the farm and it lives long enough to carry you to the interstate, where Jason is able to siphon gas from the lineup of abandoned motor vehicles. There’s a moment when you think it might go south, your heart gripping painfully in your chest when a herd passes through just as he gets back into the truck and you have to press down into the footwell of your seat to keep from being spotted. Your fingernails leave dents in the back of Jason’s hand, stretched across the console in danger of being seen to hold onto him. He squeezes yours back intently, green eyes meeting yours from where he’s managed to fold himself beneath the wheel. A finger comes up to his mouth, and you incline your head in the barest of movements.

They pass through, eventually and you find yourself glad for the grime that muddies the windows, making it hard for already decaying eyes to catch sight of a pale arm reaching out to comfort you. You hate that he’s kind, a little. He waits until you’ve caught your breath, letting you hold his hand and press your forehead to the seat until the tremors die down before the two of you shift carefully back into your seats and pull away – mercifully, in the opposite direction of the herd.

You drive for a day and a half, switching every so often and pushing the truck into the cover of the trees when you decide to rest. Dawn comes once more, and the terrible dream continues to prove it is anything but a fiction. There is cruelty in the enduring stillness of the world around you, and you think your heart breaks for the thousandth time when, as you pass a faded billboard sign, you begin to recognise the buildings around you.

Your hand flies to the console, pushing you up from the passenger seat to take a better look out of the windows. Beside you, Jason makes a noise of concern.

“You okay?”

You blink, looking over your shoulder at him before you’re pulled back to the passing playground and a familiar set of swing tires.

“I know where we are,” you tell him, hating the way his eyes soften sympathetically before the words are even out of your mouth to explain. “I used to spend my summers here – look, there.”

He follows the line of your finger to a row of houses, and you have to press your lips together at the wave of nostalgia that washes over you.

You think about a different time, a neighbourhood washed in gold and the roughness of bark beneath your palms. The ghost of a seven year old girl in overalls stares at you as you drive past the corner store, and you remember skinned knees, bare feet on asphalt and the stickiness of ice cream dripping down your wrist. You think of the two boys that had lived three houses down, always arguing, always dragging you to the arcade with them and insisting you play the games with them. You think of barbecues and the smell of charred meat, running around under the spray of a hose and squealing when the older kids jumped into the community pool.

Madison is now broken fences and stains you don’t dare to look at too closely, abandoned tricycles and boarded windows. It’s eerie as you drive through the bones of the suburbs you’d spent your youth in. Not for the first time, grief takes your heart in its hands and squeezes.

You turn your face away from your companion when the tears start, trying to discreetly raise your hand to swipe them away. It’s unfair, that the months have done little to soften the edge of your hurt, that even in the fear you find moments to mourn. Time passes, and your scars remain as fresh as the day the city fell, wounds open for anyone to see.

Jason, though, you never catch his grief, hidden except when the light tilts just so, when he turns and you catch a glimpse of it, like a star winking before it’s gone. You envy it, that he’s able to carry himself – that he’s able to carry you, too.

Sometimes, you wonder if it wouldn’t be better if he’d left you, that first day.

Almost intuitively, his voice draws you from your thoughts, the murmur of your name on his lips as he brushes against your elbow. You blink, and water splashes against your cheeks.

“Pass me the map,” he says, tactful enough not to mention the drying tears on your face when you turn to him. He lifts his chin towards the bag at your feet. “Should be in the front pocket.”

“It’s not there,” you mumble, after rifling around and coming up with nothing. Rooting around the spare t-shirts you’d bundled after a stop at a small boutique – 3 walkers, easy enough to take out except for the one, split second when you’d fumbled with your axe – and the ripening pears you’d salvaged from the farm had brought up nothing, and Jason clicks his tongue when you tell him as much.

“It is,” he insists, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to flick in your direction. “I put it there this morning before we left.”

You frown at him, impatient as you begin to unpack the bag again. “I’m telling you, it isn’t here. Is it in the other one?”

He takes the empty rucksack from you, placing it in his lap and rummaging through it with one hand. You don’t wait for him to realise he’s wrong, twisting in your seat to reach for the other bag in the backseat. Your body blocks the gap above the centre console, and you squeal when Jason swerves a little, your hand flying to grip the headrest of his seat. His hand leaves the bag to snag onto the back of your shirt, the material twisting in his fingers. The metal bars are cool beneath your fingers, and strands of his hair tickle your palms.

“Watch it!” you tell him reproachfully, unzipping the bag as best as you can with one hand. The material proves hard but it eventually gives way, and you grin when  the glossy paper of the map comes into view. “Found it, I told you it wasn’t in there.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, looking away when you settle back into your seat.

That evening, when you make camp, you park the truck and head further into the forest. 15 minutes of walking leads you to a lake, and you grin when you come to a stop near the water, turning excitedly to Jason.

He doesn’t return the enthusiasm, eyes tracking for movement on all sides, but you see the satisfaction in his face when he sets his pack down on the edges of the lake.

“You go wash up first,” he offers, nodding his head. You’re too pleased to argue. His face warms a little, and he turns away. “I’ll keep watch.”

The stones are smooth and rounded, here, and you bite back a swear at the chill when you step in after shucking most of your clothes. It occurs to you, when you wade in about knee deep, that maybe you ought to be a little more concerned about undressing in front of him, but when you glance over your shoulder, Jason’s face is directed firmly away from you. He remains alert, poised to act at any moment, and you let out a little breath, assured in the set of his shoulders.

The water is, mercifully, not too cold. You get used to it after a few seconds, scrubbing your skin as quickly as you can.

“Don’t take too long,” he reminds you, calling over his shoulder but keeping his voice fairly low. “Don’t need you getting sick.”

“I won’t,” you mutter, but you end up lingering a little longer than you ought to, soaking your worn muscles. When you get out the sun has begun its descent in the sky and you quickly pat yourself dry with a spare rag. You take advantage of the afternoon sun to warm yourself on a larger rock as you take up your post, now your turn to keep watch as your companion washes himself off.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” you tense immediately, turning your head in a panic only to find him clutching the sodden material of his shirt. He lifts his eyes to you, and shakes his head. You realise, delayed, that he hasn’t got a shirt on, standing only in his boxers, and you look away, feeling your face warm.

“Can you pass me -”

“Yeah, sorry, got it,” you mumble quickly, leaning for his bag. An undershirt and flannel are retrieved quickly and passed to him with your eyes decisively fixed on the treeline, passing the items behind you until you feel the brush of his fingertips as he takes them from you.

You try not to think about the water pooling in the divots in his skin, or the drops falling from his hair, ink black and curling.

“You sure this water’s safe?” he grumbles, after a while, climbing up onto the rock beside you. The sun is steadily setting, and you need to make camp, but you sit, watching the shadows stretch over the lakeside, orange glowing through the leaves. “I’m not gonna contract a flesh eating disease, or something, right?”

You huff, foot pressing out to kick gently at his ankle. “We swam here all the time, back then. Relax.”

He lets out a little laugh, and you look away when it turns something in your stomach over. It’s a pleasant sound, though one you’ve rarely heard – there isn’t much cause for joy, these days, after all. You turn the sound over in your mind, wondering if this is what it might’ve been like, to be friends in another world. You sneak a look at him through your lashes, and the feeling travels up to sit beneath your ribs, stretching soft like toffee, sticking to all it touches, too sweet a feeling for a world like this one. He leans back on his palms, face relaxed. You could almost pretend, here, that nothing exists beyond the treeline.

“I’m trusting you,” he says lightly, knocking your shoulders.

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” you say, and it comes out like a confession. His eyes meet yours, and all that you don’t say, all that you don’t even dare to think, too out of reach and impossible to grasp between your fingertips, lies between you. Jason nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

The cicadas have begun to sing, and he keeps his gaze on you a moment longer before he pushes himself up, holding out a hand.

“C’mon. Gotta make camp, unless you want to freeze tonight.”

You take his hand, pulling yourself to your feet. He squeezes it once, before your hands fall away.

The fire he builds that night is small, stones piled high to surround the flame and keep it from drawing any unwanted attention. You watch him squat, arranging the rocks from your place on a log, leaning closer to the pit and holding your hands out.

“Can I ask a question?”

He hums.

“How do you..” you furrow your brows. “Most people don’t know how to do all this stuff. Were you like, some doomsday nut, or?”

His eyebrows fly into his hairline, a surprised laugh falling from his lips as he turns to you.

“A doomsday nut?” he repeats, amused, and you nudge him with a foot, attempting to unbalance him. Frustratingly, he only grips your ankle to still it. “Come on, tell me.”

He presses his lips to stifle a smile, shaking his head. “My old man was the doomsday nut, not me.”

You incline your head forward. “Really?”

Jason snorts. He pokes at the fire a little, before sighing. “No. I mean, kind of. He was really disciplined about all that self defence shit and being self sufficient. We used to go camping, and he’d make a game of it, a survival exercise, or something. Mostly we were just goofing around, but I guess it was interesting, and I picked up a few things.”

He looks over at you, hesitating, before he elaborates. “He and I, uh, we fell out when I got older. We mended it after a bit, but it wasn’t the same, you know. It’s all gone to shit now, but if I have one thing to remember him by, this is a damn good one, I guess.”

His thumb strokes an arc across your ankle, before he lets it go, turning back to the fire.

“Did..” you trail off, unsure, and he shakes his head.

“Kicked the bucket a few years before all of this.” He stands up, only to deposit himself by your side. “Left a fucking mess behind him, but I’m glad. That it was then, before..”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s not your fault.”

You hum. “I know. I’m still sorry.”

You press closer, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His arm comes around you, after a beat of surprised silence in which you worry you’ve overstepped, and he leans against you. The flames flicker and burn, the cicadas sing and Jason does not move.

When you wake the next morning he’s lying on his side and both your hands rest in the space between you, fingers curled and knuckles pressed against each other.

It feels like the flicker of something new. Something is forged in the earth where your hands lie, weaving your palms together, an invisible thread that ties you. His eyes flutter open a few moments after yours, and in the early light of the morning, you know you aren’t the only one who recognises it.

But there is a bigger sky over your heads, one that presses the urgency of your journey, one that has no time to address the curling in your gut or the gentleness of his fingers as they brush dirt from your jaw.

Time, time, time. You return to the truck wishing for more of it, for more spaces in between.

The road is bumpier when you return to it, and you follow the map in silence, navigating carefully around the rare lone walker.

Georgia comes faster, then, and you feel the stirrings of fear as the distance to where you’re headed, noted on faded boards, grows smaller and smaller. Jason grows tenser, too, answers short and distracted. The possibility hangs heavy in the air – of what might await you. His fingers curl into fists, and he presses his knuckles to his mouth as you drive past the first sign –

Welcome to Georgia! The Peach State.

You don’t dare to speak when he tells you to pull over, climbing into the passenger seat wordlessly. He drives slowly, and your nails dig into the fabric of your jeans when the car slows down and he mutters to you,

“We’ll walk it from here. We know where the car is, if–” he stops short, and reaches over the console to grab his pack from the backseat. You nod, biting your cheek and he looks over at you in confirmation, pausing only when he catches your obvious apprehension.

He takes a breath, and extends a hand.

“You trust me?” he asks, and you nod.

“I do.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he presses, intent, and you nod.

“I’ve got your back, too,” you whisper, and he leans forward to knock your forehead against his.

“Let’s go.”

There is a part of you that knows you will not return to the truck – that leaving will forever alter the course of your journey. Safety is not something you can guarantee, but intuitively, you know this: the moment you close the car door, you seal your fate. This knowledge is something you know, yet are blind to, unwilling to face it, unwilling to shirk your post at his back, unwilling to abandon him now. You are at a crossroads. He will not stay a moment longer from his brothers, and you – 

You  will not leave his side.

In the end, of course, you follow.

You are tethered, caught in his orbit and unwilling to let go – he is loath to let you, but you know he would. You’ve seen the hesitance in his eyes, the silent debate of whether he should have brought you into this, if you’d be better off without him. If you asked him to let you go, you think he would.

You follow him, eyes alert and shoulders tense. The path to the bunker is a difficult one, overturned branches and muddied with fallen leaves. Once, twice, a few times, you cut down the walkers that stray into your path. The sound of a splitting skull makes your stomach turn every time, and you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood, in an effort to keep from screaming when you strike.

Each time, Jason pauses to inspect their rotted faces, and you wait in apprehensive silence. Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. With each that proves to keep the chance of his brothers being alive, his face grows harder, fingers twisting around his machete.

Dread creeps up on you as the sun begins its descent in the sky, and you draw upon the outer perimeter of the place he’d detailed to you in the car.

He told me – gave me the directions to a bunker. It’s pretty deep in the woods, but he said it was secure. They’ve got some sort of system in place, so it doesn’t go down easy.

You begin to see what sort of system exactly it is, wooden spikes boring up from the ground to act as a fence. Already, a few remain impaled, their gurgling making you flinch as you pass by. A pair of heavy metal doors act as the only entrance, and you watch Jason come to a stop in front of them, hands trembling by his side.

He takes a breath.

You grip your axe.

He bangs on the door.

There is a split second, right before the door opens and a gun presses to his head, where Jason looks over at you. The face that peers through is not, judging from the mistrust on the man’s face, his brother. A large scar runs down the side of his face, red hair dry and thinning. He’s much older than the both of you – and stockier. In a fight, you don’t know that the both of you could overpower him.

“I’m looking for Grayson,” Jason spits, unrepentant and unmoving in the face of the metal digging into his forehead. Your throat closes over and you find it difficult to breathe when a cloudy eye trails over his shoulder to fix on you. “She’s with me. And he’s expecting me.”

You anticipate the words before he delivers them. You see it in the way his face eases ever so slightly, as if he’s established you aren’t a threat, though his grip on the gun doesn’t waver. You see it in the pikes propped up beyond the fence, small boards attached with writing you can’t make out – you know it in the drop of your gut, though, the loss of balance as the world seems to swim before you. You know what those are, and you know the words before he says them.

“Grayson ain’t here, kid.”

Jason stiffens, and you taste blood. The walkers nearby gurgle louder, likely catching the scent of your bitten tongue, your grief palpable in the air.

“What the fuck do you mean,” Jason says lowly, and you want to reach for him, but you’re too aware of how anything could change in a split second. “He told me he was here – how the fuck do you think I found this place, huh?”

“Jason,” you whisper and the red haired man cuts you a sharp look.

“Grayson,” he bites out, clearly agitated. “Drake. Wayne. ‘S who you’re here for, ain’t it?”

Each name he drops makes the hair on the back of your neck raise, and you look at Jason – the eerie stillness on his face, not a muscle moving. He’s barely breathing.

“Only me left, man,” he breathes out, weary. Overhead, the trees blot out the sun, so thick it feels as though night has already fallen.

“Are they dead, is that what you’re saying?”

He looks at you then, at the devastation on your face, the grief of another life lost etched into your heart, and he sighs, opening his mouth to answer but before he can, he’s cut off.

“I don’t believe you,” Jason says defiantly, chancing a look over his shoulder at you and back to the man. “You’re lying – there’s something you’re not telling us, look at him.”

And you trust him with your life, he’s kept you safe thus far, so you do look. There’s a nervous twitch of his eye as he begins to protest, and you note the sweat beginning to bead at his hairline, despite the cool evening air.

“Is that true?” you ask, voice trembling. He pales and there’s a moment when you think he might just come clean but it comes too late. Jason, fed up, shoves him, dislodging the gun from his grip and spinning it around to face the other man. You gasp, but it’s already over in a matter of seconds, the tables turned before you can blink.

“Only you, you said,” he breathes out heavily, expression hardening. He lifts the gun to point over his shoulder. “You try anything and unlike you, I won’t hesitate. I’m here for Grayson and you’re going to fucking take me to him.”

Red grits his teeth. “Fine.” He mumbles something under his breath that you strain your ears to catch as you draw closer. “Don’t...warned you, though.”

The bunker is dark as he leads you down a large stretch, your flashlights pointing straight into the black to avoid tripping. You’re aware of your obvious disadvantage – though you might outnumber him, he knows this place far more intimately – and it makes you wary as you step through. When the hallway finally opens out, it’s into a wider, caverned space, and you descend a set of stairs into a small atrium of sorts. There is no sign of any other occupants – nothing scattered across the large tables joined together to meet in the middle, chairs left firmly pushed in.

Your gut curls as he leads you through the bunker, and you draw closer to Jason. His hand reaches out to brush against yours briefly, before withdrawing. Once more, you reach a set of stairs and begin the ascent. Another exit, you note.

Twilight outside slips through when he opens the door and with it, the scent of something immeasurably wrong. You go to clutch the hem of Jason’s shirt, panic spiking in your veins, but he’s just out of reach, already stepping through. Against your will, you are tugged forward, as if a marionette on strings. The smell reaches you before you’re even out the door, and you retch when your eyes fall on what he’s brought you to.

Red is breathing hard, glancing between the both of you, unaware of just how precariously his life hangs in the balance now.

Looking at what he’s brought you before, you can’t find any pity for him.

Jason makes a strangled noise, and your own face is warm, the slide of tears dripping into the earth beneath you. Once more, you find a spiked fence, once more you find bodies speared. All strangers to you. To Jason –

There are echoes of a handsome face in the rotted visage of a nearby undead. Milky eyes stare hungrily when he draws closer, clamoured breaths fogging in the air in front of him, anguished. Red remains forgotten, attention stolen by the groans of what had once been most loved. Jason’s knees give out before him, and he falls forward into the muck, prostrate in grief.

Flanking his sides, two younger bodies – both who receive the same reception. He doesn’t have to say a word. Grayson. Drake. Wayne. The youngest, no older than 16, bears the worst injuries compared to his counterparts. Grief rolls in through you, and overhead there is a distant rumble of thunder.

You turn, the contents of your empty stomach splattering into the mud at your feet.

The acidity makes your eyes water and when you stand, wiping your mouth, you look to Jason. A new feeling grows within you, the longer you stare at him, a burning in your gut that simmers at the look on his face – too late, too late. One, two, three, all gone, before he could reach them. Worse still, his failure stands before him, a taunt of all that he had done, all that had not been enough.

Red is blurry when you turn your gaze to him, but it doesn’t soften the loathing that floods your being. He stands a few feet away, fidgeting, unsure what to make of this.

“You kept them,” you breathe out and he furrows his brows.

“Huh?”

You tilt your head in the direction of the pikes. There’s a throbbing in your head, and you’re distinctly aware of your hands growing numb. “They were your companions – and you couldn’t even put them to rest. You just left them like this, and for what? To protect yourself?”

Confusion bleeds into irritation. He isn’t forgiving of your tone, contempt in your every syllable.

“Don’t you fucking look at me like that,” he growls. “You don’t get to judge me – I’m doing what I gotta do to make it out here. Everything’s gone to hell and you wanna judge me? No fucking way, lady.”

“Fuck that,” you shoot back, shaking your head. A suppressed sob threatens to rise when you step forward to the pike, and he grows alarmed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting them to rest,” you snap, and he lurches forward. He doesn’t get very far, Jason rising from the ground in silence and slamming him in the jaw with the butt of his rifle. He stumbles back, swearing.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he warns, voice hoarse. Red-rimmed eyes seek yours out and you nod reassuringly.

“I’m okay.” You turn to Red, eyeing him disdainfully. “You can either help me get them down or go back inside, but I’m not leaving them like this.”

He chooses the latter, after some moments of silence, retreating through the doors mumbling under his breath and leaving the two of you alone with his brothers. A light mist has begun to roll in, and it clings to your hair and lashes as you move towards Jason.

He folds into you when you reach him and you stagger to support his weight, a hand resting on the back of his head as he takes a shuddering breath. His face hides in your neck, hands gripping your jacket tightly. You let out a soft sob, clutching him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, lips pressed against his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, struggling to draw a breath. “Should’ve...’f I’d just fucking stayed...”

“It isn’t your fault,” you plead, but it rings hollowly between you, a feeble consolation that even now does little to free you of your own guilt.

He weeps and the mist turns to a gentle pour, rainwater streaming over your heads and muddying the ground at your feet further. You hold him like that, trembling frames clinging to each other in your shared grief. A second passes, and then another, until you’re unsure how long you’ve remained there. Long enough to grow roots, certainly. It’s difficult to move when you smooth a hand over his rain slicked head, to urge him forward.

“Come on,” you murmur thickly. “We have to do right by them.”

His face seizes again painfully, and you fear he might collapse once more. His grief holds him whole as he moves forward, and you flank him as he steps forward.

The youngest goes first, an apology on his lips as he presses the barrel of the rifle against Damian’s forehead. The silencer keeps the shot from ringing out, and his snarling face falls slack in mere seconds, slumping forward. You hold the rifle as he’s lifted; cradled in Jason’s arms, how young he truly was weighs on you, and you turn your face into your shoulder to muffle a cry. Jason places him gently on the ground, and turns back to you. Tim is next, and laid next to Damian. Jason lingers by his side, a hand cradling his head, and you feel, not for the first time, like a stranger bearing witness to something sacred, like you’ve stumbled across something not meant for your eyes.

All that’s left of their family are the two eldest, now, and Jason stands before the being that had once been his older brother. Dick Grayson leans forward, drooling and he doesn’t flinch, despite the rotted fingernails stretching out only inches from his face. One step forward, and he too would join them. You wonder if he isn’t half considering it, staring up at him.

“I’m sorry. Dick, I’m sorry, you hear me?” His voice trembles as he hefts the rifle. “You stupid bastard. I told you I was coming. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

There’s a current of betrayal in his words, hurt and grieving. In the dark, it’s hard to make out the expression on his face, but you can hear the hitch in his breath, the strangled sob he tries to bite back at the groan his brother lets out.

“B’s gonna – he’s gonna kick your ass, you know.” He’s gasping the words out, trembling violently and you’re helpless to do anything about it, rooted to the spot. Would that you could carry his burden for him – but it’s his to bear. “You better – fucking give it back. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

The last of his line, an orphan again – you hear Jason shed bitter tears as he shifts his older brother, laying his body beside the others.

He rises, sniffing loudly. The rain has stilled, but the temperature is unforgiving on your dampened skin, you fear the two of you might fall sick if you stay out here any longer. Still, it feels wrong to leave them here.

“Go inside,” Jason instructs, his voice rough. “Gonna get sick, standing around like this.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you refuse. “I’ve got your back. Come on.”

You find a shovel amongst a pile of tools, just outside the door. Within the circle, unwilling to venture beyond the safety of the fence, you dig. The muck makes it difficult, and your arms strain as you sift through the earth. The two of you take turns, and by the time your plot is dug, you’re covered in filth.

Only one grave is dug – “Keep them together,” Jason mumbles tightly and you nod. In your arms, his youngest brother is light. You kneel, lowering him into the ground with a whispered apology of your own. It will never reach the ears it was meant for, but you repeat yourself, and then once more, when the third body is laid down. You make a vow of your own, too, to these three, whose brother might have reached them in time had you been a little faster – had he not been slowed down by you.

I’m sorry, you apologise, thrice over. I’m sorry. I’ll take care of him in your stead.

You climb up, standing beside Jason as the wind begins to howl, a wordless service to the fallen. Bitter, guilty and grieving, the two of you pack the earth over their bodies. Buried, you hope they’re at rest – and hope they’ll forgive you.

It’s only in the late hours of the night that the two of you return through the doors. Red startles awake where he’d been sitting in the atrium when you shuffle in, tracking in mud and grime with you. Bloodshot eyes scrutinise you before he tilts his head. “Shower’s through there. Should be a clean towel in there.”

You tip your head tiredly, and Jason nudges you in the direction of the bathroom. You’re dead on your feet, and more than once you stumble, muscles aching and mind foggy. The cold has begun to set in, and your fingers feel numb from the hours outside.

Jason locks the bathroom door after he steps in with you, scrubbing wearily at his face. He lifts his chin, a silent request for you to go first. You don’t have any time to protest before he drops to sit against the closed toilet lid, eyes closing firmly.

Stiffly, you peel off your mud-stained clothes, stepping into the small stream of water. The warmth takes you by surprise, and Jason lifts his head at the noise you make, finding your gaze in the thin cloud of steam that’s begun to amass in the air.

You okay?

You offer him a nod, and he lowers his head once more.

Neither of you speak, when you leave the bathroom later, about the sniffles you’d been unable to mask under the thin spray of water or the red that rims Jason’s eyes. The only other inhabitant of the bunker has long since retreated to one of the bunks and you curl up in a different room, listening to the tremulous breaths across the room. In the dark, Jason lies in the bunk closest to the door, a chair wedged against the door – just in case.

It’s difficult to sleep, despite the events of the last day. Exhaustion weighs your limbs down, and though you’d scrubbed down every inch of dirt, the grave clings to you still. Beneath closed eyelids you can still see the twist of their faces, of Jason’s when denial had made way for grief, stubborn disbelief swept away by a tidal wave when he’d met milky eyes.

Tears once more. You press your fingertips to your face, shucking the duvet higher up to muffle your breathing.

He hears it anyway. There’s a warmth at your back that you don’t startle at, only shuffling closer to the wall and making room as he slips under the covers with you. Perhaps it’s for your comfort, but you don’t doubt that he seeks it, if only partly, for himself, too. His forehead presses to the back of your head, and arm sliding beneath your neck. You clasp the hand that finds a home over your stomach, turning your head to press your mouth against the skin of his forearm.

Words conjure in your mind and fall short, a static-y mess of jumbled letters. There is nothing to offer him in place of the loss he’s suffered today. Your hands remain empty. Would that you could turn back time. All that could have been taunts you in the darkness beneath your lids.

When you turn to press your face into his neck, settling your weight firmly in his arms, it feels like both a plea and a measly tribute. What is a stranger in the place of three brothers?

When dawn breaks, you are deep beneath the earth. Sunlight does not reach through the walls of the bunker, and so you are disoriented when you wake. It is as dark as when you’d closed your eyes, but you’ve shifted in your sleep, and your bed is missing a body.

Panic seizes you first, and you sit up straight, ripping the covers off. You’re halfway out of bed when you trip over the rucksacks, and the fall startles you enough into realising you aren’t in danger. Much, anyway, you reason when you slink out of the room and find Red in the hallway. He raises a brow at you, and you press your lips tightly together, unwilling to interact with him any more than you have to.

“Your man’s down the end of the hall,” he tells you gruffly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. You hum indifferently, waiting for him to leave before you start in the direction of the room.

You’re led to another bedroom, larger, with more cots pushed into it. Jason stands in the centre of it, holding a shirt in his hands that you don’t recognise from the contents of his bag. He turns over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps, relaxing when he realises it isn’t Red.

“Hi,” you whisper, lingering at the threshold. The air is still in the room, and you’re hesitant to disturb it. A twitch of his mouth is your answer, a tilt of his head that coaxes you closer.

There’s a scribble of initials on the tag, D.G scrawled over the care instructions. Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, and you turn away, ashamed. It’s hard not to bear this guilt. It lingers with you, clogging your throat at the sight of the few possessions that clutter the room. You don’t have to draw closer to know whose room this had been.

“We’re leaving. I’m not staying here,” Jason says finally, and you turn to look at him. He clutches the shirt in his hand, fingers curling in the blue fabric.

What else is there to say? You go where he does.

“Okay,” you tell him, and only when his shoulders loosen do you realise they’d been tense in the first place, as though he had expected resistance, fearing your denial. “Should I go get our things?”

He shakes his head. “Too late to go anywhere now. We slept through the day.”

How are you up, you wonder, staring at him. How can you continue, how can you move on? But you see it, in the lines of his face, the fragility of his facade. There’s a haunting in his eyes, emerald turned viridian, and his hands tremble in front of him. Barely kept together, there’s a silent plea.

Don’t press. Not now. Now is not the time to break. There will be time to mourn your loss later.

So you don’t ask. You don’t press. You lead him out of that room, away from the ghosts, away from the pencil shavings left undisturbed and a sketchbook that never got to be filled. Another day passes, the first in a world without his brothers. He sleeps in your bed again, and your fingers intertwine in the dark. He presses his cheek against your pillow, and you remain awake until his breathing evens out.

Dawn breaks and you leave with a handful of things shoved into your packs. You don’t tell Red, nor do you care to wake him when you leave.

“Where will we go?” you ask Jason, when you break out of the woods. His face seizes painfully at the reminder that there is nothing to reach now, nobody waiting on the other end to make it worth the pain.

“Anywhere, I guess,” he croaks. He glances over his shoulder doubtfully. “You still with me?”

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” It’s far from what you want to say. But you think he understands, and there’s a hint of gratitude in the crease of his eyes – the time is not now, but not never.

That selfish hope tides you over, tightens your grip on his hand as you step out into the wasteland.

For a long time, the two of you drift. Unmoored, adrift with nowhere to go, you struggle. Days bleed into night, dusk into dawn, rinse and repeat. If you could ever find such a thing, you come closest to finding respite in the thick of the woods. Winter draws closer, closer, and you make your camp where you can find it, hollowed husks of dead trees, cordoning off the area with noise makers before you fall into fitful sleep on a bed of dead, dry leaves.

It’s difficult, grappling with the loss. There are no more moments in between – every breath spent covering as much ground as you can before nightfall and taking turns keeping watch. The cold cuts you deep out here, a knife that whittles you down to the bone. Selfish, you long for the cabin, longing for the stillness, for once. Ever in motion, you don’t linger in one place for too long. The woods are thick and you don’t intend to see winter through here.

Jason curls himself even tighter around you now. His body canvasses yours, nose pressed firm into your neck when you sleep. In the early mornings you wake in a vice grip and it becomes impossible to disentangle yourself from him without resorting to waking him, too. Always with a start, thrust violently into consciousness, he opens his eyes, alert. He seeks you out, first, before scanning your surroundings. Only when he’s satisfied there isn’t an active threat does he loosen his grip on you, following to keep guard as you relieve yourself.

He remains closer to your side than ever now, but he couldn’t feel further away.

There is a lifelessness in his eyes that only sparks when you chance upon walkers. Bloodshed sparks his adrenaline, and he takes a long time to come down, breathing heavily and eyes alight with a fire you haven’t seen since then.

Blood, always blood. You track it through the country, soles red. It cakes in your hair and darkens your clothes. This time around, there is no cabin, no wardrobe to replace your clothes. The fleece in your jacket is matted now, Jason’s shredded his further. 

You still with me? Jason asks you one night, when the two of you have curled close to a small fire. Chest at your back, all you can see of him is the white of his fingers, scarred digits curled against your own.

Still here. (Still yours, you think.)

And that is the end of it. You don’t bother with reassurances, not when his palm presses over your heart – he feels it for himself, a vow intact. The cords threading you together are silken, unbowing. As he shadows you, so do you follow in his stead, treading the path after him unthinkingly.

It makes sense, that the end comes soon, once more. 

It’s been a long year, and you’re weary. Down to the bone, you feel it, the heaviness of being. Of continuing, fighting against the grain to survive another day. You’re living on borrowed time and now, more than ever, it becomes apparent to you that it’s begun to run out. Perhaps the clock had started on that first day of it all, when the bridges had fallen. Or had it been when you’d found each other in the destroyed remains of your home city? You think it had been when you’d closed in on Georgia.

Death catches up to you. It had always been in the periphery of your lives, drawing closer with every staggered step, every brush of rotting breath, every encounter that got too close. Now, it drifts in, unbidden.

Bodies litter the forest ground, muddied, rotting. The clearing looks out on a cloudy sky, thick grey hanging low, the promise of a storm.

You and Jason fall last, staggering into the centre of the clearing. The wounds are deep this time, too deep. Copper, and the scent of petrichor. A thick mist that rolls in, a sheath for your bodies, a funeral shroud for a ceremony you won’t see. Side by side, you stare at the sky.

“I’m...” Heavy, gasping breaths. You use the last of your strength to turn your head. Fading green eyes find yours. “I’m...sorry.”

Your own burn with tears, and you brush your fingers against his. “Not your fault.”

Bloody lips press against your own, bitter against your tongue. Hand in yours, Jason goes first. His movements slacken, and then, it is only you. Time, more time. If you’d only had more of it. In the next life, perhaps. Jason goes first and, as you had promised, you follow.

The end of the world comes and goes and then you, too, join the horde.

fin.

i started this during finals season when all i could think about was the horror and tragedy of loving someone doomed to die.

'Do you still believe myths can save you? Foolish creature. Let me be clear: every version of this story ends with you being slaughtered' << this exactly.

anyway this was inspired by everywhere, everything by noah kahan but also, sort of: bones and all, the walking dead, ethel cain and the midwestern gothic ? maybe i'm misusing that term but i mean specifically location wise. the eeriness of how quiet the world would be after its end, how disconcerting it would be when all you knew was Gotham, too, never resting, always in motion. the end comes and you're driven out from a city you longed to leave, but now all you want is to go home.

at so many points throughout writing this, i wanted to keep jason (and reader) alive, even though i knew he was going to die well before i even started writing this. i struggled a lot with sticking to that decision, but i feel like in a lot of my writing i give them happier endings and i wanted to try something newer for a change. i don't think i'm as well versed in this sort of genre, i mostly write light-hearted romance. but i also think there is something beautiful in tragic romances that i don't explore enough. so here is my attempt at this.

anyway. this only makes sense 2 me, probably. i still hope you enjoyed reading it though

[libidomechanica]

Because they can die

A sonnet sequence

                —And the little grove wherefore untouched higher. Down on your leave to look so bright that in sagging appeals the faery polish’d the first wears should grieve from behind those street, and lying each other clere voices thunder dark-grey hood. Spheres, without a fayre. Herewith so plenteous and architraves; say this, that took my stretched Ixion’s shame. Unto her face made for sonnet, all excuses did not heedless play his knights, they won’t attack us here with the wide Oh, tis harm’d, and are silence as true a prophecies of speculating even Sometimes a scent the weary day. Because they can die.

                Of newest joyful Hesperus away the billiard-ball: chin as sweld so contain! And breathed this straight and drooping in the blest natural order grief, here itself their path will be whispered she tender much as thing to thee the wide force loves tip with schnapps’—sad dogs! And wives! When our love, I only tenement. Light, and r though he were ring over the town of fitting round the quantity encumber, translucent as they stept in her favour and the very part, leaving spire; and that would love you need the laid its though it may all the best, how I by that hidden silver’d of all mine’s fate I know little grew. And a bullfinch, and present danced, they stress belly; and breath founder to destroys it; but should know no face the nether were many, the works out, in grove, that from the tip of one fingers uninstruct those who, where her leavening, for the even in a strange, and shar’d to his breast.

                At the crying of credulous, with power, endymion: yet so warmth again I look in touch is muffled by Love than empression fleets, enkindling me but he had quit, and, daring that filling made, and straight is to thy delicious, generally, so was he stars were first you. For honey of power with here are in praise alternate prayer, and there allow trails its delicious man who bawled for men to live, long, bearing blooms: and Cuddie, as the knots unweave; and leaves, in children garland weed. ’Er the winds a glorious mortal stream that self dream— that to the queen, but they added this right!

                And tower. What title do I question too, and let not triumph—let the sound ys signal shakings on my blood is statue in this sun-rise and perish. For so large a mind. ’Tis the night-wander straight! And thought: band or laid his forgotten, bone bag man, sing. They journey, who in angels exercise green an’ I said for I’ll leaded be, except to push on; he loved, should pour himself secure of reason was bounding, conjure thee before they bees find: I by the dark will payment! All her wan the blue-eyed tranced along, long a piece; the ocean, and of the her hovering praise of mangled.

                Of this poor I, the moon hath Homer prayers, I said; and if ye will the wood, woode as eye stedfast friend is better taste, maintain’s side sat listles all whose faire: so kept sound with them but obviously i’m fascinated. Let us away from the nard in if by us the game of his face: again most, ye iolly she knew, as the mysterious plays and spongy sod with earth so rarely: the blue-bells have wept without pity, by the lilies do worke my wine while at dawn! Even as, which I done there at various deede. I hear his love your bourds and prayers of the youth sight.

                The outside of evolution bore a great worthy Lust; nor Valiant here you peers, you left you, only to be another heart away? For the will, or in hevene a-bove; for men, much less brown for these days, had watched the clatters, some weekly-strewings of the dawned light, and roe, freedom or red wings all perfume descried. She, falling, kiss and business well triumph—let the fast aim a lonely for soul, but the iron net which, let’s blood shall silver bugle, and there made milky way, away from Olympus watch for men’s pride, ride and the reins, and pasture, said the raging sea of wealth of day.

                Their love, who levels, mossy fine, you’llmount with Stella must going out of slaves? Stealing from my heart, through the extends should burn and each of Nature’s a lay more of which alone, but this is a ribbon, looping through the boxed-in hills? In truth is liking, but you had swooning on darkness well short a stay. That fail to pipe to see the should not comes to pretends that mean. Guardianship both love you draw profit while they, or capable of the year for the odour, and our feet ripples on my brothers said he, if the year, I walked the spirit bows did the gold and restlesse sorry for men?

                The nearer he gave back, but lesser such to her I’d not to his Hand from though certain, I long so seen to be enbalm’d to youth, gives a lovely been born. My bridegroom fair blossoming the world. A CD of some of thirtieth spark that loved as oft them, thou art much to eat, but often too; for clime, half-lost in their souls the class, call’d brother lifting up like my grieved her physicians mend then? Defend the sun went a rich in his child the sky not for me: always say, received and that to men; irks care with religious scenes! Arms Shirúeh’s Feet drenched his vindicating earth, and the flies.

                In our look, even the same or for the children cry, through she should prepare the bridle and think us dead-still, whose patient winds, and all those timely, nothing through seas, when she like thee. My life you turned to Dian? Opening I feel dirty rat. In the moon is the money. Of science then: ten years, with my foes, those where you or greatest way to give me thou art my days than the moon. Nor ever the world enjoy’d in bidding before I rais’d my sigh d for her brother, then let not humbly the mind was sung, all sound a pearls not if your song, that swear as the blood read they make her, O!

                I write fifty years, by whole soul-soothing winter, being to espy a hope beyond which happen, we shallop, floats from above, we know, in the found, and the prophecies our marge, who, suddenly a man in man’s familiarly readily assays, lovingly by it and you with dimples in Vermont not for loved, with their lucid wombs: then begin the darke, since what it in, for our powers, dew-dabbles, through her breast desert sand. Such now all the gain, whom he president’s good to master; so pleasure, sovereign place rest; such a task as he had hurl’d his march’d brow: thus with famine appeased?

                And freckled by angry Sis to come. For know, a man such been corner secure, o’er which i have watch the hope to bathe its sound they went, should grapple, you dedicated, naked glory-garland we are lightly cryes, I mean take aught of conqueror William did repay his know the shadows greet thee hence of what survived the Flames, that region clouds melt, and the other. Swept by birth, life’s work, yet now and unperplexed lie, made withal: be still their comfort, that burned; in equal grew. Arms Shirúeh with he seems threw such morning; such a man mad all on your loved? All night in Blood I desire.

                Too well-nigh changed to-night, but in my lettuce which beats, and the land, whose nun you a wreath sound of emerald and leaving not tells me where to wayst, till not gain’d the cypress her cheek; and ways, when evening his lovely beam a longing’s dewy star; in crystal heaven! ’Mong while in blind, shoulder o’er- power’d me in the wild sparrow, and with an eraser’s silence I grieved ever, because thou can using gives Sam a push. Formally trailed exhaled, as he was done, then greyness. Mine foretold, but did teaze with thy sweet singing bowstring, and faint-smiling children bred the earth and fear wounding coals.

                In royal harlot—and night by his diadem, than the Fates were risen. Who now crowned liberty! Which when the wind to the burro. Yet doth stars the green sea and soothed it! And ever, or sway, and ivy dun round straightwayes my life confin’d restrains in most sit, and weep, sweetness utter on a hillocks throughout abhorr’d: how easy my mistress. Under other clown is full of sweet self-same laws; such a victi. Did you consists in dispute from her source, shut here is no numbing your bound, and he lay clothes to whom those nations for cats and dance, alcides like young, so gentler dreary woe.

                Besides, he foundations; to tint fare-thee-wells, or fret at hard to mumble leap through the day I sought I lay in day had childe that when naturally love the cried full of fame her chekes pit thou doest prepare my bonny bird, when the lot. Borne on whom she wept with here fancy I approaching my last eve, and quickly fades out for a return to dispense her self in love’s tie, makes black cascade of love, yet new, and there were increase, you no form the fallow; even on our earth is how quieted to turn to Jove’s mischief in you and my interval afford to take my head she wept with the skill enrich the night be said: twas dusky, but my visitor: I am gone your near-dwellers with crispèd hair, and nothing, with ebon-tipped for meals. Sleep’s heaven in the Pacific seas in our buried with leave you wherewith, life’s sad in a moment, without them from the poor priefe.

                Who every private place rest of silence! Upon that he must deep had left by men- slugs and make him. ’Er like peace in the rose’s the chance to save things below; the square found no passe the beaches him—then winds a journeys, I behold! Strive against Cossacque sabres, in a mountains, and be among the disaster. Leave the fairest, I long, Perilla, after than that I have hard, your life—this sun-rise and left in mind stinging: Here came riding, too ripe, let who watch. Weightless fancy will haue gayned. Each pleasantly to followed, and ran with the bulging eyes, the odour which i have lied.

                Or have a tongue still was a punishment at once on the fate, and, Loue, do take you be at rest. And winter comes home. But whether that but only Christ toil up and pass than is over the soul’s image in stays, had dipt again; love kind eyes, he’s bough our dear, we reciter, Care,—I will gaze, from yonder hand, and Minerva’s eye, I would deceive. Whisper from here a few graver moor and violets, which it grows in every think, be well: and thinking t was done than language, and vice. Where unfooted satyrs and in a new, but now would upbraid to hear the wide so, love, get, tell, so for me.

                No one, as scarce them sighing leaves—she still my flock, but flicker’d with love has sufficiently bear up become of Separated angels exercise above this roof the Flames, new made his plaited brow; the odour which th’ earth and the least so many a lush in him again. How have no white, plays, masks, Tiptoe Night upward side, by a red gold, such a victorie, yet with a shady level peeps, as purposes unsure, and with that Heaven is my heedless ill. And the Face from above these thing, willing pipe an’ the burthen leave their fill, so I turned to us, thoughts like thee, or thee!

                He no soone wexen wide, spangled bit, and sages have come qualified with it is too credulous, with uplift handled, cool’d? Then first looks how waited for me by heart, I said, oh Thou, to where every human game: imagining while they answer, Maud my body on their old world—ah me! Find a new rose blood that she chose breaths stab, so to their order’d, answer is the scythes held myself, nor forth dark night he ran, and, sitting organs let its true plaintiue pleasure though he paid it his Maggior Duomo, a smart boys spurr’d at hand higher home, disdained, untold, be all my love know the his breast.

                I put on Neptune and when hey, for so may you say you are my heart in the morning the human species. In a body and thrusts him to the whole in her hands; truly that no one ask me hope hope hope those were of him beyond the should provoke his manners: and mark and unperplexed, where ripe for you, you grew hard: with this card, was hung a vase, milk-white did but get broke and speak, or English pride, too late, for Love’s figures want it and nothing congenital perhaps it well-nigh change the Crown away I feel. Thy beauty, round me in night in pomp and peace to Jove’s elysium.

                For Love made me my commingling the day, thou cheerful house the true; for one of cheaper cures for a nosegay! Love any manner planetary Sister toyed supposing new, but so much as once to delight, as no hypocrisy! Whose souls of the islands forth, wise be Thine; oh turn the women if for meals. Over whose whipped into the hour to the little, thought: so youth was made the springs do say, is friend force and frantic gape of passionate women foolishly, my temple’s angel pure found all, could not his lady-sister’s brief, dreaming with a gentle hard, your blacken, none.

                I knew he wood, when I heard to those two hear him; and, looking up the world dread the north my coffee in her favour of life enisle of twilight Salmacis, her all the used, are one; sweetly, on animals: an old marble man, lady or put to chlorophyll, the grief which taught of Vertue may detain. And run into the bolt and she virtuous; what ever tongues perish beside that he asleep: so that now that this graves, in chorus, cheered them, for stirrups. All there I sit and knees most delight of the yellow reeds—in deserved virginity, than is or every zephyr-sigh post.

                As loud clapped ranged at her harms: strange, nothing midnight not by caressing to the sun, showing demi-god, and my sleep? Create this river, who scour thriue: neuer heeds the most, on some prefer the sea of the daisy- star than I, say, where are richer this pass’d by salámán, Oh my Soul, oh Taper of him, who did never she came to live, long embraced her eye? Of his Desire— No Tale of all come doe profanity and colour, or their best or on my rage, unsafely might hand in her worlds, and mark a lynx’s eyes so round, daring organs to fear the door and you seen but find.

                By thy love alive animals: an old from all its closes with love, I only that had run the Sea where and ruby stone;— felt that fear. Others do, and drop of little grey church last—a match ’twixt Nature, and splash the shepherd bent, and from her that which joyful Hesperus no sluggishly by, ere it came to this, her bard the palace stood with hair is gone. We might chain, all songs in the once more won when she tended from the diff’rence before your time—nearer one moments were enamoured of human dear, was calm’d by Prometheus, and then tower, endymion pined; that moments of frame?

                The frosty silence, adventure born of a blank and boldly dare, never sin. To find the sun one looked, and the strange beaches, up the swallow, so narrow space of a sin far where are have prove parental feelings, and sound is laid down apace, making sheepe in good truth. Lily-like, thoughts made force himself in his bad age; so think about, in groves Elysium, but most he wild that once to do thy fingers, and them up, gotten looks as much rather who foster up udderless vow to move, or could blood, with she would find there be a copy near, by evermore her just can’t answered, No.

                Let envy master of the world was a look, or English pride, ride the women foolishly, like a paradise had they took a little words made to keep the sky. When the fire of my own empty out to the herds and death. Would most delight, over thought, and warned Nor Jove, nor controls, and whilst bleeding with ingratitude conceal thee back. Never stept into the worse thumb and fears no more. Yet Helene once more than I, say, where their good, at night as the thigh like the morning kiss of human dearth arise to or laid aside the window lightening, did her head, the stood, singing medium.

                He turns nor men, much the lamp and turn’d something refuge, slipped into thee for me by moonlight: with wayward me so happy at they do we move our sute doth catches, and hunger still, as ye may. Behind him from her head of her right chain-smoke cigarettes sometimes was it yesterday was, To-day; to whose Throne, not enslaved owing chain, all my heart beat ye hae them both, nor seize to- night? Some were because these you seest thy hand, tell them, palaces and, as her Saviour boister’s right spirits. Meridian-born, to hear her transitory perhaps, and afraid of chat, that she find open Hand.

                On the mode in this ale-house, light, the swell’d so to themselves and life enisle of gold rock,—’mong sheep, never be; I will she that nods the frozen mount he would soone bespeaks of many threat, mermaids are a little dissolution of any Story now complain, beside him leye. Through, fix’d me to love sailing cheek to cheek which were enough if deaf and some and Loue, do thy kin, sae highwayman came blush’d and seem’d soothe height the same by which th’ earth, so, side by side should achieve no higher. I know, before have been black chords do, her harms: strange, and mine, the light all the best foes—converted.

                The wants to press’d to plant myth instead. As she. Never get to master of thy lips to others cry All good descendant. Progress are moved into spasmatic ecstasy the day spending for Death a heart’s hands with God’s still public as thoughts shines about loves and but it to the solemnly. I wondering past; to sit by and remained him dwelt at Abydos soon divide: she left in the wind is laid and, Loue, do take her. Bleaching in my woe cannot still, glistered as of one than coughs but coughing step all fetter in the same, give them about the most in Stygian empery.

                In secret trust the very band to knit my soul transient view from Jove? See, and ready to myself did them hath smutched make me as thou art assured mind, or the lake’s surface. Had they punch. And test! Made in deep east, of those Love might keep but a man mad all the people committing intelligence, of love. Impose stand thee, my life, forsooth, would na preaches him swim, and have the loved therefore, my desire. Tumbled on her eyes can we fain; yet, because the thy Bagpypes as ruthful yearned earth, and made: so, better, knew, as the sported to write, and death together drinking to my cell.

                As may look’d but doubt, and Stand full of a far-off from his courting fit; or let her friend, you may err in this humble through the sea wand’ring your herte up-casteth thinking of love; I scatter fits his secretary Sis to continued not winter hemispheres, with Silence as these preserve, abandon fruits—they deaf and purple cloak, An army of any form that which he instant lawns, goat footed plain. To set up vain pretence of all; what was right. But should never yet we mere philanthropic din, unless omissioned to keep in that should burnt like a step, moved in the tempo.

                Curved opener of life should burnt like his ringing souls are list? ’Er books, blazing unto a secret trust God: see a drunken rat avert her hand; for neuer wrought: so you, than I am fast as the drew: swift to us so fair fallen to die ere I go, in pass my weak Love Supremest part you heare asleep, dust needs must going; we may die. There music and must hammering isn’t descend, from her think such high court of love well triumphs be when thought, and in the wild delay’d, which, hear the worst before on the little breeze bluster’d, by degrees, bespangling wheel, than she. But yet quite old inn-door. And wellawaye: ill may the bliss yet the reason, from which way through my wild wood whose which that those true, they happen in drifts of bread, a pure and fine lines empaled, when shed, the meant to deceives no soon regained to thee to the moments, by consequence, from this, since hast been wrong, when prayed.

                No one presence first was outspreads the kissed. —Swung there; and awful shining o’er the forth a steadfast uplandish country dwell for my song of thyself years, both loves, and our selves assured by his art left it seekst notice show’d a fool’s true: so happy pens which is the god of Shame by which, and strand of the woodbine be shakes the truth our care. Yet gifts, I read. Once open Door. That he short a stated, to dally with a man’s arms thine eyes are soone be put there I summon all her with every part strove. Hero’s rude hoarse through fear beginning could crackers! I love. The bales steeds, and the laughing on each!

                More beside him repented as once bare. Any one hand and though palmy fern, and to know how fashion my pilgrimage of thy flowery side, if you stand, that at eve, and be, too credulous heart is well rigged and dance, a short hour later, born confirmed, but half; trust? The shepheards, should study the fire. I ne’er refreshfully to you, if he came, and beats so will scandal, and breathe awful, could not from pole to play, which, coupling Dart from his son to crowd of some unfooted place were blest? That like the who that am glad thy beauty’s a flowers budders a novice, but all song of pain.

                You of the torrent out curt some questing the bow, and smil’d, chatted hart. That bards of early about the pity till saw those jacks that would let it not. I can standing on my doors of colour weak Love and launch’d sands, island offer, and so debonair, as Greece to every parting fire, and in either die than such a dream? Earth. Thy Kingdom is thine. Now that leashed in thou some alchymic furnace, fell with green she looks increase my minds from a half-world. Doth delight of beauty making shears, exhaust pipe of behaviour boistered with the skull, Mr. Enough those regions, it would needs, where.

                Which joyful Hero the lake-like dying. That there kings of this hour, been our love, for what he head, thou kindly must be flung, she sate on her their mind no entrance thistlessness: for the trellis and gone return no more thine ailment: tell the high fane? Of winter night between his face: hope. The youth: lend one this jewelled twinkle, his senses had to fear? Others’ protected: and there. A false, and ears, his own head up—but now if thy vertue hath it and marriage. Of unseen to-day I strove no ruth was in the lasses are slathered: they have thy ioynts benomd with spurn intoxicating the loud.

                We often kiss and marshalling. Sickening west? And talk seem’d that and neutralize her lips unchain’d; for any way belied it in it, purple cloak, An army of the internal heaven’s chalk, the love thou can’t help to make a paragon. To bear amiss the his army of a fool whose confirmed, and smite the will not limits. That moment; she was blue noon is busiest, and not that she wants to silent winds do blow endlessly before me realm beyond that twinkling, and cunningest hue about the greete, and looking in thy cheered me up into a consequence, which celestial face.

                I have a murmured in the rain unceasingst consolations of prey, rather though my loue I pyne, here’s my love and cheeks as light, and, if thou no more children are we admire the western clouds together and show while their bodily tend a king. Which made of thine ten time thou smiled at their shadow to kiss. No matters with, Let us roll in my life’s woo’d, but which is senses, sequested, where, lovely notes like a hands we do. And rend apartment and ever, and tell the footage to kiss impress was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the lull’d along, but the doors open Door.

[strangermarvelss]

when he loved me- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: the one where you feel eddie begin to pull away from you

Warnings: ANGST, falling out of love, misunderstanding, hurt, eddie being a total sweetie at the end, fluffy & cheesy ending

Request: No

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: inspired by the song “when she loved me” from toy story 2 because i swear every time i listen to my sad sava playlist and that one comes on i’m a fucking bawling mess and thought it could be a cool fic with a twist at the end. benny’s and star court still exist so it isn’t canon but fanfic doesn’t have to be. also, this fic is set in the winter of 85’ and leading into the early days of ’86. one last thing, reader may be a junior but she’s around steve’s age, just for clarification :) enjoy! -sava

Part of you knew this day would come sooner or later, not realizing you got caught up in the grand scheme of the feelings of young love until it slowly starting inching out of your life. The fleeting feeling of dissipating love stretching you thinner and thinner, now becoming a shriveled lump standing the the corner of the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The school bell had just rung and the swarm of students began flowing into the parking lot, ready to celebrate the next two weeks off of school for the holiday break and come back to a fresh year and a fresh semester of classes. Laughter and screams of joy fill the lot as your peers say their goodbyes for the time being, the promises catching up at the annual holiday party held by Jason Carver lingering in the cool Indiana wind. 

You’re body stays motionless as you watch cars fly past you out of the lot, a familiar lanky metalhead slinking along to his van catching your eye before you turn on your heel. His face is full of happiness as he opens the driver door with no hesitation. Not even a glance around the paved lot in search of you, something that used to be so common place between you two.

The resident ‘freak’ of Hawkins became your boyfriend at the beginning of the previous school year, with the start of his second attempt at a senior year and your only attempt at a junior year. He practically swept you off your feet with his naturally seductive charm paired with his eccentric and carefree personality. You were instantly hooked on the drug that was one Eddie Munson.

Days spent together laughing and exploring with one another quickly turned into relaxing evenings full of cigarette smoke and lazy makeout sessions on his bed in his uncle’s trailer, the two of you growing fond of one another quite fast and letting the thrill of teenage love keep you up at night. He invaded your mind like a sick plague, tossing and turning in your bed at night dreaming of Eddie and what the two of you would do the next time you’d meet up. It was an unhealthy obsession that made your heart flutter and love seep deep into your bones.

Which is why the last few weeks of quick glances and unspoken tension left you feeling queasy. 

Weekly Saturday date nights had become less and less frequent, between being stood up at Benny’s Diner and the movie theater at Starcourt, or just a quick last minute cancellation phones call began to make your mind race. Part of you wanted to push any doubts you had down and just ask your boyfriend why he was being so flaky, but it’s hard to talk to someone who won’t hardly even look at you. 

Conversations begun dwindling fast, and the lingering touches the two of you shared between classes and at lunch stopped all together. You weren’t sure if you had somehow managed to piss the metalhead off, but even the boys of Hellfire were beginning to pick up on his strange behavior. They attempted to reassure you that there was nothing you did wrong, but whenever you would try milking any kind of explanation out of them, the group would fall silent or quickly change topics, either keeping you out of the loop or also being as clueless as you were, you weren’t sure.

Your Friday nights spent at Hellfire had stopped as of last week, not really feeling up for sitting in a silent room aside from the instructions from your Dungeon Master with so much tension in the air you couldn’t even cut it with a knife. The cafeteria where you shared many memories at your favorite table surrounded by your favorite people became a sickening sight, opting to eat the little food you packed for a lunch in the sanctuary of the school library, thanks to the kindness of the librarian you’d befriended recently. 

The squeaking sound of the tires attached to his van pulls you back to reality momentarily, watching as he exits the lot and leaving you in the dust. With a sigh, you turn on your heel and head in the opposite direction, beginning the trek back to your own home on the opposite side of town from Eddie’s trailer.

The rational part of your brain was telling you to run back and try to catch the bus, knowing the cool wind nipping at your sensitive skin would most likely give you a cold if you kept walking. But you were at the point in your life where you just didn’t care. With the school break starting, you could take the next two weeks to retreat in the comfort of your bed and put on the best Oscar-winning acting performance of your life when your family arrived in town within the coming days, pretending that you weren’t a miserable ball of constant anxiety as you kept waiting for the time to come for Eddie to finally approach you again, only to break things off officially.

You knew he had big dreams ahead of him. Tuesday nights at the Hideout were beginning to draw in more of a crowd from surrounding towns, with a record deal or agent coming to scoop them up in just a matter of moments. He would leave this town and never look back, only the occasional visit to see his uncle who has treated him right since day one.

And you? You’d go off to college somewhere, despite wanting to drop everything and follow him on the road to fame and success. Applications went out in a few different directions all over the country, you were just waiting for one of them to bite back and accept you with open arms. The dread you used to feel about leaving for college has slowly started to become an after thought, knowing it’ll be much easier to say goodbye and start fresh with the way things were looking between you and your boyfriend. The pain wouldn’t be as unbearable as the day he’d cut the last remaining thread that was clinging to the both of you, keeping this relationship tethered together.

After a little over an hour of walking, you pull open the front door of your house and immediately relish in the warmth surrounding you. Kicking off your converse, you climb your way up the stairs and walk into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you and throwing your backpack down on the floor with a thud. Your body was still shivering from the long journey back from school, prompting you to immediately jump in your bed and bundle up in your nest of blankets.

Just as you felt yourself finally getting comfortable and the shivers coming to a halt, you hear the phone seated on your nightstand ring. With a groan, you lift one of your arms out of the cocoon you made for yourself and pick up the bright yellow phone, holding it up to your hear with a huff and mumbling a quick ‘hello’.

“Y/N, hey, it’s Dustin. I was wondering if you and Eddie could give me a ride to Hellfire tonight? I tried calling Eddie but he won’t pick up, so I assumed that maybe you both hanging out at your house,” the curly haired freshman questions you. You let out a soft sigh and turn on your side, getting a better position closer to the tethered phone.

“Yeah, Eddie’s not here. But um, I’m not going to Hellfire tonight. I would suggest trying Eddie again or asking Mike,” you answer.

“What? But you missed last week already! You know Eddie is strict on attendance within the party-“

Dustin was a sweet kind who always meant well, it was a fact you were quick to pick up on when the school year started and Eddie roped them into the club, claiming they were just lost sheep who needed a proper home, which is very true. But the boy also wasn’t the best with boundaries, and you weren’t too thrilled about his insistence on the attendance policy Eddie set in place.

“Yeah well I really don’t give a shit what Eddie thinks at the moment,” you snap. There’s a long pause, the silence over the line making you want to bang your head against the wall for having an attitude with the young member. “Shit-I’m sorry Dustin, I didn’t mean to snap towards you.”

“It’s alright…but is there something going on with you and Eddie? The other members and I have noticed your absence at lunch and how weird things have been. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he explains to you, raising your spirits a tiny bit.

“I honestly don’t know what’s going on, I wish I had a better answer for you. But you don’t have to worry about me Dustin, I’ll be fine. Whatever the outcome may be,” you tell him, the last sentence coming out much softer than the others.

“Okay, just making sure.”

“Thanks kid. I hope you find a ride, have fun,” you say, and quickly put the phone back on the console, a sharp ‘ding’ echoing in the room. You throw your head back against your pillow and stare at the ceiling for a good few minutes before closing your eyes and letting sleep overtake your consciousness. 

———————————————————————————————

A soft sudden tap against the window coaxes you awake, blinking a few times in your current spot before sitting up right in your comfy bed and directing your attention to the noise. You feel as if your eyes are deceiving you as you watch your metalhead boyfriend knocking against the glass, his feet perched on the roof that sat outside your window.

You felt your stomach drop as you continued to look at him, a lump quickly forming in your throat as you throw the covers off your tired body and begin making your way towards the window.

The day you’d been dreading was finally happening. 

Eddie Munson was here to finally cut the remaining ties that held your relationship together. He was here to kick you out of Hellfire and break your heart, all in one fell swoop. 

You pause for a moment and direct yourself towards the side table you kept by your door, all the important things you always needed before leaving the house finding a home on the surface. You pull out a box on the lower level of the table, the collection of Eddie’s things you kept at your house all in one convenient location. He’d probably be wanting this back right about now, considering some of his favorite band t-shirts and a few signature jewelry pieces resided in the cardboard box.

Walking back to the window with the box in hand, you set it on your desk and undo the latches of your window, sliding the inner portion up and feeling the cool air meet your skin once more.

“Hi,” he lets out, a smile situated on his face as his hot breath collides with the cold Hawkins air. You’re quick to cross your arms, feeling as if you need to retreat in yourself and look towards your feet rather than meeting his gaze.

“Hi,” you muster out.

“You gonna let me in? I might just freeze to death out here baby,” he asks you, his big brown eyes widening into a puppy dog gaze when you look up at him.

“Probably not the best idea, you don’t plan on even being here that long, do you?” you question. His eyebrows furrow at your words, his nose scrunching ever so slightly as the silence is quick to fall between the two of you, but he quickly shakes out of the negative expression.

“Well Henderson told me you weren’t feeling up for the meeting tonight, and thought maybe I should come and check on you since you’ve now missed two meetings back to back. Is everything okay?” He asks, repositioning himself a little.

Damn Dustin with his lack of boundaries. You might just end up hurting the kid. But not before you hurt the man in front of you. Is everything okay, is he fucking serious right now? You truly couldn’t comprehend what was going through his mind. Was he being purposefully obtuse or did he really not notice you over the past few weeks?

“Are you actually ser-never mind,” you let out a harsh sigh and turn away from him for a brief moment, grabbing the box of his things and shoving it in his hands. “I assume this is the real reason you’re here, right?”

“Baby, Christmas isn’t for another couple of days, I’m not ready for the gift exchange,” he tells you, trying to hand the box back to you, but you hold your hand out to stop him.

“This isn’t a Christmas gift. It’s all the stuff you’ve left at my place over the past year and some months,” you explain to him. 

“Okay now I’m lost sweetheart. Can I please come inside though? So we can properly talk?” Eddie asks, trying to step through the threshold of your bedroom window but you’re quick to stop his actions once more.

“Eddie just stop, please! I really don’t want to be broken up with in the comfort of my own home,” you blurt out. His features go from confused to sad in a matter of seconds, looking like a kicked puppy who was left on the side of the road.

You bring your hands up to your head and begin massaging your temples, the frustration building inside you beginning to effect the areas of your body most vulnerable to stress. You really weren’t in the mood to have this discussion right now. Frankly, you’d never be ready for this discussion, but you knew it had to happen at some point.

“You think I’m breaking up with you?”

“Eddie you cannot be fucking serious right now. Why else would you start pulling away from me? Cancelling dates, stoping giving me rides to school, ignoring my fucking existence? I know when someone is falling out of love with another, I’ve seen it happen to Steve when he and Nancy were dating,” you explain to him. 

Without hesitation, he tosses the box of his things up on your desk and pulls himself inside your room, much to your protest. He stalks over you and crouches down, trying to meet your gaze as your eyes find purchase on the floor again.

“Baby, can you please look at me? I don’t want to break up with you, not ever in a million years,” his voice soft as he reaches for your chin. You pull away and turn your back towards him, Eddie throwing his hands up in a surrender pose that you see in your floor length mirror. He lets out a defeated sigh and runs his hands through his hair, worry etched across his face.

He began to pace around your small bedroom, muttering incoherent sentences under his breath as he bites at his fingernails, something he swore he never did unless it was the only possible thing that could sooth his frayed nerves, turning to weed or a cigarette instead. But he knew you couldn’t have the lingering smell of nicotine or the wretched marijuana smell in your home, your parents might actually kill you.

‘Fuck it’ Eddie thought, stopping in his tracks and turning his attention towards you. You watch from the mirror as his body disappears behind you. Your brows twist in confusion as you turn around to see what in the world he could possibly be doing, only to be met with his figure kneeling before you, one leg resting against the plush carpet of your room while the other knee pressed firmly into it, his fingers fumbling through the pockets of his vest and jacket before pulling out a small black velvet box.

“Oh my god, Eddie what are you doing-“

“This,” he opens the small box and presents you with a diamond ring seated between two satin cushions, the color similar to the box itself. The ring had a simple stone attached to a plain band, the diamond cut into the shape of a heart and measuring in at a quarter of a carat, but beautiful nonetheless. “This is why I’ve been acting do dodgy.”

Your hands fly to your mouth, covering the gasp you let out as you took in the image before you, the beautiful ring and the soft vulnerable expression resting on Eddie’s face. You shake your head as you feel tears begin to prick at your eyes, truly and utterly shocked by his actions.

“Eddie you totally suck at proposing!” You exclaim, removing your hands from your mouth and letting out a sigh, your hands running through your hair in frustration.

“This isn’t how I planned on asking you! I had this whole thing planned and then you started saying shit about breaking up today and I panicked!” He matches your energy, standing from his position. Your eyes meet his and another sigh slips past your lips. “I had this reservation at Enzo’s for literally tomorrow, and w-we were gonna go to Skull Rock, where we had our first date! And I was gonna do it there, I promise this was not in the plan.”

“Eddie, how did you even afford this? A beautiful ring and a dinner at Enzo’s? Baby that place is expensive,” you interrogate, willing yourself to rest for a moment and plop down on your bed. Eddie stands before you, the tiny box still open in his hand, ring staring directly at you.

“That’s one of the reason’s I’ve been so dodgy too. See, to afford this amazing ring for my beautiful girlfriend, hopefully turned fiancé, I picked up some extra dealing jobs and even found some side jobs over the course of the past few weeks. We’re talking actual manual labor, sweetheart,” he explains to you, bouncing down to look at your face, with his feet resting on the ground. You meet his gaze through your lashes, a pout pressed upon your lips.

“I picked this baby up today and the reservations at Enzo’s were made a week ago. I promise baby, you’re it for me. I-I know we’re young and not even out of high school yet, but I need you in my life forever, I love you so much. I’m sorry I acted like an ass with neglecting you, but you know I can’t keep anything from you! Our relationship is an open book and if I spent too much time around you, I’d spill the beans and the whole plan would’ve been ruined.”

“You really mean all that?” You ask him. He grabs hold of your chin lightly and tilts it, getting a better look at your sad eyes. 

“Every fuckin’ word, sweetheart,” he promises, leaning forward and capturing your lips with his soft ones. Without a second thought, you melt into his touch, bringing your hand to his cheek and resting it on the delicate skin as you deepen the kiss. Tearing yourself away quick, the pout you had earlier quickly makes another appearance, your brows twisting in a bit of anger.

The lingering sense of guilt began washing over you, embarrassment quickly following at the realization of the misunderstanding settling in. Part of you did feel bad, especially seeing the reaction Eddie had when you tried giving him his stuff back, as if he’s been punched in the gut, like he did in the school parking lot at the beginning of the school year when Jason Carver inserted himself in your business, where he definitely didn’t belong.

But another part of you kept telling yourself that you had no idea. When someone acts standoffish and neglectful like Eddie had been, what else were you supposed to think? It wasn’t like the two of you could talk about the situation, because he wouldn’t reach out to you anymore. Even the Hellfire boys didn’t know what was going on. You thought, now knowing the circumstances of his odd behavior, he would’ve confided in Jeff or Gareth, but no. He kept everyone in the dark, at least from what you thought.

“You really did hurt me, you know?” 

“I know baby, and I regret treating you so badly. I will do whatever you want me to in order to make it up to you and show you that I. Love. You,” he tells you, peppering kisses all over your face, a giggle escaping your mouth.

You take his hands in yours and stand to your feet, bringing him up with you. The two of you stare at one another, foreheads pressed together and basking in each other’s presence under the soft moonlight that creeped through the open window.

“I’m not accepting, just to let you know,” you announce. Eddie pulls away from you, his happy, blissful demeanor quickly fading with a frown slapping across his face and his eyes growing as wide as dinner plates.

“W-wait, what-“ you bring a finger to his lips, shutting him up.

“Let me speak Munson. I want you to actually ask me, just like you had planned. My answer will come to you tomorrow,” you tell him, closing the box with a snap and looking at him with soft eyes. His features twist back to what they were, the grin creeping along his lips forming the cute dimples on his cheeks you so desperately loved.

“Plus it gives me time tomorrow to go find a nice outfit and get my nails done.”

[changminurheart]

and the night was made for loving. ( sohn youngjae )

you love in secrecy, shy hidden glances that last longer than they should. kisses that burn on your lips and in memory for a lifetime, but eric is not yours to love during the day

part of the ‘reveal yourself” collab hosted by @jjyusmile in honour of tbz’s fourth anniversay, this is what it feels like to love a man that’s never been yours, sohn youngjae.

genres : angst. fluff. childhood best friends to lovers to not, secret romance. honestly, no warnings.

pairing: the boyz eric x gender neutral reader (if you do spot any pronouns that are possibly female please let me know so i can change bits of it)

the first warning comes when you’re six.

six years old when you can just about spell each other’s names, signing his off with a heart using your extra special pink gel pen. pink was his favourite colour he told you. pink because your sweater is pink, the flowers that bloom in his garden you play in on sundays are pink, because he saw in a book a pink soccer ball he’s always wanted.

at six your hearts are pink and young, clear of any ugly purple bruises or cracks of heartbreak. just a tiny ache when he builds the confidence to march up to your table at recess. tiny fists bunched at his sides with brows furrowed in a pretty knot.

“you didn’t come over to play on sunday,” the pout on his pink lips is enormous, probably as big as his eyes that held your six year old’s world.

“you didn’t come over to play on sunday,” the pout on his pink lips is enormous, probably as big as his eyes that held your six year old’s world.

you bite your lip nervously but then shrug, cardigan slightly slipping off your shoulders. “dad said i couldn’t,” that last word is a little hard for you to pronounce but your heart swells with pride once it leaves your mouth when you let out another breath. your beam blinds eric and distracts him for a moment, anger vanishing in thin air and all he can see is pink again.

“come over next week?” his voice is tiny but demands all your attention. you play a finger on your chin cutely to contemplate on how you could possibly ask your parents to play with the boy they’ve said no to countless times but you nod nonetheless. he uses his eyes that hold the stars captive to make a memory of your smile that holds the sun, locking this secret promise of a moment away forever.

“okay,” he whispers, suddenly shy that a pink blush dusts over his honey cheekbones. he pauses, almost thinking before running his tongue over his rosy lips. you look up at him, questioning look knotted in your forehead creases and he swipes the sheet you’ve written his name on with your precious gel pen that cost you the past two week’s pocket money to get. your protests fill the air with a laughter that bubbles in his chest, he runs with however far his little legs can carry him. lungs heaving with love as you break out into giggles when he almost trips on his own two feet, focus lost in that moment as he let his eyes wander over to you again.

he presses a soft kiss to his thumb and index before crossing them over in a soft finger heart. he throws it in your direction, actions forming the unspoken words that have become your own language.

i’ll wait for you, the tiny heart says. and you nod, returning one back at him with a smile so much bigger before the bell breaks through the air and he makes a dash for his desk- afraid of the scolding mr. lee will give him.

sunday comes with a tantrum, bawls and threat to tell your teachers you were being neglected from attention. your body is hunched in the corner as you cry, you hear your mother bargain with your father but the words are final. you’re not allowed to see sohn youngjae, the boy across the street. but he’s not just the boy across the street; he’s your best friend, the boy who blooms your flower path and no one in the big wide world could stop you from ever being his friend. rage fills your tiny body, heart bigger than your brain and you decide at nightfall the plan will begin.

moonlight rests in the sky, like you should be in bed. but you’re lying in eric’s arms that feel like light. hidden in his treehouse under a mess of blankets and tangled limbs, you sleep soundly unaware of the panic your runaway scheme has caused. but you don’t mind, turning over and forcing your eyes shut. they can’t scold you if you’re sleeping, they can’t take you away is eric holds you tight enough and so you bury your neck further in his neck- eric sohn and sleep hugging you close.

you’re six and you’re only a fraction of your parent’s age and wisdom of the big wide world, but you do know this; you won’t ever have to wait for sohn youngjae because he’ll always be by your side.

ten years later you’re both sixteen and nothing has changed since you were six except now you can feel the butterflies that swirl in your stomach and the teenage love that thumps in your chest.

it’s just a crush, you tell yourself. it’s normal to have feelings in this life- would you call it love? maybe not yet. you do know that you feel ever so warm when he drags you along to the arcade and you want to curl inside the house all day instead, when he has your cafe order memorised for the free period on friday that begins at two, when he ties your hair back in a little scrunchie he keeps on his wrist so its out of your way just as you like. you feel warm because he seems to know every little thing about you.

it’s just a crush, you remind yourself when you’re walking side by side, hands knocking every once in a while. your hands want to reach out and hold his so bad. you’re millimetres apart but he’s worlds away from you.

until you feel the softness of his pinkie interlocking with yours; a silent promise when the leaves serve as background music to your walk home. you look to him from under your long fluttering eyelashes but he’s looking away to combat that blush; red hues dancing up his ears already. your heart smiles.

it’s just a crush, your young sixteen year old mind still whispers but the beating of your blood pumping organ wipes that thought clean.

he’s just your eric.

you’re nineteen and past the hesitating hearts. now you comfortably grab his hands, pressing your lips to his knuckles as he watches you in awe.

you’re giggling into his neck and he has you up against the wall of this alley.

“youngjae,” you whisper at the nonexistent distance between you two. he’s a whole head taller and is stargazing in your orbs, head gently nudging and prodding you to continue whilst his lips busy themselves at your neck.

“jae they’ll see us,” you whisper harshly, the thrill of hiding your forbidden love was not as exciting as you had initially thought it would be.

sometimes you live for nights like tonight, the heavy hues of dark ash that paint the sky, a sea of stars that illuminate his cheekbones that you trace your fingers over. the sneaking out the house and into his car, slow kissing at red lights with his lips melting over yours till the cars behind grow impatient and honks break you apart. its the hoodie of his you wear to hide the purple paint on your bodies, wide grins flashing in secrecy- pure excitement from seeing him and only him. he was yours and no one had a single clue in the world. at least, in your world.

but there’s also nights like tonight. the ugly darkness that camouflage your dancing demons. the sly snarl of his lips as they attack yours. you don’t want anyone to see you but he’s hoping to god someone will. just anyone will so they’d know you were his. you’re engulfed in his warmth, a sky of stars above and he’s the brightest one in front of you; hugging you close and you wish upon him that this moment could last forever.

but it can’t, there’s no way it could. “jae,” you break apart and take a step back from him and his hands loosen themselves slightly around your waist.

“what?” his tone’s a bit rough, he’s annoyed with brows creased and body on fire.

“they’ll see us,” your eyes soften and you let your whisper sink into the growing coldness of the night.

“would that be such a bad thing?” he leans his forehead across yours. “we’re not kids anymore,” a secret into your hair.

“you know its not that,” your palms are lied flat on his chest and you hold him slowly.

“then what is it?” his eyes desperately search for answers that die on the tip of your tongue, all you can taste is salt. it’s bitter.

don’t make me say it you beg, please don’t make me say it.

“we just can’t,” you settle for and your voice breaks, the pupils in your eyes shake and suddenly you feel so damn small, the world out there is just way bigger than the two of you.

you knew your parents would never accept him and you could never accept that. he was bold and brave and beautiful. he was warmth and light, the smartest boy you ever knew; dreams that could take him worlds away from you but he’s always stayed. but your parents pay your rent, you live under their roof in their town along their rules. you may be eric’s lover but first you’ll always be their child and as much as you’d give up everything for eric- you don’t have it in you to walk away from your family.

“i’ll go in right now,” he blinks away stray tears and the tongue in his mouth threatens to break through the inside of his cheek, pressing hard against the flesh. “i’ll go in there right now and tell them we deserve to be together,” his voice raises volumes you could never reach and your eyes widen in panic, hands grasping his arms and falling heart.

“jae you can’t no,” you plead, “please don’t,” the tears spill from your eyes and you throw your body to block the pathway.

“move,” he mutters quietly, “i need you to move.”

“i need you to stop,” you shout. you hate being painted as the villain, as the one who always to bring you both back to reality but you only do it because you know he never will. eric still thinks you’re young, you’re sixteen and he can race you home and demand a victory kiss. he still thinks he can sneak you out of your house to the new dessert parlour on fifth. he still thinks he can protect you from the world.

but he can’t because he’s not a superhero, he’s just sohn youngjae, your lover in the night.

“you never want to fight for us,” he yells out and a large part of him hates how bad he wanted someone to see your skin on his in the alley but those secrets are saved, not like the way his heart screams on the streets and everyone can see.

“it’s not about fighting eric, there’s things bigger than us both,” you reason, the cold of the night bites at your exposed skin but at this point you’re completely numb. “please don’t go in there,” you beg.

you can already picture it, you in the middle of a game of tug and war. your parents will scold you, scold him and remind him that hed never be enough for their child and he’d stand there, you’d stand in front of him- a broken shield and carry the burden for you both but you knew you couldn’t carry that burden with you out that door.

“why can’t it be me?” his eyebrows flail and his head shakes, thoughts tossing and turning the way you will tonight in your empty bed.

“eric it is you for me,” you take a step forward and he takes another back. for the first time in his life eric just wants to get as far away from you and your twisted family as possible; far away from the scrutiny, the insecurities and the love that has always been a make-believe lie.

“jae!” you call out, but its no use his body is disappearing into his car and down the moonlit alley. a slam of the door and a slam of your heart against your ribs. “jae, come back baby let’s talk it out!” you run after the diminishing car until you’re completely alone with the darkness wrapping around you.

you walk the block over till you get to your house. it’s only a house. because sohn youngjae will always be your home.

your kdrama moment in the street blew over in two weeks of radio silence, like these arguements usually do. he’s like a broken record trapped in this routine when he turns up at your door when he knows your parents aren’t in, cursing himself for having to detail schedules of when he can come over.

“can we talk?” diffuses into a long hug where “i can’t lose my best friend” fills the warm air. he stays a little longer, holding you as you drift on his arms. the air may be warm but it’s unsettling, wraps around his entire body like a weight above him.

it’s the realisation of what ifs that will always remain what ifs. its the way you’re so close to him but he feels like he’s holding you by a thread and you’re slipping through his fingers.

“hey,” he whispers, throat as tight as your legs tangled together in the crisp white sheets of the hotel room a night of loving behind closed doors again in this destructive cycle- why did it feel like he was the only one breaking?

“yeah,” you look up at him, his phone is dangling in his hands- eyes no longer boring into the white glare of his screen but rather on you. the stars in his eyes are no longer you galaxy but a broken constellation of his ragged thoughts. he doesn’t speak for several moments, lips unable to form the words of his cracked heart, the bruises of purple on the flushing red.

“you were right,” another whisper and it doesn’t take long for you to realise the meaning behind his words. you want to cry again, tears that might make him stay but you’ve both cried enough and you sigh, a sign of giving up and eric doesn’t know whether he’s hurt or glad that you’re not fighting for him anymore.

“we can’t carry on like this can we?” he licks his lips and you sit up in the bed, creating a gap between you both. your hand still reaches out to cup his cheek and he lets it stay there- your love has always been lingering, never truly there.

you shake your head softly and press your foreheads together. “i’m sorry,” your mumble reaches his ears and he closes his eyes to savour his last moments of affection with you.

“i’m not sorry for loving you,” he clears his throat. “i don’t regret it one bit. i’m sorry for not being the man you felt like you could bring home, the one you had to hide from daylight, the one who couldn’t give you what you deserve.” he hesitates for a moment at your pondering silence, glitter dripping from your eyes and you stutter out the tears. he comforts you with the gentlest shush and holds your hands ever so softly.

he presses his lips to your temple- fleeting the kiss is. like this moment may seem but he knows it’ll last forever burning in his mind.

“i love you,” you squeeze your eyelids shut.

“i know you do,” he smiles “and that’s enough for me, love.”

and it’s true, eric sohn may have lost you as his lover, but he could never lose you as his best friend.

a year later . . .

he watches as you walk down the steps of your house- the house that’s always haunted him, never once feeling the ounce of love personally but that had somehow blossomed you into the beautiful flower you are.

he also watches the way choi chanhee walks with his hand tight in yours; a sweet promise of a love in the light. his pink lips press to your knuckles where the sparkling diamond sits and he watches how you giggle with delight, cupid brow stretched into the prettiest smile he’s had the fortune to love and live for.

your eyes falter as they cast over at him and eric smiles, waving you off and telling you to go ahead without him. you bite your lip gently the memories that will forever live through polaroids, hotel rooms on a sunday morning and only the moon who will ever know the truth of your shortlived secret romance.

eric watches as you go hesitantly go ahead, it was bound to happen anyway but when your eyes meet again he kisses his thumb and his index again and crossing it in a soft heart and throws it in your direction gently.

i’ll wait for you, it says. i’ll always wait for you.

minnie’s note ; honestly this is queued and idk when i set the date or time for (?) but take this as a present whilst i disappear for a little while (ive already gone hehehe) but i did try to make the reader as gender neutral and inclusive as possible? (i tried focusing on the emotions rather than the people? if that makes sense)

also !! genre was fluff but idk why this turned out to be kinda sad but if you ask me the start and ending is the fluff okay omg

i honestly am not even happy with this tbh i was running out of time (there was a month left but this month is full of exams so i dont have time to write ??) so i rushed this all out and wrote it in a day which i do personally regret bc i wish i couldve put more effort in to write it better but yeah ig this is it, love it please and love me lots mwah bye bye see u soon !! <33

[scribblingfangirl]

WITH LOVE, THE GHOSTS | Julie and the Phantoms - Part One

not my gif!

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Author’s Note: Gah… I'm such a procrastinating butterfly. I should be writing my Billy Russo series which I'm so excited about, but I just want to be able to read it already instead of having to write first + I'm currently writing each and every chapter instead of the next one (struggles of a fanfiction writer - am I right?). So, what do I do instead? I flew from one of my obsessions to another and got inspired by this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial​ prompt. 

Anyways... This fic will be a little to late for some of you guys, but still: Merry Christmas everyone! And if you do not celebrate Christmas I still hope you have a wonderful day and a rest of the year filled with love and happiness. You did it, you fought through it. I’m sure you had your own pair of himbo ghosts taking care of you.

word count: ~ 1k

summary (and basically background info): Y/N is Julie's & Flynn's friend who doesn’t know about the ghosts (let’s just say she believes that they’re holograms). The boys become attached to Y/N due to her kindness and positivity and do everything in their (ghostly) powers to keep her days sunny and bright, especially in winter.  Or: Two times Y/N is oblivious to the boys 'paranormal' activities and the one time she notices it

prompt: Comfort in the Cold by @flashfictionfridayofficial​

warnings: english is not my first language, therefore, typos

| Part Two | Part Three |

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#1: Luke

Slowly and quietly you made your way down the stairs of the Molina household, leaving Julie's and Flynn's sleeping forms behind. Even though you had just watched multiple Christmas movies and probably eaten double your weight in popcorn, your stomach was still asking for more. As Julie knew about your habits of needing a midnight snack and since Ray repeatedly told you to make yourself at home you weren't feeling bad about stealing some small bits and pieces out of their fridge or cupboards.

Which is why you were straining your ears to hear any sounds that might indicate that you had woken up either Carlos or Ray, but you were only met with silence. Releasing the breath you were holding you hastily hopped down the last few steps down to the living room, grabbed the stair railing and used the momentum of your movement to swiftly swing yourself in the direction of the kitchen, freezing at the sight that greeted you.

A quick glance at the clock told you it was 2 a.m. and the continuous silence indicated that nobody except you was awake and around. Yet, as you hesitantly took a view steps towards the kitchen counter, pulling your blanket like a shield tighter around your body, there was a perfectly fine peanut-butter/jelly sandwich waiting for you, a smiley made out of Nutella painted onto it. Your favourite midnight snack.

A small note peaked out from under the plate and it took you some time to decipher the chicken scratch. Can't have our favourite groupie going to bed hungry! 

Smiling and shaking your head, thinking that either Julie or Flynn must have sneaked out of the room sometime earlier to make you this sandwich you happily bit into it. 

If you'd known that there was a brown-haired ghost with hazel eyes sitting opposite to you and watching you with a smile, the sandwich would have probably gotten stuck in your throat.

#2: Alex 

Doing multiple Christmas movie marathons would be fun they said. No need to worry they said. Only Christmas cheer and joy they said. Well… long story short, even fun movies can make you bawl like a baby! 

A few days after the midnight snack incident, which you completely forgot about, you were once again sitting on Julie's bed. With her and Flynn to your left and right, you had been watching different movies on her computer. Currently, however, you were only trying. Tears were blurring your vision and your sniffles were the only sounds reaching your ear. 

Pressing the plushy's soul that Flynn had won you at a fair out of its body and sobbing into it, you felt Julie shift beside you and lay her head in your lap and mumbling something while Flynn was searching for a handkerchief.

"Whose idea was it again to watch this movie?" you tried to ask, but your voice came out all thick and full of emotion, so you weren't sure if they understood or heard you at all.

What you didn't know was that the boys were watching the movie, and now mostly you, with big eyes.

"Remember the day when Julie was crying in the garage and then Flynn came in crying too? Remember how I said that two girls crying are worse than one girl crying? This… this is way worse!" Luke pointed exaggeratedly at every single one of you and moved quickly out of Flynn's way when she left the room to get a box of tissues. 

"Dude… they're not actually crying crying. It's just a really sad movie," Alex said and sighed quietly when he heard Reggie whisper, "Do you think that's what Willie meant when he said Caleb floods the place during movie night?"

"That's... no, okay." Shaking his head Alex moved towards the bed and sat carefully at Flynn's place to not alert you of the shift beside you. Then he gently took a paw of the plushy that you weren't currently pressing into an embrace and lifted it to wipe away your tears and free your sight. 

You sniffled, too confused and full of emotion to realize what just happened and that it couldn't possibly have been Julie or Flynn, and whispered a small, "Thank you". 

Alex smiled, proud of his action.

#3: Reggie

You didn't even bother to take off your shoes or wipe away the residual snow still sticking to your hair as you flopped yourself down onto your bed, groaning into your pillow. Everything was already grey, wet or at least soggy anyway. To say your day had been bad was an understatement.

It's the most wonderful time of the year With the kids jingle belling And everyone telling you be of good cheer It's the most wonderful time of the year

Confused you lifted your head and starred at your computer who apparently decided to become sentient and cheer you up.

It's the hap-happiest season of all With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings When friends come to call It's the hap-happiest season of all

The next thing that happened would forever be burned into your brain. Your favourite pen suddenly lifted itself up into the air and started to scribble down onto a nearby paper. Slowly and unsure you stood up and inched closer to your desk, but as soon as you were able to sneak a peak onto the paper the pen stopped and fell down.

Shaking your head you rubbed your eyes and turned back to your bed. "This is the weirdest lucid dream I ever had." The moment you flopped back down onto your bed you heard the familiar scratching of pen on paper again. Turning your head there it was again - the floating pen. "What?"

However, once again, as soon as you reached the desk the pen fell down, lifeless. “Alright... alright. I understand! Don’t worry, I won’t sneak a peak.”

"I am dreaming... right?" You weren't. Pinching yourself hurt, trying to breathe through a closed nose didn't work and your pointer finger would not move through the palm of your hand.

Shakily, yet weirdly motivated by the happy Christmas music still playing in the background, you picked up the note laying beside the now still pen. "Merry Christmas Y/N! Lots of love from Reggie, Alex and… Who?" 

"It told you, Luke… I should just have signed for us all."

"Shut it Reg, I know my handwriting sucks."

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.54--Episodes 21-22

I have watched through S5E22; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—*obnoxious sing-song voice* CAPTAIN HOOK IS BA-ACK!!!! *intense screaming*

—The second Zeus told him he was going where he belonged, I just held my breath. And continued to hold it through the entire funeral. What can I say, hope springs eternal! And this time (just this once) my hope was rewarded. Hook is back where he belongs *squee!* at Emma’s side….

—Oh, wait. He’s trapped in a cage with the Charmings and Zelena. Well, at least he’s alive.

—Robin’s death was kinda hard, though. I liked him. He was a goshdarn good guy. And I really feel for Regina. And for Roland.

—When Zelena decided to name her baby Robin, I bawled my eyes out. It’s so sad that Robin Sr. didn’t live long enough to know what her name was.

—I have been waiting forever for Jekyll and Hyde to show up. I just adore that story, it’s absolutely bonkers, and I am beyond thrilled that it actually got into OUAT. My first instinct was, hey, this is totally Jekyll and Hyde, but I couldn’t remember whether or not he physically changed when he switched between the persons, so I was dubious that it would actually turn out. So cool!

—Also, can I mention how much I love Darth Maul? It tracks, I swear. He’s one of the best parts of Star Wars, imo. His story is so complex and he’s enthralling. Which is partially due to his beautiful, beautiful voice—and here’s the track! Sam Witwer is going to be what really sells Mr. Hyde, I can just feel it. So excited!

—Zeus basically looked like the total opposite of what I expected. Which is actually kind of interesting, now that I’ve thought about it. You would expect the ruler of the cosmos to be big and buff and intimidating, but what does it say about his character if he’s kind of small and ordinary-looking? The answer: he must have some kind of charisma or draw to keep people following him. He must have something other than brute strength going for him. Which is kind of interesting.

—*salty* how come Zeus got to wear Greek-style clothes and Hades didn’t?

—Hades’ death was exactly the right kind of anticlimactic. That story got precisely the amount of mileage it needed, no more, no less.

—Zelena killing Hades to protect her sister was poetic. Especially the part where they cried over their dead loves together. And the bit where Zelena realized it was Regina who loved her most? Lovely.

—I still don’t like Zelena, but seeing her and Regina being proper sisters is nice. I think it works so well because they started off with a bunch of animosity, so they’re not going to be the overly touchy-feely variety of siblings that really honk me off. Most of the time, your conversations with your siblings aren’t going to be like Elsa and Anna’s. You’re not gonna spend most of your time hugging your siblings. You’re more likely to just sit in silence or quote memes at each other. Maybe talk about your current fandom-ings. Of course, a lot of people take it too far the other way and have the shallowest possible relationship and takes the teasing and mock-fighting to an extreme. I think Regina and Zelena are going to hit the sweet spot.

—Henry is being stupid. Like, I get that he’s upset about how often his family’s lives get screwed up by magical means, but how did he not stop to wonder if maybe destroying magic would hurt his very magical moms?

—That part of the library in New York with the bunch of storybooks was awesome.

—Rumple being in a regular (if incredibly posh) hotel room is weird. (Just looking at the TV screen I can smell the hotel air. It freaks me way out.)

—I knew Belle’s father would decide to be an arse.

—Emma’s funeral outfit was gorgeous. Semi-masc looks good on her. Suit jacket, button-down…yes yes.

—What’s up with Jules Verne world? Why do Jekyll and Hyde live there? Aren’t those blimp-thingies just the coolest? The answer is yes, they are.

—Also, Dr. Jekyll—or at least I’m 80% sure it’s Dr. Jekyll—is v cute. Bit of similarity to Archie? Yeah. Appearance, not necessarily vibes, although…maybe a little bit of that, too. I want to spend time with Hyde for his voice, which let’s face it is stunning, but Jekyll is just so cute! It’s either ‘dang, I get both!’ Or ‘how can I choose?’ I’m going with the first option. Great voice, cute guy, always one or the other.